Bad Moon Rising

[Nevena Grosdova]

Nevena had been staring into the open once she had told him the name he desired to know – regardless if it was false or not; what one did not know would not harm one, certainly – and meant to ask whether there was any canteen around the railway station for she was starving, when he suddenly pronounced his name at her; she turned over her shoulder and curiously glanced at him, as though he were the most strange creature in this universe, and perhaps he was by simply judging how serious he always remained with the intention of persistently abstaining from exhibiting the remotest emotion that may or may not have pierced through his insides. “Nikoga nyama da te popita,” she told him in a soft voice, and though the words may have been considered rude by society, they were delivered with shocking simplicity, as though she may have just announced the coming of thunderstorm in a newsreel. “Predpochitakh, kogato az ne znam, ti beshe po-zagadŭchna po tozi nachin. Mislya, che tova, koeto imame nuzhda v zhivota ni e malko misteriya, da ne ste sŭglasni?” she delicately spoke, as the soft breeze danced around her black curls, and then once she claimed she was starving, soon found herself striding inside the canteen.

Her irises widened at the pastries inside the glass as more people queued around her for their own share of the delicious food, the proprietor appearing to be rather busy in his attempt to quickly serve all the customers who were loudly ordering, each to his own, and altogether creating a chaotic state that resembled the situation as narrated in many children’s books in which all the animals in the forest grouped around the leader, who usually was the mighty lion, to discuss over matters regarding their community, and each animal had their own opinion and demanded it most passionately, often laughing and jeering at the other’s words, and yet they still formed a perfectly natural community. She looked at each and every one of the pastries displayed behond the glass – the Bulgarian banitsa with its layers of buttered phyllo dough, which reminded her of how her grandmother used to place lucky charms whenever she baked the dessert for Christmas or New Year’s Eve, such as small dogwood branches or silver coins, and how the woman more often than not used yoghurt as a filling or feta cheese; and then the famous cake pastry from Slovenia, the rekmurska gibanica, a type of layered sweet strudel baked with poppy seeds and as the girl could distinctly observe, the canteen offered several variations as the pieces of pie were each served on a white plastic plate, stuffed with dried grapes, walnut, jam, fruit or fruit compotes, apple and cottage cheese. And next to this breath-taking buffet of ambrosial prominence, stood proudly the Hungarian kifli in all of its glory, the sweet pastry with the triangular wedges wrapped in a crescent morsel, adorned with chocolate on top. The people that came into the shop, all from different Balkan countries travelling each to his own different place, came through and spoke their desires aloud in what appeared to have been a jungle within the canteen in which the living creatures inside were impatient parrots making loud noises as they awaited to be fed. “Pavlo, éna baklavá!” a Greek man laughed at the proprietor as his family joined the queue, and the proprietor chuckled under his breath; he was of Greek-Romanian descent and hailed from the infamous mountains of Wallachia, who now lived in the town of Gyule in the Romanian-Hungarian suburbs to make a living. And, indeed, he pulled the plate with the baklava from the glass display, as the door opened a few times more the following moments.

“Srpski pita sa sirom!”

“Lapolás, legyen szíves!”

“O skorup, te rog!”

“A Borek, Pavlo, és tegye ketten! És három sort!”

“Négy sör!”

“Da, znam, che samo devet sutrinta – ”

“ – I Ja sam imao takav dug put, previše!”

“Aş dori şase beri, vă rog.”

“És a kürtőskalács!”

“Cu cireşe în partea de sus – ”

“Por jo kos, faleminderit.”

“Dali imate Banica so Jabolko popolnuvanje?”

“Nu? Apoi, doar o Trdelník ar face. Prefer nuci – ”

“A nie jam, ja som alergický – ”

“ – Sto tyrí – ”

“ – I sirop – ”

Nevena was suddenly brought back to earth as she felt someone falling into her back and she quickly turned over her shoulder, as though the abrupt physical contact had alerted her, obviously uncomfortable at first, but once she saw it was him again, she somehow loosened up, actually finding it inevitably amusing how he had followed her. Then, she turned to the proprietor, after having made up her mind on what she was to order amidst all the chaos and the shouts. “Igen, lesz egy balitsa a joghurt kitöltésével, a sajt Borek, a mămăligă és egy csomag loukoumades - nem, nem mézes, csak csoki szirup. És a gibanica. Köszönöm,” she spoke in perfect Hungarian, and nodded encouragingly as Pavlo, having bent over the glass display, looked up at her curiously, possibly wondering if all this was for her. She felt someone intently watching her and as she turned over, it was him once more, staring at her as though she was the weirdest thing in this world. “Kakvo?” she curiously asked him in their native language this time. “Az sŭm ot glad!” And then, as though everything was normal and nice, she turned around and moved away from him, walking towards the small table right against the window with a view directly to the train, and sat herself in one of the two opposing chairs.

Soon enough he came to sit by her, and she looked at him curiously. Silence passed between them during which they merely stood facing opposite one another, her eyes examining him closely, and her face inscrutable. “Az li neshto na litseto si?” she asked him eventually, her tone enquiring but never rude, never alluding to the fact she might have considered it an offense, for she certainly never had; she found it awfully amusing, strange, but never offending. “Sŭm az che otblŭskvasht? Prosto obrŭshtam ochite si drugade. Sega veche mozhe da bŭde dosta stomakha zavoĭ, no ne tolkova, kolkoto da napravyat vlaka os po-dobŭr pogled ot men?” she spoke in a perfectly calm, crystal voice that strangely reached his ears as clear as the Danube washed into the Black Sea, isolated from the rest of the crowd as they were, her gaze unyielding, unblinking. “... Zatova li me izlŭga-rano?” she asked him, and even a small smile was formed in the corner of her lips. “Da dade na grivnata obratno. Mozhe bi ne sa go napravili, shte go izkhvŭrlya, ako ne mozheshe da ne go dam na men.” The sunlight that penetrated the room through the window on her right directly shone upon her clear, deep emerald eyes, and her expression appeared genuinely curious, if anything. “Istinata e ... Ne iskakh da se priblizhava, nali? Az ne te obvinyavam. Bikh iskam da bŭde okolo otvratitelen neshta, kakto dobre. Taka che istinskiyat vŭpros e ...” she whispered, and slightly leaned towards him as her arms lay crossed on the table, “zashto vse oshte me?” Her eyes gazed at him intensely, with a desire to know, and through the momentary silence that passed once more between them, through the noise several metres away from them, there was nothing else but pure skepticism and a stoic face looking at him – but then the proprietor came over with their orders, carrying a tray with many small plates set upon it, some of them jumbled next to one another to exploit whatever bit of space, as he began to quickly place them upon the table.



Translation

“I never asked you. I preferred when I didn’t know, you were more mysterious that way. I think what we need in our lives is a little mystery, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Pavlo, a baklava.”

“A Serbian cheese pie!”
“A Halvah cake!”
“A skorup, please!”
“A börek, Pavlo, and make it two of them! And three beers.”
“Four beers!”
“Yes, I know it’s only nine in the morning –”
“ – and I’ve had such a long journey, too!”
“I’d like six beers, please.”
“And a kürtőskalács!”
“With cherry on top – ”
“ – but no yoghurt, thanks.”
“Do you have a banitsa with apple filling?”
“No? Then just a Trdelník would do. I prefer walnuts – ”
“ – and no jam, I’m allergic – ”
“ – to cheese – ”
“ – and syrup!”

“Yes, I’ll have a banitsa with the yoghurt filling, a cheese borek, a mămăligă and one packet of loukoumades – no, not served with honey, just chocolate syrup. And a gibanica. Thank you.”

“What? I’m starving!”

“Do I have something on my face? Am I that repulsive? You just revert your eyes elsewhere. Now I may be quite stomach turning, but not as much as to make the train’s axle a better sight than I? … Is that why you lied to me earlier? About giving the bracelet back. You wouldn’t have done it, you would have thrown it away if you could but not give it to me. The truth is … you did not really want to come close, did you? I don’t blame you. I’d hate to be around hideous things, as well. So the real question is … why did you still follow me?”

[Max Pavenic]

Max couldn't help but feeling irritated when the girl glanced at him over her shoulder and he recognized the brief glint of laughter in her green eyes. She turned around to observe the various pastries inside the glass display again and Max's eyes narrowed slowly when he figured that the girl was amused because he had actually followed her like an obedient dog - either she had not expected him to follow her wishes or her words had not really been an invitation in the first place. It didn't really matter anymore, as the girl had already spotted him and a discreet escape was simply out of the question. All he could do now was to pretend that he had an actual purpose of remaining and he decided to set upon the task by appearing as indifferent as possible. Max stood behind the girl, brooding there like some carved statue with rather gloomy facial features, the corners of his mouth turned down and his chin jutting forwards as his hands still rested in the pockets of his coat to further accentuate his reclusiveness.

His ears picked up the easily spoken Hungarian words dropping from the girl's tongue and Max frowned, both at the fact that she had switched languages so effortlessly and at the list of things she was ordering. It was clear that he wasn't the only one who found the girl's considerable appetite quirky, as the man behind the counter was staring at the young female in obvious puzzlement and he glanced briefly at Max, as if wondering whether the order was to be shared between the two. They seemed to be in the same party, seeing as how close Max was standing to the girl, although the expression on the man's face was anything but forthcoming. Maybe they were a couple, or a brother and sister, just having suffered a spat between each other over the arduous trip in the train, explaining the sour look on the man's face? The proprietor's sentiments remained private, as Max had completely forgotten to observe the people around him and he stared at the girl intently, wondering if she was ordering for him also, or if she was truly so hungry as to consume all the things she was pointing out from the display. As if on queue to his thoughts, the dark-haired girl turned around slightly, exclaiming that she was starving, promptly starting towards the windows of the canteen once she had graced Max with her simple explanation. The man was left standing in his place for a small moment and he moved only after the customers behind him had expressed their displeasure in loudly spoken complaints. Realizing that he really had only one option on where to go, he trailed after the Bulgarian girl and soon sat in the seat opposite to her, feeling awkward and confused. His eyes locked on the girl for a moment as he searched for any signs of annoyance or anger, but she seemed to have expected for Max to join her at the table. The man remained quiet as he sat on his seat, his posture rigid as he made sure that his injured back wouldn't connect with the back of the chair - something that wasn't really helping him with appearing natural and comfortable, but Max had no desire to maintain such an act.

They were left staring at each other for a small moment and Max, his hands still in his pockets, felt more than a trifle uncomfortable with the situation and he averted his gaze, glancing at the window instead. His serious expression persisted and the man seemed anything but sociable, his eyes tracking the movements of a half-dead fly on the window sill instead. The small, black insect was lying on the dusty, wooden surface on its side, shiny wings still moving sporadically, making the fly bounce up and down while the three pairs of tiny legs wiggled furiously as if there was still a chance to survive. Max felt like he was looking at himself, trapped in the unwanted situation as he was - just a small insect under the illusion there was a chance to escape, struggling, his wings clipped and weak, just waiting for that moment once the nature claimed her own. The man tilted his head to the side as he observed the insect, but then the girl's smooth voice brought him back to reality and his head snapped up as he returned his gaze at her. Max's sour expression was mixed with a dose of fresh confusion when the girl asked if he found her appearance so disturbing as to force him to avert his gaze. She even admitted that she might have looked revolting, but not as much as to make a train's axle a more pleasing sight - obviously she had observed Max's wandering gaze earlier outside when he had offered back the bracelet and the thought only deepened his frown. She figured that maybe this was the reason Max had lied about the bracelet, for clearly he had meant to throw it away instead of returning it to her. The Romanian listened to her words with his chin tilted slightly upwards, his eyebrows furrowed into a constant frown and only barely did he manage to suppress an amused snort when the girl suggested that Max must have been so disgusted by her appearance that he would have rather been anywhere else but in her presence. He wasn't sure if she was completely serious or if she was only joking, although Max could not discern any real sarcasm in the tone of her soft voice. Was she just completely oblivious to the way she looked or merely playing games with him? Max peered his eyes as he observed her, trying to spot the laughter in those green eyes, but she appeared only curious and not the least bit offended. Mostly though, just... genuinely curious. She leaned towards him over the table, emerald eyes shining brightly in the sunlight sifting through the window glass as she asked why Max was still following her if he truly found her so hideous.

The man shot her a puzzled look and slowly withdrew his hands from the pockets of the light-brown coat, resting them in his lap instead. He let a moment of silence pass between them, hooking one eyebrow at the girl before he finally answered. "Ne mislja, che liceto e otvratitelen," the man said nonchalantly, realizing that the words might have come out in the wrong way and the left corner of his mouth withdrew slightly, although he didn't bother correcting his sentence. His blue eyes darted to the side briefly, but then he returned his gaze back at the girl and this time his eyes remained on her, unblinking, serious. "Predpolagam...." the man paused and thought for a moment. "Az nikoga ne sa vyrnati, predi vsichko, koeto sa... pridobili," the man said in a low, gruff voice, avoiding mentioning the word 'stolen' out loud. It was a word that drew attention far too easily and the attention rarely was that of positive kind - it was better to be safe than sorry. As Max didn't know how to further elaborate his thoughts, he merely shrugged. "Tova e obyrkvashto."

As if this was a reasonable enough explanation, the man fell silent for a moment, leaving the girl's last question hanging in the air as he noticed the proprietor of the canteen approaching the table, balancing various plates upon his tray and soon starting to set them down on the table. Max stared at the plates quietly and realized his mouth was watering and that his stomach felt horribly empty - he had not eaten for a few days, at least, and even though he had learned how to cope with hunger, the presence of food made the feeling almost unbearable. After all the plates had been laid down on the table and Pavlo had left his customers to enjoy the food in peace, Max swallowed, his eyes still on the various pastries that had now been placed within his reach. He cut the girl a brief glance in order to answer the question that still lacked an explanation. "I ti me pokani da vi sledvat. Ne si li spomnjash?" Max tilted his head to the side to emphasize his words while he flexed his fingers in his lap, hunger having overtaken all other sentiments for the moment. He exhaled slowly, already imagining the greasy, heavy taste of one of the pastries over his tongue, a brief, greedy glint visiting his eyes. He was so... very... hungry.

His hands suddenly shot up from beneath the table and grabbed the most desirable thing from one of the plates, his fingers curling around the maize bread, mămăligă, a dish he fondly remembered from his childhood in Romania. He didn't even bother regarding the girl's reaction as his teeth already bit into the thick texture of the mămăligă and he closed his eyes as he stuffed as much of the food into his mouth as possible, a low grumble of bliss accompanying his rather unseemly table manners. Max's eyes opened slowly to observe the girl, although he was still happily munching on the food and his expression held no hints of remorse at all. He was hungry. He had taken the food. It was as simple as that. Besides, she had almost killed him, so the least she could do was to share some of her food, right?

Basic survival instincts had overridden the need for polite behaviour and Max couldn't find it in himself to feel even the smallest sting of regret... although the lack of guilt might have come with the profession. "Kakvo?" the man shrugged at the girl's expression. "Az sŭm ot glad," Max explained, sarcastically mimicking the girl's earlier words and giving her just a knowing raise of his eyebrow before stuffing another healthy portion of the food into his mouth, rendering himself unable to speak as he was, for the moment, content on resembling a rather voracious squirrel.


Translations:

"Ne mislja, che liceto e otvratitelen."
"I do not find your face hideous."

"Predpolagam.... Az nikoga ne sa vyrnati, predi vsichko, koeto sa... pridobili. Tova e obyrkvashto."
"I guess.. I have never before returned anything I have... acquired. It was confusing."

"I ti me pokani da vi sledvat. Ne si li spomnjash?"
"And you invited me to follow you. Don't you remember?"

"Kakvo? Az sŭm ot glad."
"What? I'm starving."

[Nevena Grosdova]

He … did not find her face … hideous. Nevena looked at him curiously and even slightly wrinkled her forehead, unsure how to perceive that statement – for, certainly, finding her quite repulsive perfectly explained his behaviour towards her thus far, whereas now she simply could not understand why, and she resented not understanding things. A surge of anger rushed through her body as she became irritated by this new source of a lack of comprehension, and wished him to find her hideous! Then everything would make sense, everything would be perfectly accounted for and she would not have to think about it any more – and now, as he excused his demeanour to have stemmed from the rather ‘confusing’, as he pronounced, state of affairs he found himself after having to return an item of thievery, which was as fuzzy a statement as the cats around her town of origin, she could not help but curve the eyebrows over her eyes in confusion, disliking him for being so anti-business! Don’t contradict what she says, for it is true, just tell the girl the reason you followed and went against your better nature of avoiding staring at ugly objects for long, and then simply leave – was that really so terribly difficult? But there, he had to alter her words and claim otherwise, as though she were one of those silly, whimsical cocottes who fancied fishing for all the compliments they could get – and she did not even like fish – she hated having to clean them before cooking and then slowly pull out their entrails, with the stench lingering in the corner of her fingers as she touched the slimy things – but she was too disgusted to look at their little faces as they fried and so would grab the kitchen axe and with a sharp, brisk movement cut off their heads as they fell down on the floor – the same axe that – her eyes darkened slightly as a red flash passed before her and she blinked once or twice, staring directly at the man but in reality not staring at anything whatsoever, and soon enough she felt a headache piercing her brain at the same time as he claimed she had invited him herself.

His rudeness knew no boundaries, it seemed. A curious smile was formed in her lips and she had to cover her mouth with her right hand to suppress the laugh that had almost escaped her throat. “Nikoga nyama da te pokani,” she explained, smiling at him not in a particularly friendly fashion, and perhaps there was amused disbelief in her eyes as she glanced at him. “Az samo popitakh dali ste gladni, az prosto ... lyubopiten,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone, as though she was teaching a five-year-old child how one plus one makes two, or often eleven, as well, depending on the amount of barley-originated refreshments one has had. Be that as it may, her eyes reverted away from the man and fixated upon the different plates placed around the small table, and Pavlo the proprietor had to somehow jumble the plates together to fit in the wooden surface; Nevena gave him a pleased smile and he went away, as she returned her gaze to those small sources of gluttonous satisfaction, her mind racing as she tried to decide from which one she should begin with – when, all of a sudden, he was kind enough to assist her in her decisions as those greedy sausages others used for fingers overstretched to … Nevena stood cold in her place. Had he just … snatched the mămăligă away from her? Frozen in her seat, her face stone cold and her pulse decelerating dangerously, she watched him swallow down the maize bread with redundant arrogance and thoughtlessness, until he opened his mouth and – blood rushed hot in her veins as his filthy lips uttered and twisted her own words in such a despicable fashion, she felt the sudden, inexplicable to her urge to stretch out her hand and force the rest of the pastry through his throat and –

She furrowed her eyebrows suddenly and her face distorted into a grimace of irritation and disappointment as she stretched out her hand and snatched the pastry away from his mouth just as he was about to devour the last remaining piece – and smelled it, closing her eyes, allowing the savour to seduce her nostrils but … nothing happened, she could not feel the intoxicating, siren call of the bread consuming her brain … that mămăligă had been quite important to her, and now he had ruined everything! She scowled as she stared at the pastry, thinking how his saliva had probably contaminated every inch of it, how those greedy bared teeth had tore the bread apart and gulped it down his throat, yes, he had ruined the taste for her, as she liked to experience her food herself without anyone else interfering; it was a rather personal moment for her but one which he had to ravage, of course, in such a thoughtless, selfish manner, so typical of the male species, indeed! But still – she would eat it out of spite! And thus, with a growl of anger, she closed her eyes and gulped down the last piece of the pastry, opening them again just so she could see the look in his face, the very look a squirrel would have when a rather nasty mouse would steal the acorn away from him. And one should imagine the deep shock in her face once she saw him opting for the banitsa next as though to further challenger her – her mouth opened wide and her irises widened at such hideous display of audacity.

Now that was just cruel!

With a grimace of irritation, she grabbed the cheese borek next on to her right and swallowed it down with the easiness of a lion snapping the bones of a zebra as it lay down on the scorching savannah ground, waiting to be had as a marvelous hors d’oeuvre, just as his greedy, insatiable fingers went for the final, hard strike – no, not her loukoumades! It was her favourite of them all, and she could feel something in her heart break as a gasp escaped her lips upon watching him savour the sweet chocolate sauce, slightly tilting her head to the side with her eyes fixated on him as though she wished just by the optical contact she would feel the same he tasted, as though it would be transmitted in the air, but alas, it was not so, it was not so! A desolate expression briefly dominated her facial features as she bitterly stared at this savagery – but then with a stubborn glare she grasped the gibanica from the far corner and filled her complaining stomach with it.

If the proprietor had any doubts in terms of their relation, all such reservations had by now been extinguished. The queue line had lessened as most people were now sat on the small tables and enjoying their breakfast – but they were more normal people, preferring to avoid a ridiculous amount of pastries so early in the morning – as Pavlo’s wife was presently taking orders, and the man curiously approached them. “Nem tetszik ez?” he asked them in Hungarian as he stopped by, appearing genuinely curious, and by that time Nevena had easily adjusted into her previous disposition, looking nice and kind again as she licked her lips. “Igen, minden volt, gyönyörű, köszönöm,” she assured him with a smile, and the man returned it, pleased. The train whistle was heard for the first time, then. She pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear and slowly sat up, looking at the middle-aged man next to her; he could have only been a centimetre or two taller than her, and his chubbiness revealed he liked to thoroughly taste the pastries to personally make sure they had the appropriate amount of syrup, for instance. “Volt jobb, ha a vonat belsejében most, a tiszt meglehetősen alapos papírjaival. A bátyám fog fizetni,” she assured him, and the man nodded. “Persze, mi mást is testvérek?” he said, and laughed. Nevena merely smiled, and slung the rucksack back into her arms. “Ő a legédesebb az egyik minden!” she said in a sweet laugh as she looked at the thief in a rather affectionate manner.

Her words, of course, were to be strangely contradicted by precisely how sour the scowling man generally appeared to be, his brooding exterior and the fact he looked as though someone might have as well just vomited on his face.

Pavlo could not help but lightly laugh and then patted the man on his back encouragingly a few times with his large, round hand, an image only enhanced by the fact the young man could have no idea what the two had been talking about. With a last smile, and as the second whistle was heard, Nevena threw a glance at the selfish thief and turned away, leaving him behind with the proprietor who was still standing next to him expectantly, as she walked towards the door, and left.

The train whistle was heard once more, and the officers began to call for the passengers to board the train, as more people exited the canteen and gathered back into the open area with their papers ready. Smiling to herself satisfactorily, Nevena walked through the crowd as the breeze danced along the locks of her coal-black hair and once the officer had checked her documents, she boarded the train and walked across the corridor, finally reaching the end side of the train as she placed herself against the railing of the open area, looking at the horizon, the noise and chaos that resurfaced blocked from her mind, until she emptied it. Until once more, there was nothing.


Translation

I never invited you. I only asked if you’re hungry, I was just ... curious.

Did you enjoy it?

