Вечная Анна Дмитриевна
The Non-existent City

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    Обновлено 20.02.2008
    Перевод на английский язык. Шлифовка ещё не завершена, поэтому жду предложений) Оригинал текста можно почитать здесь: "Город..."

The Non-existent City

By Anna Vechnaja

   The city life is hectic. We used to think that it is totally under human's control, and the life can't go out of it: everything that happens to us MUST happen according to human logic. All generations of the city inhabitants are persuaded that the city exists for them. People can't imagine that the city lives its own life, totally different from theirs. And, for sure, nobody would think that they exist for the city. It's too fantastic to think about...
  

The First Glance. Gdvens

   A small creature was sitting on the edge of the drama theatre's roof. The creature was wearing green bloomers and red shirt with a button; the button was the only one, but it was very big. He had a chuckle chucky head and big yellow eyes; the creature's ears were big as well. It was an ordinary gdven.
   Gdvens, one of the folks of the city, makes its home on the roofs. Catching the magic mail in the air and annoying people in different ways is the so-called gdvens' job. During the break between catching spheres, which is the mail from folks of other cities, and twelve-times-a-day snacks, they usually sit on the edge of the roofs and "spit" troubles down at people.
   The sun was about to droop in the west, and the gdven was getting noticeably nervous, as his nephew hadn't come and brought the supper yet. The creature worked off his irritation on people in the street beneath. Most of the troubles fell upon a tall and thin artist with a goatee. He was "sentenced" to stub his toe against a mutt, bump into a manhole, lose his shoe in the sewer, miss the train to Berlin, and go through something private.
   Meanwhile, another gdven appeared on the roof. He looked completely similar to the first one, but was a bit shorter.
   "Here's our meal, uncle Dhov!" The news called the older gdven's attention off the unfortunate artist.
   When the supper made of rotten cabbage was over, both gdvens sat down on the roof's edge and, swinging their legs, started to have fun. Both the uncle and his nephew were in good moods, so their victims suffered from relatively small troubles, such as lost keys, broken umbrellas, and pocket holes.
   A green sphere, invisible from humans, was floating slowly in the sky. The young gdven sprang to his feet quickly.
   "Can I catch it, uncle Dhov?"
   "Ah, leave it. It's for park gdvens. They'll catch it on their own." The older gdven was in a fine fettle and decided to pity those miserable humans for a while.
   "Can I catch that black one, then?"
   Dhov's nephew showed an unusual obligingness.
   "Which one?" Dhov, who was enjoying the sunset before, got up slowly and came up to his nephew.
   "That one." The kid pointed at a big sphere, which was a bit flattened, floating over the roofs of five-story buildings.
   "Leave it alone, Hock. Just leave it." The older gdven put his arm on the younger one's shoulders. Dhov was ready to stop the unnecessary deed. "We'd better go home. The sun is down already."
   The two gdvens left the roof through the dormer window; and the slowly floating black sphere in the sky flew over the drama theatre, started to drift down, and disappeared in a gray lane.

