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CHAPTER 10

When he turned away, Mary entered the room for some reason and began to examine an uninvited woman that stood at the wardrobe.

“Hmm…” She was ru

ing her musical fingers thoughtfully down her chin. “So what's special about her?” Mary walked around her, stopped, playfully pulled the edge of the woman’s dirty skirt and jumped to the side, giggling softly.

“Stop it now!” Michael shushed at her and grabbed her hand, pulling her away from a scared to death woman. “A human is not a toy! Never dare to play! For you it's just fun and she can go crazy!”

“So what?”

“Little...” He said calmly, clearly pronouncing every word. “Spoiled...bitch…”

“But!”

“Never dare to do so – end of story!”

This time she obeyed him without questions. Perhaps, simply because at this moment she first saw him so serious and angry. But she still couldn’t resist a question, otherwise that wouldn’t be Mary.

“Is she more important to you than?..”

“What?..”

“Than our common case!”

He looked at her with regret and answered calmly as if resigning himself to her being like this:

“She’s now our common case.”

His patience scared Mary even more than the whole situation that they found themselves in by her fault and more than possible punishment from superiors. She suddenly clearly realized that he wasn’t just resigned to her, but he had kind of “dismissed” her. Just stopped taking her seriously. Something in between that kept them together was destroyed. And she swore to herself to restore it, not quite understanding why she needed it and whether she needed it at all.

The woman was looking around with her eyes wide open with horror in search of something she didn’t know what.

“Dear God,” she prayed softly, sobering up a bit. “I promise that I’ll become a diligent parishioner. I promise to pray in the evenings. Just don't make me crazy. I'm just a weak woman... Do you want me to go into convent?” She asked, spi

ing around her axis.

“Who would take you like this?” Mary said cynically, crossing her arms over her chest and looking contemptuously at the praying.

“Even I have never been like this,” Michael said quietly, looking at Mary.

She went into the kitchen along with a bottle of alcohol which an unknown woman brought to the apartment.

Michael sat down on the edge of the sofa and that made the bedspread a bit wrinkled. The legs of the bed creaked. The woman turned sharply. Michael hushed, a

oyed at his own sluggishness. She looked pathetic at that moment, but something in her eyes made feel compassion for her, believe in her good intentions. Her green bottomless eyes seemed to live separately from her body, showing the heart to everyone who “condescends” to look into her eyes. Deep, they seemed to be a source of inexhaustible wisdom.

And then she noticed George. She wanted to pass by quietly, thinking that he was sleeping. But she stayed behind. Something felt hinky to her. She came close to Georgie. Georgie, who was cowardly sitting in the wardrobe, straightened with interest. She carefully felt his pulse, muttered something under her breath and leaned over to listen to her heart. She gasped:

“Stiff!” and scared stepped away from the bed and looked at the door.

After reading her thoughts, realizing that now they can’t let her go at all, Michael rushed to Georgie’s hands and moved one of his fingers.

“That's why,” the woman thought out loud, completely sobering, noticing Georgie’s weak movement of the hand. “God, you brought me to this house!..” She timidly approached the bed of the sick. “Indeed, the ways of God are inscrutable…”

Now Michael was gradually coming to the same cynicism which he despised in Mary a few moments ago. He always thought that no matter what anyone believes, faith shouldn’t be blind. And what he was observing right now could easily be called piety which he also despised.

Meanwhile, the woman moved away from the wardrobe and Michael had to relocate not to be noticed by George sitting in the wardrobe.

Georgie, in turn, now madly wanted to get out from cover, but he was afraid to frighten the woman standing by his bed and looking at him as if he were her whole life. He eyed her keenly with gratitude that only dogs are capable of. Homeless, u

eeded, despised for this same needlessness dogs, which passers-by could scratch behind the ear by chance. But it seems to be special. Like you became needed to somebody for a second, and no matter to whom. So George was torn between a blind desire to jump out of the wardrobe and thank, thank for a second of a warm look turned to him personally and the fear of losing her scaring.