Yes, everything was delightful, thank you. I had better get inside the train now, the officers can be rather thorough with papers. My brother is going to pay.

Of course, what else are brothers for?

He’s the sweetest one of all!

[Max Pavenic]

The food practically melted in Max's mouth and he savored each blissful second carefully, his eyes half-closed as he succumbed to his personal rapture. As always, food tasted the sweetest when enjoyed after a solid period of famishment and even when the man could plainly read the shock and irritation on the girl's face, he didn't care to apologize or to explain his actions. Even though Max's sense of what was fair and what was not was one-sided at best, he figured that he had all the right to eat some of the food the girl had ordered - she had almost killed him, whether in control of her own actions or not, and the least she could do was to share some of her breakfast. There was enough food in the table to feed at least three people and he couldn't understand how the girl had been planning on eating all of this food on her own in the first place. This was why he returned to the girl's angry stare with raised eyebrows, communicating only his complete lack of remorse while his jaws still kept on working on the maize bread.

He was just about to finish up the remaining part of the bread when the food was brutally snatched away from him and Max's mouth was left half-open as he had been just planning on gulping down the remaining mămăligă. His eyebrows furrowed into a deep, disapproving frown and he watched as the girl eyed the pastry for a while, smelling it carefully, her emerald eyes closed... before she promptly stuffed it into her mouth and clearly enjoyed the taste, making the scowl on the man's face only deepen. Well, that she had clearly done just out of spite! Max wasn't going to let that pass. His blue eyes skipped back to the plates as he tried to decide on which pastry to go for next and his gaze stopped on the fresh, delicious banitsa. With practiced swiftness, his hand shot out to grab the pastry and he threw the girl a rather mocking glance as he settled into enjoying the food. In response, the young female grabbed the cheese borek, gulping the pastry down with surprising ease and Max had to hurry with his own food in order to win the competition that certainly would have seemed comical to any outsider watching the spectacle. Much in the way an young animal learned to take advantage of a favourable situation when it came to feeding and surviving as the strongest member of its brood, Max's eyes were already searching for a new victim, his eyes fixating upon one of the plates when the girl was still enjoying the remnants of her own pastry. Max's fingers hovered over the loukoumades for a few seconds and after he saw the horrified expression over the girl's features, he snatched the food and closed his eyes as he savored the food slowly, making it into a great spectacle and he grumbled low in his throat, knowing that the girl detested seeing the food disappearing into his greedy gullet. The knowledge only made the food taste all the sweeter and he sighed contently, allowing his eyes to open half-way just so that he could witness the look on the girl's face.

The man was still enjoying the last pieces of the food when he spotted the proprietor, Pavlo, appearing next to the table and saying something in Hungarian. No doubt he knew other languages, also, but as the girl had addressed him in Hungarian, he most likely expected that this was the language the girl was most comfortable with. Max had never bothered to learn Hungarian and he could only catch a few familiar words here and there, hardly enough to grasp the entire meaning of most discussions. Whatever the man was saying, the girl answered happily, all traces of her previous sourness having completely disappeared by now. Max was still chewing on the remnants of his food and he only managed to look slightly confused, his attention drawn towards the window and the train as he heard the train whistle for the first time. By the time his gaze had skipped back to the girl, she was already getting up from her seat and even though Max had no intention on following her or hurrying into the train, he felt as if something very alarming was happening and the language barrier was preventing him from understanding it. New words were exchanged between the girl and Pavlo, while Max still sat upon his seat, frowning and appearing much more suspicious than just moments ago. Even though he couldn't understand what was being said, he could plainly see that no money was being exchanged... which could only mean that the girl was going to leave him with settling the bill on the lavish breakfast. She seemed relaxed and overly happy with the situation, even gracing the proprietor with an easy laugh, only making Max feel all the more uncomfortable by the new turn of events.

The raven-haired girl had already picked up her backpack and, flashing Max an extremely warm and caring smile, it was quite clear that she wasn't even going to grace Max with any explanation over the situation. Max stared at her, not even daring to look at Pavlo for the moment and he gave himself a small moment to consider the situation, raising his hand to wipe away small remnants of food from the corner of his mouth. He grunted as he felt a thick hand slamming against his back, Pavlo deciding to give him a few good friendly pats on the back and Max managed to change the pained grunt into a strained cough, although his eyes widened momentarily as he fought against the sudden torrents of pain and waited for them to subside again. The girl smiled once more before turning around and starting towards the door, leaving Max sitting in the table, the various empty plates laid down before him and the pudgy older man standing next to him expectantly. Max allowed his eyes dart to the side and Pavlo smiled, nodding, to which Max just responded with clearing his throat and slowly edging his hand towards the inside breast pocket of his coat, as if to pull out a wallet. He searched the pocket fervently and after glancing at Pavlo, made a sheepish face at him, while both of his hands went down to search the other pockets on his coat instead. He made sure that Pavlo saw the exaggerated frown over his features when he couldn't find the imaginary wallet he was supposed to be carrying and Max paused for a moment, as if trying to remember the whereabouts of his possessions.

Max shrugged and got up from his seat, observing Pavlo from the corner of his eye and noticing how he made room for him so he could better search for the money. Of course, there was no wallet or money to find, but that didn't stop Max from searching his pockets in puzzled concentration - a process which Pavlo was now observing with growing suspicion, as if he was expecting for the man to come up with some age-old explanation over forgetting his wallet in the train and he was already anticipating throwing a fit over his cheap treachery. Max disliked being indiscreet and he rarely resorted to violence, but he had been left trapped in a situation where all the means for subtlety had already been lost. Max's blue eyes stared at the man from under his brows as he still pretended to search the pockets of his pants, sensing the growing irritation from the proprietor's part. Then, without any warning, Max's hand shot out and his fist connected powerfully and accurately with the man's gut. If Max had expected for the man to double over in pain, he was sorely mistaken, for he could almost feel his hand bouncing back from the rather ample layer of fat, the lightning punch having done little to disturb the pudgy man. Pavlo's eyes narrowed and a low growl, like that of an angry bear having woken up from it's hibernation too early, emanated from the man's throat and Max stared at him, his fingers still curled up into a fist. He gulped.

A hammy fist connected with the side of the Romanian's head and he found himself tumbling down and backwards, losing his footing and crashing down on one of the rickety wooden chairs, feeling it coming apart under the crush of his bulk. The attention of all the other customers in the canteen had now been fixed upon the unruly customer and the angry proprietor of the place and people were staring at the scene, pastries and sandwiches left unchewed, coffee cups frozen mid-air, mouths hanging open. Max groaned in pain, trying to clear his buzzing head as he scrambled among the remnants of the chair while Pavlo was already closing on to him, various Romanian and Greek curses streaming from his mouth as he meant to grab the young man and teach him some further manners with the help of his knuckles. Max blinked and managed to spot the fuzzy figure of the large man getting closer to him and without really thinking about it any further, he grabbed one of the wooden pieces of the chair from the floor and slung it towards the man. It wouldn't have done any damage to Pavlo, of course, but on a natural instinct, the man paused to grab it and by the time he had returned his attention back to the thief, the Romanian was already nimbly getting back to his feet, slipping and stumbling as he was. "Hoţ!" Pavlo roared after the man, dropping the lone piece of wood from his hand to grab the man's coat, but he was too slow and Max evaded his grasp, heading towards the door with all the speed and grace he could muster.

Max burst out of the door like a bat out of hell, Pavlo following hot on his heels, shouting obscenities in various languages, calling him a thief, a bastard, a criminal and various other names that made the fine ladies near the door blush and cover their mouths with their hands. Max didn't really hear any of these hastily chosen insults as he realized that the train was moving by now and he held his breath for a moment, knowing that the train was his only decent chance for escape. He could run elsewhere, of course, but no doubt an entire crowd would be following him, followed by the police sooner or later and he could only run for so long. Even if he managed to hide, it would have been far too risky to return to the station anytime soon and it would completely ruin his travel plans. Reminding himself of all of these facts, he ran on, dodging and weaving around the confused crowd as their eyes fixed on the red-faced, loud-shouting Pavlo instead of the thief himself. Max felt the air clearing from his lungs as he collided forcefully with an older, finely dressed lady and only barely prevented himself from tumbling down on top of her. The lady released a high-pitched scream as she fell and Max groaned as her waving hands, looking for any support available, grabbed first at the side of his coat and then at his neck, ripping away the bandage and the tape that had been holding the cloth in place. He half-jumped, half-stumbled over both her fallen bulk and her kicking feet and as soon as his shoes touched the gravel once again, he continued his escape, knowing that each moment was bringing not only Pavlo closer to him, but also making more people aware of just who the pudgy man was after.

A hand grasped at his coat as he ran past the people and only Max's breakneck speed saved him from the sudden attempt of someone trying to stop him. Pavlo, his face and neck red from all the yelling and running, had slowed down his pace and he was pointing towards the fleeing figure, although it was unnecessary as a group of young men had already realized what was going on and they had started sprinting after the thief, eager in catching him and getting hailed as heroes of the day. Max didn't dare glancing over his shoulder, but he had cleared the crowd by now and he could hear several rapid footsteps getting closer to him while he was already growing almost breathless by the running, the hunger and lack of sleep having taxed his energy resources. The train was gathering up speed and Max forced his feet to move even faster, the horrifying thoughts of being captured and delivered to the authorities helping him with finding the last remaining shreds of his strength. Pavlo had been left far behind, but a group of ten eager young men were trailing after the fast-running thief by now, people in the yard yelling encouragements at the boys, the sight having turned into an exciting scene straight out of a moving picture that had captured the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

Max extended his hand as he ran after the train and his fingertips touched the side of the railing briefly, failing to grasp it. The man grimaced at the pain over his back and at the continuously burning feeling within his chest as he gasped for air, feeling as if his lungs would explode any moment now. He could register a hand grabbing hold of his trench coat in order to stop him, but at the same moment his fingers managed to curl around the railing and he forced his feet to move even faster as the train pulled him along rapidly and he almost stumbled over his own feet. Max made one more desperate sprint and his other foot found a solid foothold at the very same moment as someone tugged at his coat and then the grasp vanished as Max pulled himself on the small open section at the back of the train. He gasped, feeling almost like throwing up and his fingers grasped the metal railing hard enough to make his knuckles turn white. Max still turned around slightly to observe the scene behind him, his breathing heavy and his blue eyes wide from both excitement and fear. The ten young men were slowing down, knowing they wouldn't catch the man now that the train had picked up speed and they were shaking their fists at him instead, fervently calling him rude names, aware of the fact that plenty of young women were certainly following their chivalrous deeds. Max allowed himself to close his eyes as he held onto the railing, steadying his breathing and giving himself a small moment to calm down. The train station had soon been left behind and Max ran a hand down his face as he turned around, opening the door and entering the corridor, still feeling rather shaken up over the narrow escape and grimacing after he realized that the sprinting and falling over chairs had not exactly helped with the wounds over his back. He had been cursed with bad luck, that much was for sure, and it all had started the moment he had stolen the silver cross. He had been punished over this theft, however, so the blame could only lie on the golden bracelet still residing in his pocket.

Max walked along the empty corridor, his gait irritated, the trench coat billowing after him as he tried to walk off the worst throes of pain and anger. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to find the girl and confront her, for she had brought more than enough trouble on Max as it was, but some part of him wanted to meet her once more, look her in the eyes and see the surprise over her features when she'd realize that her trap had failed. He was just a few steps away from the door when it opened and Max slowed down, his eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he observed the girl closing the door, her back towards him, but he didn't need to see her face to know it was Her. The man's jaw jutted forward as a sour expression took over his features and he stopped near the girl, his footsteps having suddenly grown smoother and quieter and she did not spot him until she pivoted around.

"Tova ne e smeshno," Max rasped at her, his voice carrying an angry edge to it, his blue eyes having taken on a darker shade as his hands rested on his sides, the fingers on his right hand curling into a loose fist. His chest was still heaving slightly from the running and he was aware that the side of his head was aching from the solid blow he had taken at his left temple. A slow, thin trickle of blood was snaking down his neck from the exposed wound, hastily stitched together as it was and the dried blood was now clearly visible on the collar of his white shirt. The man's dark hair was standing up messily, the left corner of his eye had taken on a curious red-and-white hue and the dark rings under his eyes appeared more visible now, coupled with all the other misery the man had been through recently. All of this having been put together, Max certainly wasn't the happiest little squirrel in the world, but his anger towards the young girl had taken priority and the corners of his mouth drew downwards to further accentuate just how displeased he was with the situation.


Translations:

"Hoţ!"
"Thief!"

"Tova ne e smeshno."
"That wasn't funny."

[Nevena Grosdova]

The young woman stayed at the end of the train for two minutes before she decided she had better place her rucksack and suitcase on her compartment lest someone else of those crafty Balkan bastards assumed it was empty and thus occupied it, her thoughts however hardly revolving around such trivial matters, instead circling around the same event again and again: the man conned and trapped in her cruel little trick, as she drowned in waves of self-satisfaction and sheer amusement thinking of how the proprietor would catch him single-handed, possibly alerting other men to assist him in dealing with this thief, and eventually sending him to the local authorities in which his destiny was to be determined – this came not from an evil, unpleasant disposition of hers which quenched her thirst from other people’s misfortunes, and indeed she never wished to think of herself in that way; but had he really not deserved it? Completely ignoring her own painful need to fulfil her desire for consumption and treating her in a way which utterly disregarded her own well-being, instead preferring to look after his own self first and foremost, and then of course lying to her – or falsely assuming she might have had any desire whatsoever to spend her breakfast with him, as though she was not accustomed to doing everything alone. As though she knew not in person of the world’s cruel side. And still, as she had carefully laid the luggage in the compartment, and just as she had meant to go outside and join the passenger compartment – not out of a personal necessity for companionship but lest she should find anyone worth being ‘provided’ from – she stayed by the door, and then leaned against it with her arms softly touching across its length by the edges, slowly tilting her head to rest against it, a melancholic expression dominating her eyes as she appeared to have drowned in a world of her own, staring at the opposite wall in the empty corridor, and yet not staring at anything in particular. Her lips no longer smiled, her face no longer bore that thrill to it as her eyes became sad, desolate – and pangs of regret and guilt washed through her insides. After all, it had only been a white lie.

And he had, indeed, intended to give the bracelet back, her refusal notwithstanding. He seemed to be quite a strange, extraordinary man, certainly different from the others and so far unlike anyone she had come to know until now, with his deadly serious disposition, his professional stance and, most importantly, his cunning, able and mastered light-fingered ways which easily let her know of how expert and gifted a thief he must have been – and then, of course, the incident which had taken place during the early hours of the morning and which she desperately did not wish to think of at this moment – or ever – but a peculiar feeling grasped her viscera and clenched her chest tightly, inconveniencing her to the point where thoughts, constant thoughts bothered her mind, as though something unspeakable had occurred and for which she was to be put to blame. This she could not live with; and yet so, perhaps he had not deserved it. Perhaps she had acted rashly at the peak of her youth, and should have allowed for both to escape. Perhaps people as able as him deserved to live and flourish in their secret, underworld ways and be an integral part of society for, at the end of the day, how was he different than her? They both conned their ways out of situations, and had to rely upon the higher social circles or the poor but weak from which they would provide for their survival – and it was, really, the ultimate call for survival as an instinctual form of self-preservation that led them to such actions. The stronger survived, and in life one must always show their fangs and rest not lest they should be consumed by other more antagonistic creatures. It was hardly about the battle of the classes; they would not steal from the rich to help the poor. They would steal from the rich to help themselves, and then they would steal from the poor to ensure their continued existence; both classes could be strong in their resistance against such theft, and yet it was the weak that mattered, for they were the ones to fall prey to these human’s cunning, underground techniques. And to Nevena, there was nothing wrong in that, and no one could put her to blame for this; it was how the world worked around the clock, through the centuries, through eternity, in a circular movement, and so people flourished, and so they should perish.

She merely remained static on her position, feeling something heavy rising inside her chest and weighing her down, her eyes glassy and thoughtful. Certainty never made its appearance into her mind – for she did not quite form a confidence as to either her fault of disallowing him an escape, or her right to let him be judged by the local authorities and have his destiny put to question by people who would neither understand nor explore the nature of his actions, bureaucratic, uneducated pigs who only cared of their salaries and getting their fat bellies stuffed with pork and cheese. Her eyebrows slightly curved over her green eyes and she appeared strongly discontent with herself, to the point where she could hardly feel the after-effects of savouring several rather delectable traditional pastries, to the point where she felt, strangely enough, emptier than before.

Quite pestered by all these feelings altogether, she irritably shut the compartment door with a large thud and then walked her way inside the compartment with the rest of the passengers; there was noise, laughter, babies crying dreadfully and children making a ruckus as their screeching mothers tried to fed them, old people shouting over politics and the present flaming situation in Europe – she could not tolerate the lot of them, which, combined with her current state, felt like adding fuel to the fire. With a deep, weary sigh, she turned around and strode towards the door, roughly sliding it open with her head turned around to face the people for a final time, as though consuming her mind with their vile images would make her forget of the previous incident – a thud was heard and moved away from it quickly, turning her face around and –

She almost gasped as he suddenly appeared right in front of her as though he had materialized from nowhere, standing tall and imposing in his full height, stains of blood trickling down his neck, his hair untidy, arms hanging loosely by his sides, with a clear expression of displeasure written across his serious face as he stared at her intensely; thoughts came rushing through her mind with no delay, unable to put them in an order, to even understand them as they consumed her whole-heartedly in waves of often contradictory sentiments, and she remained speechless for a few seconds, until, quite unexpectedly, and out of the blue, she burst out laughing – only this time, unlike other times, it was not cold and mirthless, but hearty and warm-felt, and perhaps he would not exactly … appreciate the sentiment, but it was such a rarity she laughed with all her heart and soul as she looked at him, her green eyes smiling vigorously, her shoulders shaking from the laughter. Of course. She lightly shook her head in amused disbelief, looking at him with glinting eyes and a happy face.

“Tya beshe. Ti prosto ne razpolagat s chuvstvo za khumor,” she said matter-of-factly, the smile still etched across her lips as she stared at him.

But then came fear.

Her face suddenly froze, her expression turned blank and inscrutable, and she quickly took one step backwards – and as he wasted no second in following her – walked further backwards whence she had previously strode from; everything happened too quickly to register, but the only thing she knew was that the more steps she took backwards, the more he came forwards, almost like an odd gypsy dance, only instead of music there was irritation and resentment, and instead of a chorus line were the several ill-tempered words that had not yet been voiced. Within seconds she felt her back glued against the door she had only moments ago slid open, and stared up at his arresting posture, as her hand swiftly crawled against the hard wood and found the latch, prepared to drag it and escape his confrontation, uncertain of the means of punishment he intended to implement or not, uncertain of his reaction – and she missed a heart beat as she saw his hand promptly blocking her way out by holding onto the door. She stared at him silently, her face hardened and serious, even emotionless, although fear and uncertainty lay beyond those eyes which had moments ago thoughtlessly laughed at him.

“Tova e chast, kogato me sŭborikha? Kogato sŭm nakazan?” she spoke slowly, quietly, her irises dilating and bitterness surfacing in her voice. “Tya nyama da bŭde pŭrviyat pŭt, za da go napravya – mi pokazhe istinskata si tsvetove,” she finished through gritted teeth, her stare persistent and unyielding, and though her face looked up at him with a challenging fire to it, and though she appeared resilient and confronting, only her young heart knew the intense trepidation and horror that made it beat violently against her ribcage, sending waves of panic through her soul and clouding her brain with nothing else but the dark anticipation of incoming punishment.


Translation

It was. You just don’t have a sense of humour.

This is the part when you beat me down? When I’m punished? It wouldn’t be the first time, so do it – show me your true colours.

[Max Pavenic]

The girl gasped when she spotted Max and she was frozen in her place, surprise and disbelief written over her features. It was clear, of course, that she had not expected for the man to survive her sly little trap, yet here he was, staring at her like an avenging angel of the Lord, his face frozen into a cold expression, his eyes dead of any emotions at all. The girl stared at him for a small moment, emerald eyes full of bewilderment and Max waited for her to say something, but instead a sudden laughter erupted from the young woman, bubbling out as abrupt and unexpected as the spring Poseidon had created with the strike of his trident. Her laughter was natural and sincere, although Max couldn't really understand the reasons behind her sudden mirth. Was she laughing at the trick she had played on him, at the fact that he had managed to escape it or just at Max and his expression generally? Whatever the reason was, the laughter failed to have any effect on the man and he didn't even bother frowning to express his scorn, instead keeping his gaze on the girl, waiting for the moment when she'd realize that she was the only one amused by the situation.

Her laughter slowly died down when she got past the worst spell of amusement and she still smiled when she commented that the situation had been funny and Max just lacked the sense of humour to understand it. The man's eyes narrowed slightly, but that was the only outward sign of his emotions when he answered. "Az pravja. Trjabva da se pravjat mnogo razlichen ot tvoja," Max's voice was dangerously low and by that time the smile on the girl's lips had died down and sudden fear sparked in her eyes instead. She took a step away from Max, but he refused the safety of the small distance from her and followed the girl instead, taking a step towards her. She backed up until her back was against the door and Max stopped in front of her, the girl having failed to make the gap between them any wider than before. Max's blue eyes remained on her features all this time, but he could still register the small movement of her shoulder and he saw the girl's hand edging towards the latch of the door in an effort to escape to the safety of the other passengers. With the swiftness of an attacking viper, Max's left hand slammed on the door to prevent her escape and he tilted his head to the side, as if he had found her actions merely curious. He could almost sense the growing fear within the girl, as emotionless and hardened as her face was when she made an effort to hide her true emotions from him. He didn't need to read her expression, as he could read the fear in her eyes and almost hear the quickening of her heartbeats as she stared at the Romanian with admirable defiance, even through her distress.

The tone of her voice was just as unwavering as her expression when she asked him if he meant to beat her to submission over her treachery, further telling the man to get on with the punishment and show her his 'true colours' as she put it. Max's expression changed ever so slightly as he considered her actions, how she managed to expertly maintain her wits even through her fear. He had not found it entirely curious when the girl had said that it wouldn't be her first time getting punished - he could have read it from her fearful eyes and from the way her entire body almost prepared for the upcoming beating. She was expecting it, for it would have been the natural procession of things, to betray someone and suffer the price for it later, if caught. Max could only wonder just what kind of physical and emotional scars the young girl carried and even though he had no idea of how extensive they could have been, he could somehow relate to them. The girl was travelling alone, clearly relying on her thieving to sustain her, without a guardian, maybe without a home. If she had parents, she had abandoned them or they had abandoned her, maybe perished, for no respectful parent would have ever let such a young, pretty girl travel on her own. Max knew how life on the road was and he could see she had gathered her survival skills at a young age and leaving Max in the canteen to pay for the food had been just one of the many means of survival one learned when all other means had been exhausted. It was curious how two people could be so different from each other, yet bear such similarities. Her latest trick had been clever enough, effective, and Max could understand her, although these sentiments failed to reflect from his features as his gaze remained cold and his lips still pressed into a hard, thin line.