The Second Glance. Evil Spirits of All Sorts

   All the colors faded and became gray and black as the twilight came. Shades lay down on the streets and covered the city with a veil of obscurity and mystery.
   A man was walking down a narrow sidewalk, which has survived from the medieval times. The man was wearing a long black cloak, which didn't hide the disproportionality and thinness of its owner's figure. The man's head was longer than a normal person's head, and it didn't have any hair; his red eyes with yellow pupils looked like luminous points because of his unnaturally pale skin. He almost didn't stand out of that gray world inhabited by malformed shadows and evil spirits of all sorts. He saw the world around him in black and gray shades. He lived in the Dusky Reflection.
   There grew an old stocky oak at the curb in the real city, but the stranger saw a little scuffed door instead of the tree. A lonely black lamp dropped its light at the door and the inn-sign, written in an unknown language. Everything was black in that world. The blacker something was, the better it was.
   Doubling over in order not to bump into the door-post, the vampire (and it was a real city vampire) entered the door. He found himself in a spacious gray hall, crowded with evil spirits. Someone hailed the vampire at once: "Hey, Ramir, old buddy! Come, sit with us!" A square bulky guy rose from the table at the far end of the hall, and waved with one of his four hands. Indeed, at long range he looked like a square on feet, bulged front and rear. Each of the square's four corners had a hand that could stretch out for six meters. The creature didn't have a head. However, the bulky guy had two faces. One of them was smiling with a toothless mouth. The other face, which was at the back, either was sleeping, or guzzling one of the local, not rich in diversity cuisine, dishes.
   The vampire came to the square bulky guy unhurriedly, said hello to the two dwarves (God knows how they appeared in the city) and sat down on the stool in front of the four-handed and two-faced creature. To tell the truth, the vampire didn't like to have any business with nugo who were gluttonous and rude, but sometimes they helped the vampire, especially when starvation was getting to be obvious. And now Ramir felt a strong need for food.
   He was a city vampire, and, therefore, didn't consume blood. Humans' fears were food for him. Usually he consumed fears and the black thoughts of people who loafed about the streets. But sometimes fear of a different kind was needed. What's the use of the shapeless shadows when those stupid humans could run away, or begin to shout, or act in other ways resulting in their fears' coming out in a form of warm energy, so preferred by tiny titzy-birds, but inappropriate for a vampire?! Because of this reason, it was very difficult to be sated just from the street. Ramir was looking for pure and free human horror, human nightmare pulsing in the body, the one that is impossible to get rid of. Only fears of this kind could satisfy the city vampire totally.
   Now the hunger drew to a head. That's why Ramir turned to the nugo, Dababa by name. The vampire absolutely didn't care about the dwarves' business in the city. He just wanted to eat.
   "Listen, Dababa-" Ramir decided to get down to the business at once.
   "What business can you speak about on such a wonderful night?! Be friends with my friends instead." And Dababa began to slap the dwarves on their backs with all his hands.
   Ramir felt the nagging pain pulsing inside, increased by annoyance.
   "I don't have time for your friends, Dababa," trying to restrain himself with all his might, said the vampire through his clenched teeth. "I have business for you. You must go with me. Right now!"
   "Of course, I mustn't!" Dababa tossed off the green tel', and declared loudly: "I won't go anywhere with you, you dirty vampire bat! You have run into debt already. You haven't paid a single coin for the last time."
   The two dwarves stared at the vampire attentively, trying to express something like interest on their faces. Ramir sighed heavily making attempt to suppress his sharp headache, and threw four translucent button-like coins on the table.
   The nugo grabbed the coins quickly, and waved stubbornly with one of his hands:
   "Anyway, I won't go anywhere! You-" he wanted to say something else, but froze as he was, with his mouth opened and with his hands up. The dwarves bounced out of their chairs and snatched their battleaxes, which were leaning against the table-legs. It got quiet in the hall. Ramir turned around slowly.
   In the doorway there was... a human. A tall slim man with yellow hair of the hue of golden wheat at the sunset beams. With thumbs stuck in the waistband of his leather trousers, he dingle-dangled, making his leather jacket tinkle with metallic chains that decorated it. The man looked around the hall with black soulless eyes and then made his way confidently towards the bar.
   Ramir turned to Dababa, who strenuously began to swallow up his green tel'. A light buzz resumed in the hall.
   "Is he a human?" One of the dwarves stared at Ramir, as if Ramir was a human.
   "No." The vampire snapped the mug out of the dwarf's hands and tossed off its content. It's an abomination but calms down the pain for a while. "He is not quite a human."
   "How come?" The dwarf hadn't even noticed that his mug got emptied.
   "Do you know who he is?" Dababa wiped his mouth with hands and whispered, anxiously casting a side look at the man: "He is the King of Death."
   The other dwarf choked. Ramir slapped him on his back with care, so that the dwarf wouldn't die in the prime of his life.
   "The King of Death? Is he?" The astonishment of the bearded dwarf was sincere.
   "Haven't you ever heard about Kings of Death?" It was Ramir's turn to be surprised now
   "Why, I've heard about them, but I've never seen them!" Both dwarves stared at the man, who was drinking his green tel' as if nothing had happened.
   "Yes, he is a King of Death," began to gabble Dababa. "Oh, the Kings are horrible creatures! They are humans indeed, but they are the only ones among the humans who are able to enter our City. They live two lives. First they live a usual human's life. Before they came of age of twenty they are just shadows, loafing about the streets. When the King is twenty years old, the truth is opened to him. He can choose: either to live the rest of his life in a human's body, or to live a real life. They live for 200 years, and then got reborn into a new body. They rule the world because Death itself is in their hands. They appear before every person who is to die, and take his soul away. They decide whether the soul would wonder about in the universe, or would come back to the Earth. I'm so glad that they rule the humans' world only! They see all of us while other humans don't. They can't make any harm to me, but I am still afraid of them. The Kings of Death are real demons!" Dababa got up abruptly. "Let's go, Ramir, let's take care of your business. I'm getting ill at ease when one of them is sitting nearby."
   Ramir and Dababa left to the street. The dawn was at hand. The nugo tapped the figure in the cloak on the shoulder.
   "Well, vampire... Got hungry, huh?"
  

