Bad Moon Rising

[Max Pavenic]

Country: Romania
Current Time: 02:30, August of 1937
Weather conditions: Masses of black clouds have taken over the night sky, hiding the moon and the stars. The air stands heavy and oppressing, promising rain and thunder.

The steady, distinctive rhythm of the train vibrated through the iron behemoth's metal core as its wheels gripped the rails, propelling the train and its numerous passengers through the blackness of the Romanian night. The comforting clunking and rumbling had lulled most of the passengers into a deep slumber and the passenger carts were now filled with a low chorus of snores and the occasional indiscernible words muttered in sleep. The dim lights seemed to flicker on and off on a whim and sometimes the carts jolted briefly to the side, forcing anyone walking around to search for support, be it either a wall, a door frame or the backrest of a nearby bench. Of course, the corridors now stood empty and quiet, the late hour and the length of the journey having worn out even the most stubborn individuals. As scenic as the Romanian countryside was with her deep emerald forests and majestic mountains, the landscape had soon grown tiresome and since it was now impossible to see anything other than complete blackness, anyway, it had given the passengers all the more reason to try and sleep through the train ride, saving one's mind from the dull boredom of staring into the dark abyss outside.

A lone man was standing in one of the narrow corridors of the train's sleeping carts, his left hand pressed against the wooden paneling of the wall for support. Blue eyes stared through the window and into the darkness of the night, as if they could have actually discerned anything instead of the complete blackness that had engulfed the landscape. Max Pavenic might have been looking outside, but he wasn't really trying to see anything, for gruesome images of recent events still danced before his eyes. As relaxed as the man outwardly appeared, his muscles contracted each time a dull sensation of pain travelled down his back. The dark-haired Romanian grunted low in his throat, his azure eyes narrowing as he waited for the uncomfortable sensation pass. He had used some home-grown remedies to lessen the pain, but it still kept coming back to him like an unwanted stray dog, bringing with it the humiliating memories that cut him to his very core, both physically and mentally.

The air inside the train had grown musty and still, but Max could only smell the iron stench of fresh blood mixed with the dark, earthy aroma of wet mud. In his mind he still found himself in the small, squalid Romanian village, the sky above it teeming with flocks of black birds and its borders haunted by skeletal, flea-bitten dogs. He was sure that thick fog had stubbornly surrounded the village, as if attempting to hide its shameful existence from the outside world, but the forlorn mental image might have been just the product of his scornful thoughts. He had a hard time remembering why he had stopped at the village in the first place, although he hazily recalled that he had been tired enough to sleep at the side of the road and the shabby village had seemed like a better option. It had not taken too long for Max's nature to get the better of him and the opportunity had been far too tempting. He had figured his theft would not be spotted before he was already long gone, but for reasons still unknown to him, the crime had been noticed in the matter of an hour or less and the locals had immediately searched out Max, dragging him out of his temporary quarters at the stables. Sneering, hateful faces had surrounded him as the whole village had gathered to the stables to escort the thief into what passed as the village square, to be judged by the head of the community. The village elder had been a nearly toothless gray-haired fossil who also happened to double as the village pastor, which made the situation all the more precarious. Had Max realized that the whole village was filled with a bunch of religious fanatics, he might have thought twice before stealing the silver cross, but of course, it was easy to be wise on a hindsight. The angry mob had pushed and pulled Max to the muddy center of the rural town, throwing curses at him and calling him a gypsy, their faces almost ecstatic over the discovery and sorry failure of the young thief. Max had expected them to send him to whatever passed as the local law enforcement, but there he had been sorely wrong.

Stripping the man of his jacket and shirt, they had tied his wrists to a wooden pole in the middle of the square while the entire village stood in a circle around him, jeering and spitting. At the command of the elder, a burly giant of a man had taken out a long cattle whip, making the blood in Max's veins freeze with horror. The first lash of the vicious whip had not been the worst one and he had flinched mostly out of surprise rather than pain, the strike getting more reaction from the crowd than the sorry culprit. However, the ones that had bit into his skin after that, had plunged his mind into a fiery, hellish torrent of torture and even though he had made it his goal to not cry out in pain, he had been soon yelling like a madman. Max had felt as he would have gone insane with the pain had it not been for such an outlet for expressing his torment and his roar had been filled with as much hatred and fury as it had been with agony. The yells of the crowd had grown distant around him and the ominous swish of the whip as it was thrown back for another strike was soon the only sound dominating his mind. Fresh blood had ran freely down his back, but it had felt horrifyingly cold on his burning skin and right at that moment he had been sure he would die that very day.

He had not been counting the lashes, but at some point of the torture his mind had tunneled into a blissful darkness and the next thing he remembered was regaining consciousness half-clothed in a muddy ditch outskirts of the village. His body had been riddled with fresh bruises and his back had been caked in dried blood and mud, the pain on his back now resembling that of sitting far too close to a campfire. Only barely had Max managed to make his way to a nearby river to clean his wounds and he remembered collapsing on the sharp rocks of the river bend when his tired body had finally given up on him. He had not dared to approach any of the other nearby villages in daylight - he was sure that word about a whipped thief had travelled to the nearby settlements and he did not want to risk receiving another beating. Stealing some clothes and whatever food he had been able to, the man had nursed his wounds for nearly two weeks in the cover of the forest, his mind and body forever marked by the incident.

Max's fingernails attempted to dig into the wooden paneling of the wall and his jaw clenched momentarily as he tried to drive the memories away, knowing that even if he had been able to fill his mind with whatever nonsense he could think of, the cracks of the whip would still be ringing through his mind. The man let his hand drop abruptly and the edges of the long, light-brown coat billowed around him as he stepped away from the window and started making his way through the corridor. As irritated as his gait was, he still stepped lightly, more out of habit and instinct than on purpose. His eyelids felt heavy, but he had not been able to sleep properly since the painful incident and black rings had appeared under his eyes. A dark stubble lined his jaw and he was quite aware of the fact that he wasn't looking very presentable in his current condition, the stolen white shirt and tie appearing somewhat ill-fitting over his frame. Every inch of his being was screaming at him, urging him to get away from Romania as quickly as possible, as if breathing the air around him was slowly but surely poisoning him. Max flexed his nimble fingers, trying to focus his mind on making his livelihood - there was only so much night left and the more funds he had, the faster he'd be able to leave Romania behind. Max's ice-blue eyes settled hungrily on the door leading into the passenger cart as he stalked closer to it, a silent, soft-stepping shadow prowling in the shades.

[Nevena Grosdova]

The steam locomotive passed over the Ruse-Giurgiu bridge over the river Danube as it crossed the borders from Bulgaria to Romania that fine August morning of 1937, the glorious sun beaming down upon the calm waters and reflecting itself within the endless blue depths with a crystalline translucence akin to the breathless qualities of a rough, uncut diamond as sought out by the keenest of hunters in the deep South African jungles. A pair of emerald green eyes stared at this scenery through the glass, peaceful solitude blissfully crystallized upon the young girl’s face, transfixed by the calmness of the river she loved, her head slightly tilting to the side and resting by the window as she, in almost angelic tranquillity, remained silent in her position, as though oblivious to the movements from the other passengers on board, or the voices piercing through the compartments towards every direction and of any wavelength, some too loud, others too cheerful, but altogether creating a noise that seemed to belong at this moment to another sphere of a world quite distant to her own.

As the train continued its slow journey across the grey-stoned bridge, a small smile of content passed through her lips upon gazing at the smooth curves of the waters. Water was floating from around and within, dancing across her partially unconscious frame with its cathartic quality, but never cleansed her. Something made her eyebrows slightly curve, and a dark sensation passed through her as she thought she observed something through the window even though there was no reflection due to the strong sunlight. She could almost open her eyes halfway but to do so required a sheer amount of strength which she was neither disposed nor capable of mustering at that moment. It must have been a trick of the eye, and she blinked once, the smile resurfacing on her palest face, albeit now feeble, as the sun shone through her pure face in almost angelic delight. The sun was poking her in the eyes but she merely floated by the river bank that warm spring’s afternoon, arms sprawled around her like a wounded angel, and yet, amidst all the pain and the suffering, there was something remotely satisfying about such state which almost gave her the grit to live on; drifting on the softly rippling crystal clear waters, and with green leaves glued across the skin of her bare legs, she could almost feel something tugging her from her naval and pulling her down into the depths of the river, and yet she did not drown – simply continued floating, until there was nothing to think of, until every sentiment had been sucked away from her existence, until her very being had abandoned reason and emotion or the ability to feel, and until, eventually, she became weightless, airless, as light as the wind and just as devoid of any meaning. She could have laughed at gravity for possessing no hold of her, for being unable to pull her back into the depths, for being powerless, if she had not been incapable of making the slightest movement. She could not feel grief, she could not cry, there was nothing heavy in her chest, nothing to impede her. For there was nothing.

By the time the train had reached the city of Brăila it was late afternoon, and the train stopped at the suburban station with a last whistle, as more passengers came on board than departed. The wide skies had turned on a light shade of darker velvety blue and the noise had multiplied, most passenger seats filled with newspapers that spoke of the situation between Germany and the United Kingdom, or various food wrappings and bottles of water. “Vsichki na borda!” the officers yelled consecutively for a minute until they hopped up the steam engine, the doors were shut and the whistle blew as the train moved unto its journey through the open fields. The young girl was sat upon a secluded seat in the far corner of the passenger corridor, her knuckles against the wooden table that separated her from the little boy that stood opposite her, whose ashen blonde hair shone from the sunlight penetrating through the glass window; he seemed particularly pre-occupied with a deck of cards but also rather morose. He could have been around nine years of age, a rural Bulgarian peasant, and as she looked down across from him, there was something in the girl’s exterior that severely contrasted the peaceful way with which she had rested against the window in the early hours of the morning.

“Kakvo e vasheto ime, skŭpa?” she asked him in a soft voice, her eyes shining with curious interest as she watched him closely.

“Vŭlko,” the boy responded simply as he was fixing his cards, too engrossed in such a chore as children often were. Something clicked inside her as he spoke his name out loud, and a dark glint passed before her eyes, but which went completely unnoticed by the young boy.

“Vŭlko?” she whispered, her face momentarily frozen, but then a mirthless smile rose across her lips. “Tova e khubavo ime,” she earnestly voiced, her eyes still staring at him with a nearly fierce obsession, almost the same kind as the one he bestowed upon his cards.

“A kakvo e tvoeto?” he then asked her modestly, without looking up at her, the cards running through his fingers quickly.

“Nevena.”

The boy finally looked up at her, appearing interested. “Podobno na tsvete,” he said quietly, looking into her emerald eyes which now bore a darker shade of green than before, and she returned the glance, a small smile rising on her lips, knowing exactly how to handle him, when to speak each word and when was the appropriate time to introduce a new quality to this conversation in order to direct it wherever she fancied, in a nearly snake-like manner that ensured the victim was ensnared by her understanding tone and lured right within her lair.

“Da. Znaete li kakvo simvolizira?” she asked him in the same tender voice, manipulating the direction of the questions accordingly with the intention to reach particular answers.

“Tova e tsveteto na Deva Mariya,” the child responded simply, as though it was the most obvious knowledge in the world.

“Tova e sŭshto taka tsvetŭt na mŭrtvite,” she whispered. “Znaete li, smŭrt, Vŭlko?”

The child looked up at her for a second time, now completely disregarding his cards even though his small fingers still held them tightly, his clear blue eyes staring back at her with a pained expression that seemed to be the inevitable and ever so cruel birth result of emotions combining confusion and hurt. He pursed his lips, and his eyebrows furrowed while his forehead wrinkled as he gazed upon her countenance, unable to answer and unnecessarily torturing his mind over thinking about her question, not wanting to displease her with a negative rejoinder and yet incapable of professing knowledge over an area which the youth of his age was not at this time meant to possess. She understood, and carefully twisting her questions towards a thorny path she knew would finally come to pass, looked at him with sympathy in her eyes.

“Kŭde sa roditelite ti, Vŭlko?” she asked him softly.

“Maĭka mi e otishlo da govorya s nyakoi dama za nashite dokumenti.”

“Tova, koeto na bashta ti?” she then asked carefully, a mild expression etched across her face and when he looked down at his cards, she shrewdly recognized the feeling that passed before his innocent eyes.

“Az nyamam bashta,” he simply said, and shrugged his shoulders.

“Tova e dobre,” she assured him. “Az nyamam bashta, edin ot dvamata.”

He looked up at her. “No ti si tolkova krasiva. Prilicha na snimka,” he said, and faintly smiled at her, but she did not return the gesture this time; he glanced down at his cards precisely as her eyes flashed with a glint of malice – or, perhaps, it was a trick of the sunlight – and her jaw hardened.

Da, tya e tolkova khubava, ne e tya? Tochno kato na snimka, kakto i globa v razmer snimka Bikh iskal da se motae v spalnyata mi stenata i vsyaka vecher se vglezhdat i –

Ti si tolkova khubava. Kato roza. Ne e li tya? Kato mrŭsni stana s listentsa Iskam da razkŭsat edin sled drug.

She remained silent for a few minutes, deadly silent, but then a smile eventually graced her pale rosy lips; there was nothing mirthful about it, nothing remotely affectionate or endearing, or appreciative, and yet it slowly crawled its way across the field of her lips with bitter resolve.

“Kakvo se sluchi s bashta ti?” she asked him tenderly.

“Mama kaza edin den toĭ raboti v khambara i toĭ padna do vtoriya etazh. Nikoĭ ne vidya kakvo se e sluchilo. Tya kaza, che angelite go vze, i che toĭ gleda otgore ni ot nebeto. Tya naistina ne go kharesvash,” the boy confessed, and then shyly looked up at her, and slightly moved his body closer to the table and towards her as though they were brewing up conspiracies. “Tya e tŭĭ kato drugite mŭzhe,” he whispered to her, and a sullen expression gripped his facial features. “Ponyakoga mi se iska da kazha na tatko tova, koeto tya pravi zad gŭrba si, no ne znam kak. Taka che az prosto predpochitat da igrayat s karti,” he explained, and shrugged his shoulders, playing with the deck of cards once again. Several seconds passed in silence during which she merely stood there, and the boy merely occupied himself with his cards, as she waited patiently, and waited for the question to finally come, knowing it should come, but made no inclination to speak, simply allowing him the benefit of turning to her instead, and soon enough –

“Shte moga li da go vidya otnovo?” he asked her suddenly in an anticipated tone as his eyes searched hers for any answer to such a misleading expectation.

“Papa?”

“Da, shte go vidya otnovo? Razbira se, toĭ ne mozhe da se chuvstva samoten, ako angeli se s nego. Tova e, koeto kazva mama, no sled tova tya se namira mnogo,” he knowledgeably confessed in the same conspiring tone, raised his eyebrows, and this time did not even look at his precious deck; his excited eyes were transfixed on hers. She smiled.

“Vinagi mozhe da go vidi, kogato pozhelaete.”

“Znaete li kak?”

“Da. Tam e taĭna, moga da vi kazha. Ako iskate da se sreshtne s nego – ”

“Ne, az ne mislya, che iskam,” he suddenly changed his mind, and returned to his cards. “Tya shte napravi tatko tŭzhno,” he muttered sadly.

The young girl narrowed her eyes but refused to abandon patience in the shrine of blind rage; instead, she stretched out her hand and softly touched the boy’s cheek with her right hand, long, pale fingers stroking the white skin and travelling up the small, round head to caress his blonde hair, much to his surprise; yet he did not complain, else feeling the almost motherly affection which she bestowed upon him and which his own mother clearly failed to nurture him with. Her smile widened and as she made a strong eye contact, green piercing through blue, there was something oddly narcotic about her gaze that appeared to have sunk him in temporary stupor.