Most men would have immediately grasped her challenging words, but Max wasn't one of those men. He was far more simplistic in handling things and found the thirst for revenge something fitting only the rotten soul of a man, for no animal would have ever spent its resources fulfilling a need as useless as that. If a bear was robbed of a fresh carcass by a pack of wolves, would it pursue the pack later to slay the offenders in search of justice? Of course not, for the bear would move on, concentrating on using its energy in the search of other sustenance and not wasting its energy with something as foolishly human as revenge. Max had always figured that some fights were meant to be won and some to be lost and that it didn't pay to dwell in the past. It was better to just move on and learn from the failures instead of desperately trying to fix them with a reprisal. If he was to beat the girl down now, that wouldn't change anything that happened in the past, for as recent as the events were, they were still in the past and hence unchangeable and permanent.

Revenge. What a foolishly human thing to pursue.

"Nakazvane na vas..? I kakvo shte se promeni?" Max asked, voicing out his previous thoughts, although in a much more simplistic manner. "Bihte vremeto vnezapno izbjaga obratno kym momenta, kogato ti me ostavi na masata? I ako tova bi bih mogyl da ochakvam da dejstvat po razlichen nachin?" These were rhetorical questions, of course, for they both knew the answer already and Max breathed out slowly through his nose as he considered what to do. He slid his hand down the door at first, but suddenly allowed it to drop and he grasped the girl's wrist instead, quick fingers curling around it tightly as he pulled her hand towards himself. His grasp was strong enough to counter any struggling, but not violently so, only conveying his firm determination. The fear was plain in her green eyes and she surely must have thought that Max would be acting against his words and attacking her, anyway. Instead, he turned her hand upwards, exposing her palm while his relentless gaze remained on her eyes, as if he didn't really need to see what he was doing. With the grace and ease of a skilled magician, his other hand had gone to his pocket in the meanwhile and, as if he had made the item materialize from thin air, he pushed the golden bracelet into her palm, determinedly closing her fingers around it. "Tuk. Ne me interesuva dali e tvoj da zapochne sys ili ne, no sega tja otnovo."

With these words, he released his hold of her wrist and let his hands drop back to his sides again and he tilted his head backwards, the same emotionless expression having endured through the entire exchange. "Edinstvenoto neshto, koeto iskam da napravja sega e da spi prez edin cjal den... Na mira," the man emphasized the last part of his wish as he still stood very close to her, the concept of personal space completely eluding him. It was the truth, for he wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere quiet, sleep through the day and wake up whenever he felt like it, just to eat a good, warm meal. He was far too drained and aching to even start looking into future beyond these things and he usually settled for very little. He didn't plan too much into the future and chose to live in the moment, not worrying about things to come, not worrying about the past - which was why the girl was now spared from the wrath she had been expecting.

"I ako nakazanie e tova, koeto naistina tyrsim, vinagi mozhe da se konsultira Bog," Max noted in his hoarse voice, as if the thought had just suddenly occurred to him. "Chuvam Toj e mnogo dobyr v tova."


Translations:

"Az pravja. Trjabva da se pravjat mnogo razlichen ot tvoja."
"I do. It must be just very different from yours."

"Nakazvane na vas..? I kakvo shte se promeni?"
"Punish you..? And what would that change?"

"Bihte vremeto vnezapno izbjaga obratno kym momenta, kogato ti me ostavi na masata? I ako tova bi bih mogyl da ochakvam da dejstvat po razlichen nachin?"
"Would the time suddenly escape back to the moment when you left me at the table? And if it would, should I expect you to act any differently?"

"Tuk. Ne me interesuva dali e tvoj da zapochne sys ili ne, no sega tja otnovo."
"Here. I don't care if it was yours to begin with or not, but now you have it again."

"Edinstvenoto neshto, koeto iskam da napravja sega e da spi prez edin cjal den... Na mira."
"The only thing I want to do right now is to sleep through one entire day... In peace."

"I ako nakazanie e tova, koeto naistina tyrsim, vinagi mozhe da se konsultira Bog. Chuvam Toj e mnogo dobyr v tova."
"And if punishment is what you truly seek, you can always consult God. I hear He is very good at it."

[Nevena Grosdova]

Her eyes opened wide for a second as he posed his questions, and she could only stare back at him, irises glinting with disquiet and the portentous prospect of punishment, until she slightly narrowed them in mild confusion over such unpredicted behaviour. She knew he was strange, a loner possibly, one who could easily blend in with the rest of the crowd and disappear in the swiftness of a shadow and yet who could never identify or connect with them in any way, shape or form, whichever that may have been; and though she might have appeared bracing herself for what was to come and the outbreak of masculine vengeance upon her, her heart was beating wildly against her ribcage to the point where he, standing so close to her, could almost hear the loud pulse and understand her deep anxiety which reigned in as much as her body as it did in her soul. He asked her two simple questions to which they both knew the answer, and remained silent as he spoke, his words well-spoken and well calculated, sensible and lacking a pre-supposed shade of human thirst for revenge and the ultimate imposing of one’s masculine authority upon lesser able creatures through the means of physical violence and with the only purpose to punish another’s betrayal. And yet how could one talk of betrayal when she did not know the man whatsoever? Out of the two she had decided to ensure her own survival, it had been a legitimately prudent preference to make without a single doubt, and one which should neither be condemned nor criticized by any of the naïve beings that so easily fell into the trap of judging without knowledge, experience or depth of perception. And, yet, though he appeared infuriated and frustrated, there was nothing mean or cold-blooded in his pale blue eyes as she stared at him in fear.

But as his fingers quickly and unexpectedly curled around her wrist her irises widened in panic and alarm, her gaze unyielding and determinedly staring at his eyes as though wishing to explore beyond the dark veil and discover the secrets that lay behind, the intentions, break into his mind and rudely trespass in his thoughts, grasp his emotions and slowly unfold the mystery that he was. Instead, it was him who unfolded her hand and within a moment had materialized the bracelet seemingly out of thin air as he placed it inside her palm, and curled her fingers around it. Gratefully the touch was momentary as he pulled his hand backwards and let it slide down by his sides, for the young girl detested any physical contact unless it was initiated by her own self – and such a case was not an exception presently, as she felt her insides slowly rot and melt as though forged through the fires of hell once more, her expression an odd combination of mild disgust and carefully controlled horror, for a mere moment having appeared as though she was sickened and ready to vomit on his feet. At least she could guarantee his wish: to be left alone and have a peaceful time during which he would sleep through the remaining of the day – and he deserved it. She did not nod, did not speak, did not move a centimetre as his last remark pierced through her mind, and registered the mildly cynical undertones with which the words were painted. Her eyes glinted and there was something there to suggest a mocking recognition of his observation. “Edinstvenoto neshto, koeto Bog e mnogo dobŭr v e povrŭshtane. Toĭ imashe malko konkurentsiya s Satana ot tova koĭ mozhe naĭ-dobre povrŭshtat po litseto mi. Bog specheli,” she simply said in a quiet tone, her eyes shining darkly, a touch of aching bitterness and asperity in her tone, and then moved to his side and away from him, walking across the long corridor and towards the end of the train, hardly knowing she had tread the same pathway the previous night and he was standing in the same position, though under severely different circumstances; though this time she did not halt and shut her eyes from the sudden coming of an inexplicable headache, but merely strode along until the end door was shut behind her, until he was shut off from her sphere or existence, and until she was only greeted by the gentle morning sun.

Any signs that she had by now relaxed her shoulders and calmed down her spirits, or that her heart rate had decreased were soon to prove misleading as she let out an angry cry of frustration, and in a swift movement threw the bracelet out in the open fields, as it fell soundlessly somewhere in the distance, never to be seen as the time would come, the rain would fall and bury it under the ground to be corroded, to rot – and she held the railings with her hands tightly, her face distorted into an expression of anguish and rage as her eyes burned into the skin the man had only moments before so thoughtlessly and effortlessly touched, and brought it up to her face, rubbing it against her teeth, biting on it angrily, savagely, as though she wished to tear it away from the rest of her body and throw it into the air and befriend the lost bracelet, but alas, the skin remained where it was, but she still struggled, fangs pulling at the skin and leaving teeth marks on every point they touched, for she desired nothing more but to disassociate herself from that piece of flesh which had been tainted by human contact for yet another time. She felt the contamination quickly spread from her hand all across her arm and reaching her chest and stomach throughout the veins, and as she let out animalistic cries of pain she angrily strode at the other side of the rear and glued her hand against the black tube which began from the train’s roof and ended up downwards on the floor, slowly but painfully bringing it down, her mouth speaking words of rage and always saying the same thing – again and again – and proceeding with the movement for a second, a third, a thirteenth time, as flesh rubbed against metal, until she drew blood, until she felt the red dribbles stain the coal-black cannula and the epidermis was revealed in small but sore parts of her hand. She kicked the railing in blind hatred and with an animalistic cry, as she then allowed herself to slide down against the wall, eyes glassy and aching as the few tears dried on her cheeks, her face a wilderness of inevitable self-destruction, her hands lying across her bent legs which she immediately embraced once the pain in her stomach began for the second time the same day. She buried her face inside her lap and entered another state of consciousness, remaining in that same position for the following hours like a wounded animal which was hiding itself in the most secure, isolated place to die peacefully alone.

The hours passed in the same smooth swiftness as in the wings of the Northern Harriers flying across the clear blue sky that soon became a velvet dark halcyon when the evening came, the yellow-orange lights having been turned on inside the train when complete darkness prevailed upon the area. People were chattering and the noise dominated within the passengers’ area, but she stood aloof and distant from them all, looking excessively tired and worn-out, the curve lines of her lips even drawn downwards and with black circles under her eyes; the truth was, she had not slept well for days … months … years. Sleeping was a constant problem and the dreams which came along in the occasion she did fall asleep were a continuous nightmare, but still, peace of mind was something she could not ever possess – and as she walked slowly across the deserted corridor that led into the passenger area, she thought of all those times the extreme difficulty she had been through to make herself put her head down, and the horror which accompanied living in the state of unconsciousness which came with it. She felt exhausted, and yet was unable to snatch forty winks even in this condition; and as she caught a glimpse of her reflection from the glass mirror her weariness made her ignore the previous fear she had experienced in looking over, and thus very slowly made her way towards the side wall. There was really nothing else there but a very draining-looking Nevena returning her somnolent glance; for no particular reason she rested her hand against the glass and stared outdoors, only imagining how quiet nature should be at this hour – and still, the fox, the wolf and the moth would be hunting now – and it was just as her eyes travelled somewhere deep between the passing trees and the dark valleys that she felt a movement and, it only lasted for a second, but as her eyes quickly followed the stir she saw the reflection of her hand as it momentarily uncurled her fist and the index finger touched the glass from the opposite side, pointing at her. With an unheard gasp, she jumped backwards and glanced back intensely, but to no avail. There was no movement at all, and her scarred right hand stood right where it was supposed to be, presently clutching her heart, her index finger curled inwards.

She remained frozen in her position for what seemed like centuries, daring the reflection to move again, to prove her right, but alas, a reflection was only ever a reflection.

She knew not how or why, but her feet were leading her away from the corridor, through the passenger area and once more to a deserted corridor in the other car of the train as it moved deeper into the countryside of Hungary. Feeling every bit of her body numb, as though anesthetized, it was at this point that she realized he was lying down a few metres away from her in the near distance, smoking a cigarette casually and wearing a neutral expression on his predictably solemn face. She slowly walked towards his direction, her movement as light as a feather and just as silent, appearing as drained and disturbed as her face allowed to reveal, until she stopped a few centimetres away from him. It was quiet; as she preferred. Without saying a word, she slowly leaned against the wall and allowed herself to carefully slide down and sit on the floor, by his side, until she slowly turned her head over her shoulder and looked at him timidly. She opened her mouth but nothing came out; she merely stared at him in her wretched silence as the grey smoke encircled him and went up in the ceiling, now breathing evenly, but there was clearly something bothering her as could easily be perceived from her face. She looked away from him, uncertain and insecure, her eyes wandering off somewhere else around the room but not looking at something in particular.

And she looked back at him again, her breathing slightly rising and she had to quietly gulp down in order to relax her mind and prevent the occasion of a series of jumbled words escaping her throat. “Pozvolete mi da sedya tuk,” she whispered weakly, her eyes pleading and her face desolate, neglected and forlorn. “Az nyama da vi neudobstvo. Az nyama da kazha edna duma. Az nyama da govorya s teb, az nyama da se dvizhat, ili pogled kŭm vas. Az nyama da napravya nishto. Az nyama da disham shumno ... Toĭ shte bŭde kato che li ne sŭshtestvuva. No neka da ostanem tuk. Shte bŭde tikho, nyama da napravi i naĭ-malkoto shum – obeshtavam,” she said, emphasizing the last word to assure him of the intensity of her assurance. “Ne e naĭ-malkoto shum,” she softly spoke, and her right hand ever so briefly trembled for a moment, but she quickly pushed it behind her back, the palm extended against the floor to support her, as she looked at him with growing anxiety, green, non-corrupt, glinting eyes secretly imploring him to harbour away the beasts of her untamed, steely and unprovoked imagination.



Translation

The only thing God is very good at is emesis. He had a little competition with Satan on who could best vomit on my face. God won.

Let me sit here. I will not inconvenience you. I will not say a single word. I will not talk to you, I will not move, or look at you. I won’t do anything. I won’t breathe loudly … It will be as if I don’t exist. But let me stay here. I’ll be quiet, I won’t make the slightest noise – I promise. Not the slightest noise.

[Max Pavenic]

Max had stirred from his sleep with a sudden twitch, the images of glowing eyes, wicked talons and sharp glass still burned upon his retinas. His hand had slapped on the wound on his neck and for a moment he had been under the illusion he was still living in the nightmare, but the steady sounds of the train had gradually calmed him down and he had soon focused on all the different kinds of aches that seemed to dominate his entire being. He had figured that he had gotten five hours of sleep at best, but it had been enough to soothe the heaviness of his eyelids and he had clambered up from his uncomfortable position on the floor, straightened out his clothes and decided that now when people were still busy with their little ant lives, it was a good time to mingle and acquire something that would get him through the next few days. So, like a shadowy jackal, he had entered the passenger car, scanned the available pickings and conveniently bumped into a few people or generously assisted someone with their luggage while helping himself to any valuables they might have been carrying.

Falling into those familiar routines had been comforting enough, but his skin had still occasionally crawled whenever his thoughts had returned back to the previous night, the memories haunting him like vengeful spirits of the past. As much as he had reveled in the momentary gratification of picking someone's pocket and folding a few paper bills into the palm of his hand, the continuous desire to just get out of the train had never quite released its hold of him and he had to keep it at bay forcefully, putting it on the account of his own paranoia. It wasn't the first time he had experienced the same feeling and he had always battled it with simply by changing the scenery, but as it had turned out, such an action was obviously impossible by now and he had to simply adjust. He had been careful with what he stole and how he stole it, for escaping hardly was an option and he didn't want to attract too much attention to the fact that a person with rather sticky fingers happened to be among the passengers. Still, he had ended up with a nice catch, enough to buy him a few hefty meals and lodging for a week or two. He had ended up checking the private compartments, pretending that he was looking for someone and closing the door promptly when he saw that the compartment was occupied. One of them had been empty, however, and Max had slid inside the compartment like a silent shadow, his eyes fixating on the luggage and his heart skipping a beat when he saw the little green bag sitting on a seat and the image of the raven-haired girl, carrying the very same rucksack, flashed through his mind.

Max flexed his fingers, eyeing the door, then the bag, part of him wanting to turn around and leave as quickly as possible while the other part of him (the curious and foolish one), wanted to rummage through the bag and see what the girl was carrying. She was a mystery, one Max knew he didn't need to solve just as much as he didn't need to test the temperature of a blazing fire by sticking his hand into the middle of it, but he was frozen in his place, his gaze held by the unguarded rucksack. With curiously reluctant, jerky movements, the man inched closer to the girl's belongings and, allowing himself the last paranoid glance towards the door, hastily delved into the contents of the bag. It was mostly filled with clothing, and Max pulled out one of the girl's private clothing items, eyeing it with an arch of his eyebrow, but soon enough Max came upon her identification papers. He opened them slowly, not feeling all too surprised when he found out that Nadezhda wasn't her real name - she was a thief, just like Max was and hence, more than accustomed to lying... just like Max was. The thought made the man snort as he felt slightly amused by the thought and his thumb travelled thoughtfully over her photograph, his head tilted to the side with fresh curiosity. In reality, 'Nadezhda' was called Nevena Grosdova, a native Bulgarian and Max tested the name, silently whispering it out loud before placing the documents back to where he had found them, also noticing how she wasn't carrying any money with her, at least not among her luggage. If he had figured that his curiosity would be satisfied by this, he was sorely wrong, of course, and he continued rummaging through her belongings, coming upon a Bible and a moth-eaten book on something that looked like poems, but which failed to hold his interest, for he had never enjoyed reading and couldn't even understand how some people found joy in something as pointless as that. He pushed the books back into the rucksack, but as he did so, his fingers brushed against something cold and metallic.

The man brought the gleaming knife up, blinking and furrowing his eyebrows in confusion as he observed the deadly, metallic glint of the blade. Just who was this girl? She was travelling alone, so Max could understand if she felt safer carrying a weapon, but she didn't seem like the kind of person who would actually use a knife on someone. Well, barring any sudden demonic possessions, that was. Max shrugged, placing the blade back inside the clothes he had found it in, continuing with his search and coming up with things that proved even more disturbing than the knife. Among the cigarettes and bandages, Max pulled out a package of needles, small bottles of various pills and some morphine - things which definitely made the man pause and mouth silent words of disbelief. Among them was a vial of something that resembled blood, but having someone carry blood in a vial with them was just far too outlandish and he figured it must have contained something else. Max stared into nothingness as he reluctantly allowed himself to return back to the events of the earlier night, observing the way she had acted, then moving on to regard the sudden change in her as he had met with her the next morning. He couldn't know if they really her belongings or just a collection of stolen goods, maybe the entire rucksack had belonged to someone else, but the findings made him feel very uncomfortable and he placed them back carefully, taking great care in putting everything back just the way he had found them. He didn't want the girl to notice that her luggage had been tampered with and, as much as he was a thief at heart, he didn't even think about stealing any of her belongings again. He had felt uncomfortable enough when the girl's bracelet had been in his possession and no amount of riches would have been enough to coax him into replicating that theft.

Max placed the bag on its original place and, feeling more than just slightly paranoid, skulked out of the compartment and made a quick getaway back towards the front of the train. His mind was still trying to wrap itself around all of his new discoveries and he hardly noticed the other passengers as he pushed his way past them, ignoring the constant clamor among the crowd and the high-pitched shrieks of the children. Once he had returned back to the deserted corridor, the same in which he had just previously been sleeping in, the man sighed and rested his hand against the wall, blue eyes staring out of the small window as he tried to comprehend the girl, Nevena. She had not seemed like someone caught in drug abuse, but then again... now that he thought about it, it would have explained a lot. She had been acting strangely enough the previous night and he had not even checked what all the bottles of pills had contained. Maybe she had caught a bad habit and was now using anything she could acquire, explaining away the various pills inside her rucksack. But imagining her injecting herself with morphine didn't seem to fit the image and Max had seen what happened to people caught in substance abuse. His own father had been destroyed by alcohol, Max had tried a few things himself, but luckily, he had been strong-willed enough to keep clean.. well, not counting the occasional smoke he enjoyed, but he knew how to keep that habit under control. Morphine would have not explained away the girl's strange behaviour and Max narrowed his eyes as he shook his head, rejecting the thought. No, that wasn't it, she had known too much, things about Max she shouldn't have known, and the girl had been quite clear-headed enough when she had decided to stuck his head out of the window and use the glass as a guillotine blade. The memory made him wince and with a low grumble, he raised his hand up and allowed his fingers to carefully travel over the scar. It had stopped bleeding and would start healing soon enough, although he would need to find someone to remove the stitches later or do it on his own. As evident as the signs of the girl's violent nature were on his skin, he couldn't help but feel fascinated by the two different Nevenas he had witnessed. He had figured that the other one, the one stealing things, yet avidly reading Bible and discussing God, was her true side, the one that only wished to survive, used to punishment, crafty and skilled, young as she was. It was no wonder that such a scared yet sinful little soul would be easily possessed by the evil spirit that had taken her over the night before, transforming her into a visage of a she-demon from the deepest pits of Hell, complete with dark eyes, sharp words and even sharper fangs.

But what did he care, anyway? On the next stop Max would be leaving the train and he had no desire to meet the girl again - she had been nothing but a constant source of troubles for him. He already regretted rummaging through her things, for it had only made him feel all the more confused and disturbed. There was no profit in the girl, apparently penniless as she was, so she shouldn't have been of any concern to him, yet... he couldn't pry his thoughts away from her and the man grumbled at himself angrily, his face withdrawing into a dark scowl even when he was alone and there was nobody around to appreciate his trained grumpiness. He tried to direct his mind to other things and settled into carefully counting the profits of the day, instead, dividing the paper money into smaller bundles and placing the notes into several different pockets, just in case. After he was done with the routine, he spent good time staring out of the small window next to the door and smoking cigarettes, continuously checking the time from his precious watch now that it had found its rightful place around his wrist again.

By the time the darkness of the night had fallen upon the landscape again and the various lights inside the train had been lit up, the worst commotion among the passengers had died down and Max had settled into sitting next to the wall, his eyes half-closed, a cigarette burning between his fingers. He felt exhausted and he didn't even enjoy travelling in a train, no matter how enticing opportunities it provided for efficient thieving. This iron behemoth had been constructed by people, it was controlled by people and worse yet, filled to the brim with the filth of the humankind. Even though he had managed to seclude himself from the crowd, he felt uncomfortable inside the metallic bowels of the train and, to make himself feel better, he was imagining himself in the verdant green forests that surrounded the train. He didn't allow his mind to linger on the girl anymore, not on the train, not on money or on the future and instead, he stalked the forests as an animal, feeling peaceful in the cool, dark shadows of the trees, breathing in fresh air, his ears picking up only the gentle sound of creaking wood as the old oaks swayed in the light breeze, the distant cry of some nightly animal piercing the darkness every now and then. The air was cool and clear, not infected by the wretched humankind, and he could hear the soft sound of running water nearby, indicating the location of a small spring or a stream. Max allowed himself to follow these sounds and he heart small twigs and dead leaves beneath his feet as he moved on, breathing out deeply when he spotted the dark water rippling in the light of the moonlight. The large pond in the middle of the small clearing seemed endlessly deep in the shadows and the trees around it were black and ominous. Max could do nothing but stare, mesmerized, even when the hairs at the back of his neck raised up with fear, for he knew that something wicked lay in wait beneath those soft waves, enticing him to step in closer, just one more step... until he would be close enough for the watery being to snatch him. Amidst the dark waters something luminous stirred and the white being moved closer to the surface. Max knew he would soon be able to discern a pale female face, smiling at him, ready to captivate him with her gaze so she could drag him beneath...