The third glance. The Last Meal

   With just several pale beams, the light of the street-lamp fought its way through solidly closed curtains. One of them fell on the blanket, under which there was a girl sleeping peacefully. She was about eighteen years old. Her long black hair hung loosely about the pillow, and her face was peaceful. A little green star was shining above the bed, and its light painfully offended Ramir's eyes. There was too much light for the vampire in the human's world. But the human's world was the only place to find pure horror, and it could be found only at a sleeping human. Young girls had the sweetest fears. That's why Dababa brought Ramir exactly here.
   The nugo stepped up to the sleeping girl. His bottom hands closed the mouth of one of his faces. The second one began singing a gruff guttural song which made even Ramir flesh creep. The other two nugo's hands were dancing over the sleeping human. Dababa was inflicting the nightmare. When the girl began to toss about the bad uneasily, he stopped his disgusting song and, panting, came to Ramir, got his four coins, and disappeared. Maybe, he'll come back later, so that his other face could sing a soft tuneful song over the girl to bring the peaceful dream back.
   Ramir got left alone at the human's world. The girl was tossing about her bad. She was attempting to scream, but was able to produce only some odd hoarse sounds. Smiling rapaciously, the vampire came to her, put his thumbs on her eyes, and clasped her head in other fingers. How often waking up after restless night we see dark blue shadows under the eyes! Fortunately, nobody has guessed that those shadows are the vestiges of the city vampire.
   Ramir was happy, being filling with the pure human horror. The girl was escaping from someone in her dream. The pain of death was chasing her, and the vampire was drinking this in. Then he moved away the girl for a couple of steps, and closed his eyes. Ramir, by his own experience, knew that more pleasure can be received when consuming fear in small portions. The vampire opened his eyes, and... The girl was sitting on the bed. Her irate soulless eyes were piercingly and sharply looking ate the vampire. She raised her hand, pointing at him, and whispered angrily: "How could you dare, you, miserable creature?"
   For the first time, Ramir felt his own horror, he couldn't even move. He just felt that the door leading to the Dusky Reflection slammed and an unknown force through him outside.
   The horizon was becoming lighter; the night was going away from the human's city. Soon the sun will rise, and its rays will kill the city vampire. But he could do nothing, he couldn't return to the Dusky reflection. The door leading home has been closed forever. Ramir was waiting obediently for his death.
   For his bad luck, he didn't know that the girl was twenty at 4:23 A. M. For his bad luck, he didn't know that she was one of the Kings of the Death. For his bad luck, Dababa was mistaken when he was saying that the Kings don't have power over the City folks. For his bad luck, he knew practically nothing about the Kings. Actually, nobody knows everything about them.
   Even buhovegs, the folk of libraries, universities and monasteries, the wisest city folk, know only that they grow up like usual children before they are twenty years old, and then they continue to live in the human's world and govern it. And their spirit appears before those who are to die. They are named by different names in the human's world, but their true name is one and forever.
   When she dealt with the impudent vampire, the girl put on a black long loose-fitting garment, and entered the Twilight-Land in order to pass the rite of initiation in the Castle. When she came back, in her room on the table there was a black sphere shimmering softly, spotlighted with the raising sun (by the way, it was the sphere that had been flying over the drama theatre overnight). The Queen of Death opened the sphere, and put the silver crown on her head. From now on, she will wear it for the entire life.
   The girl had been changed a lot during that night, but humans can't notice all the changes. The only thing that gives the Kings of Death away is their soulless eyes. However, there are plenty of people with such a gaze, and it's out of our competence to understand who is who. There's no human logic, that's why it out of human's mind.
  