“Ima krasiva neven v rumŭnskite oblasti po tova vreme na sezona. Te tsŭftyat prez avgust i peyat chrez sŭrtseto si,” she whispered kindly, and oddly enough, her voice suddenly bore a dreamy texture to it as she spoke to him and through his heart, her hand curling locks of his hair around her fingers and tenderly nurturing him, her face closer and her body leaned forwards as he nearly closed his eyes half-way at her affectionate touch. “Te sa na vseki tsvyat, byalo, oranzhevo, zhŭlto, zlatisto, i da govori chrez svoite pesni, koito dushata ti laska i spokoĭno dori i na divi dukhove. Blagosloveni ot Deva Mariya, te nosyat sŭlzite i strasti na lyubimiya si sin prez vsichki sezoni, i imat magicheska sposobnost da lekuva vseki bolezneni pomislil, che choveshkiyat um mozhe da pritezhava. I kogato postno, za da im mirizma, te sa naĭ-sladkite, muskusen aromat, koĭto umirotvoryava uma si. Te sa krasivi po tova vreme na godinata. Iskate da napravite neshto za men? Bikhte li mi donese edno ot tezi?”

“Az shte vi otvede na tseliya polet na Oradeya v krakata ti!” the boy enthusiastically proclaimed with a passionate, vibrant flair of youth.

Her eyes darkened. “Ne moga da chakam tolkova dŭlgo, ili na slŭntseto shte zaleze po vremeto, stigame do grada, i neven veche nyama da pee chrez sŭrtseto si, Vŭlko.”

“No zashto?” he asked, heartbroken, and sat up to look at her properly, blue eyes gazing up at her sorrowfully.

“Tŭĭ kato toĭ e mŭrtŭv ot togava,” she whispered softly, and almost sadly returned her glance at him. He looked down in sadness, and remained as such for several seconds to come, fierily thinking – and she waited for him – but then he jumped up passionately and prodded his chest outwards as he valiantly moved away from the table and walked across the corridor towards the open doors to the back of the train. A smile that had absolutely nothing to do with affection or caress crept across her sinful mouth and her eyes glinted with malevolence as she watched him gallop like a knight on a mission, until she slowly raised herself from the seat and closely followed him. She found him having opened through the door and staring at the passing fields before him, the glorious weather shining down on them both, as the locomotive sounds of the wheels rolling by overfilled the surrounding space, the steam engine journeying across the wide open plains and towards the horizon. She had to do this. She had to. Or else, though innocent now he may be, he would grow up to become a resilient, merciless sinner like the rest of them; she had seen it in his eyes as he talked of her, as he resembled her to a painting, for they were all the same, the pathway had been carved for him to follow, and she had to cease this unholy stream of subconscious lecherous desires that would one day mature to possess the grown man with waves of lust and a destructive will. His hair flew backwards from the wind created as he opened the door, and she stood closely by, watching him, encouraging him in his brave deed, to bring flowers to the lovely, nurturing mistress before their untimely death. His little hands grasping the edges of the door on both sides, he turned over his shoulder and looked back at her.

“Iskash li ako go napravya tova?” he shouted at her over the loud noise of the engine.

She smiled, and looked at him curiously. “O, Vŭlko,” she assured him, “povyarvaĭ mi, bikh iskal da smŭrt.”

The boy smiled widely, and curved his small frame backwards, ready to jump, and as he was a second away from flying into the openness and into his untimely demise, the sunlight poked at her eyes, the air slapped against her face and a shriek pierced the day as she lunged herself forwards and grasped his waist in the exact moment he had let himself go, using her force to withstand the pressure that shoved him onwards and throwing him quickly back into the room, panting heavily in horror, her heart racing and her fingers trembling in shock. She looked down on him, sprawled across the floor, and he returned the gaze with a confused expression, his eyebrows curved over the clearest blue eyes and appearing wholeheartedly perplexed.

“Tova, koeto pravish!” she whispered in a feeble voice as her hand grasped her heart, speechless, her eyes widened and her face distorted into an expression of sheer terror. He frowned at her, unable to understand what she was on about, panting heavily and gasping, until he finally found his breath, quickly rose up and run away from her, leaving her behind in all of her wretched dismay. She turned over and her gaze absent-mindedly found the glass window; and, it might have been a figment of her own imagination or a trick from the sunlight, but she had the faintest idea her own reflection was – for a single moment – laughing at her. Bewildered, she turned her body around to view it properly, but the only thing that gazed back at her through the glass was her own horrified expression.

The train moved deeper into the bowels of Romania as the hours came to pass, by which time soft darkness had cast its ominous veil around the region as the lights had turned on within the passenger seats. In absolute tranquility, the noise had slowly ceased in what was deemed as blissful silence, apart from the occasional snoring and mumbling of incoherent words. Sat by herself on one of the seats in the corner, Nevena brought the bottle closer to her lips every now and then and drank from the fresh milk, observing everyone sleeping and gazing at the reflection in the mirror every so often, though incapable of viewing what lay beyond the veil of pitch-blackness that had engulfed the area hours after midnight; and yet she wished not to look beyond, but through her own reflection, often confused, but at the end having persuaded herself it had really been a trick of her mind due to the rush of adrenaline surged through her veins. Still, once or twice she had had the impression her eyes had oddly glinted a certain way, but it was simply the lights flickering on and off that caused such illusions. Having calmed down and now resting against the seat, she was enjoying the spare moments during which she thought of nothing in particular, and yet how could she not think? It was at that moment that she saw a black shadow slowly growing in size with each step and focused her eyes upon the passenger door whence it came. She slightly narrowed her eyes, a sudden idea passing through her mind, for she was, after all, in desperate need of forfeit, and slowly raised herself from the seat, quietly moving across the corridor in a shuffle, past the sleeping figures, and slowly approaching the door from which the shadow grew larger and larger with each second.

And then, as though in accident, she lunged herself against the figure which had by now appeared through the door and fell right on him with a quiet thud as she pushed the man a step backwards, her hands instinctively each grasping the side of his arm and his left hand in almost perfect unison in an attempt to support herself, trusting he possessed the strength to prevent them from falling. “Prosti mi, az ne vizhdam!” she breathed in sheer surprise as her eyes widened and her right hand quickly but softly went down to his wrist as though to support herself better, but really only touching the buckle of his watch; looking up at him, she momentarily curved her eyebrows over such a desolate and thoughtful visage as the one he possessed, speaking Bulgarian for no particular reason; she had no idea where he could be from, but there was also no way to know beforehand, and thus had to choose a damn language to begin with. It did not matter, at any rate. “Vie ... doĭdesh, taka podŭl, mislekh, che vsichki se spi,” she whispered in an attempt not to wake everyone, her fingers skillfully working in unzipping the clock as she maintained a strong eye contact with which she pre-occupied his attention with, as they stood right in-between the door in that uncomfortable situation. “Ne moga da spya?” she asked him. “Tryabva da sme tikhi, ili te shte se oplakvat, te sa takiva kopeleta, se oplakvat ot vsichko,” she mumbled, and smiled at him, her straight raven-black hair loosely falling upon her shoulders, while she unzipped the second clutch of his watch. She moved against him once more, almost pushing him against the narrow door as the watch swiftly slipped inside her pocket. “Sŭzhalyavam, az tryabva da otida malko vŭzdukh, az se zadushava vŭtre,” she excused herself with a charming smile through her clear green eyes, and then turned away, quickly walking away from him.




Translation

“All aboard!”

“What is your name, sweetheart?”
“Valko.”
“Valko? That is a beautiful name.”
“And what is yours?”
“Nevena.”
“Like the flower.”
“Yes. Do you know what it symbolizes?”
“It is the flower of the Virgin Mary.”
“It is, also, the flower of the dead. Do you know death, Valko?”
“Where are your parents, Valko?”
“My mother has gone to talk to some lady about our papers.”
“What of your father?”
“I don’t have a father.”
“That’s all right. I don’t have a father, either.”
“But you are so lovely. You look like a picture.”

Yes, she is so pretty, isn’t she? Just like a picture, like a fine picture I’d like to hang in my bedroom wall and every night stare at and –

You are so pretty. Like a rose. Isn’t she? Like a filthy rose with petals I want to tear apart one after the other.

“What happened to your father?”
“Mama said one day he was working in the barn and he fell through the second floor. No one really saw what happened. She said the angels took him, and that he’s looking down on us from heaven. She doesn’t really like him. She’s seeing other men. Sometimes I wish I could tell papa what she does behind his back but I don’t know how. So I just prefer to play with cards.”

“Will I see him again?”
“Papa?”
“Yes, will I see him again? Of course, he can’t be feeling lonely if the angels are with him. That’s what Mama says, but then she lies a lot.”
“You can always see him whenever you like.”
“Do you know how?”
“I do. There is a secret I can tell you. If you want to meet him – ”
“No, I don’t think I want to. It will make papa sad.”


“There are beautiful marigolds out in the Romanian fields this time of season. They blossom in the August and sing through your heart. They are of every colour, white, orange, yellow, golden, and speak through your very soul songs which caress you and calm even the wildest of spirits. Blessed by the Virgin Mary, they carry her tears and the passions of her beloved son throughout the seasons, and have the magical ability to heal every hurtful thought a human mind can possess. And when you lean in to smell them, they have the sweetest, musky scent that pacifies your mind. They are beautiful this time of year. Would you do something for me? Would you fetch me one of these?”
“I shall bring you the whole fields of Oradea at your feet!”
“I cannot wait that long, or the sun will set down by the time we reach the city, and the marigold will no longer sing through your heart, Valko.”
“But why?”
“Because it shall be dead by then.”

“Would you like me if I did this?”
“Oh, Valko, believe me, I would like you to death.”

“What are you doing!”


“Forgive me, I did not see you! You … came so sneakily, I thought everyone was sleeping.”

“Can’t sleep? We should be quiet, or they’ll complain, they’re such bastards, complain about everything.”

“I’m sorry, I need to go get some air, I’ve been suffocating inside.”

[Max Pavenic]

The gently vibrating floor made hardly any sound under Max's shoes as he stepped along the long, narrow corridor, his hand reaching forward and his fingers spreading out to push the door open. His stride had quickly changed from that of an irritated, troubled man to one belonging to a silent, purposeful beast of prey. In moments such as these, Max found himself transferred back into the deep emerald forests of Transylvania and beneath the cool shadows of the ancient trees. The memory was so vivid, he could almost feel the subtle breeze on his skin, even if in reality he was still travelling inside the belly of this iron monstrosity. The forests had been where he had first learned the art of subtlety, tracking the local wildlife and becoming so skilled at remaining invisible, he had been able to observe the family life of wolves and foxes just a few meters from their dens. These skills had proved valuable in the presence of humans later, for he instinctively knew how to move silently, how to hide himself when needed and how to observe his marks without being too obvious. There were common thieves... and then there were professionals like Max. He was very self-conscious of his own talents, but it would have been pure stupidity to flaunt the fact, of course. All the famous thieves were dead ones, anyway. Max was content enough just in the mere knowledge of being talented and the gains of his thievery just further proved the fact. A railroad car of sleeping civilians was hardly the kind of challenge he was used to, but he wasn't one to get overly egotistical. He would always make use of any prosperous opportunity that walked his way, especially now that he was running low on funds.

Max's thoughts were now fully focused on the possible riches behind the door, just waiting for someone industrious and skillful enough to grab them and the agonizing images of the recent torture had made way for more practical visions. When people travelled, they carried money and identification papers with them - things that Max could make good use of, one way or another. A brief, hungry spark of greed visited his blue eyes as he pushed the door open... just to have someone run headlong into him. The force of the sudden impact made Max stumble backwards half a step and his back collided with the door, making the man cringe involuntarily before he managed to level himself out, masking the brief expression of pain as that of surprise.

The black-clad girl he had collided with was now grasping Max by his arms in an effort to support herself and the Romanian could only stare at her, the surprise over his features more genuine for a moment. The young, dark-haired female was staring at Max, her emerald green eyes full of bewilderment and soon also remorse as she apologized for bumping into the man, saying how she had simply failed to spot him. The explanation came in quietly spoken Bulgarian and Max, now getting over his initial surprise, stayed silent for a moment before responding. "Tova e dobre," the man said in a steady, low voice, not really appearing overly enthusiastic nor too irritated by the unfortunate collision. He answered the woman in her own language and the quietly spoken Bulgarian sounded genuine enough. He had learned to absorb different languages as soon as he had learned how to speak and his various travels across the Balkans had taught him a thing or two about different dialects. The man's expression had quickly changed from that of astonishment to serene neutrality, while something inside his mind had instinctively clicked, reminding him just how ideal the situation was for some good, old-fashioned thievery. The girl was steadying herself with Max's help now and the man stared intently into her emerald eyes to make sure he had her attention, while his other hand moved to her wrist, the tips of his fingers registering the presence of a small, metallic bracelet. He could not help but notice the astonishingly innocent curve of the girl's eyebrows and even when his fingers were fully occupied with the act of pilfering the piece of jewelry, he still managed to make note of the rather agreeable features of the young female. Had they met in a different situation, Max would have certainly inspected the dark-haired girl more carefully, but he wasn't one to get distracted by a pair of pretty eyes when he was working.

A familiar twinge of excitement and thrill over the new-found prize travelled down Max's spine and he let the young woman lean against his arms while he still appeared completely focused on his mark's words. Knowing that the woman's attention was directed elsewhere, his forefinger and thumb moved in to touch the clasp of the intricate bracelet. She was now asking him if he had trouble getting sleep - a question which would have made the man scoff with amusement, had he not been focused in playing the part of a common, innocent bystander. "Nikoga na pylnolunie," Max answered gruffly, his thumb pushing against the small clasp of the bracelet, while his wrist moved ever so slightly to make the ring slip from the clasp. With a gentle flick of his hand, Max made the bracelet slip from the woman's wrist and he pushed the stolen piece of jewelry against the palm of his hand to hide it.

The raven-haired young female pushed Max backwards uncomfortably, but he adapted to the movement and shifted his stance, trying not to collide with the door once again. He had just gotten over the worst brunt of pain and he wasn't really looking forward to waking up that familiar beast of agony. It had been raking its claws across his back relentlessly for several days now and he didn't want to needlessly raise its anger. The woman still insisted on stepping closer to him and Max made way for her instinctively once he realized that she merely wanted to get past him, explaining how she needed to get a breath of fresh air. Max stepped aside politely, glancing at the curious young woman and narrowed his blue eyes with contemplation once the door had swung shut after her. Max brought his hand up, the dim lighting in the passenger car hitting the metal of the bracelet momentarily, revealing its golden glint. As if struck by sudden guilt, the gaze of his ice-blue eyes darted around the silent passenger car in an almost paranoid manner, but then he allowed a thin smile form in the corner of his mouth. It wasn't a bad start, although more would be needed if he wanted to make his way back to Germany and get back to his bearings there. Running a thumb over the golden, charm-decorated bracelet once more, Max slipped it into his pocket and directed his attention at the slumbering passengers of the train, his eyes already separating the potential marks from the ones that simply were not worth the trouble.

It was right at that moment when a strange, uncomfortable feeling struck him, making Max furrow his dark eyebrows in displeasure, both at the sudden sensation and at the vagueness of it. Everyone was fast asleep, the doors at both ends of the car were closed, the train still kept monotonously clanking on and... he felt naked. Yes, that's what it was. Something was missing.

Max grabbed at his left wrist and even before his fingers actually registered the absence of his wrist watch, the air he felt on his skin was already telling him that it was gone. The image of the young woman grasping his arms flashed before his eyes and with a sudden sneer of irritation the man pivoted around, grabbing the handle of the door and making his way back into the narrow corridor of the sleeping cart. The woman had almost managed to reach the other end of the cart by now and Max let the door shut behind him before he spoke, his voice low and gruff. "Mislja, che imash neshto, koeto mi prinadlezhi," the man commented hoarsely, standing at the other end of the corridor and in front of the door, as if to remind the woman of the fact that they were in a train and that running away was hardly an option.


Translations:

"Tova e dobre."
"It's fine."

"Nikoga na pylnolunie."
"Never when the moon is full."