Max's eyes snapped wide open when he registered the sudden change in air pressure when the door opened and he sharpened up, almost waiting to see the irritated face of some official coming to tell him to go and find a seat instead of lodging in the empty corridor. Instead he could immediately recognize the girl, his eyes first noting her long, dark hair, then observing the careful way in which she moved, silent and deft like a prowling feline. Max felt apprehensive and surprised, but he figured that the girl had happened upon him purely by chance and he waited for her to maybe acknowledge him with a small nod or a glance before moving on. Their latest exchange had been nothing short of cold and hostile, anyway, and Max still remembered the primal fear he had witnessed upon her features - there was hardly any reason for her to remain anywhere near him. Max forgot to inhale from his cigarette when he realized that she was coming closer to him anyway, and stopping just a small distance away from the Romanian, she soon slid herself down across the wall, sitting next to Max.

The man remained silent, both in confusion and in hopes that she would realize he wasn't one for friendly discussion and he merely sat up slightly straighter, focusing his full attention on smoking the cigarette. He didn't stare at the girl and chose to just observe the opposite wall instead, his face ever the unchanging mask of nothingness, but Max could still spy the girl looking away from him apprehensively. He could sense her nervousness from her uneven breathing, by the way she seemed to shiver ever so slightly, delicate lips opening in an effort to say something although no words came out. It took her some time to find the courage to finally speak and all this time Max remained silent, as if he didn't care if the girl was there or not, but not really condemning her presence, either. It was what she had to say, that really surprised Max, enough to make him glance at the girl in a confused manner, blue eyes narrowed and dark eyebrows slightly raised as she pleaded for him to allow her to stay, assuring him that she wouldn't be of any inconvenience at all. She seemed sincere enough and Max tilted his head to side as he considered her strange and unexpected request.

Did she think that just because Max hadn't chosen to beat her down, he would feel somehow protective of her? She was a young girl travelling on her own, knife or not, and might have felt the natural need to remain near someone she saw as a protector, especially after she had obviously gone through some abuse before. A ridiculous thought if Max had ever had one, as he knew he lacked all the qualities fitting a protector and was good at looking after only his own hide. Or maybe.. the girl was just going out of her mind, just like before, not even knowing what she wanted or not and she had only recognized a semi-familiar figure in the crowd. Or perhaps it was just one more of her sly schemes and she had ulterior motives, wearing the disguise of that innocent young girl, just to have him drop his guard and end up even worse than before. Both doubt and confusion were evident in the Romanian's eyes once he finally spoke, his voice hoarse and level like always. "E, tova ne e moja vlak. Taka che az smjatam vseki mozhe da se sedi, kydeto te iskat. Ne mi puka taka ili inache," the man shrugged, still resting his shoulder against the wall as he took a healthy drag from his cigarette, remaining silent for a good while. He realized that he had many questions he would have liked to pose to the girl, yet he knew it would have been both intrusive and incredibly foolish to voice out his inquiries. It wasn't his place to ask and it wasn't really his place to know, either. Some terribly childish part of him wanted to blurt out her real name just to witness her reaction, although he knew there was nothing to gain in talking to the girl and he would have been safer just moving on. A moment of silence passed between them, but Max didn't find it uncomfortable as most people would have - in fact, he found people's need for constant babbling only irritating and would have rather just said what he had on his mind, nothing more, nothing less.

Yet, the curiosity was continuously tugging at the corners of his mind, like a demanding child, and the gaze of the man's blue eyes returned back to the girl and he allowed the grey wisps of smoke escape from between his lips as he observed her. "Zashto shte iskate da ostanete tuk, taka ili inache? Tova e neprijatno. I az ne sym dobyr v diskusijata. Ili prosto obiknoveno e nablizo nacija," Max said after a small while, almost slipping out the part about her own compartment, but he managed to bite his tongue just in time. "No mislja, che diskusijata ne e neshto, koeto bjaha sled, tyj kato obeshta da ostane tiha smyrt, taka ili inache," Max noted as he watched the last remains of the cigarette burning away between two of his fingers, the orange ember curiously bright in the scarce lighting of the corridor. Max's eyes skipped to the side once more too regard the girl and he frowned as he posed the obvious question, curious, but not really judging. "Taka che ... kakvo e tova, che iskash ot men togava?"


Translations:

"E, tova ne e moja vlak. Taka che az smjatam vseki mozhe da se sedi, kydeto te iskat. Ne mi puka taka ili inache."
"Well, it's not my train. So I reckon anyone can sit wherever they want. I don't really care either way."

"Zashto shte iskate da ostanete tuk, taka ili inache? Tova e neprijatno. I az ne sym dobyr v diskusijata. Ili prosto obiknoveno e nablizo nacija."
"Why would you wish to stay here, anyway? It's uncomfortable here. And I'm not good at discussion. Or, just generally being around people."

"No mislja, che diskusijata ne e neshto, koeto bjaha sled, tyj kato obeshta da ostane tiha smyrt, taka ili inache."
"But I guess discussion was not something you were after, seeing as you promised to remain deathly silent, anyway."

"Taka che ... kakvo e tova, che iskash ot men togava?"
"So... what is it that you want with me, then?"

[Nevena Grosdova]

Nevena looked up at him, absorbing his determined indifference, the painfully prolonged impassiveness which he ungraciously blessed her with and the inscrutable expression that hang on to his deadpan, steel-cold face, as though he were either unwilling or incapacitated of the remotest shade of emotion that might as well suggest a more fallible, human, sensitive side to him she had not hitherto witnessed; and yet there he stood, in his perfect stillness, maintaining an admirably dispassionate composure as his tall, lean figure was surrounded by waves of grey smoke that bore the same cancerous qualities as her infectious mind possessed, fatal, lethal but so inevitably captivating and narcotic that one could hardly ever resist the mystifying temptation for which they were to be damned into the dark, cold waters of the Tartarus in eternal punishment, stretching out the sense of momentum of a few moments worth of surrender only to be condemned for eternity, as they all were. It was not until she had ceased speaking that he finally showed recognition of her presence as his head turned over his shoulder to face her, eyebrows narrowed and, finally, a shade of confusion written across the enigma that his face was. Something clutched onto her heart as he did not express his disapproval upon her staying there, on the account of lacking ownership of the train – did that mean that, were he indeed the owner, he might have had objections and thus been able to further dictate the terms with which she was to be treated while being a passenger on the steam locomotive during this journey, or was he simply being his usual indifferent self, stating he did not really mind whichever option she chose? It was precisely this emotionless unresponsiveness which fed her soul with curiosity and a peculiar sense of pre-mature delight as she stared back at him blessed in all of her childhood innocence, her green eyes wide with anticipation and her lips slightly agape almost in wonderment of his decision.

She could almost feel his hungered need to say something more, the inevitability of something he deeply craved to know, and though her face remained still, her eyes smiled as he wondered how she would be able to stay in that corridor on the account of its ‘comfortableness’. To her, sleeping in the train corridor felt like a luxury, and, for some reason, her mind understood he could easily empathize. But as he voiced his last question, she only looked at him with an emotionless expression, her eyes glassy and blank, her lips closed and her face pale and still. He asked a question she had no answer to, in the same way one knew not why the sun rose at dawn and slept at dusk, each time painting the wide blue skies with a rainbow of glorious shades, or why snowflakes fell during the winter and died down in summertime, what death was like or how it felt to be born – in the same way one knew not and could never know what it felt like to be the smoothly rippling river whose waters run along the weathered rocks and fell into the waterfall and down into the lake, or to be a small butterfly dancing from one flower to the other, until, one glorious day, it was caught in a farmer’s windmill and slowly withered to its untimely death. How it felt to die but, most significantly, how it felt to die as a butterfly caught in the windmill. The truth was, she wished for peace of mind – and which she could not afford while in her solitude, while the beastly claws of loneliness deadly caressed her mind and fed her with horror and inescapability, hopelessness and inevitable despair. Yet she wanted not a companion, someone to converse with or someone with whom she could feel safe and protected – for she never felt safe and protected. She wanted not a human being whose arms would be wide open for her to crawl inside like a wounded animal and relieve her; she wanted not a man to be defensive of her, either in a fatherly or brotherly figure; she wanted not to speak; she wanted not to share bitter smiles with any being – or see sympathy and pity in their eyes. Love was a notion she could not understand, friendship a tradition she had been unable to uphold, and compassion a steel-cold term for the destitute and elderly, perfectly confined within their well-barren, wooden homes.

“Az prosto iskam da spya,” she said quietly, looking at him with her earnest glassy green eyes, and after a moment or two she slowly leaned her body on the floor, with her back against the wall, and used her arms as pillows as she rested her head on top of them, legs bent against her stomach securely, and closed her eyes. And, thus, what had made her seek that particular spot and wish to rest close to him? A question she could not answer. One should think it sensible of her to wish to be near a source of protection and safety but such a suggestion was, for a girl like Nevena, neither prudent nor attainable – she had never, not for a moment, ceased to feel the call for anxiety while in his presence, whether indoors within the confinement of the train or outdoors in the open, and if anything, it was his very presence that enshrouded her with coldness, as though a breeze had strengthened in the atmosphere as she was standing at the edge of the weather-beaten rocks by the sea, and fed her with an immeasurable number of doubts, questions and various other uncertainties, further aggravating her pre-existent state of insecurity and impending transgression. But for some inexplicable, cosmic reason – or lack of such reason – it was these steps she had made to get closer which revealed who she truly was. Whenever her body sneezed, the often times it experienced pain and went through the cycles of fever or another illness, whenever it held a deep necessity to vomit, she was braving a cosmic luxation of dreadful physical emotions while her body was making adjustments into an improved future health, passing from a state of sickness and uncertainty into one of well-being, though impermanent for her it may be – in the same way she should experience the former state of ambiguity and doubt which his presence offered in the hopes that, one day, she would finally achieve salvation and health of mind. She knew not and could hardly explain to her own self why her esoteric, unusual behaviour had led her to seek out a sensitive dependence on one of the small dots co-existing in the chaotic universe – perhaps it was an event attributed to universal randomness and as rare as a black swan – but the beauty of it was that she need not interpret it. Sometimes emotions should be left unexplored, actions unanswered, and words left without a meaning. Perhaps it was the lack of necessity for meaning that was the true beauty and pathway for her peace.

She lay very still, breathing slowly and evenly, making certain that it was quiet and barely even heard, in her anxiety almost resorting to silently stop inhaling for a minute at a time so as not to bring him disruption and face his displeasure by briskly sending her away in fury over the breaking of her pledge – and she had pledged he would not hear the slightest noise, and she intended to keep her word. With her eyes closed, her arms intertwined underneath her head and resting against the floor, she merely stood there, lifelessly, soundlessly, and only the small chest movement upwards and downwards meant to signify she was still alive and sleeping; but she was not sleeping. It was foolish to think she would be able to find immediate peace in his presence, or to consider such a thing practically attainable. Still, she rested there and endeavoured to empty her mind of every blotch that more often than not came to pass, and though her eyes were closed, she could still feel him around her, close to her, his essence warming the air, still smell the cigarette he smoked and a few times still feel his eyes burn down on her whenever he turned to look at her lying figure. And so the hours passed, slowly, as painfully slowly as it took for a wounded fox to die alone in the forest, but this time, unlike other nights, the duration did not seem protracted, only slow. Sleep delayed to arrive, but she not once opened her eyes, not once breathed loudly or showed any sign of life within her, promising stillness and stillness alone; she did not move; she did not speak to him; she did not look at him; she did not do anything, but only stood there, as if she did not exist.

The air was cool outside, and a soft breeze caressed the trees gently, the smoothly rippling river shining underneath the moonlight, and the grass softly stirred below the clearest sky as the forest enshrouded in pitch-blackness, as a raven nested on the branch of a tall, dense tree, quiet and awaiting. Her hands grazed against the ground as she leaned her body forwards and looked at her own reflection crystallized upon the dark, ominous waters and something glinted at the bottom which caught her attention, a vibrant golden light that came from within, and the reflection was distorted, it became beastly and laughed at her, dribbles of blood slowly trickling down from the eyes and wetting her all the way to the neck, staining her with the weight of her sins and her own wretched humanity, these foul creatures made of flesh and dirt – she drew backwards in horror, but time had frozen and a hundred and one shady figures crawled from the corners and from behind the trees, others resurfacing from the waters and letting out a deep, throaty, desperate breath of life as they inhaled the evening air for the first time in a million years, the outlines of human beings in all of their own wretched nudity, body and soul, creeping along the ground like venomous, lethal serpents, reaching her, grabbing her from the feet and arms and whispering, whispering words she could not understand, continuously, endlessly, and she shrieked in the darkness but no one was to hear as she was being dragged into the waters, into the pit of hell by the soul of those who had sinned and had been condemned to eternity – women and men, unnamed, unmasked, younger, older, bruised and scarred, pierced their nails into her burning skin as they pulled her closer towards the rivers, the souls which had erupted from the waters overstretching their arms to grasp her feet and pull her downwards – she writhed, and squirmed, and screamed like a parasite weighing down on the earth, dirt glued along her arms and dissolved into sweat, and who was to hear the shriek of horror as it pierced the night apart from her own terrified soul that was soon to join this sinful mass downwards, the whispering of the others nothing more but a hissing sound which bore a ringing force, damning her, savagely hauling her along the dirt – until her right foot was plunged into the river, and burned – a shriek – her arms flailing about like a guttered fish, held by the sinners who happily pushed her lower.

And as she turned her head around, she saw him, standing in the near distance, the moon shining down upon his dark hair and palest blue eyes, surrounded by grey smoke, his strong, lean fingers looped around the cigarette as he smoked, looking down at her with an impassive curiosity in his eyes, and leaned against the tree trunk. Her eyes widened as she saw him, a pained expression clearly written across her face, and she desperately stretched out her arms for him as the beings were lugging her along forcefully, screaming for him, begging for his help – and he did not move a finger, merely stood there in his silence, curiously looking at her, deadpan and unaffected. She called out for him, she shrieked in horror, she pleaded, but only three single words escaped his lips. “Nikoga na pylnolunie,” he said in his hoarse, colourless tone, and continued looking at her. The bodies dragged her along and plunged her other foot inside the water – she cried in pain – as her feet burned, waves of her blood painting the ground on the edges of the river a violent shade of red, splatter around her stomach and neck, but her eyes were glued backwards to him, tears as bitter as raw berries running down her face which was by now heavily distorted from the pain, and he only ever responded in the same, cold manner. Never when the moon is full. She gasped, and breathed with difficulty, but he easily drew on from his cigarette. Never when the moon is full. The souls dragged her down in the river, laughing with glee, holding a firm grasp of her feet, those from the ground snatching her from around the arms and her waist, her feet bleeding, and in one quick movement a shriek of horror pierced the night as they threw her into the Tartarus, and the waters splashed –

Her eyes opened abruptly, and she blinked. The sunlight penetrated the corridor through the glass window and poked at her face, but she stood very still, her body unmoving, her heart beating savagely against her ribcage as her gaze was glued on the wall opposite her, too shocked to make the slightest sound, too petrified to make the slightest movement. She remained in that position for at least the following twelve minutes before she slowly sat upright, hands supporting her against the floor as she looked around her, her hair falling down on the shoulders and her legs still pressed against her stomach, until she felt the small stains of blood wet her skin, and closed her eyes for one moment in mild frustration. Deciding to ignore this minor drawback for the moment, her eyes were instead fixed on the lying figure several centimetres away from her – he stood slumped against the wall in a rather strange position, with his arm and head grazed against the metal and his back standing sideways in a way as not to touch against anything. She slightly frowned in confusion as she watched him sleep, and simply remained in her position for more minutes to come, lying on the floor with her hands pressed downwards, and stared at him. It was silent early that morning, and only a few voices from the passenger area in the other car broke this peaceful quietude every now and then, as stillness prevailed in the corridor. Not quite realizing her initiative, she slowly crawled across the floor and reached him, her hand gently trailing along his trench coat and slipped inside his pockets; on the left one she found several money papers which she would have normally nicked had it been another person, but she had her pride to consider – and her interest peaked, at any rate, once her fingers reached for the other pocket and pulled out a razor blade. The steel glinted in the sunlight as she held it in between her fingers and a small smile was formed in the corner of her lips, though it was short-lived, as she put it back in, hands working their way from inside the coat and searching for an inside pocket; she need not have waited for long, as two fingers slipped in the opening material and curled around what she assumed would be his passport.

She pulled away the identification papers and quickly examined them as she lay down on the floor by his side, eyes staring at the photograph presenting yet another serious portrayal of the man whose sunny face could brighten up a dying man’s face, but a frown soon wrinkling her forehead as she was transfixed by the word that pierced through her mind the moment she had read it. Romanian. Rage swept through her insides, but as though such a blatant lie had not been enough, her eyes fell upon his name, his true name, and was now properly though silently introduced to one Max Casimir Pavenic. She should have expected him to have adorned her with feeble lies, and indeed a part of her had subconsciously harboured suspicions in terms of his identity, what had made her crawl along the floor and reach out to find his papers in the first place, but the slap across her face was still raw, fresh and hurt her. Her eyes narrowed and her lips curved into a line of unadulterated hatred, only stopping herself the last moment before she could curl the papers inside her fist, although by the time she had placed them back into his pocket the documents were still slightly creased at the edges. With a last hateful glance, she jumped up to her feet and quickly left the corridor.

As she learned when she passed from the passenger area, it was several minutes to eight o’clock in the morning, but her mind was exceedingly overwhelmed with thoughts and emotions to care as she made her way back into her compartment, and shut the door behind. Rummaging through her belongings in the rucksack, her fingers tore off the package and snatched a needle, the morphine ampoule, and a plain, white handkerchief, haphazardly closing the bag and, sliding the compartment door shut, hurrying back into the empty corridor and towards the bathroom. It was only ever a sunless, dirty, ridiculously narrow cubicle equipped with the most fundamental, a washbasin, a mirror and a toilet, but public sanitation was not her priority at the moment. She locked the door and leaned against the wall as she poured some water into the syringe from the open tap, and dissolved the morphine into it; quickly pulling her black dress all the way up, her left hand lightly pressed against the skin of the lower stomach and without further ado injected the content one centimetre below her naval as the hollow needle pierced through her flesh and entered her vein, the anesthetizing substance released into the centre of her pain. With the water still running along from the tap, she let her body slowly slide down against the wall and slumped down on the floor, eyes looking up at the humidity-eaten ceiling and glinting from the feeble rays of sunshine that shone upon her face with angelic delight as they barely penetrated the dark room from the smallest moth hole near the ceiling; she half-closed her eyes and sunk in the feeling from the immediate rush that swept through her entire body, the cerebral centre of her pain perception dulled and so did the twinge of throbbing in her stomach, as she breathed slowly and evenly the bleak air surrounding her, her head slightly tilting to the side and staring upwards. She felt … she felt like she was … floating … the water running from the tap was the river that smoothly encircled her, and she felt the cold rush it created against her back as she slowly floated along … she felt so light … like a feather … sailing along the beautiful blue waters … then her eyes became heavy, and she closed them, one with nature, one with the waters, drifting along in the dark … and there was no pain … there was nothing there in the open … she could hear the soft rippling, the distant waves of the waterfall and she knew she was about to jump –

She opened her eyes, and it took her a while to register her surroundings, her head moderately wobbly, her vision blurred for the following few moments as she blinked quickly, at which point she felt cold, as though a bucket of ice cubes had suddenly been emptied into her body – her eyes involuntarily moved at the inner part of her thighs along which blood stains had dried into her skin, and she stretched her arm upwards to pull the handkerchief from the washbasin, but that simple movement alone was so difficult as her uncoordinated muscles moved in spastic contraction at the wrong place, taking her at least two minutes to finally snatch the piece of clothing with which she tried to clean the smudges, and did so to no avail, for she initially needed to rinse it with water to wipe off the dried up stains – but when she clasped her hand on the basin’s edge for indispensable support as she pulled herself up it simply drained her of every ounce of stamina she could muster; she possessed no strength, her body was too weak, her mind too light-headed and deficient in focusing on a particular point, and so she let herself collapse back down, laid on the floor, and rested there with the dress still curled up to her chest, in blood and sweat, her arms spread-eagled, her eyes closed, like a fallen angel – and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The passengers laughed that bright summer’s morning, some were playing cards with their friends, others quietly resting against their seats and taking a nap, and then again the weary mothers were trying to feed their disobedient children who preferred to walk around the train and play tag along; but she, creature of observation, stood in the corner, eyes half-open, half-closed, in outwardly perfect shape, all cleaned and proper to be seen by the public face, although there was something sinister and thoughtful in her serious face. Nevertheless, a few hours had passed and one of the officers had informed an elderly man the train would arrive in Budapest in less than fifty minutes; and soon enough, in one of the train’s stock cars which had once been used as a stable for horse transport, a group of men and women had circled around the dancing girl, on their knees and vigorously clapping their hands as they sung along with her in their loud voices, spirited, jovial traditional songs filling the cart, as the kavals, the gadulkas, the tarabukas, the saxophones and the clarinets that formed a brass orchestra energetically overwhelmed the air with the force of their music, the dynamic Čoček – and in the middle was a young girl whose dancing shape moved frenetically along the wild, overpowering tunes of the song, a tie strapped around her skull as she danced with frivolity, her hands – whenever she did not gulp down large mouthfuls of liqueur from her bottle – against her hips as she dynamically swayed her curves from left to right, upwards and downwards, whirling around and around, the curtain of her raven-black hair flying around her face and glued against her closed eyes, her arm waves, her brisk shoulder rotations, her diagonal ribcage circles, the hip thrusts and twists as she danced receiving a rhythmic applaud that escorted the song’s tune, and whistling, the group singing along loudly and moving their arms about musically in frenzied heat, the sweat slowly trickling down her arms and neck as the music continued and the train moved deeper into the capital of Hungary, and time elapsed.

And in a deserted corridor a young man was lying asleep; he was missing a tie, and a green apple had been placed next to him, laid down upon a clean, white handkerchief.



Translation

I just want to sleep.

[Max Pavenic]

The cigarette still burning between his fingers, Max kept his gaze on the girl, realizing just how little he understood about her. She seemed genuinely worried as she anticipated his answer, her emerald eyes glinting with both curiosity and child-like sincerity, as if her entire world might have come tumbling down if Max had told her to keep away from him. If there had been any sense in Max's head, he would have done so right now, but for some reason her sudden youthful pleads and the curious inconsistence of her actions had prevented Max from growling sour words at her. He was intrigued, against his better judgement, but he masked these thoughts behind his veil of indifference and only arched an eyebrow at Nevena when she announced that she only wished to sleep. Max studied her expression, trying to spot any traces of sarcasm or duplicity hidden beneath her irises, but was instead met with only the same youthful earnestness and seriousness as earlier, as if she wished to convince the man further. Max merely frowned, but then turned his gaze away and, choosing not to comment on her words, seemed quite occupied with smoking the last remains of his cigarette. Outwardly he appeared unaffected by her announcement, although inside his head various questions surfaced, urging him to further question the girl, but still he forced himself to remain ever silent and neutral.