The Fourth Glance. Kings of Death

   An ambulance car was rushing down the central street with a heart-rending sireb. Frightened buses, cars and trolleybuses were pressing closer to the sidewalk, avoiding the light of the bright flasher. The evening wore on already, and the street lamps were lit here and there. It was easy to breathe after the warm summer rain washed away June's dust and heat.
   The ambulance car carried a ninth-form pupil of the secondary school Jana who was gasping for air. The emergency doctor and two nurses were trying to relieve the asthma attack. Despite their efforts, the girl's heart was beating slower and slower; there wasn't enough air in her lungs, and huge pink blisters were bursting in her brain. Jana was near to get the kiss of Death, an old woman in a black loose overall with a scythe in her bony hand.
   Jana abruptly opened her eyes. She saw a reddish ceiling of the ambulance car, serious face of the doctor and face of the nurse, red because of tension. The girl's heart was about to stop; her lungs weren't even trying to get some air; her brain turned into one big blister, ready to burst at any time. Strangely enough, but Jana was feeling almost nothing. It seemed as if everything was happening to someone else.
   Another strange thing was that neither the doctor, nor the nurses noticed Jana's eyes being open. They were simply not able to notice this: the girl's eyes remained to be covered with bluish eyelids for them. For them, she already had one foot in the grave.
   Jana continued to observe the surroundings of the ambulance car. Nothing was seen through the muddy windows. And there was the third strange thing sitting near the doors. It was a young girl of eighteen or nineteen years of age. She was wearing straight black trousers and a black turtle-neck sweater. Her quite long brown hair were plaited, her face was oval, and the eyes were marshy-green. Just a usual girl from the first glance; rather pretty, but unnoticeable in the crowd. She was sitting with her hands on her knees, looking at Jana quietly. In her marshy-green eyes, there was neither sympathy nor willingness to help; there was only indifference, and, maybe, expectation.
   "Who are you?" Jana asked and got afraid immediately; according to all physiological laws, she couldn't speak with the tube set into her mouth and even somewhere deeper.
   The stranger smiled only with the corners of her mouth and said very quietly:
   "Everything is right. Think and I'll hear."
   "Who are you? What's your name? Why are you here?"
   "Why do you need my name? You won't remember it anyway."
   "But who are you?"
   "You know it already."
   "No, I don't!" Jana felt fear because of the girl's presence and she felt offended because of how unclear the girl's phrases were, containing no exact answer.
   "Never mind. You'll remember everything soon..." The stranger smiled mysteriously.
   At that time, the ambulance car turned somewhere. Suddenly, the strange girl clapped loudly with her hands, half-raised, and moved her hand over Jana's face, as if taking off the cover. She obviously knocked against the IV while doing this, but the IV didn't move.
   Jana felt strange. Exactly, she felt strange. First, she felt an unusual lightness, and then a huge burden of the centuries-old tiredness fell upon her shoulders. Then it seemed to Jana that her soul flew somewhere outside of the galaxy's boundaries. Suddenly, it got very cold. All these metamorphoses took only one second, and the next moment Jana remembered everything.