"Mislja, che imash neshto, koeto mi prinadlezhi."
"I think you have something that belongs to me."

[Nevena Grosdova]

Never when the moon is full. Something clicked inside her with these words, and her sweet, innocent expression subtly neutralized, and became bemused as a veil of confusion mixed with curious interest towards the man fell upon her and consumed her; questions rose within as to why he held such a perception and what his connection to the lunar cycle was, but there was no time to ponder and be distracted, focused and determined upon the task at hand as she was, although for a single moment time might have frozen during which he uttered such words and as she stared into his vibrant blue eyes in fleeting stillness and contemplation, while something within her changed, and something which had previously been pacified came to rise again, the parasite that squirmed and writhed in her chest and which longed to burst out and claim the world. A smile rose in her lips, only this time it was not a product of her attempt to distract or manipulate him, it came as a genuine reaction to such gravelly proclamation of his sleeplessness due to the full moon, as though she could relate to that even though she knew not how at this point, then turned around and walked away, his wrist watch safely secured within her pocket.

She walked across the long, dark corridor and towards her own declivity to madness, when she suddenly slowed down her pace upon realizing the missing bracelet as her eyebrows curved in aggravation, but there was no time to react for she tilted her head backwards, eyes wide shut, and a wounded expression grasping hold of her facial features for a moment before the ephemeral twinge of pain vanished as quickly as it had appeared; and when she opened her eyes they no longer bore the pure emerald shade but were shrouded with a darker tinge of piercing green as the skies opened and the moon slowly danced away from the cascading clouds – and she heard the distinct gruff voice from behind her, only instead of instantaneously turning around to face him in blind rage over his wrong-doing, she remained at her position, with her back against him in the near distance as a curious smile softly crept across the crescent of her lips, her eyes gazing towards the glass window as though in absent-minded comportment, yet her pitch of concentration could not have been greater than at this point. “Interesno, az go kaza sŭshtoto za vas,” she spoke quietly, without turning around, in a calm, controlled voice which, by contrast, at present had a deeper sound to it, was a little edgier and traced a touch of asperity that was almost ominous as it echoed around the four surrounding walls of the train corridor. With that same sinful grin on her lips and on her eyes, she continued walking across the black pathway and away from him, though not really leaving him. On the contrary. She was drawing him nearer.

She arrived by the glass window on the opposite end, and it was then that she turned around for the first time as she slowly leaned her body against the wall, her neck creating an elegant, feminine curve as her head touched the metal surface backwards, gazing back at him through the short distance that lay between them; black shadows covered parts of her peculiar figure while revealing others with an almost mystical quality, as she stood there in the narcotic, consuming darkness, the simple girl in the simple, knee-length, short-sleeved black dress with the clearest green eyes that had moments before accidentally on purpose fell upon him now fiercely glared at him with a challenging, easy smirk, not in the least concerned over losing a piece of cheap jewellery; for gold was not what she desired to possess. Hungry, all alone, and weak,
she has seen, in night and storm,
rooms o’erflow with firelight warm, which, outside the window-glass,
doubled all the cold, alas! There were no freckles in her face, having vanished underneath the almost translucent skin, her innocence extricated from her existence as she bathed in moonlight from the tendrils that penetrated the glass and illuminated the coal-black curtain of hair that fell down upon her shoulders like an oilfield, embracing her, embellishing her, shining down upon the many moles around her neck and across her arms, others as small as the stars viewed from down below while one or two of them were larger, and as great as sins; not necessarily blemishes, but ornaments that further enhanced the perfection of what appeared to have been a scenic oil painting.

And as though to goad him, her hand travelled across the right side of her curvaceous crescent and spiralled downwards, the short journey firm but quite sybaritic, before she took a turn and slipped her long, pale fingers inside her pocket, whence she pulled the wrist watch and hovered it in her hand to his plain view, looking at it with interest, like holding a bone in front of the very eyes of a hungry dog, temptingly, ruthlessly. “Ako ste go zhelayat tolkova mnogo …” she said quietly, “... doĭde i da se vzemat,” she whispered in a menacing tone, challenging him, the smirk widening in the corner of her lips, awaiting patiently and never seeming agitated or restless, the calmness of her perfectly composed stance almost disquieting, to encourage him, to goad him, and lead him directly into her deadly, destructive embrace, into her webs and to devour him. Till each ray that on her fell
stabbed her like an icicle,
and she almost loved the wail
of the bloodhounds on her trail. For he, like all the others was an unforgiven sinner that had to pay for all the crimes and sins committed by those of his kind, and his own self no less. There was no question as to the fact he had willingly, grudgingly and carelessly engaged himself to the underworld of crime, and to prevent the rising of an occasion during which he would distract, manipulate and lead an innocent being of the female kind astray with his conniving manners and formidable artistry of thievery in which he clearly professed matured expertise she would have to tear the roots of evil apart, and rip him from the inside out. For she was on a holy mission, and she had to carry it through, the consequences notwithstanding. The most dangerous and upsetting aspect of such notion was not the hot-blooded, continuous desire for revenge but, on the contrary, the destructive will with which she determinedly carried out the tasks in cold blood, disconnected to the murders, unable to feel for them, unable to think of anything as she dissociated herself with the act. For there was nothing.

“Vie ste dosta dobra kradets. Koraviya. Umni,” she acknowledged in a quiet voice, her eye contact strong, unblinking – unyielding. “No az zalog tsigulka zlato sreshtu dushata si, za sŭm po-dobra ot vas,” she finished the last words in a whispering singsong voice as her smile widened to cover all of her mouth, and something glinted in her eyes as she gazed into the dark blue facing opposite her, her expression suddenly changing – it became hungry, her eyes dilating and even the shape of her face altering at her immense hunger that almost crawled out of her eyes and ran towards him in the galloping of a pale horse, the malnourishment of her heart that sorely craved for punishment, the abrupt coldness that appeared to have crept across the deserted corridor, and she would not spare him a second night to rejoice upon his thieving, like a siren she would call out for him but unlike the sirens’ scheming habit of distracting Odysseus and his men from their journey home to Ithaca, she would simply consume him like Schylla and Charybdis, one way or another; if he escaped Schylla, there was always Charybdis into whose deathly depths he would ultimately drown and be torn apart. She would make this right. She would straighten him out to the road of penitence. She would mend his feet until he would not walk, and bolt his jaw until he could not talk, and close his eyes so he would not see, and touch his heart with her ice-cold hands so he would not feel. No gold would satisfy her, he could keep the cheap, meaningless bracelet, he could take his watch; no silver, or destruction, or wealth would bring peace to her. For what she desired to claim was his soul.

The right hand from which his wrist watch was held unhurriedly crawled backwards against the wall, up across the surface and on the window, her stance unyielding and her eyes fixed upon his presence all the while, her fingers slowly finding the window’s latch and turned it, in a smooth move opening the glass halfway and aiming the hand outwards, in such a gesture threatening to throw the watch into the open and never to be seen again. The watch was worthless in her view presently, at her current state, the obsessive call for his psyche ever violent and resilient; she silently threatened and goaded him to come to her, to come and get his precious watch, showing how little she cared over the bracelet, just how easy and simple this was for her. Come to me, her eyes whispered, filliping him, prodding him and coaxing him, luring him into her nest. She was not unjust, truth be said. Should he claim possession of his watch, she would acknowledge defeat and let him go; but should he fail, she was to possess him, and claim his soul. Because souls were so fulfilling to her, they made life more meaningful … more beautiful. She really had pure intentions at heart if one should look at it that way! He could certainly not afford to lose his watch and have a bracelet of cheap, fake gold as temporary replacement, a petty thief such as he was. But there was also something deeply narcotic about the way she stood and the voice with which she spoke that gave off an aura of imminent danger, as though a shell had been secretly placed around him at any given location, and ready to explode at any given moment. He knew not when, he knew not how, and knew not where it came from. But as she gazed at him, waiting patiently, and as he would gaze back through her ice-cold, piercing glaucous eyes for long, there was nothing else to gaze into but abyss.




Translation

Interesting, I could have said the same to you.

If you desire it so much … come and take it.

You’re quite a good thief. Crafty. Smart. But I bet a fiddle of gold against your soul, for I’m better than you.

[Max Pavenic]

Max fully expected to see the woman pivoting around, either looking horrified over the discovery of her theft or, if she had noticed that she had lost some property of her own, furious over his audacity. Instead she remained standing in the middle of the corridor, her back turned towards him, and he could only observe the dark mass of her hair and her neutral, unmoving figure as she stood there, making Max wonder if she had even heard his words in the first place. Just as the man was about to open his mouth again, she spoke, the tone of her voice carrying a strange, velvety quality to it and even though she spoke quietly, Max had to fight off an involuntary shudder when the sound seemed to pierce his entire being. She didn't seem concerned over his accusation at all and her words reflected only languid amusement if anything, letting Max know that his own theft had not gone unnoticed, either. She didn't even bother turning around and instead, walked further away from him with soft, unhurried steps, making Max furrow his eyebrows at her complete lack of remorse and uneasiness. Max had never had to confront anyone stealing from him, apart from catching a few skinny children trying to pickpocket him in the crowd. He had always caught them red-handed, of course, and gruffly told them to look for another spot to do their pilfering at. Nobody had ever before successfully stolen anything from him and the mere thought of this made him feel more than just slightly irritated. Granted, he had been busy with his own task at the moment, but it didn't make the humiliation any lesser and the feeling was gnawing at his insides like a disgusting maggot.

He remained standing still at the other end of the corridor, his expression as neutral and placid as before, his blue eyes following the woman's each movement carefully, calculatingly, trying to measure the capacity and extent of her skills. It was obvious that she wasn't about to make an escape and she turned around slowly, reclining her back against the wall and further resting her head against it, observing Max in a manner that didn't seem to fit a girl of her age. Shadows played upon her form, making for an enticing display of her feminine figure which Max could not completely disregard, although his expression remained unchanged and cold even when his gaze lingered on her more intently for a moment. A challenging smile appeared on her lips and her hand travelled down her side in a tantalizing manner. Max was sure the movement was meant to captivate his attention and turn him into a drooling idiot - which would have certainly been the result with many men, but he had seen these same display before and wasn't going to let himself fall into it like some simple fool. He watched as her hand snaked down, picking up something metallic from her pocket and she held up Max's watch as if it was a prize he was supposed to claim. Seeing the watch had more effect on the man than the bewitching act the woman had played out in front of him, although no outward signs of the man's emotions could be read from his features. The fresh turmoil was contained within his frame and his eyes remained cold and unflinching as he stared at the watch.

There weren't many things Max cared about and he actively sought not to grow too fond of either people, items or places, the desire for this having only grown stronger after the recent whipping. He had cared deeply for his mother, yes, having even elevated her to the status of an ethereal goddess in his childish mind, but that affection had now grown more distant, as if his childhood had been nothing but a dream he still kept treasuring within his heart. Even if the sentiment had rekindled after he had returned to Romania, his illusions had been now viciously shattered and he wanted to get away from the haunting images that kept snapping their jaws at his heels. Still, there were some things he wished to preserve and one of them was now being held by the dark-haired female rogue and she was baiting him with it like a treacherous spider, even though she had no idea just how important this simple item was to him. It had been the first thing he had stolen once he had finally gathered enough willpower to leave his drunkard father and the moment his fingers had wrapped around the watch to snatch it from its undeserving owner, he had felt renewed and reborn. Against his usual protocol he had kept the watch as a memento of that feeling and it had been with him for several years now. To see it being held by this audacious female as if it was just a worthless piece of junk made his insides crawl with disgust and hatred. It was the only item that meant something to Max and he wasn't going to lose it to some two-bit Bulgarian thief.

With a mocking, challenging tone, she told Max to come and claim the watch and the man, having stood in his place unmoving and grave as a marble statue, stared at her much in the same way a bird of prey would observe its victim from the skies.. His foot moved forward tentatively at first, but then the man moved along the corridor like a silent shadow, not hurrying, his hands hanging loosely by his sides. As collected and casual as he outwardly appeared, each one of his steps was carefully measured and his gaze remained on the woman as he slowly advanced towards her. Observing the woman reminded Max of a childhood occasion when he had spied the village children in their daily games, running to the local well one by one and peeking into its watery depths before hurrying off in a state of childish fear. Max's mother had explained to her son the story of the well-maiden, a spirit which resided at the very bottom of a well and one who very much disliked being stared at. The village children had been braving the spirit, calling for the maiden to drag them into the bottom of the well, but they had lost their nerve soon after challenging her. Max had returned to the well after nightfall and leaned his hands against the edge, peering into the darkness of the waters in an effort to spot the treacherous spirit of the well. As he had imagined a beautiful pale face staring back at him from the bottom of the well, shivers had ran down his spine and he had made a quick getaway, never again braving the well-maiden again. That was how he felt now, staring at the dark-haired woman, seeing the dangerous glint in her eyes and feeling his skin crawling. His gut feeling was telling him that something wasn't right, something was just severely... off, but it felt like such a foreign notion, the feeling just didn't fit the picture. She was merely a young female and she didn't appear dangerous, thief as she might have been. Max had been around shady underground circles long enough to separate the risky individuals from those that merely tried to appear as imposing as possible to cover for their weaknesses, but this particular female was making him feel strangely uncomfortable.

The woman addressed him again, first commending Max on his skills in thieving, but assuring him that she was far more proficient than he was, mentioning a bet involving his soul - clearly a figure of speech, but one that made Max stop dead in his tracks. He had managed to make his way half-way through the train car and for now, he felt content in observing the woman from this distance. He didn't consider himself a very religious man, even though his beliefs included God, angels, various saints, but several spirits and monsters often played the most integral part of his ideologies. This casual mention of betting one's soul made him feel all the more uneasy, although another part of his mind was concentrated on feeling agitated by her impetuous claim. There could simply be no question over which one of them was the more professional pickpocket, as Max had the advantage of age and he had been practicing his craft continuously since early childhood. She was trying to agitate him, of course, challenging him with both her words and her eyes, but Max felt himself being hopelessly drawn to that carefully constructed trap even when he could plainly see and understand it.

He tried to fight the feeling off, but then yet another aspect of the female's wicked snare was revealed to him, as her hand snaked to the latch of the window, unhooking it, and she brought her hand towards the window, threatening to abandon Max's possession somewhere in the middle of the Romanian wilderness. This time the man's eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together into a hard, thin line. He couldn't understand why the woman would steal something, just to discard it so carelessly later, but obviously irritating Max was far more important to her than the actual gains of her sly theft. The light of the full moon made the female's skin glow with an ethereal, unnatural paleness and her deep green eyes regarded Max temptingly, although from beneath the dark sea of her irises an unmistakable twinge of longing surfaced for a moment. It was the same look he had seen in the eyes of cats just before they pounced on their unsuspecting prey, but Max couldn't help but feel drawn to the siren song - the challenge of her words, the mocking in her eyes, the invitation of her movements and the watch, Max's precious watch, now precariously dangling in her hand and next to the open window. Hers was the beauty of blades in the alley, both destructive and despairingly seducing and Max could have easily seen himself giving up to her charms. There wasn't anything holding him back besides the insistent nagging feeling somewhere in the back of his head and in the end, it was only Max's habitual paranoia that was keeping his feet rooted to the floor.