From the corner of his eye he could see the girl settling down to sleep, legs curled close to her chest and arms acting as a pillow as if she was closing herself from the outside world, hiding inside her own little zone of safety. Max's eyebrows were now constantly furrowed as he considered her actions, carefully observing her as she closed her eyes and at least apparently, settled into waiting for sleep to come. Max had not made one movement towards or away from the girl and he only sat there silently, occasionally glancing at the girl and sometimes at the last fading wisps of grey smoke. Did she truly feel safer around Max, a man she knew was a thief and who obviously carried a grudge against her after the latest trick she had pulled on him? A young, attractive girl such as her certainly should have paid more attention on whom to place her trust in and he would have expected her to have perfected this skill, travelling alone as she apparently was. The first thing mothers told their lovely daughters was to never trust anyone, especially not men, particularly if they acted very nicely and showered them with honeyed words, for these were the worst kind of people the innocent little fawns could run into - straight into the hungry maws of the wolf, a beast which only desired to consume the innocent nature of his victims, to twist and pervert it to his own purposes. Max certainly didn't consider himself one of these monsters and even though he admitted that the girl appeared pretty and angelic enough, he wasn't the kind of man who would have taken advantage of the situation or even tried to lure her into some devious trap. He didn't want to hurt people needlessly, for he wasn't a monster and merely did what he had to do to ensure his own survival, but the other side of him found the notion of pity and empathy a human weakness, best to be avoided. These feelings served no purpose other than dragging the deficient individuals further down in the food chain and Max wanted to play not part in it. His frown deepened with irritation as he realized that, neutral as he pretended to be, just allowing the girl to stay had been a sign of weakness, but glancing at the quiet figure of Nevena, he grumbled low in his throat and chose to stare at the wall opposite to him once again. The girl's breathing was quiet and even, and although Max doubted that she had managed to drift off so quickly, he allowed himself to relax slowly, becoming more accustomed to the feeling of having someone rest near him, strange as it was.

Who knew? Maybe she had gone through a difficult childhood and Max had been the first one who had chosen not to attack her, reining the natural human need for revenge and some part within her had recognized this, leading the girl to him, a childish craving for shelter having dominated over her common sense. Maybe she felt that since Max had not attacked her, he wouldn't do so this time either and she had clearly sought for his acceptance before curling up near him to rest. Max was certain that had he told the girl to leave, she would have left him alone without any arguments. He remembered her fervent promise about staying as silent as possible, even being careful not to breathe too loudly and indeed, the girl remained so quiet Max had to glance towards her sleeping figure every now and then just to make sure she was still breathing and for a moment, he felt amused. The only sign of his mirth was a small tilt of his head before he rolled his shoulders with a sigh, as if to shrug away the nagging feeling in the back of his head, a voice telling him to leave the girl where she was, to refuse to play the friend, the protector, whatever it was that the girl was identifying him as.

Time seemed to pass slowly and even though Max started feeling increasingly tired, he forced his eyes to remain open while the girl still slumbered next to him, not having so much as moved a muscle in her sleep. Max had always been a loner, his faith and trust towards the humankind having suffered such severe blows in the past, he felt more comfortable disassociating himself from the rest of the humankind and had not even considered forging friendships. The other people were the ones with weaknesses, weaknesses he knew how to exploit. People were always in need of something and once you knew what they wanted, they were easy to control with a few well-placed words and actions. He had been innocent and trustful once himself, but his mother had abandoned him, forcing him to leave the safety of his childhood home and move to Germany with his father, where he had been rudely forced to mingle with a foreign and fast-paced society. He had fought against the changes tooth and nail, soon deciding that much like in the forest, the other people were merely competitors who wished to survive over him. He had been caught in fights, he had stolen, he had argued, he had kept himself distanced from the others and after his father had broken out drinking and Max had been forced to support the family, he had only learned to detest the basic human nature even more. He had supported the drinking habits of his father out of his own human weakness, but eventually he had managed to break out. Now the only person he needed to look after was Max himself. The presence of the girl suddenly felt more oppressing and Max got up to his feet, walking to the window, trying to shake off the feeling. While gazing out of the window he reminded himself that he wasn't looking after her and that he had merely allowed her to sleep in the corridor, as ludicrous as it seemed when the girl obviously had one whole compartment to herself.

The man lit another cigarette and settled into smoking it, feeling irritable and confused. His blue eyes hardly noticed the ever-changing landscape as the steam locomotive pulled the various cars along its path of iron. Not even the fact that he was now on Hungarian soil and out of Romania, just as he had wished, managed to make him feel any better and he smoked at least three more cigarettes in this same fashion before silently returning back to his original place and carefully sitting down, trying to make as little sound as possible in the process. Nevena's breathing was still steady and the girl apparently slept quite peacefully, not even minding the obvious discomfort of sleeping on the floor... if she was even really sleeping, in the first place, for it all could have been just an act to make Max careless, to make him lower his defences for reasons he could not yet determine, but she had been deceitful enough and there was no reason to trust her seemingly innocent composure. The man narrowed his eyes as he observed her sleeping figure, wondering if she was foolish enough to think that Max would just drift off into sleep himself and allow her the opportunity of attacking him or stealing his hard-earned money. Max scoffed silently at the thought, tilting his head back as he rested it against the wall, eyes half-closed, still feeling off-balance with the girl resting so close to him. Sleeping now would have been like sleeping on the very edge of a cliff, where one single movement could sent him plummeting down into the dark depths of the abyss and as joyless as Max might have appeared, he wasn't suicidal. He managed to maintain these thoughts for a good while, lighting up one more cigarette just to bide the time, but the steady sound of the train and the lack of proper sleep were making his eyelids heavier with each passing moment and the man had to blink furiously just to stay awake. The girl had not yet stirred and by now, she certainly must have been sleeping or then she possessed the endless patience of an ancient mountain. The man brought his hand up to rub his face and he reminded himself of how important it was not to fall asleep, but his eyes kept closing ever so often and he found himself nodding for a fraction of a second before he snapped awake quickly, lighting himself one of his last cigarettes in an desperate effort to stay awake.

Even though Nevena didn't seem to pose any immediate danger, the man's ever consistent paranoia reminded him to not let his guard down and he managed to finish his cigarette, to rub his face and blink... just to twitch awake once more, immediately feeling the warm rays of the sun on his face, horror gripping his insides as he realized that hours had passed since that last cigarette. His eyes snapped open and his heart raced as his frantic mind slowly started making sense of the surroundings. It was early morning, yet he was still alive and the spot where Nevena had been sleeping now stood empty and abandoned. The man frowned at his own stupidity and releasing a quiet sigh, sat up straighter, resting his arms against his knees and rubbing his face with both hands while feeling particularly guilty for having fallen asleep. Slowly and quite reluctantly, Max felt his senses returning back to him and his eyes fell upon a clean, white handkerchief and the green apple that had been placed on top of it. His eyebrows curved in confusion and he stared at the gift as if he was expecting it to attack him, yet the apple stood perfectly still and deliciously fresh upon the piece of cloth, inviting him to grab it. Max swallowed as he realized he was feeling somewhat hungry and even though he could not fathom the reasons behind the girl's gift, he reached towards the apple slowly and his hand hovered over it for a small moment before he grabbed it greedily. He eyed the apple carefully, holding it in his hand and allowing the sunlight hit it as he pondered the motives behind the girl's gift. Was it an apology for her earlier deeds or meant as a payment for the man's permission to allow her to stay and sleep in the corridor, as detached and reluctant as the admission had been? Max narrowed his eyes and he stared at the apple, as if was a challenge to be conquered, a temptation to be avoided, but soon his teeth bit hungrily into the apple and he spent a small while eating it, too hungry to further speculate the reasons behind the gift.

While he was still finishing his meager breakfast, his hand went for the wound on his neck and he frowned when he realized that something, some small yet curious detail, felt different this morning. His expression frozen into a frown of puzzlement and worry, he tilted his head to the side and let his hand slide down his neck, just to register the fact that his tie was now missing. Realizing that something had been stolen from him, he quickly discarded the remnants of the apple and his hands went frantically to his pockets to check if his other belongings had been tampered with. His identification papers were right where he had left them, the razor was in his other pocket and all of the money he had acquired previously had been left untouched. It was now clear to him that Nevena was the person behind this unseemly theft and his jaw jutted forwards with irritation. He had hated that tie and it had strangled him like a collar on a dog, which was why he had constantly loosened it until it had only served to further accentuate his already unkempt appearance. For reasons he wouldn't even bother to begin understanding, the girl had figured that trading it for an apple was fair enough, but Max had never agreed to such a deal and hence, it had been nothing but a crafty act of thievery on her part. The man clambered up, grimacing and groaning when his joints and muscles protested loudly, reminding him of the drawbacks of sleeping in such an awkward position, but then he allowed the pain to just further fuel his anger.

In slightly pained, but increasingly irritated steps, Max headed towards the private compartments, ignoring the people and the occasional collisions with them, which he under any other circumstances would have used to his advantage. His mind was fixed on the girl and her continuous acts of treachery, the anger growing within him as he chose to ignore the fact that she had left him some food and chosen not to relieve him of the money he was carrying. He didn't want the waves of his rage burning any lesser when he'd face the girl and soon he was behind the familiar compartment, his fingers already curling into a loose fist. He opened the door with one, angry movement, sharp words already ready on his tongue... only to find the compartment empty of passengers. Max narrowed his eyes as he noticed the girl's luggage inside and he slammed the door closed irritably, turning around in the corridor as if he was expecting the girl to materialize out of thin air. Unless the girl had bolted from a moving train without her luggage, she had to be found somewhere within the confines of the sorry metallic beast and Max set out to check each one of the other compartments, dryly apologizing the intrusion of all the irritated passengers who had paid for the privilege of their privacy. Nevena wasn't found in any of them, of course, so Max returned back the way he had come, his eyes skipping over each passenger this time, his mind set into spotting a pair of emerald eyes amidst freckles and coal-black hair. He had returned back to the corridor where he had started out with and now seriously contemplated whether the girl had really left the train or if he should return and go through the passengers more closely, but spurred on by his anger, he continued on, soon making out the various sounds of instruments being played, the joyful notes of music carrying even over the racket of the train.

He arrived into the cargo car, just to have the music attack his ears as soon as he entered the confined space. It was now filled with various people clapping, singing or playing an instrument, all of their gazes fixed on something in the middle of the train car. Max had to push past a pudgy man and his blue eyes widened and his mouth was left hanging open when he saw the girl dancing nimbly in the midst of the crowd, her black dress hugging her curves as she stepped one way or the other, strands of her hair clinging to the sweat on her skin. She was holding a bottle in her other hand, but it didn't lessen the effect of her dance the slightest and if anything, only enhanced the effect of having something wild and forbidden presented in front of them, like a maiden possessed by the hectic rhythms played in a celebration dedicated to Dionysus. She twirled around the floor, the music and singing further provoking her nearly supernatural frenzy as her hips swayed around almost hypnotically. Max blinked and allowed his mouth to close, just so that he could frown more effectively, although he realized that he wasn't displeased of her thievery anymore and the frown was instead aimed at her frivolous and suggestive dance. The man had to tear his gaze away from Nevena's dancing figure and he observed the people around him instead - old men playing the traditional tune with their musical instrument of choice, women laughing out loud as they stomped their feet to the rhythm, young men's eyes fixated on the suggestive display the girl was more than happy to offer them. Spotting the serious expression on the man's face, an elderly man leaned closer to him, having to shout over the commotion. "Znaete li koja e tja?" the man asked loudly and Max turned his head around slightly to regard him. "Tryn v zadnika mi!" Max answered testily, his words coming out in a half-shout, half-growl. The older man arched his eyebrows knowingly and smiled. "Zhena ti, togava?" the man laughed wholeheartedly and received only a deathly cold glare from Max before the Romanian moved on.

Max muscled his way past the people, ignoring the irritated yelps and insults whenever his elbow connected with someone dancing and singing in front of him. Seeing the grave expression on the man's face was enough of a warranty to get him through the crowd and as soon as Max had paved his way past the people, he caught the girl's arm in mid-swirl, stopping her dead in her tracks and shooting her an immensely serious glance - a glance which had been tempered in the icy winds of Hell and filed by the deadly talons of Devil himself to possess such an acute sharpness that if the gaze had made a sound, the sound itself would have been enough to cut through solid stone. He did not even bother frowning and instead he merely stared at her from under his eyebrows before harshly tugging the girl by her arm, starting to drag her with him back towards the entrance. The music had died down slowly when people realized what was happening and confused questions were muttered among the crowd, one of the young men stepping in front of Max to confront him. He had enjoyed the girl's dancing and he could sense something was wrong - clearly the girl wasn't too happy to accompany her sudden kidnapper. The young man, maybe seventeen years old if even that, bravely opened his mouth to present his arguments, but one glance from Max was enough to silence him and the Romanian pushed past him, tugging Nevena along with him, leaving people behind them assuming whatever they wanted. It was clear that the young girl had not been in the clearest frame of mind, drinking as she had been and now that she wasn't dancing, she seemed ready to keel over had it not been for the man holding her upright. Some people gaped and stared while others turned their gazes away, not wanting to pry on someone's private matters.

The man's grasp was strong and relentless as he pulled Nevena along with him and if the girl had any complaints, he simply ignored them, not stopping until they had reached the safety of a more quiet corridor. Only then did the man release his iron hold of the girl's arm and wearing an irritated frown, Max faced the girl while pointing towards the direction of the freight car. "Kakvo beshe tova? Ne se opitvash da se ubiesh ... Nevena?" the man questioned the girl sharply, using her real name as further leverage or maybe, sly punishment. He didn't even quite realize that just earlier he wouldn't have even cared what the girl did, but now he simply couldn't let such dangerous absurdity continue. Carrying a knife as she might have been, presenting a bunch of drooling men with such a dance while drinking could only spell trouble for her after the crowd dissipate - some overly eager admirer would seek her out and use her intoxicated state to his advance, it was only inevitable. He wasn't sure why the thought of dragging the girl along had occurred to him, but he didn't feel like delving into it further, either and he focused on scowling instead. His irritated expression took over signs of confusion as he realized that his tie was being worn by the girl as a headband and he snatched it away from her, holding it in front of her eyes just so that she could see it. "A tova e moe!" The man growled in a low voice, as if his sternness would alleviate his doubts over his own involvement in the matter. He graced her with another dark glare, but now that he really observed her, he started to realize just how different and strange she seemed. The girl's pupils had contracted and her breathing was laboured, sweat clinging to her skin as she trembled, appearing ready to keel over. When Max noticed that the girl was about to fall, he grasped her by the shoulder with his free hand to hold her upright. He could recognize the signs of morphine abuse and if anything, she was a textbook sample of all of them. How much she had taken and what else she had enjoyed besides the morphine and alcohol, he couldn't be sure. "Kakvo si priemate? E tova morfin?" The man's voice was as stern and level as always, but there was a brief touch of concern in the man's gaze as he stared into the girl's feverish eyes.


Translations:

"Znaete li koja e tja?"
"Do you know who she is?"

"Tryn v zadnika mi!"
"A pain in my butt!"

"Zhena ti, togava?"
"Your wife, then?"

"Kakvo beshe tova? Ne se opitvash da se ubiesh ... Nevena?"
"What was that? Are you trying to get yourself killed... Nevena?"

"A tova e moe!"
"And this is mine!"

"Kakvo si priemate? E tova morfin?"
"What have you been taking? Is it the morphine?"

[Nevena Grosdova]

The gypsy brass music climaxed into an irrepressible feat of prosperous vigour and dynamism, the voices as booming as thunder striking the earth down from the open dark blue firmament, feet stomping on the floor raucously, hands clapping and lips whistling rhythmically as the Bulgarian people, gypsies or the simple, lowly educated bourgeoisie, joined one another in this feast-like musical celebration to forget, if only for mere hours, their woes and troubles and relish on the narcotic power of alcohol and music; and in the middle was she, spirit of the unknown, head bowed down and covered by the mass of long, dusky hair glued upon her skin as her body danced in frenzied heat along with the music, eyes closed and arms flailing around, until her moves became spastic, until she became nothing more but a rabid animal that renounced the laws of nature of over-exertion, her right hand tightly holding the bottle of liqueur and viciously gulping down every few moments, drowned in another state of consciousness which almost rendered her absolutely oblivious to everything surrounding her apart from the thunderous beat of the music that echoed around the four walls. “Nikoĭ ne znae!” the crowd shouted vivaciously. “Nikoĭ ne znae! Nikoĭ ne znae! Nikoĭ ne znae! Nikoĭ ne znae kakvo e naistina blestyasht!” A sense of drunken mirth overfilled the freight car as bottles of rum and vodka were being washed down their throats, and the music never stopped. “E to lunna svetlina po obyad, joj, joj!” they screamed musically as the instruments boomed loudly, their players laughing and singing along, the sun shining down upon them blazingly through the open glass windows and warmly embracing them. “Mozhe li slŭntse v polunosht, joj, joj! Ot nebeto nad svetlina siyaeshe,” – and she danced fervently, almost painfully, as though she wished to rid her body and soul of every stain in her sordid existence – “Nikoĭ ne znae!” she growled on top of the others’ voices – “Nikoĭ ne znae! Nikoĭ ne znae! Nikoĭ ne znae! Nikoĭ ne znae kakvo e naistina blestyasht!” they clamoured in one voice, and danced along, at which point the young girl’s frame moved as spastically in her bare feet as though possessed by an angry spirit which worshipped Bacchus with an inexplicable, unprecedented passion, bursting into a riotous explosion of dancing movements, as though music was her oxygen, the only source of survival upon which she solely depended on, unable to feel the immense headache surging through her numb mind, to register what exactly was happening around her or to realize she had unknowingly lifted the otherwise knee-length cheap dress up to the height of her thighs while her hands were glued to her pelvis and swaying it rhythmically to the music, lissome pale legs moving in an uncoordinated, feverish beat and the tie flying around her head – she twisted around, and turned the other way – when, without warning, a strong hand grabbed her roughly from the arm and pulled her.

Her eyes snapped open for the first time, and she blinked intensely when to her vision came the figure of a dead, rotten wood post – or was it a cadaver frozen over and pissed on by a herd of rabid dogs? – dragging her away from the crowd as images from her dream flashed through her mind, and yet little did she care if he should throw her to the pit of hell as long as she was near to the source of the music for which she breathed on. “Nikoĭ ne znae,” she whispered breathlessly as she was being pulled away, unable to register what exactly was happening, the music still ringing loudly in her ears until they left the freight car behind, and the tunes lessened, and became distant. “Ne!” she growled and with her legs glued against the floor tried to remain where she was, providing pressure from the opposite direction, and yet how futile could such actions be! He could pull her away from the crowd with the same easiness of a bullet piercing through one’s skull a centimetre away, and though she growled under her breath and resisted his strength like a small animal trying to escape its captor, through her blurred vision she could only see a door – or was it two doors? – opening, and she was led outside, pulled alongside the man until they reached a deserted corridor, her head unable to cope with the withdrawal from the wild music, the sudden change only aggravating her headache, if that was possible. The meaning of his words pierced through her mind with great difficulty, only enough to barely register what he had told her, and the fact he held the knowledge of her real name – though would have otherwise brought about her clear surprise and irritation – at this time only caused her to vaguely smile at her mockingly, barely able as she was to stand on her own feet, moving the pressure of her body from one leg to the other every now and then, her head wobbly and light, and with the bottle of liqueur still held on tightly in her right hand. “Ubit? Podtsenyavane,” she breathed in the same breathless fashion, and laughed coldly at him; but once he snatched the tie away from her head she could only look at him with a hateful expression written across her face, as she stretched out her arms and cried, “Ne!”, attempting to get it back but, once again, it was a futile action.

Fuming, she realized the bottle was still safely in her hand and brought it up to her face, tilting her head backwards to take a major gulp, but she had only just felt the warm liquid burn down her throat before his hand attempted to snatch it away from her – and she quickly pulled the bottle behind her back, eyebrows curved hatefully as she stared at him with frenzied rage. “Ne!” she growled throatily and in her unstable condition, to prevent the man from acquiring another of her objects, she threw the bottle against the wall to her right in fury, whence it broke and fell down on the floor in hundreds of little shards, the liquid wetting the dark carpet. Still, his hand grasped her from the shoulder just as she was ready to lose every ounce of strength she possessed to stay on her feet, and turned over to look at him – he was always so serious, it was almost comical, and if she was not as stoned as right at this moment, she might otherwise have been intimidated by the steel austerity of his facial features and his commanding posture. And in another state, she would have indeed been astonished and gazed at him with incredulity as to his knowledge of her morphine usage – but right now only glanced at him with a cold, meaningless smile that made the corner of her lips curve sardonically, and violently pushed his hand away, jerking from his touch but immediately losing her balance and, of course, collapsed onto the floor like a lifeless sack of potatoes; she could barely see where his feet stood exactly, her vision double, and slowly crawled in the floor, creeping soundlessly like a serpent, her breathing laboured and hardened, her right hand outstretched to grab for his foot, or what she thought was his foot, until she only grasped air and empty space – and crept closer to him, lithe and curving like a serpent, holding within her all the poison a serpent could offer its victim, pale fingers circling around his foot like a black widow after she eventually found its exact position, and held on from it as she dragged her body forwards with considerable difficulty, stripped of any power to propel herself on her own and stand up on her feet, hands trembling but slowly creeping higher and grasping around his knees, strenuously pushing herself upwards, eyes fixated not at his face but on the task at hand, clearly demanding from her current state as it was to exhibit a particular amount of concentration, as her fingers spasmodically snatched the edges of his trench coat from each side – and almost collapsed back down when she almost missed the spot by a centimetre, her vision by now horribly impaired and feeling her heart beating more slowly, drenched as she was in sweat, and her mouth agape as she laboriously inhaled, eyes wide open, and clutching from the piece of clothing desperately, as though her whole existence depended upon it. How absurd!

