Читать книгу Spoiled Journey. The Roads That Take Us - Theodor Ventskevich - Страница 6

All the night Eddie whined, barked, howled, scraped the floor of the tent with his claws, and sobbed nonstop. This caused a large puddle on the floor and intolerable dampness in the air. That night I did not close my eyes for a second, and with the first rays of sun jumped out of the tent – away from the temptation to stop Eddie’s (and my) torments drowning him in his own tears.

Skipping breakfast (all the food, including the canned food, was thoroughly salted by Eddie’s tears), we set off. The journey was exceptionally far from being pleasant. Eddie continued to sob incessantly, and I felt sleepy and kept stumbling with every step. A wet tent and a soaked backpack did not improve the situation. In addition, Eddie was running ahead on dry land while I splashed through the puddles left in his wake, slowly but surely gathering onto myself all the mud in the forest.

By noon, it dried out a bit in the sun, and things went better. Or, rather, they would have, if I had not been three-quarters dead from fatigue by that time.

«Enough,» I said. «Stop. Stop right here. This place is no worse than any other to die in.»

Eddie kinda did not hear me. On and on he went, without even turning, and soon enough he was entirely lost between the trees far ahead. I called him and I shouted for him until I got hoarse, and I waited for him on the spot until the evening, but…

Okay, that’s not true. Actually, I just hid behind the nearest tree and stood there very quietly until his sobs faded away. Not good of me, I know. Just ugly, I agree. Despicable, yeah. But, gosh, if you knew how good it felt! I felt great immediately. Energy, positivity, and a will to live filled me out of the blue. I put the backpack on my shoulders and set off, taking care to keep considerably to the right of the direction in which Eddie disappeared. Somewhere ahead, as I remembered, Tim had lived when I last saw him.

***

I had remembered correctly and by the evening I was already approaching Tim’s house or, rather, hut, from where yellow framed windows shone affably in the distance. I had already opened my mouth to shout out my greetings, when I tripped over a tree root and, falling, hit my head on another. Everything around me faded, the yellow windows rushed over the horizon like shooting stars, and instead of a nourishing supper and cozy bed at Tim’s house I had a wacky and hard dream.

I dreamed that I was lying in the forest on a pile of fallen leaves, with my hands folded under my head, chatting with my friend Tim, who lay beside me in exactly the same position.

«Siri, are you a friend of mine?» Tim was asking.

«Now, that’s really nice!» I answered. «Have I ever given you a cause to doubt it?»

«Never!» Tim confirmed solemnly, and manipulatively asked: «You will not fail me this time either, will you?»

«No,» I replied, starting to get angry. «Whatever it is, you can count on me.»

«Then listen carefully and try to remember,» Tim continued, not paying attention to my offense. «As you wake up, go right to the barn behind my house and fetch three things there: a chainsaw, a gun, and a bottle of milk. It’s all ready and sitting right at the entrance. Will you remember?»

I nodded.

«Good,» Tim continued. «So, take all the junk and come back to this very place. You can leave your backpack and tent in the barn so you don’t need to haul them back and forth.»