The corridor was suddenly lit by the fast, bright flash of a lightning and if thunder rolled after it, the sound was muffled by the constant rumbling of the train, making Max hold his breath for a second. Lightning was supposedly Saint Ilie's way of searching out evil spirits and devils and for a moment Max felt he should just walk away - so many bad omens one after another could only bode something ill and he was starting to feel all the more uneasy around the woman. Despite all his suspicions, he merely furrowed his dark eyebrows, keeping the gaze of his blue eyes on the woman. No, he wasn't going to run away, he was going to get his watch back. The dark rings under his eyes seemed deeper in the pale light of the moon and the fresh stubble lining his jaw didn't make him appear any more presentable, especially when all of this was paired with his stolen and somewhat ill-fitting clothing. He had often used the means of charm to get what he wanted, but at this very moment he simply didn't possess very high chances of succeeding in that department. He might have flashed the girl the most charming smile he had, captivated her attention with his deep-blue eyes, but he would have still appeared just as unkempt and treacherous as he really was. Since that option was obviously out of the question, he considered just lunging at her to grab the watch, but she would simply let go off the item just as soon as she would spot the attack coming. Max's mind was directed towards the razor he had in the pocket of his coat, although he had never used it to attack anyone, nor did he wish to. It had been fitted with a piece thick tape for grasping the blade safely and the blade itself was used to cut into the pockets of unsuspecting individuals. No.. he would only use it if necessary, he didn't need any more trouble than he already had. He would find another way.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the corridor briefly and for the first time during the encounter, Max allowed his gaze turn towards the window and he observed the mass of dark clouds now illuminated by the moon - a storm was building up and the air inside the train felt almost electric. He let his gaze linger on the ominous sky for a moment, before he tilted his head to the side and returned his attention back to the woman. His eyebrows were still furrowed as he nodded at her, as if to give her some acknowledgement for her skills, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and gruff. "Toj e chist trik, no pochti nishto zabelezhitelno. Dobrijat kradec ne e neobhodimo da paradirat si talanti," the man commented, his voice flat and neutral, although his feet moved again and he advanced closer to her, slowly and carefully. "Nito pyk kradec popylnete si .. ili korema si s prazni dumi," Max came to a stop approximately three steps away from the woman and he regarded her calculatingly, much like one would when appraising a stock animal. "Taka che... Kak e to tozi ti kazan upravljavam kym prezhivjavam?"

Max's jaw jutted forwards and he narrowed his eyes at the woman provokingly, as if the fate of his precious watch held little concern to him. His words had one purpose and one purpose only and that was to force a reaction from the woman, to make her see that Max was holding his ground and he wasn't going to let himself be manipulated by her cheap tricks. So, like a territorial beast, he stared at his adversary and let his dark-blue eyes pierce hers with stubborn and unfaltering force as he waited for her reaction, whatever it might have been.


Translations:

"Toj e chist trik, no pochti nishto zabelezhitelno. Dobrijat kradec ne e neobhodimo da paradirat si talanti."
"It was a neat trick, but hardly anything noteworthy. A good thief need not flaunt his talents."

"Nito pyk kradec popylnete si .. ili korema si s prazni dumi."
"Neither does a thief fill his.. or her belly with empty words."

"Taka che... Kak e to tozi ti kazan upravljavam kym prezhivjavam?"
"So, I wonder... how is it that you still manage to survive?"

[Nevena Grosdova]

He was such an odd man. She could discern the sin in his eyes, ever subtle and fleeting as he gazed at her with impure intentions for those few moments but did not fall into her noxious webs, not yet. He feigned indifference like those few sinners who pretended they were made of something else but flesh and blood; they believed God had created them of a more precious limestone, but at the end they proved just as flawed and easily distorted as the rest. But it was all right, she was blessed with all the patience of the world and could have waited for him for eternities to come – she would still be there at the end of the dark corridor, waiting through his indecision, never impatient, never unkind. For revenge and justice knew not time, knew not place, knew not reason, or sentiment, knew not remorse, or ration, knew not humanity, but only depth. Depth and iron ruthlessness. She observed the way with which his eyes gazed upon the watch held in her hands and understood the sentimental value it must have had for him upon realizing the familiar expression through those dark blue orbs once he saw her pulling it out of her pocket. Good. The more he desired it, the better she could control him. It was incongruously fascinating and even curious to watch him through the distance, the cold face, the inscrutability, the lack of emotions, his deep need to conceal his true feelings in an almost inspiring way, and she could not help but admire such unyielding, cold stance as she leaned against the wall leisurely, longing. Waiting.

Her words seemed to have goaded him, and he took steps forwards towards her direction, moving silently, aptly, like a cat in the shadows, or a mysterious creature from the beyond – until he came to a sudden halt as her next words reached through the fibres of his mind upon full realization of their true meaning, and for a second time she needed not look at his face in order to decipher him, for his actions were enough to let her know this time of his superstitious soul, clearly uneasy over letting himself fall into such a precarious bet. Was he, perhaps, truly afraid of his soul? It was interesting should he be the kind of person to take such words seriously and literally, for her intention had, indeed, been literal and she intended to go through with it. Perhaps he had not realized as much at this point – or perhaps he had and preferred to tell himself otherwise – but he would soon find out she always meant what she said, she always kept her promises. And she was always deadly literal. Her dark eyes pierced through his own through the renewed distance, now even shorter, and watched him closely, challengingly. She observed every movement he made, every development of his eye gazing, the stature, the position of his hands as they hang loosely by his sides, the narrowed eyes and steel expression, the hard-pressed lips with the strong jaw line. The gentle despair that slowly crept and crawled within his being upon the prospect of losing something as observably significant as this silly, simple wristwatch was. It was almost refreshing to her to finally discern something remotely human and flawed in his bitter and obdurate existence, as she fed from the sweet, musky scent of his displeasure and disquiet and drank from the burning anger and misery that must have been squirming within his chest parasitically and which he was attempting to conceal from her. It was almost a picture of beauty and she could have stared at him for ages, to observe a Grecian marble statue amidst the darkness take form and movement, knowing there were moments that made the crystalline limestone bleed from the heart that was yet unrevealed to her.

A bolt of lightning suddenly broke through the darkness and shone through her dark eyes for a second, illuminating them ominously, and then she was devoured by shadows and moonlight once more, her hand precariously holding the watch by the window. A nod of his made her eyes glimmer with interest, and as he spoke finally and interrupted his well-kept silence, his words made her leer widen. A modest thief, and one with a sharp lip, nonetheless. She smirked at him with curiosity mixed with sheer interest, and as he made that very interesting and daring question to her, she could only be quiet and smile at him. How did she survive? A flash of anger passed through her eyes momentarily, but she let it go and not live through her. She only smiled. He slowly approached her again until only a few centimetres separated her from her victim, and she eyed him intently, her eyes as provoking as his own had abruptly turned, thoroughly enjoying the knowledge of just how many contradictory feelings he must be going through at the moment; she could not see them in his face, and she could only visualize them but she fantasized about them and, as often happens in life, that was even better than reality. As though to encourage him to complete the few steps required to reach her, she … accidentally slipped one finger away from the wristwatch and it dangled even lower into the air, held only from two of her fingers this time, her eyes narrowing in a threatening, warning manner and watched out for his reaction. Priceless, as always.

“No az ne sŭm kradets,” she said softly, assuring him of the truth; she may have stolen his precious wristwatch but the woman – that beastly creature – did not regard herself as a thief but as someone who was on a holy mission to rid this sinful world from evil, and then there would be peace again. There was something oddly pure in such a notion, but the road to hell was paved with good intentions. “To mozhe da bŭde ... tya mozhe da bŭde dori ne sŭshtestvuva,” she said, her narcotic words meant to poison his mind, her gaze intended to poison his heart, and create a veil of insecurity within him. “Mozhe bi az sŭm samo chast ot vasheto vŭobrazhenie. Mozhe bi tova e samo edna mechta, edna prosta, bolni malka mechta, no az shte se uverete, che nyama da se sŭbudi po vsyako vreme skoro,” her siren, velvety whisper carried through the air between them and danced around his figure temptingly, provocatively, casting doubts upon his sanity and claiming his reason. The light from the single bulb that hung across the wall and near the ceiling flickered on and off once as the storm approached. Her gaze became severe but yet so oddly calm and welcoming, almost affectionate, and terribly knowing. “Mozhe bi tova e, koeto vinagi zhelae. A tŭmno koridor ... s nyakoĭ, vi ochakva v kraya,” she said, and as the light flickered again quickly her eyes for a second glinted with a shade of deep crimson as her figure bathed in blood, but the next moment it vanished and she drowned in pitch-blackness once more, one with the shadows, as black and blue intertwined and surrounded the corridor as before.

She allowed her eyes to absorb him wholesomely, her gaze unblinking, unyielding, both rough and yet crystalline, like an uncut diamond. “Pogledni me,” she called out for him. “Tya mozhe da bŭde Az dori ne sŭm chovek. Mozhe bi az samo iskam da vi primami v kapana. Mozhe bi az sŭm samo edin vse po Rusalka, koyato e sled dushata si. Bŭdete vnimatelni na vodite, da bŭdat vnimatelni na dŭlbinite,” she told him, her eyes intense and piercing, almost pervading him, her voice silky soft and tender, nearly ethereal, as though it belonged not to her even though her lips were moving, as though it came from a distant world, someone else’s dream. “No znaesh, che shte prodŭlzhi da pluva vŭv vodite, vŭpreki preduprezhdeniyata, vŭpreki znaeĭki mnogo dŭlboko v sŭrtseto si na sŭdbata, che vi ochakva tam.” She slightly tilted her head to the side against the wall, and glanced at him in her glinting eyes. “Taka doĭde pri men. Ela pri men,” she whispered, and she slowly pulled her hand away from the window and safely back inside, but instead of giving it to him she threw it down on the floor right below her, between her feet, her gaze penetrating and biting, not once diverting from his face, her movements precise and succinct, and snakelike. “Vzemi go,” she whispered, these two simple words escaping her lips with the sweetness of honey, and as quiet as he had walked across the corridor only moments ago, a simple smirk etched across her lips, self-conscious, dominant but also victorious. The shell would go off at any given moment, and he would be trapped within her deathly embrace, between her fangs, between her legs, and though he may wish to run away from her at the end, however he planned to, he would never run away fast enough.



Translation

But I’m not a thief. It may be … it may be I don’t even exist. Perhaps I am only part of your imagination. Perhaps this is only a dream, a simple, sick little dream, but I’ll make sure you won’t wake up any time soon. Perhaps this is what you always desired. A dark corridor … with someone waiting for you at the end.

Look at me. It could be I’m not even human. Perhaps I only want to lure you into a trap. Perhaps I am only ever a Rusalka that is after your soul. Be careful of the waters, be careful of the depths. But you know you will still swim through the waters despite the warnings, despite knowing deep inside your very heart the fate that awaits you there. So come to me. Come to me. Take it.

[Max Pavenic]

As much as it appeared that Max's eyes were fixed on the dark-haired woman and focused on challenging her openly, he did not miss seeing one of the female's slender fingers slipping from the watch. He took a step forwards out of pure instinct, his blue eyes widening for fraction of a second as he imagined the watch falling and getting forever lost in the Romanian wilderness. As soon as he had caught himself doing so, he knew he had made a mistake and Max could already read the distinct pleasure over the woman's expression. The actual importance of the seemingly insignificant little item had been made clear enough to her by now and the thought made the man's skin crawl. He did not like being beaten in his own game, nor did he enjoy seeing himself faltering as badly as he was now. His eyes narrowed slowly, although the rest of his features remained glacial and unaffected, as if etched from stone. He stood steadfast in his place, his back rigid, a cold flame burning within his blue eyes.

As inclined to being paranoid as he was, Max wasn't one to get jittery very easily, at least not enough to let it reflect outwards, but this young female was making him uncharacteristically nervous and agitated. The ominous look in her deep, emerald eyes was setting off every warning bell inside his head and this was the sole reason why he was treading so carefully now. Normally he would have merely intimidated the girl into surrendering the property back to him, but his instincts were telling him otherwise and he was following the advice, as confusing and ill-fitting as it felt. It was as if he could hear the threatening hiss of a coiled viper, but no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find the snake itself. He felt even more exposed now that he had unwittingly taken a step closer to the moonlit figure and his teeth pressed together tighter as he tried to grasp his iron resolution once again while fighting off the nagging feeling of impending danger.

She was not a thief - at least that was what she now told him, causing Max to regard her with a small raise of his eyebrow. He had heard the same words before and they always came from fledgling thieves who always hurried to assure both themselves and others of the fact that they were different and above the "common thief". They saw the profession of a thief as being something to be ashamed of and hence tried to elevate themselves to a higher position with their ridiculous self-deceit. Max had never seen his profession as being either shameful or dishonorable and if anything, he was proud of what he was. Being a thief required years of practice, excellent people skills, quick fingers and even quicker wit. Those who failed, paid for their mistakes dearly, so being a thief who yet had his life, freedom and all of his fingers made Max usually feel pretty good about himself. Max would have contemplated on the woman's words further, but the velvety tone of her voice intercepted these thoughts and her next words froze the blood in his veins. Her hypnotic words slithered around Max as the woman suddenly suggested that she might have not been real at all, existing only within Max's own imagination. The ethereal lighting the moon was casting on the woman made her seem almost spectral and Max now found himself questioning the woman's existence, no matter how ludicrous the idea would have seemed just moments ago. The lights flickered on and off, enveloping the woman in darkness for a small moment and the sight sent chills running down Max's spine. He breathed out slowly to battle the first signs of impending panic, trying to keep his thoughts level and rational. Of course she was real, he had touched her and now she was right there, holding his watch! He had not been enjoying any strong narcotic substances for a good long time and he liked to think he could separate dream images from reality effectively enough. An expression of wry (albeit slightly forced) amusement invaded the man's eyes and he figured that the woman would see that Max wasn't quite as easy to fool as she might have thought. But as much as the man tried to make the woman convinced of his resolution, the feelings of suspicion and apprehension kept gnawing at his insides, making him feel worse with each passing second.

Even if he would have eventually succeeded in calming down his suspicions, the woman's next words caused for that desperate illusion to come tumbling down. With a low purring voice, she suggested that she might have not been a human after all and instead could have possessed the powers of a Rusalka. Hunting for his soul, she had lured him into her trap - a dark corridor, Max's destiny waiting at the end of it, just like in this train. She went on to warn Max of the dark depths of waters - a metaphor, of course, but one that worked to only terrorize the man further. He had always disliked deep lakes and ponds, not to mention the vast seas, for the uncertainty of what lurked beneath the waves had always sent chills down his spine. Anything could have been down there - be it horrendous beasts, violent demons, the very hell itself... or maybe they were almost endless and one could sink down their silent depths for eternity. As far as Max was concerned, he would never board a ship across a sea or slip into the depths of a dark lake for a refreshing swim - not even if his life depended on it. Her words might have been purely allegorical, but Max took them much more personally and fresh feelings of fear and paranoia mulled inside him in a state of primal disarray. How could she have known he was afraid of the waters, unless she truly was some supernatural being, come to claim his soul?

Max's mind was filled with images of recent events and he now saw the village nestled among the dark forests and mountains, embraced by forlorn shadows and strands of thick mist, the onyx birds circling around in the sky. He observed the precious silver cross lying down on the altar, calling to him, the lustrous metal glinting invitingly as his fingers wrapped around it and for a moment he felt elated and victorious. Then the cross was gone and he found his fingers grasping the side of a thick, weather-worn wooden pole instead, the bindings around his wrists biting into his skin sharply. He could feel the cold wind on his bare skin and the insults and jeers of the crowd filled his ears, but the faces had all melted into each other and he could no longer make out any details. From beneath all the clamor he could discern the cruel, sharp sound of a whip cutting through the air and his world was suddenly aflame with incredible, crude pain... The crowd laughed and rejoiced, but for Max there was only agony and humiliation. These feelings had poisoned his very blood and he could feel it running within him right now, feeding on his very essence, slowly trickling towards his heart to contaminate it and to make it blacken and die.