She gasped breathlessly, and for a second closed her eyes, although by the time she had opened them her vision had, if anything, worsened; and so merely pulled her hands higher and pushed herself upwards with each jerky motion, fingers holding tightly from the piece of clothing and breathing loudly – what an ironic contradiction to the promise she had made the previous night – until, in an unbearably slow movement, she reached the level of his neck as she stood up to her full height and finally faced him, fingers strongly looped around his collar as she stared into his eyes, her face a combination of different feelings, but a pained expression was most dominant presently, painted with a shade of mocking derision. “Vie pitate … tvŭrde mnogo … vŭprosi ...” she whispered in panting gasps, her voice spasmodic and her breathing strained; questions he asked which she could not answer, questions which violated her privacy and whose answers had to remain her dark little secret; “… Max,” she finished, a mirthless smile making a brief appearance on her lips before she suddenly threw her arm around his neck and meaning to stop him from asking more questions, she leaned on closer to properly silence him and brought herself forwards – but then she coughed up vomit on his face in a sudden, jerky movement and quickly pulled away, her head bowed down instead as she went on barfing onto his feet, bending over her stomach and with her hands desperately hanging on from his trench coat, feeling like she was just puking her own intestines out, shivering from the sheer pressure her body exerted upon herself on the abdomen and her diaphragm to eject the material through her mouth, the vigorous contractions only worsening her substance-induced condition – until she held on to him tightly in a new source of hopeless anguish, her head bowed down still, as a choking feeling overwhelmed her and she gasped fervently, trying to breathe but being unable to – in what lasted as long as ten seconds before the gag reflex returned to normal, and eventually released the rest of the gastric content on his feet as she inhaled deeply, desperately, fright clear in her eyes as she raised her head up.

And so drained was she that once she released her hold of him she easily found her way back down on the floor, but little did she care, instead turning over with her chest against the ground and crawling away from him slowly, taking deep breaths in and filling her complaining lungs with oxygen, but to no avail, for her arms and feet were already dominated by spasmodic contractions that made focused movement all too impossible, but she just wanted to get away from him and face this alone, all alone; she far from wanted him to see it, let alone be near her as it happened.

But she had no more strength in her muscles and had barely forced a distance of a few metres between them, until, submitting to her inevitable weakness, she stopped and turned over with a laboured gasp, lying with her back on the floor, eyes wide open and fixed on the ceiling, her mouth fighting for breath which had by now turned painfully slow and shallow, a chest and abdominal pain piercing through her insides as she wholly shivered from head to toe, entirely drenched in sweat, her face – awashed in dampness and tears – having taken a frighteningly deathly white colour, her mouth dry, her contracted irises failing to respond to the light with her glance determinedly fixated on the ceiling, by which time she was conquered by convulsive spasms, her thin figure lying helpless on the floor, fingers spasmodically moving as they clutched her heart in fear, for she was no longer floating, no longer drifting away in the open sea; but was drowning, drowning at the bottom of the endless ocean, descending into its dark depths, slowly, suffocating, eyes open wide and glassy as they stared at her watery grave.



Translation

Nobody knows! Nobody knows! Nobody knows! Nobody knows! Nobody knows what is really shining!
Is it moonlight at noon, joj, joj!
Is it sunshine at midnight, joj, joj!
From the skies above light is beaming.
Nobody knows! Nobody knows! Nobody knows! Nobody knows! Nobody knows what is really shining!

No!

Killed? Understatement.

You ask ... too many ... questions … Max.

[Max Pavenic]

Even though Max didn't even know the girl, he had already witnessed her going through several transformations, from a crafty thief to a murderous she-devil and from an innocent young girl into a methodical con artist. He was aware that he was seeing yet another Nevena now as he stared into the girl's foggy green eyes, the invisible and treacherous tendrils of morphine having clouded her mind, her body now a slave of the alluring narcotic. She was swaying dangerously on her two unsteady feet after Max had finally stopped to address the girl and when she spoke, she sounded almost breathless and a drunken, ecstatic laugh followed her words as she swam in the depths of her drug-induced oblivion. Her mirth vanished when Max snatched his tie from her and she protested loudly, resembling a small child as she tried to reach the tie, while the man easily just held it in his hand up and to his side, where it couldn't be reached by Nevena. His iron demeanor was unaffected by her childish display and once the girl raised the bottle to her lips, the man frowned and attempted to grasp the bottle, but Nevena pulled it away from him, hiding it behind herself and growling angry protests at him. Max's expression remained unchanged and he was just about to dryly remark on just how childish her behaviour was, when Nevena suddenly threw the bottle of alcohol against the wall where it shattered, spreading both the remaining liquid and a rain of glass on the floor. She obviously just wanted to prevent the man from obtaining another one of her items, even if it meant completely destroying it. She didn't seem to care if Max knew her real name or not, or if he had obvious knowledge of the morphine she carried in her rucksack and it was plain to see that she was simply far too stoned to realize these facts properly.

When the man spotted the girl swaying precariously, he grasped hold of her shoulder to steady her, but she continued acting like a ferocious lion cub, sneering and pawing at his hand, pushing it away... just in order to completely lose her balance and to come tumbling down on the floor, too quickly for Max to react and to prevent her from falling. Part of Max just wanted to walk away and leave her where she was, for she wasn't any of his concern and certainly not his responsibility, but part of him recognized the fact that he had already dragged the girl away from the presence of people who would have helped her after she had lapsed to her current sorry condition and, as he had already begun assisting her, the only thing he could do was to see the task through. Besides, a gnawing, foreign feeling was wreaking havoc inside of him, making him feel uncomfortable and strange and, inevitably, forcing him stay rooted to his place instead of just turning around and walking away. He was uncharacteristically worried and somehow he felt he should look after this strange little female creature, now crawling around on the floor and blindly grasping the air, as if in search of something. Max sighed as he loosened the loop of the tie, finally slipping it over his head and fixing it slightly to make it fit better around his neck. He could only hope that the girl hadn't enjoyed an severe overdose of morphine, for it was obviously what she had been taking and he knew what could happen if the dose had indeed been dangerously large. She was already showing signs of respiratory problems, which wasn't really a good thing, but it didn't mean she might not be able to pull through, either.

His train of thoughts was broken when fingers curled around his foot and Max blinked, glancing down at his feet and spying the girl crawling on the floor like a snake in the garden of Eden, having been condemned by God to forever wander the earth on its stomach in payment for the treachery it had committed for tempting Eve to the tree of knowledge. This female viper seemed intent on achieving something, however, and Max he bent down to regard Nevena, she was already climbing up, using the man as support, no matter how laborious the process was. Max grimaced, trying not to fall over himself as the girl clung to his clothing. "Kakvo pravish? the man asked in a low voice, aware of the fact that there was no way to break free of her grasp unless he wanted to bring himself toppling over her. As the girl's fingers curled around the sides of his coat, he merely grunted and snatched Nevena by her arms in an effort to help her crawl up more easily, although she seemed completely oblivious to this fact and every ounce of her determination was spent on getting back up to her feet. At least she still had enough senses to manage that much and Max merely scowled as he assisted Nevena in her task, his cold blue eyes staring into her fevered emerald irises once she had finally managed to reach his level, her breathing laboured as her fingers desperately grasped the collars of Max's trench coat. She was completely out of it, the sweat upon her skin having turned cold and her breathing loud, as if the air was running out from the corridor. Max's hands clamped over her arms and he felt the continuous need to tear the girl away from himself, to push her away, but he knew that she would slump back on the floor as soon as he'd do that and he had, for reasons not yet completely known to him, decided to assist her instead of abandoning her. It was simply too late to go changing his mind now.

The girl threw her arm around Max's neck and the man felt his muscles tensing from displeasure - he did not enjoy having his personal space invaded and she was standing far too close to him, smelling of alcohol and sweat, of desperation and madness. Standing close to him as she was, he could feel her heart beating far too slowly and when her delicate lips parted to gasp words at him, Max was sure that she might collapse at any given moment. She spoke with great effort now, each word requiring some focus before it was properly voiced and the final word, Max's name, his real name, made the man frown and his heart skipped a beat. He immediately realized that the girl had gone through his possessions at the same time she had stolen his tie and merely checked his identification papers, but the knowledge didn't make him feel any more comfortable. He didn't have time to ponder on her words any further, for she was moving her face closer to his and Max arched his neck backwards in an effort to draw away from her, his expression now dominated by utter confusion. She was obviously far too buzzed to realize what she was doing and even though it appeared as if she was leaning in to kiss him, the gesture only worked to make Max feel all the more uncomfortable. As far as he was concerned, she could have just as well been planning to rip his face off with her bare teeth, but there was nowhere to escape and paranoia was apparent over the man's features as he tried to pull away from her.

First Max thought that the girl had merely spat on his face, but then the putrid smell of human vomit permeated his senses and he gagged, ineffectively trying to get away from her. Nevena still clung to his coat and she had now turned her head down instead, throwing up on his feet. Max tried to dodge the stream of human vomit while he continuously felt like gagging and he wiped the vile substance from his face with his forearm, trying to dodge and awkwardly tiptoe his feet further away from her. He ended up holding her by the arms as she clung to his coat, a constant disgusted grimace on his face as he tried to go to his happy place, not to smell the horrible stench of vomit, not to think about the warm dribble travelling down his chin and in the end, he figured he managed to appear supportive enough, just waiting for the contents of Nevena's stomach to empty while he held her by the arms, having brought his feet as far away from her as possible. When she finally raised her head up, Max could read the fear in her eyes and the next second she simply fell limp, falling down on the floor, all strength having drained from her body. Max frowned, wiping away the remnants of the girl's vomit from his face, but the girl was already trying to get away from him, crawling weakly on the floor, clearly having no idea of just how absurd her actions were and Max, first dodging the pool of vomit, followed her, just to witness how she gasped for air, turning around and promptly succumbing to a spout of violent convulsions.

Without really thinking about it, Max hurried to the girl, kneeling next to her and grasping her firmly by her arms to hold her still, while his other knee pushed down the girls legs to prevent her from hurting herself as she trembled on the floor. Max's other hand moved over to Nevena's face, the palm of his hand pressing against her mouth while the other one pushed her arms against her chest. He pressed her against the floor with determination as the girl's eyes stood wide open, staring into nothingness, her skin dreadfully pale and clammy, as if she was already half-dead. She had trouble breathing and her fingers twitched as her entire body was shaken by the constant convulsions and Max could do nothing but hold her still, his expression now full of worry and horror, emotions which the girl in her current state could not perceive. Max knew, in theory at least, how to help someone overdosing on morphine, but he had never witnessed an actual attack such as this, nothing this severe, nothing this real and alarming. His grasp still remained calm and decisive as he held her in place, making sure that she wouldn't hurt herself as the relentless attack continued, her muscles having taken on a will of their own and now making her thin body writhe around, as if she was in the last throes of death itself. Max could only hold her still until the waves of spasms gradually grew lesser both in frequency and strength and even then the man waited for a small while before allowing his hold to cease and his hand immediately went for her throat, two fingers pressing against the girl's neck in an effort to determine her pulse. Nevena was still staring into nothingness and Max leaned in closer to stare into her eyes, just to witness the telltale pinpoint pupils. Even without too much medical knowledge Max could understand that she was teetering on the edge of a very dark and deep cliff and if she should fall, even the now faint signs of life would slowly disappear from her eyes. He needed to do something, but they were on a train and the means for helping her were scarce at best.

Max, now completely ignoring the presence of the pervasive stench of vomit, glanced once more at the girl before getting up and weighing his options. The words from the previous night rang through his mind suddenly and he could distinctly remember the official saying how there was no doctor in the train, but how he had managed to find a vet among the passengers. Max touched the hastily stitched wound upon his neck and glanced at the girl, now lying on the floor in a dazed, but stable state, at least for the moment. He didn't want to leave the girl unattended, but then again, he had little choice and the man headed towards the passenger cars, ignoring the vomit still clinging to his shoes and clothing and the stench that inevitably followed him as he set to his task of finding the vet while he continuously wondered if someone would happen upon the girl in the meanwhile and she would just lie there, unable to explain the situation. Still, there was only one of him and he simply had no choice but to trust in his luck and work fast. With this knowledge clenching at his insides, his eyes skipped over the passengers while he hoped that the veterinarian would still be in the train. He might have left the train before they had crossed the border and Max had no knowledge of the man, even though they had changed a few words when he had kindly but hastily stitched him up. Even though the medicine he was searching for might be readily found on any of the other passengers, it would take some time and persuasion to find some and time was a luxury Nevena simply didn't have.

He could already recognize the man from further away, just by spying his slightly balding head and Max hastened his steps, ignoring the curious looks of the other passengers. The man turned around in his seat slightly as he noticed some of the other passengers fixing their gaze on something and he smiled amiably when he spotted Max, his mouth already opening as he planned on greeting the man, but Max hastily cut him off. "Da ti se sluchi da ima njakakvi medicinski vyglen?" the Romanian asked, slightly out of breath and he slid his hand across his cheek as he shifted weight from one foot to another and waited for the answer. The vet, a middle-aged man with a small bald spot on the top of his head, appeared confused and smiled awkwardly as he answered. "Ami, imam njakoi, no..." Max didn't give him enough time to finish the sentence. "Tova shte byde strahotno. Imam edin prijatel, kojto e... stradashti ot stomashno nerazpolozhenie," Max stood next to the vet, anxious and serious, and the veterinarian obviously spotted the stains on his clothes because he soon wrinkled his nose. "Da... Ne moga da vidja. Samo edna sekunda," the man sighed, getting up from his seat and searching for his luggage, pulling out a brown bag and rummaging through it for a while before pulling out a bottle of pills and presenting it to Max, comments about the pills ready upon his lips. By that time Max had already snatched the bottle and turned around, hurrying back towards the corridor he had left Nevena in.

By the time he returned, it was obvious that the girl was suffering from serious difficulties in breathing and Max kneeled next to her, simply popping the bottle of pills open with his thumb as he leaned in closer to monitor her condition. There was nothing much he could do, expect to try and make the girl swallow the pills and prevent her from choking in her own vomit or hurting herself in case another fit of convulsions attacked her. Max tilted the bottle, causing a few of the pills fall upon the palm of his hand and he set the bottle down, his free hand clasping over Nevena's jaw as he urged her to open her mouth and he dropped the pills upon her tongue, promptly forcing her to close her mouth. Max raised the girl's head slightly up as he held her mouth shut and, no matter how much the girl coughed and protested, he waited until she had been swallowed the pills before carefully lowering her head down and slowly releasing his hold. He closed the bottle of charcoal pills and sneaked it into his pocket before monitoring her heart rate and glancing at her pupils once again. He wasn't entirely happy with the situation, but it was all he could do, and he didn't want to alert anyone to the situation, either. It would surely not spell trouble only on the girl, but on Max, also, and trouble had been following him far too closely lately. He didn't feel the need to go searching for more.

Eyeing the obvious havoc the girl had caused in the corridor, the man figured it was better to move the girl to a more sheltered place before someone happened upon the scene. With a reluctant growl, Max snaked his arms under the girl and lifter her up, wincing as he already imagined walking through the passenger cars with a nearly unconscious girl upon his arms. His face frozen into a mask of solid determination, Max kicked the door open before him as he carried Nevena to the next car, feeling the eyes of each passenger upon them as soon as he entered the space. The girl rested limply upon his arms, pale and dazed, most likely not realizing any of the things happening around her. The passengers adopted various expressions of confusion, intrigue and distaste as their gazes followed them, some of the people turning their faces away with disgust and shame as they smelled the reek of alcohol and vomit upon the pair. As curious as the scene appeared, most seemed to figure out that the girl had passed out due to misuse of alcohol and Max seemed determined and unflinching, like a man resolved to hide any signs of shame. Nobody really questioned him as he moved through the various sections, finally arriving in the car with Nevena's compartment. Max managed to open the door with some effort and, with a sigh of relief, finally placed Nevena upon the other seat. It occupied the other half of the entire compartment and was long enough for a person to curl up and sleep on, if one didn't find it inconvenient having to bend one's knees for the duration of the entire night. Max leaned in, grasping the girl by her chin, just to check her eyes and to measure her pulse once again, but once he was done with that, he turned her around on her side and soon sat on the seat opposite to hers and released a long, tired sigh. Even though the girl had persisted through the first seizure, it didn't mean that she had survived and if her respiratory system failed, there was little he could do. Still, Max remained sitting in his place, reeking of vomit as he still was, too exhausted by all the recent events to so much as move a muscle.

Max ended up sitting in his place for a good, long time, observing as the train stopped, how people poured out onto the platform and how the insides of the iron beast were soon again fat and happy with the multitude of various new passengers. He was painfully aware of the fact that he had been planning to get off the train, but as if snared by some invisible chain, by some lurid obligation, he remained sitting still, monitoring the girl as she slumbered in her weak and delirious state. His chance for escaping seemed so real, yet so far away and the expression on his face hardened as the train started moving again and he knew he had stalled for too long. Weakness had overtaken him and he felt ashamed, even strangely violated by his own human emotions and by the time the sun had already begun its descend behind the treetops once again, the girl was resting alone in her compartment, although a solitary, untouched glass bottle, filled with fresh water, had been left on top of her rucksack for the girl to find once she would wake up.


Translations:

"Kakvo pravish?
"What are you doing?"

"Da ti se sluchi da ima njakakvi medicinski vyglen?"
"Do you happen to have any medical charcoal?"

"Ami, imam njakoi, no..."
"Well, I have some, but..."

"Tova shte byde strahotno. Imam edin prijatel, kojto e ... stradashti ot stomashno nerazpolozhenie."
"That would be great. I have a friend who is... suffering from an upset stomach."

"Da ... Ne moga da vidja. Samo edna sekunda."
"Yes... I can see that. Just a second."

[Nevena Grosdova]

The wide blue firmament was painted with a majestic shade of gold and magenta by the time Nevena’s eyelids fluttered open, green eyes staring without a sound at the empty seat opposite her, the room distantly glimmering from the final rays of sunset, and how detached and faint such a prevailing image was to her! The long seat of burnt sienna facing her with a proud silence akin to the one perceived by humanity embraced the tendrils of blazing yellow and roseate, standing still and quiet, perhaps to punish her for something which she not even what it was, as was the wall surrounding it, made of a vermilion and mahogany hue into which her eyes were transfixed at the moment, lacking the necessity to blink or move her glance elsewhere. And amidst the beautiful palette of grandiose hues of that blossoming summer’s day – the yellow and milk gilded buds of narcissus in the woods along the Danube, the orchids and sunflowers softly stirring from the gentle breeze along the river bank and the blood-red tulips having strangely grown amongst rocks and gravel and embedded in silicate magma – was her deathly white face, emotionless and unmoving, the sun beaming down on the deserted, empty compartment and consuming it with such warmth as never reached her body, lying cold and still along the seat, with her legs bent against her stomach and her right arm lifelessly hang over the edge of the seat downwards. It could have existed in someone else’s dream and she was merely pervading, the quietude alone serving to remind her this was real, and she was not sleeping anymore – that she was alive and breathing, slowly, calmly. Her lips voiced no word and her eyes remained unresponsive, her body still except for the measured, rhythmic movement of the chest as she inhaled soundlessly, the moments passing on and the train’s beating pulse roared in cadence across the wide, endless meadows and lowlands. It was silent.

The people quickly moved around, rummaged through their suitcases, pulled out garments, food tappers, packets of cigarettes or flasks of brandy and rum, discussed in animated voices or hummed various songs under their breaths; some reading a book or a newspaper quietly in their seat, others playing cards or backgammon right next to them, much to the formers’ discontent, who would throw them dirty looks every once in a while and grumble irritably from all the noise and exhilarating tones surrounding the passenger areas.

Very slowly she pulled her enervated body upwards and supported herself in that sitting position with her hands vaguely looped around the seat’s edge from both sides, bare feet touching against the umber-carpeted floor, staring ahead of her and yet at nothing in particular, her mouth sorely dry and her dehydrated skin having soaked up all the extreme perspiration in the dress, although the prospect of changing clothes hardly permeated an already numb, unresponsive mind, remaining in that grave, unblinking, lifeless position for several moments to come, drowned in dead silence that was never for one second ever violated, inexorably secluded in her own little world and away from any human face. It was only until she turned her head over and noticed the bottle of water lying innocently upon her rucksack that the first emotion came to crack the white stone face and spring her back to life – emotions as strong as confusion and incredulity – as thin, pale fingers reached out for the bag and faintly took the bottle into her hand, surveying it closely, certain that another human’s hands had touched over the plastic surface whilst she slowly traced it with her fingers. By contrast to the immense extent of her thirst, and to the way in which she would have otherwise acted in another time, she opened the bottle at a measured pace, and unhurriedly brought it to her dried lips before the first gulp resurrected her – but did it ever cleanse her? Was it ever cathartic? She drank down a little more than half the bottle at once, impatiently, hungrily but then she was feeling so cold, and as light tremors went through down her spine she placed the bottle on the small table below the window and slowly stood up; but the mere movement upwards brought a sudden, brisk headache surging through her brain with a rapid flash that blackened her sight for one or two seconds before she collapsed back down on the seat and buried her head into her hands, breathing loudly into her skin, feeling the open pores of her flesh, the substance seeping through her veins, the dried, lingering smell of sweat – the dried, lingering smell of death – and tried to empty her mind completely. Regardless how effective such an effort was, she very slowly sat up again and walked the two steps required to reach the suitcase placed on the opposite seat, unzipping it at her own leisure, and pulled out a thin, black cardigan she immediately wore over, fastening it down the front before she turned over her shoulder, eyes of pure green travelling somewhere along the roseate horizon during the afterglow.

By sunset, the passengers were enjoying their dinner, packages, tappers and bowls dominant in the area as they relished upon their meal, a general commotion surrounding the train cars which combined as much the noise of people’s voices chattering as much as it did the havoc of papers and aluminium being folded and unfolded, bottles clicked open, the rushing sound of running liquid and children’s complaining screeches at their mothers. Nevena slowly sauntered along the less crowded corridors, her arms embracing her shoulders as she felt shivers run down her spine despite the warmth of that evening, observing any person that happened to be on her way casually, her face nothing more but a living cadaver whose only sign of life were the green blazing eyes piercing through their surroundings, her face as deathly pale and emotionless, black circles underneath her drained out, bloodshot eyes, her movement slow and well-calculated but for some reason peculiar, as though she was gliding through air, her lips a perfect straight line of desolate misery, the fingers looped around her arms not quite feeling, the ears only distantly listening to the words being voiced nearby as if they belonged to a movie whose lines she caught from outside the cinema, notwithstanding the fact she surveyed the environment and still – though vaguely – registered every small action. She noticed a young boy sitting in the very corner by himself, right next to the door that led into the passenger area, and slowly stopped, thoughtful but still expressionless – until she decided committing a theft against a young, innocent little boy who seemed so pre-occupied with his food. And yet she was starving to death, her hunger eating away her intestines in complaint and piercing her stomach with a thousand daggers, demanding immediate assuaging before she came tumbling down; in a futile, laughable attempt to distract her own body from its primal needs she turned around and passed through the corridors on her way towards the end door, opening it once and enjoying the fresh, brisk air that made her hair fly around her head and cleared her mind with a cathartic quality she had not before had the chance to appreciate.

