The Mist and the Lightning. Part 19

“Oh, yes, I used to get kisses from you, and now I get only blows!” Kors made an offended face.

Nik approached him and Kors involuntarily cringed. He smelled Nik’s familiar and himelike smell, the smell of fumes and strong tobacco, and took a breath, closing his eyes to feel it more strongly. He cringed, expecting a blow. Nik reached out and ran his fingertips through Kors’ hair, over a strand of white, very soft and gentle. He withdrew his hand as if with an effort. He loves him! Kors got it! Nik loves him and won’t hit him. He relaxed, not opening his eyes and continuing to inhale his scent, feeling that, despite the constant stink of strong booze and cigarettes, Nik smelled of another, such a strange, slightly sweet inviting smell, the smell of decay and warm damp earth. He felt it before, but he couldn’t determine it for himself, and now it dawned on him! The smell of death! The smell of black water! Which remains forever!

“Well, don’t start sniffling,” Nik said affectionately, “how strangely you breathe,” he laughed softly.

“You smell like black water, I just realized it! It doesn't matter if you are dirty or clean, it is the smell of the skin, you are soaked through with it! Have you taken black water?”

“Now? No,” Nik shook his head in a negative gesture, “I need it, but I didn’t take it. I don’t want.”

“Please be careful!”

“Well, what can I do?” Nik said indifferently. “You know, I actually really liked being your porcelain doll. What is the name of this game? It is usually played by girls. They play with their dolls: dress them up, comb their hair, feed them. They play school or hospital. It was so nice, I would play as much as you want, I would even live in your basement like a doll in a box, is that what you wanted? In the end, you would put me on a chain and put a bag on my head, as you like, I know, so be it… I would obediently wait until you come to play with me, and I would sit on a chain with a bag on my head. And I wouldn’t hang myself like that stupid slave of yours.”

“You better believe it!” Kors disagreed. “You would be quick to ask to go play cards and get drunk. I know your nature…”

“Well, no, I’m generally accustomed to sitting in one place for a long time and being limited…”

“Really? Why did you quit your game then?”

“Well, I’m sorry, I really want to be your doll, but I can’t for good, I need to complete tasks, and study with you, develop you.”

Kors didn’t know if Nik was serious or joking.

“I didn’t play mother-daughter with you! Maybe you played with me, portraying a doll, but I wasn’t playing play!” He shouted indignantly. “I sincerely treated you and taught you! And you keep reminding me of the bag. You are cynically mocking now at my care and desire to help you! Nothing is truly sacred to you!”

“Funny!” Nik went back to the table and poured himself some wine.

“I don’t want to sort things out now and argue who played with whom,” Kors said annoyed. He didn’t like this conversation, and it seemed that with such derogatory comparisons with a stupid girl who plays with her doll, Nik mocked him and his sincere concern for his son, devaluating his efforts and humiliating him.

“I wasn’t playing,” he repeated stubbornly. “Stop making me emotional! And when I realized that everything around me was a game and a lie, and you just fooled me around your finger, I had the courage to tell you the truth right in your face. But you almost killed me for my honesty!”

Nik laughed merrily.

“You said you need to teach me?” Kors didn’t give up. “Do it! Teach me! Why are you not teaching me? Instead of teaching, you drive me away! Throw me out! You’re laughing! I’m ready to learn! I’m not good at watching life, I see one thing, then another, then it’s not clear what. Childhood, thoughts, all mixed up, not structured. I rush about in these other people’s lives, then I fit into the owner, then I see everything with my own eyes, as an outside observer. I don’t understand what clear algorithms and techniques need to be applied in order to see what I need and the way I want, and not in fits and starts. Nik, if you’re a teacher, there must be some method of teaching. I always apply a technique, logic, a systematic sequence from simple to complex…”

“From proverbs to muddy shit from the code of true blacks about sheep?” Nik clarified, wiping his mouth covered with bandages — it was uncomfortable for him to drink from a mug.

“This is not muddy shit, but the legacy of the Holy Fathers!”

“I liked the proverbs more.”

“Of course! No doubt!”

“You study, Vitor, you memorize, you train. Be patient.”