The silver cross. He should have never stolen it. It had been a sin too grave and he had been cursed for his heinous crime, either by God or one of the villagers, and now he was paying the price. The whipping had been but the first punishment and now, right before him, stood the next one, regarding him with those demonic eyes of poison green, the supernatural being masquerading in the innocent shell of a young woman. Max wanted to turn away right then and there, but then the woman - or whatever she really was - shifted her hand and dropped Max's watch down on the floor and right next to her feet, inviting Max to come and claim it. The man's eyes remained on the female's eyes instead of regarding the watch, for he feared that if he let his guard down now, the supernatural beast would devour him. No, it was clearly a test, a challenge used to discern the extent of his greed, the result of which would be used to measure the worth of his soul. Max's fingers shifted slightly, as if inside him the desire to grab the watch was fighting against the paranoia, but Max already knew that no item, as important as it might have seemed, was worth wagering one's soul over. The only way to survive the encounter was to show that he wasn't a person relishing in self-indulgence and that he, thief as he might have been, could control his appetite for all things shiny and precious. Gathering his courage, the man regarded the watch with a quick glance, meeting the eyes of his adjudicator, his back straight and his fingers curling into loose fists. "Zashto ne ja pazi? Ochevidno ste go zasluzhili," the man suggested, his voice raspier than before due to a sudden dryness in his throat.

As Max had no idea on how to deal with supernatural judges come to claim one's soul, he could only guess that the smartest thing after answering its challenge would be to leave when you still could. A flash of apprehension visited the man's eyes briefly, but then he turned around, bowing his head ever so slightly in the process. The lightning flashed again and Max found himself holding his breath when he turned his back to the creature and he could swear he felt cold fingers touching the still-healing wounds across his back, tracing their pattern down on his skin, as if to remind him of his sins. All of his senses were screaming at him now, telling him not to expose his back to his enemy, but Max felt it was necessary. He needed to show the spirit that he stood firm in his conviction, that he had grasped the nature of the challenge and conquered it, proving that his soul was worthy and not meant to be claimed, not yet.


Translations:

"Zashto ne ja pazi? Ochevidno ste go zasluzhili."
"Why don't you keep it? Clearly you have deserved it."

[Nevena Grosdova]

She could almost breathe him. The compulsive scent of sweet despair that emanated in the heavy atmosphere that lay in the ever-diminished distance between them, the unwelcome contractive waves of panic surging through his veins, to the marrow of his bone, right across his spine chord and cut all through him with an iron-clad fist and a cold, silver dagger that broke through his flesh and tore him apart. It was curious how from an outward appearance he was a perfect marble statue – tall, proud and unmoving – but she imagined the volcanic eruption of distress within his very soul, hinted by a sudden, brisk movement of the dark irises which refused to hand her the possession of his feelings – and it was this inner Vesuvius discharge which she could not see but intrinsically envisaged which drew her in and consumed her with an untarnished, unyielding and ever destructive will to possess such an enriching soul such as the one he had been gifted with by the gods, or by nature itself. It was precisely this proud, steely determination to conceal his reaction which invited her right in; he could have been another hallucination created during the Spring Equinox, as she would draw a black blindfold over her eyes in the deepest forests of the world and climb up the Aventine Hill to celebrate the Bacchanalia, dressed in a maiden’s white livery, translucent and shining underneath the moonlight as she, another creature of the night, would dance in wild intoxication and return to a primal state during which she would in essence feel one with nature. But there was something delightful in an almost analgesic way to know his soul was very much alive and all for her to possess.

And as he took one step closer, she only stared at him in silence, awaiting, and making no sound; but her eyes dilated in anticipation, her heart rate increasing upon the expectations of savouring something as bitter as his existence, and then decomposing it slowly, leisurely. His eye contact was immovable and she might have smirked at such obstinacy, even though she could nearly sense the fear crawling inside his skin like a parasite and poisoning his viscera, spreading ill health and sickness. When he opened his mouth and spoke next, his words left her cold and angry; a coward, then, one who dared not even enter the bet. It was one thing to try to win even when one knew of the slim odds they had in a victorious outcome, but to refuse to participate was hideous, a notion simply not to be forgiven. And, thus, as he slowly turned his back on her and began to walk away, the insolence of his action caused her eyebrows to furrow, and as her forehead wrinkled, she sat up, her arms hanging loosely by her sides as her hands curled up into tight fists. A wrong-doer, a sinner, and an insolent, worthless coward at that; she could not tolerate with that, and if she had had any previous plans of sweetly withering him like a marigold, it was all over by now. Waves of sudden, unadulterated rage rushed through her veins and channelled throughout her insides as her jaw hardened and her eyes narrowed at his despicable behaviour. He might have thought walking away and thus proving his apathy for the wristwatch was a good idea, perhaps it proved he had not yet succumbed to the siren call of greed and how he was not going to question her possession of it and instead mildly walk away, how he had saved his soul by refusing to be materialistic.

But she had other opinions.

The air was cut short between them as she jumped up and in a few swift moves reached him from behind, cold, thin fingers snatching him from his shoulders and with the razor-sharp quality of a dagger crawled through across the length of his back and bringing his desirable escape to a sudden halt – her claws looped around his arms to violently shove him around, forcing him to face her in a rapid, brisk movement as her fingers easily found their way around his black tie and crushed it in her fist, her wintry eyes momentarily piercing through his in a hateful glare, but then the momentary static quality vanished quickly as she wheeled him around forcefully, and threw him backwards and right against the window with an echoing thud, in the same position she had been found only moments ago, but what now seemed centuries before. She slowly and silently completed the few steps required to reach for him, stretching out her arm to twirl her fingers around the tie for a second time, now in a less forceful but more demanding manner, her eye contact unfreezing and relentless, her free arm stretched across his shoulder, touching against the right side of his face and resting against the glass window as he now stood trapped against her cold, deathly embrace, unable to move, unable to react, as her nails clipped onto the tie and pulled it against his neck, offering him a brief suffocating experience before she withdrew her hand – but the demanding glare knew no end, no absolution from sin as the cold texture of her fingers traced his jaw line, her thumb pressing powerfully against the skin as though with the desire to draw blood, but then the fingers travelled slowly and painfully down his neck, finally circling around his carotid, her eyes no longer glinting with menace but shining through the darkness with a savage, primal instinct akin to bloodlust as the veins across her arms had hardened and popped out amidst the surfaced rage, her eyebrows fiercely curved above her eyes as she examined him closely, the quick breathing from his nose tingling her face with disgust. Something shifted as her other hand moved slowly against the window, but the left arm was still pressed against his chest with the fingers dangerously coiled around his neck relentlessly, an expression of severe and feral hatred written all through her dark, beastly facial features.

She wanted to see the sin in his eyes. She wanted to see it for herself and then punish him for it; it had been there previously, if only for a moment, and now she fancied seeing it again. It was a vicious cycle, to condemn his kind on the accusation of sin, to awaken the serpentine siren within their flesh and to then punish them exactly because of their response to her siren calls; but it had to be done, and she had to be the one to do it. For the other women … they were weak, undeserving creatures, and she had to protect them. With her glare piercing through his blue eyes and promising a record of horrible, unthinkable events to occur to him before the rise of dawn, lightning struck for yet another time and lit up her face for the merest second, before she vanished into the shadows again, her claws revealed, her teeth bared as were her true intentions, the thirst for justice and the hunger for flesh possessing her spirit – and she brought her face even closer with the purpose to closely inspect his eyes, to observe the rich concealed emotions that hid beneath those black irises and to condemn him, with malice aforethought, to his own demise. This is what hell must have looked like. Lasciate ogni speranza. At least these were the initials carved upon the gates of hell in Dante’s vision; abandon all hope. And so he would, and so he would meet his demons, and so she would make him wish he had made peace with his Lord; and it would be so.

With her lips curved into a grimace that only expressed revolting repugnance, and her eyes throwing a hundred and one daggers right through his face with her glare, she had him cornered in her snare, perfectly trapped, and as he sunk underneath the moonlight, amidst the crying thunder, amidst her savage dreams, she could not have picked a better time to perform her ritual. The noise of the wheels and the bolt of lightning striking occasionally were the only sounds that broke through the mortal silence in an otherwise quiet corridor as the steam locomotive penetrated further within the bowels of Romania that were fated to be bloodshed in time to come. And as she breathed calmly, her grasp relentless around his neck, she thought how good it was to rid the world of a human being who was undeserving of existence. Tendrils of moonlight lightly danced around the edge of his head, and she observed this scene as though it were a beautiful oil pointing, relishing on how perfect everything was. It was a good night to die.

Everything happened too quickly to register at first, in a haze of swift movements and contraction of muscles as, with her fangs bared and a deep growl, she snatched him forwards out of the blue but instead of having him fall directly into her hungry embrace she abruptly forced him around, violently throwing him against the window, the glass of which she had been slowly dragging upwards the whole time while observing him in mortal quietude, her hands shoving his head outside in one sharp, fatal fraction of a moment and – in a matter of a second – a pair of fingers sharply brought the window glass downwards vertically and – clack! – hard glass pressured against flesh as she kept her left hand pressed against his back, keeping him there, the right one forcing the glass to cut through his neck and commit to her promises! Through the muffled noises of pain that were only heard in the atmosphere of the Romanian wilderness and never reached the inside of the train corridor she furthered the pressure of the window and her heart wildly relished on the first stains of blood that dribbled down his neck and which tainted the wall with a nasty shade of sinful crimson as he flailed his arms about like a drowning fish to be decapitated, helplessly lying out in the warm sand before it drew its last anguished breath – her muscles contracted as she thrust the glass even deeper into his lacerated skin, hovering above him like a revengeful spirit, overpowering him for those few moments required to perform the final act of catharsis, and leaned her figure closer against his back for the last thrust –

The lights flickered on and off violently, the wind penetrating the room from the small crevice the window provided and as the moon vanished behind the dark clouds as the skies opened and the first rainfall came washing down onto the endless fields – a shriek was heard, a loud dragging thump and the next thing she knew was that her hands shoved the man forcefully away from the window and threw him backwards against the wall, whence he fell, her fingers trembling, gasping in short, quick breaths and with her eyes wide open as she looked over at the glass window with a horrified face, wholly shivering, before she turned around to glance at the man right below her amidst the sudden light; she blinked several times, unfamiliar to the sudden enlightenment, and slowly knelt down by his side, confused and frightened beyond her wits. “Ste iztsyalo li pravi? Vie ste zasegnati!” she whispered breathlessly, panting, not knowing what to do as she stood right by his side, her fingers hovering in the air for a few seconds in a nervous way as she knew not how to respond, but then she tremblingly touched the side of his neck that had a small, thin laceration across it, staining the edge of her fingers with blood as she covered the wound with her shivering hands. “Vie ste zasegnati…” she repeated to herself in disbelief, but before anything else could happen or be said, an officer slid the passenger door open and quickly strode to their direction, obviously alerted by the noise.

“Kakvo e vŭpros, kakvo se sluchva tuk?” he demanded in a deep, rough voice as he came by and observed the situation. “Kakvo stana?” he requested to know, frowning, with furrowed eyebrows; he was a tall and lanky man, with a black mustache and an officer’s cap which he proudly wore even when no one was really there to appreciate it. “Shte vi bŭde vsichki prava, li mŭzh? Az shte vzeme lekar,” he said through the noise of the heavy downpour that had just began and walked away. Nevena returned her pained gaze at the man, her fingers quite trembling still as, not knowing what to do and despite her numbing distress, she tore off a piece of her dress horizontally across the rim and applied it across his wound to absorb the blood; the irises dilated amidst her horror and shock; and if he looked closely, as the light shone upon her, her eyes were no longer dark but bore a shade of clearest emerald green.



Translation

Are you all right? You’re hurt! You’re hurt …

What is the matter, what is going on here? What happened? Will you be all right, young man? I will fetch a doctor.

[Max Pavenic]

Max could distinctly sense someone closing in on him, but he didn't even have time to pivot around before he already felt thin, strong fingers grasping his shoulders and soon, in an almost painful manner, the fingers moved to his arms instead. The Romanian was so taken back with surprise, he didn't even really resist as he was violently pulled around to face the woman, the creature... whatever she was. All Max could think of was the fact that he would soon die - an image terrifying enough, but the fact that horrified him the most was that the supernatural being would steal his soul first. He wasn't sure what would happen to a person losing one's soul, but he knew it must have been something worse than the fires of ten hells combined. Horror was evident in the man's widened eyes as he faced the demoness, staring into those infernal eyes reflecting both everything and nothing, filled with visions of all the horrors of this world and of the one beyond it. Pale fingers curled around his tie like talons and Max held his breath for the brief time the moment lasted. He expected the woman to consume his soul then and there, but instead he felt himself being thrown backwards and Max collided roughly with the window, groaning low in his throat when a rapid sensation of pain flared over the skin on his back.

It was only natural that a man mingling with criminals had taken part in a more than a few fights, and Max indeed had, but the mere supernatural quality of this woman, of this... beast had rendered him almost useless, frozen in fear and disbelief. As if in a dream, he observed the woman striding towards him, her black hair whirling slightly in the breeze of air that escaped into the corridor through the open window. Her eyes burned with unnatural fire and her skin took on a luminous quality in the moonlight as her fingers reached towards him, wrapping around his tie once more. Max's mouth was left slightly open and his blue eyes were filled with primal, uncontrolled fear, for all he could wait for was his own death and the judgement that had been already passed by the female fiend. It would be futile to put up a fight and completely useless to try and run, for a creature with abilities stemming from the world beyond mortals would always find him and forever remain undefeatable. All strength had left his muscles and he could not find it in himself to even flinch when he felt a touch on his shoulder and on the right side of his face. Max could only stand there, frozen in fear, staring at the very image of his own doom, just waiting for her to reveal her fangs or to sprout leathery wings, to strike her talons into his chest to pull out his still-beating heart. He wanted to pull away from her out of instinct, but he was completely unable to act upon the desire, even when the pressure of the window on his upper back grew more painful and he could almost imagine the wounds on his back opening.

The tie around his neck tightened like a hangman's noose and Max coughed as he felt himself choking, his hand going up instinctively to grasp at his neck. Max felt the creature's talon at the side of his face and inside his mind, he prayed, more desperately than he had ever prayed in his life. He was a thief, but he wasn't a bad man - he had never strived to hurt people intentionally, although he admitted that the he was aware that the causes and effects of his criminal deeds might have often reflected on other people more negatively than he had intended to. But it wasn't his fault, really, it was the society, built by humans and hence, rotten to the core, that was to blame. It just happened that criminals had their own part to play in all of this and Max was doing just that, merely filling his own role. He didn't deserve to have his soul taken from him, not over a simple cross, nor over his meaningless little thievery. The silver cross, dedicated to God as it might have been, was still only an item and hardly worth having someone doomed into an eternity of nothingness. Max hoped that the earnestness and humility of his thoughts would be somehow picked up by the hellish being, but her eyes remained aflame with hatred that was inhumane and unforgiving. The judgement had been passed and there was no escaping it. Max was left staring the beast in the eyes, allowing her talons rake across the skin as he stood unflinching, already feeling dead in his despair and abandonment.

He could see the expression within her cold eyes shifting into something even more hateful, her eyes raw and dark in the moonlight and Max could almost read the various torments written beneath the torrent of her hateful irises. The scorching fires of hell burned green, black and yellow, promising pain and misery, but a fate even worse hid somewhere beneath that expression - to be judged, deprived of one's very self and cast into nothingness, where one would be able to feel everything and nothing, as hollow as a dead tree, with no hope or future in sight, meaningless and forgotten. Even after the judgement day would these soulless beings be still trapped in that eternal limbo, for they had been robbed of their essence and they simply no longer mattered. Max would have drowned himself in the fires of the abyss if he would have had the choice, but the merciless being wasn't going to allow this to him. Her lips distorted into an expression of disgust and Max would have closed his eyes, had he been able to, but he was still held by her burning gaze. The demon brought her face closer to his, examining him as a predator would examine its prey before devouring it, thin fingers curled around his neck and Max could only stare at this Mephistophelian visage.