It felt as if the steam locomotive’s vibrant engine gave her life, as she leaned against the black railing and observed the wide plains and the darkened, starless blue skies overhead; the horns sang with their piercing notes, the engine roared forwards with a power akin to animalistic savagery but which was calculated with surgical precision and mathematical computation; the click-clacks of the wheels as they run against the rail joints; the squeals of the wheels as they scratched against the railway lines, almost like pigs being slaughtered. She closed her eyes and allowed the evening air to consume her, breathing in the oxygen and allowing it to consume her lungs, and still, one’s hunger could not be satisfied with air and empty space, as she, thus, briskly opened her eyes, irises gleaming in the enveloping darkness, turned around and went back inside the train.

There was despair and determination in her face as she strode across the corridor, slid the door open and entered the passenger area, without pretence making her way towards the boy’s direction; she sat herself on the seat opposite him and stayed silent for a few moments as he looked up at her with a sweet, curious expression written across his pure face, pale and adorned with a pair of wide open hazel eyes that stared at her with an innocent curiosity. A small, linen tablecloth knitted in red and white squares was laden before him upon the wooden table, on which stood three boiled eggs, a tomato, a slice of feta cheese, five black olives and two slices of white bread; she gazed at the welcoming food and knew her stomach was already preparing the enzymatic action of food processing, as her eyes went up to look at the silent boy. He could not have been older than twelve years old. “Chuvstvate li se po-dobre sega?” he suddenly asked her, and seemed genuine enough; she slightly frowned in confusion, her eyebrows curving over her eyes as she stared at him without the slightest knowledge of what he could be referring to. And, being an acute boy, he registered her sheer perplexity and further explained quietly, “Mama kaza dŭlgo pŭtuvane vŭv vlaka ponyakoga dava na khorata pŭtuvat po konete, zatova ti izglezhdashe tolkova uzhasno na sutrinta.”

She needed a few moments to grasp his words before she was able to respond. “Da,” she dryly said, recognizing how his mother had covered the fact a young girl – and even worse so, an unaccompanied one – had reduced herself to unconsciousness through extreme intoxication with the purpose to prevent her son’s innocent soul from being tainted at such a tender age by such unnecessary information. “Az sŭm po-dobre, az prosto ... chuvstvam gladen. Mnogo gladen –”

“Tuk,” he sang, and stretched out his hand, holding one of the eggs within his palm and graciously offering it to her in a selfless manner only present in the pure heart of a child’s world.
“Mozhete da go ima, az naistina ne kato yaĭtsa. Mama me kara da gi yadat, zashtoto tya kazva, che te sa dobri za men, no tekhniyat vkus e gaden!”

Nevena stared at his hand in silent disbelief, before she took the egg from his hand; it was cold but little did she care. The boy was curiously surveying her at this point, unable to recognize if such actions would otherwise be considered as intrusive and rude by the adults, but which the girl did not mind. “Toĭ brat ti?” he finally asked her. She looked up at him.

“Koĭ?”

“Tozi chovek, koĭto ti nosya.”

Her face froze as she stared into his deep, beautiful hazel eyes, her mouth half-open, half-closed, her mind racing, and something clutched onto her heart, something weighed down her chest and something squirmed and gnawed her insides with an effervescent clamour as her brain was desperately crawling through remote, unconscious memories, distant words, actions she had never witnessed – and though it got close to unravel the well folded and carefully placed memories, her own despair and agony ate her from the inside.

“Ne,” she only whispered.

“Toĭ si bratovched?” the boy asked her again, interested and curious, and who could blame him?

Silence seeped through her lips. “Ne,” she repeated, hardly even knowing what she was denying, her mind too pre-occupied to register the surroundings, the people walking by, flashes surging through her brain and sending small shocks through her body whenever a small, albeit not insignificant, detail of the events was slowly coming back to her.

“Toĭ si priyatel?” the boy continued in an unaffected manner, but he was never satisfied with an answer, for the young girl was looking down at her own hands, the egg, and tried to remember any possible shade of what had happened – but alas! – she must have been completely unconscious or consumed by convulsions to ever absorb the actions of other people. The boy gazed at her curiously, still, determinedly seeking a conversation with the unusually uncommunicative girl for whose gleaming green eyes he could have jumped from the train to gather marigolds in Oradea …

“Toĭ beshe tolkova seriozna,” he said with a slight frown, “i vseki e tŭrsil v nego, zashtoto e imalo tazi smrad, kogato khodi, toĭ mirisheshe kato povŭrna,” he explained, and then let out a small, high-pitched laughter that came out like a singing note from a piano composition as he recollected the events, and such was her fervous as she wished that, only for a moment, she could drown into his small, inexperienced mind and absorb his memories, feed from them, learn from them, live them. What a ridiculous notion, desiring nothing more at the moment to borrow someone else’s soul simply for the purpose of reliving your own moments during which unconsciousness prevented you from witnessing at first hand!

“Mozhete da imate oshte edin, ako iskash,” he quickly offered, his voice even anxious as his eyes opened wide and expected her not to refuse. “Kharesva mi kyufteta poveche, mama e tsyalo palets na kyufteta i tya obeshta, che shte go dam na men, ako yade tezi yaĭtsa. Mozhe bi moga da ya kazha za da spestite malko kyufteta za teb.”

“Ne,” she briskly told him. She wanted to trouble with a strong-headed Bulgarian mother who would not be particularly pleased at her son’s recent interactions. “Ne, az mislya - kakvo e vasheto ime?”

And when she looked up, blonde hair and blue eyes glared at her with an accusatory tone. “Vŭlko. I ti pochti me ubi!” he accused her with fiercely curved eyebrows. And as she missed a heartbeat and her eyes widened open, mouth half-agape and sudden warmth emitting from her body, ready to consume her and forge her through the deepest fires of hell, the boy’s face was distorted, until it turned to mist …

“Kakvo e tvoeto?”

She blinked a few times, her heart racing, her mind aflame, and speechless. “Vŭlko ...” she whispered in horror – where did she know that boy?

“No tova e edno momche na ime!” Marko asked her with a chuckle, his bright eyes gleaming with anticipation, but her face had darkened as a cloud of silent dread channeled through her veins and poisoned her blood.

“Kazhi mi imeto si otnovo,” she asked him in a dry tone, and never before had she felt as thirsty.

“Kazakh tova e Marko,” he responded, slightly furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

She bit her tongue, looked down at the egg held tightly in her hand, and then determinedly gazed back at him. “E, Marko, tova e ... tova e khubavo ime,” she said in a slow voice. “Marko, mislya, che e naĭ-dobre ... Tova ostava nashata malka taĭna,” she asked of him, a touch of demanding expectation in her voice as she spoke, and the boy merely nodded his head and stretched out his hand – she grabbed the second egg from his thin, white fingers and quickly stood up, almost running away from him before he had the chance to speak to her once more, leaving him with his mouth still open and his face confused and saddened, sliding quickly the door behind her just as she felt the prickling feeling burning the corner of her eyes and, head bowed as though in instinctive shame, she rushed to her compartment and slid the door shut.

There she could wither in peace. She hurriedly shoved the eggs through the rucksack and then, at long last, allowed her body to tranquilly lean backwards against the door, little by little crumbling down, until she buried her head into her legs and shed the tears to herself, in silence, onto her lap, where it would dry on her pale white skin. It was so much easier condemning the whole world and regarding it as nothing more but a scourge of existence, disassociating herself from every human face that traced the same pathway as her along the way and whenever their routes were converged, she would quickly turn around and walk the other way; it was so easy to classify the world under one category and perceive them as one evil essence that only intended to harm her and ravage her spirit; it was so easy to generalize and consider everyone a foe, for everyone was really taking care of their personal benefits and vested interests, an eternal, unending, vicious cycle of contradicting interests battling against one another, existence fighting against existence, and the brutal instinct of survival superseding any other. And then a situation would be bestowed upon her by the cruel hands of fate and nature and present her with another human being who would, instead of abandon her to her own wretched doom, for no particular reason, purpose or sentiment open a small hole in the underground for her to breathe again – and it was cruel as much as it deserved her gratitude, for it cursed her with hope, hope and suffering altogether as to her expectations, for she would know this time, as opposed to before, that of an amount of innumerable seeds contained in the gelatinous flesh of a stale pomegranate left to rot in a forgotten, dusty cupboard of a neglected house, not all of them had a bitter, decayed taste in them; there were some, a rare few, that still kept a sweetness of taste within – and those she feared the most, lest she should become spoiled from a mildly positive treatment and start growing optimism for the world again before she would be slapped harshly across the face one more time by the bitter realities of life rushing on to bring her back to a rotten, corrupt, unkind earth. And it was painful as it was peculiar, for he was a perfect stranger and no rational explanation and reasoning vested by experience and knowledge could ever satisfy the aching question that would ultimately explain, in a perfectly logical fashion, the reasons for his involvement. Right when whole families turned against you and destroyed your spirit with a single word or a single action, or inaction, right when those closest to you were capable of incapacitating you from the security of having your back covered, there comes a stranger to stretch out his hand and offer not help – what an absurd, ridiculous word for something as significant as carving up a pore with one’s teeth to provide air for the being to breathe.

It was absolutely ridiculous! A surge of deep hatred pierced through her viscera and devoured her brain because of his undesired involvement. He should have let her die! Then there would be no confusion, there would be no perplexity and anguish, no need to know or painful hope, no foolish anticipation of a sunnier day and nothing to shake the very foundation of a set of beliefs she held with a fervent determination in her heart. He should have never interfered! And then came shame. She knew she had to confront him, she had to say something – anything – perhaps not her gratitude of being saved but the thought their paths would be separated for the rest of a lifetime without a single word from her part which would let him know that despite her trick at the canteen she held no hard feelings against him, that she appreciated the gesture – but she had no face with which to confront him, the bitter shades of shame and humiliation seeping through her veins, unable to face him, unable to do anything, anything at all. Her palm glued against her forehead as she felt everything she had been able to keep inside her and prevent from expressing – everything erupting into the surface and, quite ironically so, at the end consuming her. There was hatred, shame but also horror – to have embraced death so warmly all by herself at the peak of her youth, alone and uncared for, sheer terror that petrified her soul whenever she should think about it. She had never before experienced an overdose, and there was nothing to make her know of the fact she had been through one except for the physical reactions and distant flashes from convulsions that had torn her body … wolf cries ... she had heard them clearly, they had come from the forests and trailed after her, bloodhounds after her soul … and then … hands flying around her … something being shoved down her throat … and then … blackness. She only recalled using morphine to dull the stomach pain, and dozing off in the bathroom, after which she could hardly even remember where on earth she had been, what she had been doing – nothing but a faint vagueness was in her present memory, and the question stood: what was the point of living when you knew not what you were living?

The skies had turned a velvet shade of dark blue as the train moved on its way to the next stop, the moon heftily shifting from behind the cascading clouds and adorning the firmament with its magnificent and royal silver gown. But there was no salvation. Black hair appeared from the shadows, and soon a face was revealed as well, deathly white and cadaverous, dark green gleaming in the pitch-blackness as she moved smoothly in the atmosphere, arms hanging down by her sides like guillotine posts, and softly leaned against the wall as she glanced at him with a fervent coldness in her emotionless features, slumped against the wall as he was, half-sitting with his shoulder and skull grazed against the metal but the back carefully positioned in a way that would avoid contact with anything. She sat there and watched him sleep for many moments to come, her arms pale in the moonlight, by now having disposed of the cardigan, her feet bare and so were her intentions despite the steel-cold essence she possessed at the time, slightly tilting her head to the side and silently observed him in his state of unconsciousness, curiously, but eagerly, a hungered fire forged through the black pupils of her glowing eyes.

Slowly she walked across the floor, and making no sound, slowly she knelt down by his side and brought her face close to perceive his sleeping face, slowly she moved her hand in the air and rested it on his shoulder – and as his eyes blinked open she could only gaze into his dark blue, when a smile crawled across her lips. The lips of morphine, the eyes of poison gas and the hand of the devil which tightly looped around his flesh and with a sudden, smooth movement threw him around, past her and with a brisk thud laid him to rest with his back on the floor as she slowly came to hover next to him, palms glued against the ground each one by the side of his face as she remained silent and breathed calmly into his face, inspecting him closely, the smouldering ice-cubes of fear clouding over his face, the flames of hell scorching in the eyes which glowed in the darkness like a cat, and for a second it appeared the pupils had turned to slits as thin, spidery fingers made their way slowly towards his neck and softly touched the sore wound she had gave birth to a mere day ago, fingers grazing against the stitches softly, silently and looking at him in a way that was almost affectionate in a motherly or sisterly manner, tender and caring – until she ripped the stitches apart, nails clawing into the loop of thread and tearing it with surgical precision, one finger after the other in almost musical rhythm – a requiem – shredding through his skin, drawing blood, gnawing onto his flesh and craving into him. “Ne pravete zvuk,” she said in a cold, simple tone that bore a ringing force as her flaming eyes burned into his with a fire that came from hell itself. “Ne ...” she whispered, bringing her face down closer, “edin ...” – she tore off the next thread – “… zvuk.”

And she further tore into his skin, and the more blood she drew, the closer she brought her other hand unto his face and caressed his hair with contradictory tenderness. “Az shte vodyat slepi ot nachinite te ne sa izvestni, po nepoznati pŭteki shte gi vodi, az shte se prevŭrne v tŭmnina v svetlina pred tyakh i da napravi grub mesta gladka,” she spoke softly through the darkness, the blood dribbling down from the open, red wound and trickling down his neck, staining his white shirt with sin and evil. “Tova sa neshta, koito shte napravya, az nyama da gi ostavya. Tŭĭ kato az nyama da vi izostavi,” she promised, and ripped up the few remaining threads that had sowed his flesh together. “Znam, che boli,” she whispered sympathetically, the fingers of her other hand stroking his hair. “Az znam.” And when the last thread had remained, she stared at him with black eyes into whose pupils a green light was reflected, the moon caught in her raven hair, the sin curling in the corner of her lips as she made a shushing sound at the peak of his pain, and once all of her hand was viciously washed in his blood, she brought it up and gazed at it, a faint smile on her wicked face, eyes glowing with what appeared to have been hints of inexplicable admiration. But then her clean hand easily crept along the trench coat and slipped inside his pocket, whence she pulled the razor blade and held it lightly in her hands, the silver blade sharply glimmering in the darkness of the moonlight.



Translation

Are you feeling better now? Mama said a long journey in the train sometimes gives people travel sickness, that’s why you looked so awful in the morning.

Yes. I’m better, I just … I feel hungry. Very hungry –

Here. You can have it, I don’t really like eggs. Mama makes me eat them because she says they are good for me but their taste is nasty!

Is he your brother?

Who?

That man who was carrying you.

No.

Is he your cousin?

No.

Is he your friend?

He was so serious, and everyone was looking at him because there was this stench when he walked, he smelled like puke.

You can have another one, if you want. I like meatballs more, Mama has a whole tapper of meatballs and she promised she would give it to me if I ate these eggs. Maybe I can tell her to save some meatballs for you, too.

No. No, I think – what is your name?

Valko. And you almost killed me!

What is yours?

Valko …

But that is a boy’s name!

Tell me your name again.

I said it’s Marko.

Well, Marko, that’s a … that is a beautiful name. Marko, I think it’s best … this remains our little secret.

Don’t make a sound. Not … a single … sound.

I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them. As I will not forsake you.

I know it hurts. I know.

[Max Pavenic]

The scenery flowed by as the train rumbled onwards and Max stood in front of the window, a cigarette burning between his fingers as he observed the sights - old tree trunks of black, the azure sky that gradually darkened in shade, the occasional field, sometimes houses huddled close to each other as if they were in search of shelter from the coming night. Being surrounded by foreign and strange landscape might have made some other people feel restless and infected with homesickness, but Max found the changes around him welcome. There had ever been only one place where he had felt at home and that had been in Transylvania with his parents, in the midst of the deep forests, away from the noxious influence of the human society. He had felt terribly homesick when he had been forced into a train that had taken him from Romania to Germany. He had blindly hated Frankfurt and all the meaningless and blighted lives crammed inside the confines of the city and like any wild animal captured from the wilderness and forced into captivity, he too had restlessly paced behind the bars, growling at anyone who dared to venture too close, refusing to submit, to grow tame and eventually, docile and simple-minded as all the people dependent on the society. It had made it far more easier to steal from others and even though he knew that he was as much part of the society as any other person, he had still chosen the trade that made him an outcast, something that other people hated and looked down on, as was the natural course of things. They would toil away their days in their professions to feed themselves and their families and if they had the luxury of the occasion, to buy various things that, at least seemingly, appeared to make their lives somehow better. And once their eyes were turned away, someone like Max was there to remind them of the harsh realities of the natural order of things, hated or not.

Working in such an obviously despised field as he was, it had been easy to keep people at a distance and he had been paranoid by nature ever since his mother had run out on him and his father. As a child he had always blamed his father for the disappearance of Magda, but as he had grown older, he had learned to see things in a different way and knew that in the end, it had been his mother who had felt restrained by the picturesque family life. If Max had been ready to forgive his father and settle things with him, it had been too late for that as by that time his father had succumbed to the siren song of alcohol and Max had felt disgusted by the human nature once again. His weakness had been supporting his drinking habits for far too long and it had taken him some time and effort to break free from the bond. This was why his mind was in a sudden and unwelcome state of conflict right now, for he had allowed himself to fall prey to the same weakness once again and the feeling made his insides burn, as if he had just drank down a bottle of some vile poison. Even after the girl had attacked him, tricked him and later laughed at his survival, he had not walked away and instead, had gone out of his way to assure her survival, her well-being. A selfless, valiant deed, performed out of good will, out of human empathy... a deed, which in Max's world, was nothing short of idiotic. People got hurt and killed that way and it was easiest to just steer clear from the weak individuals, for what else could have mattered more than your own survival?

Still, he remembered sitting in the quiet confines of the compartment, staring at Nevena's unmoving figure, keenly observing the shaky breaths she drew, his heart feeling strangely heavy as he had rested his wrists upon his knees, just watching, waiting. He figured that somehow in the process of assisting her, she had become a responsibility he had not acknowledged out of his own free will and as such, he had felt bound to her much in the same way he had grown attached to the wristwatch the girl had stolen not so long ago... although now it felt as if weeks had passed since that moment. He had put it on the account of human brain associating with something seemingly weak, something similar to a lost kitten or a small child, but he had conquered over these emotions and the thought had made him feel slightly better, at least for a moment. He had kept watch over the girl until her breathing had finally grown steady, but upon exiting the compartment the feelings of doubt had returned and he had felt as if he was merely tricking himself. A con man as he might have been, he could not deceive his own nature and he had quickly occupied his mind with cleaning up his clothes in the bathroom. He had committed himself to the task fully, blue eyes squinted in solid determination as he had meticulously scrubbed the stains from his shoes, shirt and trench coat. The image staring back at him from the mirror had been a tired and serious one and for a moment Max had stared at his reflection, eyebrows furrowed in distaste, head tilted to the side as he studied his own face, but felt as if he couldn't quite connect with it. An unshaven jaw, heavy lines under his eyes, lips pressed together into a constant expression of gravity and the long, stitched wound on his neck that now flared slightly red with inflammation. He had frowned at the image and it had mimicked the gesture, as if telling him to get over his own doubts, to move on and let the sleeping dogs lie, but the girl's emerald eyes haunted his vision and he had shaken his head in an effort to drive the image away.

He had returned to check on the girl once more and to leave her a bottle of water to drink, but he had lingered, leaning in closer to observe her pale and tired features. She had seemed so weak and helpless there, completely oblivious to her surroundings, with nobody to watch over her other than Max. The man had quickly drawn away, a low grumble escaping his throat as he had told himself how stupid it would have been to make the same mistake twice, to push such unneeded responsibilities upon himself and as he had closed the door behind him, he had known it would be the last he would ever see of the girl. He would leave the train on the next station, no matter the country or city, wash himself clean of all the recent events and he would continue purifying himself until he would feel stronger and more confident again. Yet, as if the train was nothing more but another cage to capture him in its confines with all of these unwanted human feelings, he had been unable to tear his mind off the girl and from his own actions, which was why he now stood in front of the window and stared outside, hoping that the changing scenery would somehow hypnotize him and allow him to drift off into a comfortable nothingness.

So far it had been ineffective and Max observed as the twilight crawled across the sky, the creeping shadows laden with foreboding. Usually he enjoyed the nighttime and the dusk always greeted him with the fondness of a loving mother, promising to hide his presence behind her dark veil, but this time the increasing darkness only filled him with anxiety and unease. He had paced in the corridor, telling himself how he would manage to stay awake this night after enjoying such solid hours of sleep earlier and after he had grown tired of walking, he had sat down and smoked all the cigarettes he had left. Sleep had arrived on the soft, padded paws of a nocturnal feline and a single, sweet sigh from her had been enough to send Max drifting off and his eyes had closed, his body soon limply and carelessly resting against the wall.

He wasn't sleeping, but wide awake, stiffly sitting on a wooden chair next to a dented and scratched table of a small kitchen, fingers curled into fists as he listened to the heavy footsteps from the living room getting closer, ominously dragging and scraping against the floor. The night outside was dark and forlorn and Max felt the shadows shifting as something moved in front of the light and instead of hearing the heavy shuffle of boots, he heard something softly clinking against glass just above his head. Max craned his neck and even though staring at the light nearly blinded him, he could see a huge, white-winged moth circling the solitary light bulb, its body occasionally colliding with its glass surface, leaving behind pale remains of dust from its wings. He knew that the moth used light to guide it on its way in the same way sailors looked to the stars in an effort to determine their location, but the moth could not detect the difference between the moon and the dusty light bulb hanging from the ceiling of the sorry little human apartment. It plinked against the glass once again and Max stared at it, even though looking directly into the light made small tears form in the corner of his eyes and each time he blinked, specks of blinding light danced in front of his vision. The scraping footsteps had stopped and a tall man wearing only a dirty light-brown pants and black suspenders, teetered on the threshold of the door, pushing his hand against the door frame for support. "Ich dachte, dass Sie nach Hause nie zurückkommen würden," the man announced gruffly and Max could smell the alcohol in his breath even from this distance. As he finally averted his gaze from the moth, he tried to discern the features of the man, yet he could only see the bright ghost of the light bulb replicating itself over and over again. "Was haben Sie für mich?" the man asked, mostly concentrating on just remaining on his feet for the time being, trying to peek at Max from the distance. Max blinked, turning his other fist around over the table, the back of his hand resting against its scratched surface and he allowed his fingers to unfurl slowly and fearfully, for he didn't remember what he held in his hands anymore and he was worried he wouldn't have anything to offer. As his fingers, now those belonging to a child, carefully opened, a black-and-yellow moth flexed its wings upon the palm of his hand, just to reveal the unmistakable pattern of a human skull upon its back. Hollow eyes stared back at Max and horror gripped at his insides, severing his ability to breathe or move and he was frozen in that moment, watching as the insect languidly opened and closed its large wings. The skull vanished and reappeared with the movement of the moth's wings and Max could hear someone yelling at him, but the angry words were now a distance away and, hypnotized as he was, he would have been unable to respond, anyway. The moth suddenly flapped its wings and jumped up, gentle fingers of death brushing against his skin briefly as it headed towards the brightness of the light bulb and Max's blue eyes followed it's path as the insect continued its flight ever higher, towards the light that was now much higher than he had expected it to be, until he realized he was staring at the sun instead.

