Chapter 19

"There is no such thing as love!" began the old professor loudly. Kurt looked at him askance and turned to the window.

He had decided to attend a lecture by Professor Sorenkrott at the public library. The large hall was full of people. Some of them looked puzzled while listening to the professor and made notes in their notebooks, while others seemed interested and were periodically amazed by his cleverly placed accents. However, Kurt was familiar with all these tricks. He sat there, bored, and looked up at the balcony above him, where hundreds of books were languishing on the shelves.

Just think of the time and effort that were spent on the creation of a book that fits in your hand. The ink within these pages broadcasts impersonally of discoveries that, for someone, were the meaning of life. The books on the shelves looked like silent witnesses dressed in shabby jackets and raincoats.

Kurt frowned. He didn't know what was happening to him. Kurt had left John's place last evening in a wonderful mood, full of happiness. It was so ravishing that Kurt almost sang aloud while the carriage drove him home. Today, all this happiness seemed like a distant dream, but the irritation was quite real and even tangible. He didn't even try to be complaisant, casually maintaining only the necessary courtesy.

It was immediately noticeable to others that Mr. Rhein was not in a good mood that day. Someone even asked if anything had happened and if he needed any help. Kurt calmly refused and took his place at the back of the room, away from everyone.

The professor, slyly looking at everyone with pleasure, as if making sure that his words had the desired effect, slowly continued. "What is love? The attraction of body and soul to the subject of adoration. And what causes this attraction?" The professor spoke with a strong German accent. Previously, Kurt would have gladly joined in the discussion with the professor, as the topic was interesting to him, but now he had no such desire.

The professor paused, waiting for a response from the audience.

"On appearance and inner qualities," came a hesitant voice from the audience. Professor Sorenkrott grinned, indicating that this was a common response he received.

"Thank you for your response, young man. But what if our appearance changes? We age, become frail, or, God forbid, experience an accident that leaves us disfigured. The same could happen to our personality."

Kurt didn't hear a thing; John's face stood vividly before his eyes, whether clear or distorted, and Kurt couldn't shake off the vision. The air in the lecture hall felt unbearably stuffy, and he hastily made his way out, feeling the disapproving glares of the other attendees. He didn't want to hear the professor or see anyone else.

Kurt hurried home, and once he arrived, he locked himself in his study. His soul ached, and he couldn't find a moment's peace. It was pure agony. Kurt took off his jacket, collapsed onto the couch, and closed his eyes. The week felt like it would stretch on endlessly, with nothing but dreary, gray days ahead of him...

Kurt sat up on the couch and shook himself. A thought occurred to him, which didn't dispel his feeling of internal embarrassment but clarified the cause. However, it didn't improve Kurt's state of mind.

I'm looking forward to going back to the mansion to see John... do I want to see John?

His feeling of irritation immediately subsided, as if understanding the cause was enough. However, it was replaced by a sense of sadness. Kurt lay down again, staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes, and noticed the sunbeams hidden in the crystal chandeliers. All he wanted was to understand his own feelings. It felt as if he were trying to communicate with a foreigner who only made confusing gestures.

No, I would understand that. Why can't I understand myself? I can feel it.

Kurt was trying to untangle the ball of emotions and feelings that had built up inside him.

Even though there are so many of them, they're all inside me. All I need to do is separate them. I can't think clearly until I feel this kind of confusion. I can't think as long as I feel.

In Kurt's mind, in his salon, where the lady in red was still sitting on a chair, he swept the litter and went into the corner, staring at the lady. It seemed to him that she was observing him, even though her face was obscured by a broad-brimmed hat.

The desire, that he realized, shone in the depth of his confused thoughts. It was clear and understandable; it could cause confusion and shame, but it existed.

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" Kurt beat the back of the couch. "I'm losing my ability to control myself. That evening was two days ago, and before that, I didn't feel the way I feel now. And I can't find peace just because I want to see John!"

It was amazing. At first, his heart pined in anguish, now it writhed in agony. Seeing John was not just a simple desire anymore; it had become a painful necessity. Kurt had never wanted something so much that it overwhelmed him with anger and irritation. Now he felt hungry and hence mad.

"I have to calm down. Pull yourself together!" Kurt's mind timidly voiced, but immediately, he was overwhelmed with a new wave of despair.

That evening when we were alone in the arbor, we were silent for an hour or two, I don't know. Time ceased to exist for me. And what's more, I wanted it to disappear. I wanted to stand beside John and be silent. Air, silence - all is his. What do I want now? Could it be that in that silence, I lost myself? Surrendered to John Fenrir?