Suddenly he felt himself being pulled violently forwards and for a brief moment he thought it was his soul that had been yanked out of his body, but it was soon clear to him that he was still within his physical being, for he almost collided with the half-open window and suddenly felt a rush of air upon his skin as his head was forced out of the window. His shoulders bumped against the edges of the opening and he instinctively pushed his hands against the wall on both sides of the window to pull himself back inside. A primal yell of pain escaped from his lips when he felt something sharp colliding with the side of his neck and the panic became more imminent, adrenaline rushing within his veins and the natural instinct for survival overriding his superstition. The quickly moving air ruffled his dark hair and muffled out his cries of pain as he felt the pressure on his neck growing and, what he could now discern as the edge of the window, dug into his skin, drawing blood. A hand pushed against the wounds on his back while the makeshift guillotine bit deeper and deeper into his neck and Max tried to fight now, his hands attempting to futilely reach the attacker and then, to raise the glass. The more he struggled, the more imminent the pain became, but his pain-filled groans were lost amidst the sounds of the train and stolen by the wind whipping around him. He could feel the warm blood dripping down his neck and somewhere in the far reaches of his mind he wondered just how much punishment a person's neck could take before it simply snapped. It was more likely that the glass would cut through a blood vessel, though, simply making him bleed to death. The glass pushed yet deeper into his skin and Max grit his teeth together in pain, knowing that it wouldn't be much longer now before the flow of blood would change into a wild gush and then it was only a matter of seconds, not minutes, before his eyes would be left staring at the dark wilderness, seeing nothing.

The pressure on his neck vanished and everything became dark when the moon hid herself behind the dark clouds and the first drops of rain fell upon the ground. Max felt himself being pulled away from the window and then he was pushed, making him collide with the nearby wall. The man didn't even have enough wits left to try and avoid the impact and he slumped down on the floor in pure exhaustion and shock. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was still alive and the Romanian blinked in confusion and pain, swallowing hard as he tried to clear his head and make sense of his surroundings once again. His breathing was coming in slow, shallow gasps due to his shock and he spread his fingers as he steadied himself against the floor, his mind far too busy to even begin to try and understand the sudden change in the situation. Max coughed and groaned hoarsely, supporting himself with his other elbow when he registered the figure kneeling next to him. His blue eyes darted to the side and then widened, realizing that he had been approached by her, that the vengeful demon was there to finish him off or, possibly, to torture him even further. Max felt fingers touching the side of his neck where blood was now flowing down freely and staining the collar of his white shirt. He flinched away from the touch, not really listening to what she was saying, but the hand returned once again, this time to cover the wound and the gently spoken words managed to force themselves through the cover of his primal fear.

Max remained in his place, his eyes moving apprehensively to regard the woman, although fear was still evident in his eyes and he had trouble allowing his gaze to settle on the female's features. He dreaded seeing those demonic eyes once again and he was afraid that the spirit was merely toying with him, as they always did with mortals. The man's mouth opened slightly and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and distrust, but before anything further could happen, the door at the other end of the corridor opened and an officer moved hastily towards them, presenting the obvious questions over the strange scene. Max forced himself back to reality and he pushed the woman's hand away as he stumbled into a sitting position on the floor, resting his back against the wall, painful as it was. He felt curiously numb and hurt at the same time, but the inner conflict dominated over both of these sensations and he simply didn't care if his back hurt or not. "Dobre sym, stana..." Max assured in a hoarse voice and he glanced briefly at the woman but averted his eyes quickly, shaking his head. "Stana sluchajno," he heard himself saying, although he didn't really understand why he would make such a claim. Maybe he expected for the demoness to attack him again, to finish the job if he angered her. It felt safer just to pretend as if he had been the unfortunate victim of a rather unseemly little mishap, but the officer had already turned around after a worried mention of a doctor. "Njama nuzhda za edin lekar, tova e samo draskotina.. Dobre..." the door closed after the officer and Max blinked slowly. "...sym."

The rain was falling heavily on the roof of the speeding train and raindrops snaked nimbly on the glass as the wind pushed them forwards. Max tilted his head to the side carefully, fully expecting for the beast to attack him once again now that the outsider was gone. Instead he witnessed the woman tearing into the rim of her black dress, separating a small piece of canvas and moving her hand towards Max once again. Max pressed himself involuntarily against the wall, holding his breath, but instead he felt the canvas being gently pressed against his wound and he could discern the woman's fingers trembling as she attempted to keep the makeshift bandaging in place to soak up the blood. Mistrust and confusion were evident in the man's blue eyes as he stared at her, searching for the presence of the hellish beast beneath her human shell, but... it was gone. Simply vanished. The fires had died down within her and Max could only read genuine shock and confusion in her green irises, her entire expression now dominated by these sentiments. Max had learned to read people and he knew that nobody could be as talented an actress as to so completely bring forward and then simply lose such raw and violent brutality as he had just witnessed. It was as if something had invaded the woman's mind and turned her into the savage being he had just seen. Max blinked, his breathing steadying slowly and he brought his hand up to grasp at the piece of cloth and to shove away her fingers while he still stared into those eyes for confirmation, to make sure that the beast was indeed gone.

She seemed genuinely shocked and Max could see her shaking slightly, her emerald eyes reflecting only distress. Max's eyebrows were still furrowed and the fear had subsided slowly, transforming into confusion and puzzlement. Max was almost surprised to hear his next words and they left his tongue without further thought. "Dobre li ste?" the man rasped and his lips pressed together into a thin line when he felt irritated over his own question. She had just tried to kill him, what did he care if she was all right or not! The pain was making itself more distinctively known now and the frown changed into a small grimace, although Max's eyes still remained on the woman as he kept the canvas over the wound, holding his breath for a small moment. "Vie kato che li shokiran," the man commented sharply, a hint of daring accusation in his voice now as he slowly started feeling more confident and even irritated. Of course he was waiting for her to explain the situation, to tell him what exactly had just taken place and why he was still alive. "Vidjahte li kakvo se sluchi?" the man asked in a low, hoarse voice, tilting his head to the side after his curiously formed question. He realized he was separating this woman from the demon that had just assaulted him and assumed that the woman had been mostly just observing the situation. He had heard of demons and spirits possessing humans, but he had no real idea of how it worked and what happened to the person suffering from the attack. Then again, if she could be possessed once, she could be possessed again and despite the change that had taken place within the young woman, he wasn't going to let his guard down for a moment.


Translations:

"Dobre sym, stana..."
"I'm fine, it..."

"Stana sluchajno."
"It was an accident."

"Njama nuzhda za edin lekar, tova e samo draskotina.. Dobre... sym."
"There's no need for a doctor, it is just a scratch, I'm... fine."

"Dobre li ste?"
"Are you all right?"

"Vie kato che li shokiran."
"You seem shocked."

"Vidjahte li kakvo se sluchi?"
"Did you see what happened?"

[Nevena Grosdova]

Shocked was the least the young girl felt. There was bitter confusion, and deepest fear that came not from the eyes but from the heart. With her back and the palms of her hands glued against the wall, she slowly turned her face sideways to look at the man, moments after he had posed his question. Had she seen what had happened? She had found herself next to him out of a sudden while she had clearly walked away from the man, and to make matters worse, found herself standing behind him as his neck was being hideously lacerated by the window glass in what appeared to have been a terrible accident; and, indeed, it might have been – the young man could have possibly wished to take a breath of fresh air and the window had come down by coincidence due to faulty support and built (it could have been damaged and not repaired due to a shortage of funds), but how could she how in the devil’s name she was to be standing right next to him? Questions, hundreds of questions were stabbing her mind mercilessly like a hundreds of silver daggers clawing through her cerebral cortex and threatening to ravage every ounce of sanity she possessed at this moment.

It was certainly not the first time Nevena Grosdova had found herself in such unpleasant situations, always on the wrong place, on the wrong time, and standing next to the victim in question with a complete memory loss as to the happenings which lead to the unfortunate event; ever since she was but a pure, innocent child hopping along the Bulgarian fields in summertime and swimming in the beautiful blue Danube as it deposited into the Black Sea she could distinctly remember it was many a time the townsfolk had chanced upon a commonly nauseating incident in which Nevena was to be found close by, often in hysterics or wholly shivering, and how could any of them ever suspect the poor soul of inappropriate conduct? She was nothing but an innocent bystander, ill-fated to witness such dreadful accidents as the ones that occurred in Dobrich from time to time, and nothing more but a mere child. Who could ever blame a child? But her heart still trembled as she recalled with disbelief and horror an incident that took place not a long time ago in her childhood but on her recent years – it could have been one or two years ago –

Nevena stared at him briefly, her trembling hands supporting herself against the wall as she allowed her body to slid down slowly, bending her legs over her face and embracing them with her arms in a foetus position, her green eyes glassy and tearful, feeling a burning, prickling feeling in the corner of her eyes and with her heart beating so wildly against her ribcage she might have had a heart attack. Beneath those glinting irises he could only discern confusion and honesty, and fear. There was nothing else, nothing at all; nothing to even remotely hint what might have been, but what was now not. She did not respond but merely stood there, on the floor, unable to move, unable to speak. No, she was not all right. No, she knew not what had happened. She had suffered through a memory lapse which could hardly explain what had followed her falling upon the man’s arms in the passenger door – she could not even recall the moon revealing its silver gown from the grey clouds which had by now formed a mass in the wide dark blue firmament and showered heavily down on them mortals. Did they, perhaps, attempt to cleanse them? To absolve them from sins and spiritually purge them from every act of transgression into whose arms they so eagerly and wickedly fell? But it was all to no avail, nothing more but a vain endeavour of purification which instead of purifying infected them more with impiety and evil.

She turned her head away from her and stared directly opposite her, yet not really staring at anything at all, her eyes determinedly glued against the wall, with her fingers trembling and a sickly white face that quietly spoke only of internal conflict and anguish. At that moment the officer slid the door open again, the mumbling clearly displaying his annoyance. “Tova kak mozhe da ne tam bŭde nikakŭv doctor kŭrpi v tsyal okayan vlak!” he fumed, and slid the door closed in order not to awake the rest of the passengers. He walked a few steps closer and examined the man briefly. “Nikakŭv doktor ne e bil na borda tazi poreditsa, az se opasyavam, che samo az naistina namerikh veterinar. Dobre, to e vsichki, koito sa svŭrzani s trupa, nali? Az tryabvashe li da go privleka? Toĭ mozhe da pogledne s vas. Ako to naistina e tolkova losho, che vie mozhete da tŭrsite pomosht za sledvashtoto spirane, nie tryabvashe da bŭdem pri Gyula za pet chasa.” He only pursed his lips and seemed vaguely disinterested as he was being assured by the man what the girl’s mind was too preoccupied to register, staring at the opposite wall obsessively, her body rigid and making no sound; the officer’s words had never entered her mind as everything else became another world for a second, a series of muffled sounds echoing solitary and eerie from another universe, her irises widening as her stare became more resilient, thoughts bleeding her brain and buzzing around her head, like the sonnet said, with the murmuring of innumerable bees.

The next thing she heard was the door being slid open, and closed. Moments passed in silence before she finally turned her head slowly around to look up at him. She spoke nothing at first even if her lips parted, feeling a knot inside her mouth and a heavy burden weighing down upon her chest, her expression confused and pained, merely stared at him in her wretched silence as though he was the most curious creature of this peculiar world; and perhaps he was. She breathed slowly, quietly, and turned her face away from him as she softly said, “Az iskam da bŭda samo.” And when she spoke those few words it sounded as if life had been partially sucked out of her soul, her tone breathy and losing its touch on the edges. But before he could turn and walk away from her misery, she instantly, in all of her curiosity, looked up to face him once more. The lights flickered on and off for three consecutive times in a very quick pace – and her eyes – as her mouth – seemed distorted for that second in which she was surrounded by darkness again – that nanosecond it required to see through the change – as though hit by a razor-sharp material in the head – eyes infernal and bloodthirsty, a mouth unsmiling, severe, and ready to devour him – three times only – demonic eyes piercing onto his pale blue – one, two, three – and the light remained static through the heavy downpour, as she looked at him, eyes seraphic and virtuous glancing back at him in her melodious paleness.



Translation

How can there be no darn doctor in a whole wretched train! No doctor has been on board this train, I’m afraid – but I did find a veterinarian. Well, it’s all related to the body, isn’t it? Should I fetch him? He can take a look at you. If it really is that bad you can seek help in the next stop, we should be in Gyula in five hours.

I want to be alone.

[Max Pavenic]

Feeling the blood dripping down his collar, Max stared at the young woman expectantly, curious to hear her explanation. Instead of saying anything the female appeared to be lost in her own torrent of confusion and Max wasn't sure if she had even managed to hear his words. The emerald eyes that had just previously burned with blind hatred and bestial hunger now reflected only confusion and horror. Max's eyebrows knitted together as he contemplated the effects of the curious change. It was like looking at two different people entirely and the one Max saw now was nothing more but a frightened girl, shivering and trembling as she steadied herself against the wall. His head tilted to the side with confusion as he tried imagining an insane sneer on her lips, the violent curve of her eyebrows as she had attacked him, the tips of her fingers transforming into something he remembered resembling feral claws... but all of those things were gone now, at least for the moment. The Romanian turned his gaze away when the images suddenly became far too vivid and he realized he wouldn't be getting any answers from the young woman, not for a good while, at least. She was too consumed by her own thoughts and fear, although, over what exactly, Max couldn't be sure. Was she even aware of the demonic power that had just been possessing her? Did she feel the traces of that presence within her body, some small flicker of the hellish flame still burning inside her? Whether she had any idea of what had happened or not, she had to steady herself against the wall just to maintain balance and she slid down into a sitting position, hugging her legs for comfort.

Max could have sworn the girl was about to cry and her eyes glistened with barely contained tears, but then she averted her gaze, staring at the wall directly opposite to her. She had withdrawn inside her shell and didn't notice neither Max or her surroundings anymore and her face had turned fearful and ashen. Max removed the black cloth from his neck for a moment, just to witness the slightly darker stains that had dyed almost the entire piece of canvas. Now that he had calmed down, he noticed the burning pain across his back and of course, over his neck, as if his body was simply insisting on letting him know of every aspect of his current agony, one sense screaming over another. Max closed his eyes half-way, not allowing himself to close them fully when the female was still in the same space as him and he placed the blood-soaked cloth over his wound again. It would leave a scar, one more to add to his collection of lovely little mementos from Romania.

The door at the other end of the corridor opened promptly and Max saw the officer making his way back towards them, muttering something in clear irritation. Max glanced at the shocked female and clambered up quickly, stifling a groan that formed in his throat when the wounds on his back raked over the wooden surface. He didn't want anyone paying too close attention to him. Not only did it make him feel very uncomfortable and out-of-place, but he worried that someone might discover his other, still fresh injuries. It would lead to questions, those would lead to troubles and troubles... well, they would see him eventually landing in the hands of the local authorities, wouldn't they? He just wanted to leave Romania with as little hassle as possible, avoiding any further trouble while making a quick getaway. Ever since entering Romania, everything had been working against him and he had seriously started considering the fact that some kind of a curse might have been cast over him - all of these incidents, one after another, simply did not appear natural. As the officer fumed over finding only a veterinarian, Max just shook his head and managed to make a thin smile form at the corner of his mouth. He really had no interest in seeing a doctor, but he felt the man would not hear anything otherwise. "Tova e dosta dobre. Tova e samo draskotina. Shte ocelee," Max rasped, glancing briefly at the young woman who was still cradling her feet against her chest. For a brief moment the man wondered if he should have questioned the girl about her wellbeing, but the officer was still going on about the veterinarian and Max had to regard the man again. "Ne, tja shte se opravi. Blagodarya. Az shte otida da vidja sebe si veterinaren," Max assured the officer, his voice calm and level even when the pain over his back burned stronger with each passing moment. His answer seemed to appease the officer and the man appeared delighted when he got the chance to fuss over the matter - most likely unusual happenings such as this were rare aboard the train and the unusual excitement was making him feel very important. The officer had already started towards the door to lead the injured passenger to the veterinarian, but Max didn't follow him, not yet.