The warm rays of the sun danced upon his face and Max squinted his eyes as he turned around, finding himself in a verdant green forest, surrounded by the thick trunks of ancient trees and the soft rustle of their emerald leaves as they danced in the gentle wind. A lithe woman in a green dress was walking barefooted away from him, her nimble feet easily finding just the right spots to step on, to avoid the occasional sharp edge of a rock, expertly dodging the dry sticks that would have snapped loudly under her feet, had she chanced upon them. Max breathed the clear air deeply and a sense of immense serenity filled his entire being, soothing both his heart and his soul as the forest stood around him, ancient and comforting. The woman turned around just slightly and her curled, dark hair took on shades of brown and red as the sunlight hit it, while her full lips curved into a smile as she regarded him. "Max. Nu sunt vii? Am crezut ca ai vrut pentru a vedea unde a fost bârlog vulpea noi," there was amusement to the woman's soft voice as she spoke and her green eyes sparked with pure enjoyment over her freedom, over her surroundings. Max hesitated in his place for a moment, as if he was afraid that the moment would be stolen away from him as soon as he moved, but then he willed his other foot to move, then the other, until he was hurrying after the woman, trying to close up the gap between them. The dark-haired woman laughed, the high, yet pleasing notes of her laughter echoing from the trees and she darted away from him as easily as a wild doe, the thin canvas of her green dress clinging to her calves as she hopped over branches and rocks. Max tried to follow her, but irritatingly, he kept stumbling on all the obstacles that were in his way and he had to constantly keep eyeing the ground in an effort not to fall over while he was running. A flock of large black birds, possibly ravens, took off from one of the trees nearby as Max ran past them and he could only briefly wonder why they had not been alarmed by the woman's presence. It could have had something to do with the fact that Max's each step caused an ample amount of noise, while the woman ran almost soundlessly and Max could only observe a brief sight of her long, dark hair and the hem of her dress vanishing behind one of the trees.

He tried to shout at her, to tell her to stop, but found himself unable to do so and he climbed over a larger rock, jumping down and carefully scaling around the thick trunk of the tree, expecting to find the woman hiding somewhere behind it. The bark of the tree felt rough and sharp beneath his fingers as he supported himself against it, carefully peeking behind the tree, expecting to see her hiding there, giggling mirthfully as she always did. Still, as he peered behind the tree, he found the area behind it empty and quiet. Not even the leaves of the underbrush showed any signs of anyone ever being there and Max sighed, realizing just how out of breath he was while at the same time, a slow and cold fear was gripping at his insides as he feared that losing sight of the woman would mean just simply losing her forever. His fingernails dug into the side of the tree and he turned around, jumping back when a pair of absinthe eyes stared back at him and, after witnessing the obvious horror over Max's features, the woman laughed, her head tilted back and her eyes closed as she fully enjoyed the comical sight. Max's mouth was left slightly open and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, although his expression slowly took on signs of something akin to relief as he waited for her fit of laughter to pass. She rolled her shoulders and allowed her giggling to trail off as she swayed in the sunlight, as if caught by a sudden feeling of ecstasy. Then her head snapped back up and her dark hair was now straight, her green eyes malevolent and cold and her skin pale and much more youthful as her fingers curled around his shoulder, preventing Max from escaping. She hissed in the manner of a ferocious cat, blood-red lips revealing a set of sharp fangs that wanted nothing more but to reap his flesh. Why did you leave me? The words rang through Max's mind although the girl did not voice them out loud and even without actually hearing the words, he could simply sense her scorn and disdain. The soundlessly expressed words burned him as if he had suddenly jumped into a torrent of fire that scorched both his skin and his soul. Why did you leave me alone? The talons closed upon his shoulder painfully and Max tried to answer, yet he could not, leaving him there trembling, staring into those hateful orbs of pure hostility as she drew closer and closer, her mouth opening into a soundless scream of hatred, fangs gleaming in the sunlight...

Max's eyes snapped open and he breathed out, just to realize that even though the surroundings have changed, he was still seeing those same eyes and under them, a mouth curved into a malicious grin before her fingers curled around his shoulder more forcefully. He felt himself being pulled and he fell roughly on the floor, landing on his back and feeling the recently formed scabs over the wounds peeling off in the process. A muffled cry of pain and alarm escaped from his lips and it wasn't until that moment, when he was blinking and grimacing down on the floor, that he realized this was happening to him in reality and that the bonds to his dream had been indeed severed - what occurred now, could not be awoken from and the knowledge filled him with cold dread. She leaned over him, hands resting down on the floor each side of his head and Max's blue eyes were wide with horror as he realized that the Nevena he would have rather not met again was back, her eyes now the familiar dark shade of green poison as she leaned closer to him, a predator calmly eyeing her prey. He wasn't looking at a timid little girl anymore, but found himself staring into the darkest depths of hell instead and the knowledge drained his muscles of the strength that would have naturally stirred in any other dangerous situation. Was there some use in fighting back against a demon such as the one that resided within Nevena? He was but a man, a mere mortal, and would have had no chance battling against a demon or an angel, no more than he had the chance of declaring war on the Devil or God himself.

The man flinched when he felt her fingers on his skin, travelling down the cut on his neck as her eyes glowed dangerously amidst the shadows and he could only stare at her while his heart continued beating wildly and almost painfully against his ribcage. Max recoiled when pain surged through his body and he felt her talons ripping at the fresh stitches as if they were nothing but an inconvenience and he would have yelled out loud, had she not told him to remain silent, not to utter a single word. He could have yelled from the top of his lungs, pleaded for someone to come and help him, but what was the use...? If Max couldn't fight against the supernatural entity, nobody else could either and, if he was to yell, she might have just ended his life then and there. Grimacing at the pain and growling low through his gritted teeth as the girl tore into another one of the stitches, he wasn't sure if it had been better to lure the demon into ending it all quickly instead of this torture, but for reasons unknown to him, he suppressed the cries of his pain and flinched as he felt her fingers upon his hair, faint as the sensation was through his ever increasing waves of pain. She was talking, her voice low and smooth and Max tried to understand them, to make sense of them, but his body was far too engulfed in fear and agony to realize the meaning behind her sentence. He knew he had heard the words before, but couldn't connect them to any source and somewhere in the back of his mind he hoped that they weren't integral to his survival or for the preservation of his soul.

He could now feel the warm blood flowing freely down his neck and the wound opened easily as her hungry claws delved into it and fear clenched at Max's insides while he grunted and writhed in pain, his other hand clenched into a fist while the other one ineffectively tried to keep his back elevated from the floor. He simply couldn't find it in himself to push the demon away. He was afraid it would only anger her further, that her talons would delve deeper inside the wound and deepen the cut enough to make him bleed to death. She was whispering words at him, her voice treacherously gentle as she told him she was aware of the pain, a soft shush following the sentiment as she urged Max to remain silent. Max could observe the moonlight hitting her dark hair, surrounding it with a faint blue halo, her skin glowing deathly pale amidst the shadows. There was a dark beauty to death, a sense of velvety relief, of stygian certainty and he stared, momentarily consumed by these sentiments. He was sure that he was going to die now and the feeling of confusion dominated over his fear briefly. Why did she want to kill him? He had helped her, after all, he had asked nothing in return. He had returned the bracelet and left her in peace after having assisted her, yet here she was, his blood on her hands once more, her touch bringing nothing else but pain and misery. But of course... They were two different things, weren't they? He had helped Nevena, but the beast inside her either didn't realize this or simply did not care what happened to her human host.

Amidst all these sentiments, he noticed how the girl withdrew her hand and fresh blood glistened upon her fingers in the moonlight, the shade of deep red having tarnished her skin. His life... in her hands. It was easy to ignore the pain in his back now and Max pushed himself against the floor as if an effort to try and lose himself within the texture of the carpet, to somehow vanish beneath the floor and to escape the beast before it devoured him. His breathing was coming in quick, shallow gasps and his blue stared into her dark greens as steel glinted in the air and Max realized that she was holding his razor in her fingers. The item seemed to fill the girl with obvious mirth and a faint smile played upon her lips as she observed the acute sharpness of the metal. Max's hand had automatically moved to cover the bleeding wound over his neck and his chest rose in laborious heaves as he tilted his head to the side, his gaze always remaining upon the girl. "Az napravih ... nishto greshno vas. Mozhe bi ne ... da e tuk ... ako ne beshe za men. Az dori ne poiska ... za nishto," Max managed to rasp between his gasps and his voice trembled, no matter how hard he tried to keep it steady. He raised his free hand slightly, into a defensive gesture between himself and the girl and even though both his mind and heart raced, he forced himself into some measure of calmness. The glint of the sharp blade was real, far too real and defiance flickered within Max's soul, carefully lifting the veil of blind fear Max had for the supernatural, for the other side. He was not afraid of dying - death was inevitable and required by the natural order of things. He was afraid of being lost into nothingness, for all eternity, of being captured and caged, of being robbed of his very being by the female demon that now hovered over him, as inescapable and unyielding as death itself.

Yet he gazed his fear straight in the eyes - eyes that now shone the colour of absinthe - and even though his voice was unsteady and infected by his emotions, he addressed her further. "No ako az shte, az njama da popadnat kreshti i prosija," the man growled rebelliously, his jaw jutting forward with stubborn determination as he stared into her eyes, waiting for her judgement even when his heart pounded wildly within his chest and he felt weak. He wasn't sure if he could keep his promise, for who knew just what kind of hellish measures of torture existed in the depths of hell, how long she would cut into his skin to tease him into crying out in pain, but his promise still stood and he would fight to keep it. He swallowed, feeling the warm blood snaking down from between his fingers and running over his knuckles, yet his azure eyes glinted in the darkness, ever defiant and stalwart.


Translations:

"Ich dachte, dass Sie nach Hause nie zurückkommen würden."
"I thought you'd never come home."

"Was haben Sie für mich?"
"What do you have for me?"

"Max. Nu sunt vii? Am crezut ca ai vrut pentru a vedea unde a fost bârlog vulpea noi."
"Max. Aren't you coming? I thought you wanted to see where the new fox den was."

"Az napravih ... nishto greshno vas. Mozhe bi ne ... da e tuk ... ako ne beshe za men. Az dori ne poiska ... za nishto."
"I have done... nothing to wrong you. You wouldn't... be here... if it wasn't for me. I didn't even ask... for anything."

"No ako az shte, az njama da popadnat kreshti i prosija."
"But if I'm going down, I'm not going to fall screaming and begging."

[Nevena Grosdova]

It was a beautiful night to die.

She looked down at him with fervent, anticipating eyes blazing in the darkness, stains of blood glistening down the pale, thin fingers which had only moments before tore across his flesh and ripped apart the threads sowing the wound she had carved herself; she could hear his panting gasps and aching growling under his breath, the effects of the physical and emotional pain she was causing him with no guilt or remorse – the trembling sound of his raspy voice, the anxiety in his affrighted, cerulean eyes. And yet she sensed no weakness within his soul despite his body’s passive submission, nor the frailty she witnessed upon the fading eyes of other beings that pleaded with her to cease the unbearable torture enforced on their timid, infirm souls and bodies – his was a natural, human weakness painted with beautiful shades of noncompliance, which, unlike all the others, was never forged by instinctual struggle of survival for he brought no opposition; as though his psyche was not afraid of death; as though he cared not whether these might be his last few moments wandering around the earth, such a curious notion indeed – and still, there was fear in his eyes signifying his terror and anguish, only she knew not what he could have deeply felt horrified from … His mouth opened laboriously as he gasped words at her, and she leaned her head slowly downwards to listen to him closely in hungered curiosity, only to feed from the novelty of his reaction when he told her how without him she would not have been there, and something clutched unto her heart as he spoke such words. And she knew that it was true. He had not demanded immediate compensation, in whichever form, had not harassed her with his incessant reminding of how much indebted she was or was not to him, merely left her safely secured within the confinements of her compartment, alone and not intruded for a split second by anyone; something stirred inside her as she gazed at the blazing cobalt eyes that stared back at her petrified but with ardent pertinacity.

Defiance. Such a beautiful trait.

But through his fear and vacillation there came a source of subversion tinted in obstinacy, and as he fiercely rasped the words that made her stay perfectly still and silent, curiously looking at him with intrigue and interest – assuring her he would neither beg nor scream in agony – she could only gaze at the clearest bright blue eyes she had ever seen, quietly standing by his side with his blood tainting her hand, the razor clutched in her free hand passively.

Pride. What a beautiful, foolish human stain.

And yet far be it from her will to bring him any misfortune or untimely death through suffering; he could not understand it now, but she acted on gratitude and the hysteric, paralyzing need for convergence, and as she absorbed his misconception – through her unmoving, emotionless face – she felt her insides tightening as though something heavy had looped its filthy, rotten hands around her viscera as a shadow momentarily passed through her eyes. “Zashto si mislish, che bi iskal da te naranya?” she asked in a quiet, soft tone, slightly tilting her head to the side in mild confusion, placing her bloody hand by the side of his face and staining the floor’s carpet as she leaned a little downwards. “Az ne iskam da kreshtya i se molya. Iskam da vi svetne tŭmninata,” she told him with vibrant, shining eyes into whose widened irises he could register anticipation and unadulterated hunger. And then, suddenly, her expression turned, for a moment, bleak. “No zashto me ostavi? Zashto me ostavi na mira?” her quiet voice rang through his ears in a sharp, cruel voice, eyebrows curved over her narrowed eyes – but then the fierce hunger returned to her face. She brought her hand up, the razor glinting coldly in the enshrouding darkness and lifted it up closely past his neck until she stopped her hand in mid-air and stared at the silver blade carefully, positioned right in front of her very eyes, when, without warning, she opened her mouth and brought the razor closer, tilting her head slightly backwards and closing her eyes as the blade cut through flesh in a slow, parallel movement, making no sound except for the peeling sensation of skin tissues being ripped as the razor’s flat cutting edge carved its way across her flesh, tracing an indistinct line in a plodding, drawn-out rhythm that seemed to have lasted for ages and, still, was only a mere moments.

And as she opened her eyes and fleetingly stared up at the ceiling there was only absolute stillness as she breathed in the surrounding air, her body unflinching, her eyes unmoving and her face deadly unresponsive before her hands easily found their place by each side of his face as she crawled like a feline and hovered above him with a nebulous aura of incoming doom and menace enveloping her dark appearance as she leaned her face close enough to him to feel his anguished, quick breathing tingling her nostrils as dark virescent eyes burned into his own, slits of abyss promising only misery and destruction along her wake, a sea of hopeless, unending dreams never to be fulfilled, and the taste of drinking from the Styx river. “Kazakh ti, che …” she breathed in a dangerous, silky, unyielding whisper, “… az vinagi shte ima svoya dusha. Zagubi, Max. I nikoga nyama da se dori na edna edinstvena stŭpka za obratno priemane na vashata sobstvenost …” she whispered, reminding him of his failure, her eyes a few centimetres away from his own and prepared to absorb his soul with a suction so overpowering it would be heard over the Olympus or the dark forests of Myrkviðr, “ ... i sega ti si moĭ…” she hissed with a ringing force that echoed around the wretched four walls surrounding them, consuming them, forever restricting them into that cold, deserted corridor, a smirk of fervent delight curving her lips upwards, and so close she stood that he could see the blood trickling from her low lip down across her chin, the red-hot bodily fluid glistening in the darkness as it travelled quickly down her neck and stained her pale white skin as it shone in the moonlight, that he could almost feel the laceration in her tongue whenever her blood lips opened to tell him he had lost her game, and how she was to cherish his soul for eternity – a dragged out, recumbent slash in the moist flesh across which the sharp blade had cut through.

The looming smile never faltered in her red lips as she stared endlessly at his eyes like a demon from the lowest depths of hell, when she slowly drove her face askew and for a second glanced at the open, swollen wound by the side of his neck – and the moonlight shone brightly in her hair with a translucent, blue halo which was only ever an astringent, ironic illusion of nature as the sound of lips brushing against the punctured skin violated the air in all of its hideous silence, when blood dissolved in blood, and she tasted the ichor in the same ways the gods fed from ambrosia and drank from their nectar, his blood slowly dribbling down her throat, her movement painfully slow and tender as her sanguinary mouth glued against the swollen laceration; lips as soft as rose leaves or cashmere wool but which brought as much pain as a wasp sting, as much sharpness as a dog bite and as toxicant as poison gas, and she revelled in it – his blood tasted like heated rubber washed down in milk and honey, or like Lebanese cedar it smelled sweet but tasted bitter. When she brought her face upwards, her mouth was smeared in blood, her neck was stained and so was her hand as she stared at him with plain curiosity in her eyes, bringing her face closer once more, one or two drops of blood falling down from her chin unto his nose. “Az zhiveya v edin tŭmen oblak, a kogato napravikh oblatsite mi drekha i sebe si uviti v mrak, az tŭmninata mi, obkhvashtashti moyata korona okolo men - tŭmni oblatsi dŭzhd ot nebeto,” she breathed. “Oblatsi i mrak me obgrŭshtat; pravdata i spravedlivostta sa osnovata na prestola mi. No az ne sŭm Bog, ne kato egoist, losho sŭshtestvo, che e sram za nebeto.” She looked at him and there was a mirthless smile in her glowing eyes. “Az sŭm Eva,” she said in a deep, velvety voice and there was genuine desire from her part for him to acknowledge and know her. “Az ostava mechta, az vi zhivi, az ne vi e omrŭznalo – i sega znaem istinata. Az nikoga nyama da vi navredi, nikoga ne lŭzha. Mozhete da izbyaga za dŭlgo vreme, no bez znachenie kolko ste tichane, nikoga nyama da ticham dostatŭchno bŭrzo, nikoga ne disha dostatŭchno dŭlgo vreme. Rano ili kŭsno, az shte te namerya. Rano ili kŭsno, shte doĭde pri men, da ima bolki v dushata si obratno, chuvstvo v tozi prazen svyat prazen, otchayan e bez tsel i bez sŭshtnost – da, shte doi dat pri men, zashtoto sŭrtseto ti bie v men. Vseki pŭt, kogato se studena, shte treperi. Vinagi, kogato sŭm toplo, shte usetite ugrizeniya na svinete skoka prez mozŭka i kanal prez tyaloto si s mŭrtva, bezkrŭvno veni, i kogato poluchat naryazani, se krŭvta mi shte kŭrvyat. Vashata dusha e moya – i tova e bezopasno s men.”

And as she hovered above him, she leaned forwards and brushed her red-stained chin and lips across each of the sides of his face, slowly transferring part of the blood unto his skin, diverging up to his forehead and smearing him with her sins, to taint him, to contaminate and poison him, to spread her disease on him and befoul him with her wretched curse, so that she would not be the only one, so that he would know – if only for mere moments – what it felt like to be born as a failing abortion, a withered blood-red orchid, a body without soul which sought for other people’s souls to fulfill her own natural deficiency. To taint him! To contaminate him! To spread her disease! Her movements were calculated, sharp, quick and cold, the blood creating patterns across his face which resembled a valknut, but as she then leaned slightly upwards, she gently kissed his left eye, slowly, silently, and then his right one, until they were both painted red, until the plasma was trickling down his eyelids like a watering statue of Virgin Mary, like lava washed down into the endless, deep blue sea, until, to the very least, he would be left paralyzed, as severed as a stillborn deer, and assailed by waves of infinite, uncontainable dejection and a permanent sense of precariousness eating his viscera like a carnivore tearing apart its prey. The bones broke. The flesh shone in the daylight. The animal devoured. And so his blood-smeared eyes blazed in the moonlight penetrating the empty, deserted corridor from the glass window.

For the eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are good, your whole body will be full of light.

She opened her eyes and her pale white finger hushed his mouth, if anything was to be said to violate the quietude prevailing around them calmly. “Ne,” she said softly, “e vreme da ostana mŭlchaliv.” For he, like another Eir, had come to free her from the claws of death with his medical attention, for she, like another Víðarr, had to complete her holy mission of casting vengeance upon a world which had only known how to wrong her. To kill the wolf! To battle the forces of evil in their final destiny, and at the end find peace as the earth would submerge into water and she would reunite with her lost soul, at last. At last she would be free, the chains of the beast would be broken, and her smile would at last enjoy genuine mirth. But for now, she nestled cautiously in brisk tree branches, dreaming in the dark, slits open and she, wide awake, slithering across the ground to offer the apple to any soul that would come to pass, and first would be the innocents. For it was the innocents that were the most dangerous in their embryonic transgression. The bud was most tender when it had not blossomed yet, as tender as the heart from a lettuce.

She slowly pulled the tie off his head, unrolled it and folded it into her fist as she then moved away from him and glanced down, her eyes glistening as coldly as the blood dried against her skin. She walked towards the door and slid it, but before she turned around. He was simply lying there, like a beautiful carcass in a graveyard shone down by the tendrils of the moonlight. “Îmi place de tine, Max. Esti un hot modeste,” she spoke in his own language, capturing his soul, absorbing his existence into hers. A smile crossed her lips and she stood there, watching him for a few moments. Without another word, she turned around and never walked back, leaving him there amidst shadows, not to be seen by another human face in the train again; and when the steam locomotive made its stop at the Austrian capital by dawn, there would be no Nevena Grosdova showing her documents to the officers amidst the vastness of the noisy crowd, the compartment standing empty and deserted in the glowing sunlight.



Translation

Why would you think I would want to hurt you? I don’t want you to scream and beg. I want to light up your darkness. But why did you leave me? Why did you leave me alone?

I told you ... I was always going to have your soul. You lost, Max. And you never even took a single step to take back your possession ... and now you're mine.

I dwell in a dark cloud; when I made the clouds my garment and wrapped myself in thick darkness, I made darkness my covering, my canopy around me – the dark rain clouds of the sky. Clouds and thick darkness surround me; righteousness and justice are the foundation of my throne. But I am not God, no such selfish, foul essence besmirching the skies. I am Eva. I let you dream; I let you live; I fed you – and now you know the truth. I will never harm you, never lie to you. You can run away for a long time, but no matter how much you’re running, you’ll never run fast enough; never breathe long enough. Sooner or later, I will find you. Sooner or later, you will come to me, aching to have your soul back, feeling in this empty world an empty, desperate being of no purpose and no essence – yes, you will come to me because your heart is beating inside of me. Whenever I get cold, you shall shiver. Whenever I am warm, you shall feel the pangs of fever surge through your brain and channel throughout your body with your lifeless, bloodless veins, and whenever you receive a cut, it shall be my blood you’ll bleed. Your soul is mine – and it’s safer with me.

No. It is time you stayed silent.

I like you, Max. You’re a modest thief.