Читать книгу Mission 777 Possible - Марина Спроуз - Страница 81

To write or not to write to Alex?

Why… I won’t. The phone lies nearby on the table. Marianna feels as if some force compels her hand to rise, overcoming resistance; her hand trembles as she picks up the phone. She nervously opens Viber and sends a smiley face to Alex. As if some higher power is controlling Marianna’s hand like a puppet on strings, making the doll do what Marianna does not want. In response, Alex sends a smiling emoji – a big moving finger.

Then a video arrives from Alex. Marianna opens YouTube. What the heck… Marianna continues to watch the video, where bottles are moving on a conveyor belt, with text explanations: this bottle – for this, this one – for that, and this one – for what? This is not necessary. What did he want to say by this? That I am not needed because he is married? He probably wanted to say that he has everything: a wife for sex, a job for money, and I… why does he need me…

I didn’t want to write to him…

Scrolling through Facebook5 feed, Marianna sees a response: “you are instruments.”

In other words, our bodies are used for something, both me and him, we are instruments.

Then some force wanted me to call Alex, and I was absolutely sure that I wanted this. I suggested meeting to Alex, maybe he wouldn’t have decided, but some unknown force made me cautiously offer first. I have a small private office in the center of town, we’ll meet there. We agreed on the time, and Alex promised to come. The meeting time has come. I am already waiting… the meeting is at fourteen o’clock, maybe he will break away between training sessions and come. As promised. There are my icons in the office that I brought from the Svyatogorsk Monastery, they will protect us. He will come.

It’s already 2:10 PM… I’ll wait a little longer, he’s delayed. If it didn’t work out, he would have called. It’s 2:35 on the clock… He’s not here. He won’t come… Marianna plunged into emptiness, not even despair, it’s death.

I’m dead… A strange feeling when you die. I was still walking down the street, doing something, but I’m dead. I’m gone now. He didn’t come, and it doesn’t matter why: “whether he had a horse, or didn’t know the way, mother wouldn’t let him…” – like in the Ukrainian song. It makes no sense to me now, he doesn’t need me. I came home, sat down on a chair, put my hands in my hair, and began to squeeze my head. Phone call. It’s him. Marianna grabbed the phone.

A busy silence on the line, sounds, – Marianna, sorry, it didn’t work out… – Alex mumbled – pause, – There was a meeting… – Alex justifies himself.

– I understand… it’s okay, these things happen, – Marianna said in a dull voice.

The conversation ended.

I understand he lied, just didn’t want to come, but he called, felt that I was “tearing my hair out.” It doesn’t matter anymore… already… I’m dead.

“Turquoise sky – blue sky,

Love froze with white frost.

And when love left – the colors of red,

Our rose faded – all withered…”