Some curious part of his mind wanted to make sure that the girl was all right and the thought even managed to amuse him ever so slightly. He was by no means the chivalrous knight in shining armour and would first look after his own well-being before even considering others, but despite this fact he stood still, regarding the woman questioningly. The only sound in the corridor was the steady sound of the heavy rain drumming over the roof of the train and the silence between lasted for a good while, making Max wonder if he should have said something. The young female suddenly shifted her head and regarded Max, her eyes curious and clear and the Romanian stared back, unable to find any words to say. If he had been expecting sudden words of enlightenment, he was sorely disappointed when the girl quickly averted her gaze, her voice quiet and uneven when she said she merely wanted to be left alone. Max had no problem with her request and he gave her a small nod, already taking a step towards the door to leave her on her own. The small movement of her head stopped him dead in his tracks and his eyes darted to the side to regard her again as he instinctively expected that she had something further to say. The air inside the corridor suddenly felt heavier and the lights flickered on and off, revealing a sight Max would have rather left unseen. For the briefest moment the beast was back and that horrible, demonic face stared back at him maliciously, as if the hellish being had just been hiding close beneath the surface, masquerading under the cover of innocence for reasons Max could not even begin to fathom. The expression on the girl's face was frozen into a serious, cold stare and her dark eyes promised only death and pain, to devour that which she desired most. She wished to finish the work that had been left incomplete, the work to which she had been so maliciously devoted just earlier and this time she wouldn't stop, not until Max had been left nothing but an empty, dead husk.

The blood froze solid in Max's veins and he found himself holding his breath as fear gripped him tightly and the moment, lasting only a second or two, seemed like an eternity to him. He could only stand there and stare, feeling drained before the merciless fiend, overpowered by that single expression. As the lights returned, so did the innocent young woman, her eyes pure and uncorrupt, a complete opposite to the visage Max had just witnessed. The brief glimpse of the demoness had been enough for him, however, and he forced himself to move, his steps becoming faster and longer as he quickly made his way away from her, his skin crawling as he kept imagining her stalking behind him, readying herself for another attack. He breathed out only once he had entered the passenger car and the door had closed behind him and he pushed his back against it to make sure it remained close, ignoring the pain, his blue eyes still wide with fear. Even when the presence of the other passengers started slowly making him feel calmer and safer, the demonic face still haunted his thoughts and it took him a good, long time before he finally got his feet moving again.

*************************

The sunlight attacked Max's eyes viciously as he stepped out of the train and the dark-haired man blinked as he nimbly made way for the other passengers. Everyone was keen on stretching their legs after the arduous ride in the train and people were pouring out of the train with such a great hurry, one might have thought the cars were on fire. Rain had washed over the area earlier and the ground was still wet, but the steadily climbing sun was gradually making the signs of the nightly downpour disappear. After the musty, oxygen-deprived atmosphere of the train the crisp air felt very welcoming in everyone's lungs and people breathed deeply as they got outside. Max felt someone bumping into him and he grimaced, watching as a particularly stocky man made his way past him, grumbling something in Bulgarian. Max fell into a step behind him and sheltered by the crowd, reached his hand into his pocket to snatch a half-full pack of cigarettes. He pushed the item into his own pocket and separated from the herd of people, making his way away from the crowd. He wasn't in a hurry, for he wasn't going to continue in this particular train. Not within those cursed walls and certainly not with these people. He would wait for another train and get on it once he had acquired enough money for another ticket.

His hand went up to his neck to touch the fresh bandaging - the veterinarian had managed to close the wound with a few (rather painful and careless) stitches, merely taping a piece of white bandaging over it. It felt irritating, itchy and he wanted desperately to rip it off, but he knew it was better not to. The blood on the collar of his shirt had by now dried and taken on a rusty dark-brown shade, which is why Max had tried covering up both the shirt and his bandage with the collars of his overcoat. It looked a bit unseemly, as the temperature would still be rising, but Max simply didn't care. He didn't feel like making too much effort with trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. He wouldn't be traveling with these people anymore and he'd take care of these problems before he'd get on the other train.

Max scratched the bandage and proceeded to shift the sleeve of his coat to check the time. His wrist watch wasn't there, of course, and the man scowled darkly at his string of ever continuing bad luck. He had been so occupied by getting away from the woman, he had forgotten to grab the watch from the floor. Maybe it had been for the better, though. He would have not remained in that train car any longer, not even for all the riches of the world. Max pressed his lips into a thin line and let his hand drop to his pocket to grab the pack of cigarettes he had just acquired. The Romanian poked one of the cigarettes in his mouth and his hand returned to his pocket in search of a lighter. Instead of the cool, metallic side of the lighter, his fingertips registered the presence of something else at the bottom of his pocket and his fingers studied the item gingerly. The golden bracelet. He had already forgotten all about it and just touching the item made him feel uncomfortable, as if it was about to infect him with some horrible sickness. The wound at his neck seemed to burn hotter now and the man withdrew his hand quickly, resolving to get rid of the bracelet the first chance he got. Fighting off an involuntary shiver, Max stared into nothingness, his expression sour, his blue eyes shadowed by his brows and the signs of sleep-deprivation evident under his eyes. The Romanian pushed both of his hands into his pockets, careful not to touch the bracelet and with the unlit cigarette still hanging loosely from between his lips, kept his back turned at the cheerful crowd behind him. They could all go to hell, for all he cared.


Translations:

"Tova e dosta dobre. Tova e samo draskotina. Shte ocelee."
"That's quite fine, it is just a scratch. I'll survive."

"Ne, tja shte se opravi. Blagodarya. Az shte otida da vidja sebe si veterinaren."
"No, it will be fine. Thanks. I'll go and see the veterinarian myself."

[Nevena Grosdova]

The steam engine decelerated as it reached the urban station in the borders of Gyule, and with a final whistle came to a slow halt as the officers jumped down onto the side of the rails and opened up the doors as a horde of passengers came running down, breathless mothers rapidly grasping reach of their children’s sweaty little hands to protect them from being lost into the large suffocating crowd, old people smoking from their pipes that early August morning as a general unadulterated state of chaos reigned around the platform, on which a hundred and more people from the Hungarian city had accumulated to board the train. There was too much intolerable noise, too much black smoke and a maddening sense of pandemonium which disorientated the young girl for moments to come as, with her thin black suitcase tightly held from her right arm and a small, plain rucksack thrown across her arms as she stepped down onto the railway line and became disorganized, losing whatever strand of concentration she had left and her chain of previous thoughts, as though suddenly devoured by the crowd’s enormous suction power. With her eyes dilated and her mouth half-agape, she stood there amidst the crowd, the only static spot in an otherwise awfully mobile multitude, hands hanging down by her side and with her gaze indeterminate, and who would really know what she could have been thinking at that precise moment? Perhaps God, or perhaps even He possessed no such knowledge; perhaps she knew not even herself. Or perhaps there was nothing within her emptied mind as she with an absent-mindedly mundane fashion stared at the moving people around her as though they were curious little lizards walking on this planet without any purpose, plan or destination.

The truth was, she had not slept at all the few hours she had had at her disposal, although such a condition was not unfamiliar to a person such as her; she had been utterly defenceless and incapacitated of finding the remotest peace of mind that would graciously offer her the opportunity to take forty winks and relax her nerve system as better as she could, and yet the only thing she did is return to her compartment and sit down upon the soft material of her seat with her head bowed down or sometimes leaned against the wooden surface of the train to gaze at the ceiling quietly, at any rate making certain she did not glance at the window as though she was afraid to witness the most horrible incidents taking place right before her eyes. She pressed her lips and raised her legs up on the seat as she embraced herself like a sick little puppy, determinedly pressuring herself not to glance at the forbidden area of the room – it was such a ridiculous notion that bore its appropriate dose of ill-assumed hilarity but fear knew no boundaries, and certainly knew no reason. She felt as though she were observing herself losing her mind, slowly, carefully, and with her head racing relentlessly as variously themed but same shaded thoughts crawled into her being and softly ravaged her ambiguous, bittersweet-scented and inadvertently corrupt soul, eyes fixed on the ceiling and feeling her blood pressure rise from the force she used in preventing herself from simply taking one simple, innocent little look …

Looking around her, the sun shining down upon her face, she observed the people running around to and fro, a swarm of beings nearly infected with rabies as they strode, and galloped, and bolted from right, left and centre, in their madness, their impatience, their sordid little lives – and a low gasp escaped her throat as she felt a swift stab of pain on her insides, and she was momentary paralyzed, eyes wide open as they stared vacantly into the surrounding atmosphere in front of her, fear and anxiety creeping steadily within her mind – and then she closed her eyes to calm herself, keeping steady, keeping quiet, and refusing to attract attention. She breathed evenly, unperturbedly, and even was grateful the fleeting surge of ache had only ever remained a fleeting surge of ache and had not instead progressed into something she had had to deal with on many other different occasions; her chest heaved high as she breathed deeply, but it was at that precise moment that she felt one or two or perhaps more drops of blood gently dribbling across her skin and she opened her eyes abruptly, her lips pressed, looking impatient but also rather angry with herself as her free left hand instinctively went to her stomach and caressed it slowly, creating small, circular patterns around in a calm, rhythmic pattern, her mind singing haphazardly lyrics from songs she loved or recited sonnets she had read as a child and written down on a scrap of yellowed paper with the only intention to maintain a composed stance despite the complicated problems that may occur in such a troublesome occasion. No, not here, not now, she spoke to herself inside her head, taking small, deep breaths. She was not in tremendous pain, it would be foolish to think or feel so – the twinge of aching she had experienced moments ago had vanished and was replaced by a feeling of bitter discomfort – yet it was the mere prospect of being aware of how everything could go downhill if this situation deteriorated that led to the growth of her disquiet; all the same she did feel an inconvenient rush of soreness and stinging within her which she was at the moment endeavouring to treat properly. She knew why this had happened, naturally, and could not help but blame herself for it, in spite of the fact – as she also well knew – this added an unnecessary burden on her chest, enough to make her feel as pleased and cheerful as when Maximilien Robespierre was sent face-up to the guillotine in the Place de la Révolution.

The incident of the other night – or what had been mere hours ago – had brought about a slowly progressive knot inside her stomach, tightened and constricted her throat, and resurfaced a state of tumult and uneasiness for the following hours as she sat upon the seat, alone and lonely, disregarding common rules of tranquilizing oneself in order to fall to sleep as insomnia slapped her harshly across the face and heartlessly laughed at her for her deficiency in controlling her own self and calming down her mind. But, at least, in the present moment there were no further signs of deterioration and she slowly orientated herself, looking around her as most of the people had moved away from the train and either stood upon the old, wooden benches of the platform or toing and froing, loudly shouting or chatting animatedly with one another, discussing the latest events in Europe and the future of the Balkans in terms of the current governments’ diplomatic relations with the Northern countries with which they were directly dependent on financially, or the mothers simply telling off their children from playing near the railway line or refusing to eat their food. Such was the chaos at the station of Gyule, and Nevena began to slowly move across the train’s length, feeling the wet mass of muddy-brown ground glue itself underneath her cheap, black shoes, at first with a little difficulty, as she stopped to take a breath, but eventually shaking off that feeling of stinging discomfort, the feeble wind gently caressing her face and making strands of her raven-black hair dance around her weakly.

It was then that she felt something projecting from her dress and as she looked downwards and slipped her hand inside the pocket, her eyes slightly widened as she pulled out the damned wristwatch. She had almost forgotten for a second – during her fleeting discomfort – how she had crawled across the deserted corridor like a scavenging animal once everyone had left and reached the end corner of the opposite wall, glanced down on the watch still lying there, unpicked and renounced, and finally remaining on that position with her hands vertically touching against the floor to support herself and her head bowing downwards, as she stayed there for minutes to come, blankly staring at the material. And after a while, she had quietly slipped it into her pocket. But looking at it now, as the sunlight shone down upon the front glass and the metal surface, she carefully examined it. It showed the time to be fourteen minutes past eight. And she frowned. It was cursed! Certainly, it must have been cursed, thus punishing her for her sinful act of thievery by sending her old nightmares back and the surge of pain through her viscera – yes, she knew now but she would not make the same mistake twice. She walked slowly around the train and took her time in coming around the platform again, now shutting off the noise and the people from her region of existence, the wristwatch loosely held in her hand, and trod lightly through the mud, as light as a feather, though she need not have looked far – for in the near distance he was to be found, near the train, appearing aloof, morose and unsociable, easily noticing the straightened-out, overstretched collar of his trench coat to cover his wound.

She slowly approached him, and when she finally reached him she stood right in front of him, for a few seconds remaining quiet, a blank expression on her face; she breathed evenly, curiously looking at him as though to detect the remotest sign in his face that would hint to anything he might have felt at the moment, but there was nothing there; only his ill-tempered self. “Vyarvam, che tova prinadlezhi na teb,” she said quietly in her soft voice and stretched out her hand, the wristwatch glittering in the sunlight; and as he meant to take it from her and she felt his fingers briefly touching her hand while the watch slipped into his grasp, she immediately pulled it away, as though fearing of any physical contact, regardless how minimal it was, her face turning on an expression of slight confusion mixed with curiosity and uncertainty as she stared at him for a few moments, the sun shining down on her coal-black hair and revealing the many freckles across her face, the glowing bright green doe eyes and the palest face that looked at him with such purity and simplicity that was never corrupt, never bleak or ominous but, perhaps, too frightened and stubborn to blossom. And all that was taken away as she quickly turned around and walked away from him, her mind channelling a train of thoughts within her disturbed encephalon and the taste of anguish still fresh and new.


Translation

I believe this belongs to you.

[Max Pavenic]

Max emitted a deep sigh, closing his eyes half-way and proceeding to breathe in deeply, allowing the fresh air to clear his head and calm him down. Being a thief, he was particular to moving in large crowds and it provided him with ample opportunities for pickpocketing, but sometimes being around too many people almost drove him insane. The constant, loud clamor, the heavy stench of the rabble, the high-pitched screams of the children, the mere wretchedness that seemed to emanate from the crowd as if they all were infected with plague... all of these things reminded Max of the depravity of the whole humankind. Part of that crowd as he might have been, he had not ever really identified with it and he felt like an outsider, something different, a deviation from the norm. Maybe his early childhood which had been spent in the solitude and quietness of the Romanian forests had made him look at things from another angle, he had never really thought about it. All he knew was that the whole humankind was rotten to the core and nobody, not even children, were truly innocent. Everyone was born a sinner and some just happened to be worse than others. Max placed himself somewhere in the middle. He didn't have any qualms over stealing things and misleading people for his own gain and in that sense he felt like he was a needed part of the society - the one who preyed on the weak and the foolish, on those who had been far too lucky in their lives and needed to be brought down a notch. The nature culled the unworthy individuals with the help of predators and scavengers and his work wasn't much too different. He recognized that what he did was considered criminal by the society, but such was the lot of his kind in life. One learned to accept it and live with it and Max had adjusted to his role a long time ago.

His ears picked up a new sound from among all the noise, and he instinctively separated it from the background noise and observed it keenly, his ears straining to discern even the resonation of the footsteps from the side of the train. Someone was approaching him and judging by the soft sound of shoes on the muddy ground, Max guessed it was a female. She wasn't hurrying and the man could determine the careful way in which she stepped, either due to fear or habit. Max bit his cigarette lightly, resisting the urge to turn around and he stood in his place, back rigid, his blue eyes narrowed. The man had to catch his breath when the woman had finally reached him and he saw the familiar absinthe eyes staring back at him, the same ones that had regarded him so maliciously just the previous night. As vigorously as Max tried to stop the images from flooding into his mind, he saw the malicious snarl again and heard her softly spoken words, dripping with venom as they had been. He could feel the relentless hand pushing against his back and the edge of the window bit into his skin while his only thought was that of dying, having his soul stolen from him, doomed to a fate worse than hell. The images were terrifyingly vivid before his eyes and he almost felt his muscles getting ready to flee, to get away while he still could... but then the sun shone brightly in his eyes and reminded him of the present moment.