Suddenly, someone sat down in the chair opposite. It was Kurt himself, dressed as always in a suit. He was calm and collected. Wearing glasses, Kurt-psychologist stared at Kurt who was lying on the couch.

"What is bothering you?" Kurt-psychologist asked dispassionately. Kurt almost exploded; this tranquil tone made him lose his temper.

"Why don't you guess?" Kurt snapped. "Come on! You read faces, don't you? You can see through the soul! Come on, read me! Explain to me the meaning of my state! And tell me what to do if you are so enlightened!"

"Aggression," said Kurt-psychologist, making a mark in his notebook. "Hmm," he drawled, looking at Kurt's face. "You want to blame someone for your weakness and stupidity. When you were told to stand, you went. When you were told to keep quiet, you spoke. Your arrogance has gotten you stumped, and now your humiliated self-esteem is getting revenge on you." Kurt-psychologist took off his glasses. "Is that what you want to hear?" He suddenly raised his voice and spoke in a different tone. "You were warned so many times, and you knew everything! But you were so curious! I'm not blaming you for your curiosity; curiosity is the driving force of human life. But stupidity... You gave John Fenrir an unforgivable advantage over yourself. When you needed to be alert, you were relaxed, allowing your feelings to capture you. Oh my God!" Kurt-psychologist's voice rang on a high note. "I can feel! I'm alive!" He became serious again. "Now what? Feelings are uncontrollable, they don't like control; you had to remember this! You gave up the slack; you thought it'd be okay if you allowed yourself to live it, feel it, and now how are you going to keep the raging sea in a cup? Now wait for the mercy of John. When he deigns to crush your heart, then humiliated and insulted, you will come back, lick your wounds, and these scars will be reminders for you. Then, the next time, you'll be careful. In the meantime, suffer, feel this too!" Kurt-psychologist spoke even tougher, enunciating his words. "You never say this to your clients, but you know perfectly well that only experience will teach a fool. And the more painful it is, the better. Let's hope this will be enough for you." Kurt-psychologist closed his notebook and disappeared.

Evil thoughts swirled in Kurt's head once again. He closed his eyes, hoping to calm his mind, but it was impossible. Even though he knew it was cowardice, he didn't want to live through it. He didn't want to feel it. He just wanted to forget everything and fall asleep. But sleep wouldn't come, and the day was already in full swing.

Kurt desperately tried to think about anything else, but his thoughts kept coming back to John, his defeat, and his miserable situation. He tried to observe everything from a distance, but it never worked out. It was like trying to build a house of cards, only for it to collapse at the slightest breath of wind, forcing him to start all over again.

An hour passed, and Kurt was still unable to forget. Exhausted and emaciated, he got up from the couch and went to the kitchen. A teapot was brewing fresh mint tea, but he bypassed it and headed for a closed cupboard.

Kurt didn't particularly like alcohol, but he had one bottle of scotch that he kept hidden away. He couldn't remember where he got it from.

It took him two glasses for his thoughts to settle a little. The sensation of burning in his throat and stomach seemed trivial compared to what he had experienced recently.

He hated the taste of it and drank the scotch like bitter medicine. For half an hour, Kurt emptied the bottle and laughed bitterly. Damn sleep didn't want to come.

"Who the hell is this John Fenrir?" Kurt said aloud, pacing around his study with an empty bottle in his hand. "Who is he? What does he have that gift for? Huh?" He turned angrily to an imaginary audience, but it remained silent and frightened, watching the speaker. "I'll tell you what. He's nobody! Nobody!"

Kurt sat down, dropping the bottle on the floor with a thud. "Nobody," he whispered. "But I can't..." And he fell into a deep sleep.

And in his sleep, as if in a daze, he dreamed of his salon. It seemed to him that someone came in through the door and sat down in a dark corner. Who this mysterious visitor was, Kurt never knew.

The next day, Kurt was woken up by insistent knocking at the door.

"Mr. Rhein?" It was Edna's voice. "Mr. Rhein, are you there? You have a visitor!"

Kurt opened his eyes and looked around quickly. He had slept all night, sitting at the table. His head was buzzing, and he could not collect his thoughts.

Looking around, he rubbed his head and finally said, "Who's there?"

"Mr. Danee."

"Philip," thought Kurt. "It's not a good time."

He looked at himself in the mirror on the wall and winced. "Please tell him that I can't speak to him right now!"

Edna obediently withdrew, and Kurt heard muffled voices downstairs. He hurried out of the study and went to the bathroom. Washing his face, he looked at himself in the mirror and then looked away. His head ached unbearably, but Kurt was more disgusted by his behavior. He hadn't been himself, and today he could not understand his behavior of the day before.

"Maybe it's a good thing," he suddenly thought. "It means that today I don't feel what I felt yesterday."