Max blinked and saw just a young, raven-haired girl standing in front of him, a suitcase in her other hand and a rucksack casually slung across her shoulder. Her expression reflected only slight curiousness and somehow it seemed to fit her innocent disposition, complete with the small sea of freckles upon her pale skin and the various little moles that decorated her skin like tiny stars on a night sky. Her eyes appeared the clearest green in the sunlight and she was, as Max had earlier already noted, a young woman of very agreeable features. Of course it was completely ridiculous to feel afraid of such an apparently angelic young female, but Max wasn't scared of the girl herself - it was what dwelled behind those emerald eyes that worried him. An unworldly presence, tempered in the fires of hell, untamed and hungry for souls. Max stared at the girl, his posture rigid, the cigarette still hanging loosely from between his lips and he only narrowed his eyes as he waited to find out what the girl wanted.

Much to his surprise, the young woman held out her hand and Max's watch glistened in her grasp as the light of the morning sun hit it. For the briefest moment Max felt he was presented with a bait, but the feeling died down when the girl spoke, her voice soft and earnest. Max glanced at the girl and then at the watch, but soon his shoulder shifted slightly as he withdrew his hand from the pocket of his overcoat and reached it to take the watch from her. His skin crawled slightly when his fingers touched hers, but the girl seemed to feel much more troubled by the brief touch, withdrawing her hand nimbly after the watch was safely in Max's hand. The Romanian observed her closely, watching as her serious expression mixed with the delicate tones of confusion and apprehension. Was she afraid of Max in particular due to the scene she had witnessed last night or just men or people in general? He still remembered just how shocked she had appeared after the incident involving the window and Max's neck and the sudden trepidation made him feel kind of sorry for her, at least up to an extent Max was ready to feel sorry for others, anyway. What it must have felt like, being possessed by a malicious spirit, feeling that ancient, filthy worm of collected sinfulness poking at one's insides.... It was certainly something he didn't want to speculate on any further. Max's eyes narrowed as he considered the girl's motives and he glanced at the watch, caressing the front glass with his thumb, the little imperfections of the familiar item filling him with surprising bliss. He wasn't sure why the girl had decided to return the item to him. It could have been just guilt, or maybe she felt that Max deserved to have his watch back after seeing the nasty laceration across his neck just the previous night. Max still held the item gingerly, as if expecting that something had changed the watch, contaminated it, but the weight of the item felt comforting in his hand and he slipped it in his pocket, biting his teeth on the cigarette and opening his mouth as he regarded the girl from under his brows to say his thanks... but she had already turned around, making her way away from him and leaving Max standing next to the train in fresh confusion.

His brow crinkled with a frown as he stared after her, but then his fingertips brushed against the bracelet once again and the obvious thought entered his mind. "Chakane..!" Max called after the young woman hoarsely, catching up with her in a few long, determined strides. As the female turned around, Max stopped and stood in his place almost indecisively for a moment and he snatched the unlit cigarette from his mouth, poking it behind his ear. The gentle breeze made the edges of his coat move slightly, as if reflecting the sudden restlessness Max was feeling. His expression was still dominated by the same graveness as earlier with his eyebrows furrowed (as they often seemed to be) and his lips pressed together, as if the man lived in a constant fear of revealing his emotions to the outside world. Max's hand snaked quickly into the pocket of his overcoat and he grasped the golden bracelet, hiding it inside his fist as he brought his hand out. Giving his surroundings a hasty sideways glance, he turned his hand up and unfurled his fingers, presenting the bracelet to the girl on his palm. He had never given anything stolen back to the victim of the theft and he felt incredibly awkward, even if his reasons had nothing to do with being friendly. Max lifted up his chin and glanced elsewhere as he held the bracelet out for the young woman. "Tuk. Tova e tvoja," the man stated the obvious first, his eyes fixating on the windows of the train, then at the clouds, then at the moist ground. All of these things seemed suddenly very interesting to him and he kept his head turned away while he waited for the girl to pick up the item. Just touching the golden bracelet made him feel as if the curse was soaking through his skin and infecting him with its burning poison and he wanted to get rid of it, fast.

The man let his eyes visit the woman briefly, although he seemed to be keen in averting his gaze and his eyes darted from the girl back to the train ever so often. "Az shtjah da go vryshta po-rano, no ne moga da te namerja. I ... Az ne sym chul imeto si, edin ot dvamata," the man explained in a low voice, all lies of course, but they felt courteous enough even when his words were very transparent. There was the implication of the man wanting to know the girl's name, but it was unintended, for Max was certain this was the last time they would ever see and he quite would have liked to keep things that way, too. As innocent and collected as she seemed now, there was no knowing when the malicious spirit would decide to visit her mind again. It could happen today, next month or in five years, but Max wasn't taking any chances.


Translations:

"Chakane..!"
"Wait..!"

"Tuk. Tova e tvoja."
"Here. It's yours."

"Az shtjah da go vryshta po-rano, no ne moga da te namerja. I ... Az ne sym chul imeto si, edin ot dvamata."
"I would have returned it sooner, but I couldn't find you. And... I didn't catch your name, either."

[Nevena Grosdova]

The young girl slowly halted in surprise as she heard a hoarse, slightly guttural voice briskly call after her, urging her to wait, listening to the quick, long footsteps that strode across the wet, muddy-brown surface of the earth and towards her; she turned and looked over her shoulder as the man came over, and she slightly furrowed her eyebrows while her forehead wrinkled, an expression of sheer curiosity written across her face, wondering what he could want from her – what he possibly had to tell her. He seemed wavering for a second, as though not quite certain whether he should continue with his plan, whichever that was, and pulled the cigarette away from his lips and easily pushed it behind his ear as her eyes followed his actions closely, attentively and quietly – reminding her of how she did not smoke, even though a packet of cigarettes were, unknowingly, to be found in the curious depths of the very rucksack slung across her shoulders … His movements were delivered concisely and briskly, at the same time as he appeared to be impatient to some extent, his mind gravely pre-occupied to some other. Still, when he opened out his fingers and the bracelet glistened in the sunlight as he claimed it to be hers, she could only smile.

And then – he fed her with his lies, as thieves were so accustomed to, but she did not hold this against him; it was common courtesy and she appreciated the thought, even though he was only possibly doing it simply because she had returned his watch and not out of a personal initiative. Or perhaps it was nothing more but a predictable by-product of male arrogance, which set out that being offered something as though in an act of ‘mercy’ or ‘pity’ by a woman (even if it was not as such) was unthinkable, and thus had to be repaid in some way with the sole intention of not being offered ‘favours’. She could discern the lie with a particular easiness, not because of his own incapacity in terms of what was the most useful tool humanity had created – on the contrary, he seemed frighteningly the persuasive type – but she recognized something she was good at herself. “Ne, tova ne e taka,” she told him with a curious smile, contradicting his words thus. “Vsichko e nared, mozhete da go zapazite. Tova ne e moya,” she said, and even a light, mirthless but amused laugh escaped her lips at the ridiculousness of the situation. The mere thought of taking the bracelet back was absurd! It had already been infected with wrong-doing and she would never acceded to carrying something as jinxed as that piece of cheap gold was; cleansing it would bring no solution, nor would the fact that he was offering it to her by his own willing self actually assisted in anything whatsoever but prolonging that sense of the stolen item being anathematized. She knew better than that, and was not gullible enough to believe a mere act of accession from his part would purify it from the sin from which it was inevitably held from.

She could not help but observe his eyes, however, and how they refused to remain on her face longer than a second, apparently more attracted to the windows of the train or … the wheels’ axle? Certainly she could not have looked as repulsive as to force him in reverting his gaze every now and then, or perhaps after what had happened several hours ago he did not wish to be staring at her more than necessary out of disgust or revolt; and yet such sentiments were not what she could read in his otherwise undecipherable face – and whatever it was that had happened – she knew not what it was and most positively was not going to ask. After she had endured many such incidents in the past, during which she had found herself in a most awful place at the wrong time, she simply desired to forget about the event and, perhaps, even pretend it had never occurred in the first place. She was following his gaze every second to see what he could have been looking at; the man appeared quite grave looking and serious, and yet, strangely enough, there was something very calm about his façade as he maintained perfect composure that peculiarly pacified her mind and turned her previous tormenting thoughts into dust.

And at that moment – her name? She looked at his face with unadulterated, genuine curiosity as he implied a desire to know her name, but was there really anything wrong in that? She stared at him for moments to come, not showing any signs of grasping the bracelet from his hands and finally put him out of the misery of having to communicate with her, until his face was turned to her. “Nadezhda,” she said quietly when their eyes met, and then turned around to look at the incoming crowd surrounding the platform as more passengers had arrived in time to board the train for when it was next due to leave the station on to the next destination.

“Smyatate li, che shte ima stolova tuk? Az sŭm ot glad,” she said in a slight frown, and looked beyond the ticket booth, on the right, in search of any stood store or small lunchroom. “Ne te li e?” she asked as her gaze scanned the surrounding area, and then stepped away from him without ever taking the bracelet back, and slowly walked into the platform in small, controlled steps, finding herself amidst the rest of the little lizards, looking on her right and left, moving on the side to allow a small child to run through on his game tag with his brother as she stared after them with a small frown for a few moments, but then took several steps backwards and turned around to search the other direction; a small line of people had accumulated in the ticket booth, loud voices again, an old man complaining at the ticket price, another fat, middle-aged and ridiculously painted over the face lady screeching after her disobeying children in an annoying girlish, high-pitched tone as she pulled her dress higher to protect it from gathering dust at the edges – an equally pompously tailored ridiculous dress with too many ruffles and an absurd carnivalesque collection of colours that made one’s eyes bleed from the sheer grotesque sight – and as Nevena stared at her for one or two seconds more than may be required, such a spectacle that might have best belonged to a burlesque act was not enough to pacify the deep hunger of her soul to be fed.

And as she walked through the crowd in a progressively agitated manner, a small smile made her lips curve as she spotted the canteen only a few metres away and quickly paced at its direction, turned the latch and entered.



Translation

No, it’s not.

It’s all right, you can keep it. It’s not mine.

Do you think there would be a canteen around here? I’m starving. Aren’t you?

[Max Pavenic]

The golden bracelet glistened invitingly in the light and even though Max was aware that it was merely the sun that was making the bracelet feel warmer than usual, he felt as if the fires of hell itself were licking at his palm. The presence of the curse was scorching his skin with such a wicked force, he felt like just dropping the bracelet and only barely did he manage to keep his hand level. He hoped that the girl would just pick it up and release him from his torment, but instead the young woman noted that the item wasn't hers to begin with and that Max could keep it. A light and surprisingly careless laugh followed her words and Max's jaw jutted forwards while his eyes narrowed, as if the man couldn't understand what exactly was so amusing. He didn't care if it was hers or not, it had been hers when he had stolen it and now he only wished to get rid of it. Even if it didn't hold any sentimental value to the girl, it was still fashioned from gold and surely worth at least something. He just wanted to return it so he could rid himself of the curse that was surely getting worse by each moment he had the item in his possession. He averted his gaze once again, his expression somewhat sour, if such a change in his already serious features could really even be discerned at all. Max was certain that returning the bracelet back to its owner would have made sure that the bad luck attached to the item would not follow him and he even considered secretly slipping the item back into her pocket if the situation allowed it... but that would have been just utterly ridiculous, of course.

His eyes stopped at the female for a moment, his eyebrows still knitted together when she graced him with her name, not that Max had been too interested in hearing it in the first place. She appeared curious over his inquiry, but it was the only sentiment Max could discern, although he didn't figure that she felt too disturbed by the question, either. She announced her name, Nadezhda, almost casually and Max figured that the name fit her innocent appearance well enough. He could only guess that it was courteous to return the favour and Max recalled a name he had heard just half an hour earlier in the train. It would fit as good as any other. "Zlatan," the man answered dispassionately and, seeing as the woman wasn't going to accept the bracelet back, he slipped the piece of jewelry back into the pocket of his overcoat, feeling increasingly irritated by her amused refusal. His neck was burning along with the wounds on his back, he hadn't caught a wink of sleep for God knew how long time now, he was out of funds, pissed off and afflicted by what seemed like at least three different curses by now. Max had experienced some serious drawbacks before, but surely he had fallen to the very bottom of the pit this time. It wasn't like he had ever experienced getting whipped, stolen from and nearly decapitated, all in the matter of a very short time, no less. It was quite understandable that Max wasn't currently in one of his best moods.

Even though the girl's disposition didn't bear any signs of ill will or mocking, Max felt that a good quantity of his bad luck was due to her. She was the one prone to getting controlled by evil spirits and now she further complicated matters by refusing to take her bracelet back. Nadezhda glanced around, hardly noticing the scornful glare that Max was giving her and her soft voice carried youthful cheerfulness to it when she asked about a canteen, further commenting on just how hungry she was. Max opened his mouth and glanced around in confusion, his eyes searching for something resembling a canteen, but the girl already went on, asking whether Max was feeling hungry at all. The Romanian tilted his head to the side in growing confusion, trying to find an answer, but the girl was now staring somewhere into the distance and she stepped away from Max before the man had time to react. The irritated man scowled after her, withholding his sharp words that would have certainly been expressed in angry Romanian. Obviously her question had been some kind of an invitation and she expected him to follow - why she wished this, Max couldn't even begin to understand, although she might have hoped that the man was courteous enough to buy her a dinner. Whatever her reasons were, the girl was already nimbly making her way past the people either leaving or entering the train and Max released a low, irritated growl as he started after her. He wasn't even sure why he opted to follow her and he felt blatantly idiotic as he tried to catch up with her, like an obedient mutt on a leash.

Surely it would have been easier to just let her go on her own way, but here he was, dodging people and trying to keep his eyes on her slender figure so as not to lose sight of her. And why? Out of politeness? Curiosity, maybe? It wasn't like he even particularly liked the girl, that much was certain and if anything, he felt nervous and unsafe around her - she had stuck his head out of the window and slammed the glass down on his neck, anyway. And even if one had disregarded this and assumed that Max was keen on following the girl around because she was quite pretty and kind of endearingly cute with her innocent emerald eyes staring back at him from amidst the sea of freckles, the assumption couldn't have been more sorely wrong. Max was far too level-headed to lose his senses over a pair of pretty eyes and even though he could recognize a beautiful lady when he saw one, he would have never let such an individual cloud his judgement for a moment. He was a professional, not a drooling idiot... although latter was how he felt like right now, dodging and weaving past people in effort to keep up with Nadezhda.

Max fixed the collar of his overcoat when he spotted an older man staring too closely at him and the Romanian grimaced as he darted into the shelter of the crowd, reaching the girl just as she was opening the door to the canteen. Giving himself a disapproving shake of his head, Max hastened his steps and grabbed the side of the door before it had closed after Nadezhda, slipping inside the old building. The canteen wasn't very large, but it had been there for a while and a distinct scent of various food items and tea ingredients clung to the walls of the room. Some of the worn tables still remained free as many of the passengers were still busy sorting out their luggage, navigating through the crowd or waiting in line for either the ticket booth or the toilets. Max stood in front of the door for a moment, making note of each door and window and the general layout of the space, his blue eyes scanning each of these details carefully. It was something he did on an instinct when entering a building he wasn't familiar with. Max was paranoid by nature and it never hurt to know where the doors were in case the situation called for a quick escape. Pushing his hands into the pockets of the overcoat, the man narrowed his eyes and hastened his steps once again to keep up with the girl. The scents of various foods reminded Max of how he hadn't really eaten anything in a good while and as he walked past the glass display sporting a collection of sandwiches and pastries, he licked his lips, feeling increasingly hungry. His attention had been so completely stolen by the alluring sights behind the glass, he found himself almost colliding with Nadezhda's back and Max glared at her slender figure testily. If the girl was expecting for Max to pay for her meal, she would be sorely disappointed, for the man had no means to pay for the food and even if he had, his resentful politeness was reaching its limits by now.