   ...the battle was still lasting at the dawn. Austrian-Hungarian army was giving up position after another. It seemed like there was a stroke of luck on the tsar's army. But, all of a sudden, everything changed. Jana, who in fact was a young hussar with sparse short moustaches, saw Semenov ahead gripping his throat, and in a few seconds he was already lying on the ground with his hands stretched out. Jana, whose name in fact was Alexander Bondarenko, was rushing away at full speed, trying to escape from the dreadful smoke. And there was his best friend's face, the face of Semenov, terribly goggling before Bondarenko's eyes. Jana was running, wild fear was whipping here away, no matter where, but only to survive. However, the wind was faster, and soon she felt down on her knees, gripping her throat, not able to take breath. The yellow smoke was burning her chest, turning her lungs inside out. That day, Death reaped a good harvest at the bank of the Ypres river...
   ...There were a lot of people in the rooms. Ladies were elegantly fanning themselves with fans, exchanging the latest gossips; counts, barons and lords, as usual, were having a leisure conversation about politics. Jana, who was a marquise with a very strange surname, was once again dancing with a duke, whose name would have remained unknown for her. Everything had become loathsome for Jana. She would like to go home as soon as possible. Joseph, her beloved young man, was surely waiting for her there, in a small flat. She wasn't confused neither by the age difference nor by her husband's suspicions, nor by the court ladies' gossips. The queen had blessed the innocent sin, and only that mattered...
   ...in the dark, damp, tiny room, totally smelled up with slops, in the so-called prison cell, there was Jana, who was actually called Messalina, waiting for the morning. The pale-reddish beams began to penetrate into the cell through a tiny window under the ceiling. The sun was already rising. And Messalina could not do anything when her prison cell door opened, and said nothing when the jailor's strong and horny hands picked up her motionless, tired, tortured body and dragged it towards the exit to the square. There, as Jana knew, the inquisition's stake was waiting for her. If only she was a witch! She would think out something, she would try to save herself! But she wasn't a witch, and she couldn't persuade the bald fat inquisitor in it. She would be burnt into stake as soon as the sun disk will fully come out of the horizon...
   Jana remembered also, how a drunken crusader told her, a little Arab boy, about Kings of Death. His friend, who wasn't drunk as much, tried to shut the knight's mouth with all his might, reminding him that the Kings don't like when people speak aloud about them. But the sea is knee-deep for a drunken man. So, the Arab boy learned a fearful legend about the Kings of Death. These humans live for two lives; they appear before one near the death to take his life away. Your sister could have been one of them, but you wouldn't have known about it until she appeared near your deathbed.
   Jana got terrified. Here she is, Death, bending over her. And she wasn't an old woman with a scythe; she was a pretty girl who indeed was the Queen, the Master of... Death.
   Jana, or to be more exact, her soul rushed back and the girl opened her eyes. Now both the doctor and the nurses saw that. Jana was ready to scream, but the strange girl grasped her by the shoulder and tore the soul away from the body with a rapid movement.
   Now the Soul realized suddenly that she moved away from the home-Earth, and that the Moon was close at hand, and find herself on the Moon surface.
   The Soul wasn't afraid any more, she was gazing about. And there was a tall beautiful wonan standing beside. Long brown hair was lying on her shoulders, a silver crown was gleaming on her forehead, her marshy-green eyes were looking at the Globe with calm solemnity, her black cloak was dropping to the lunar surface.
   The Soul was admired, and she didn't know where to look at: either at the beauty-Earth, which turned America's side to the Sun, or at the majestic Queen of Death, a beautiful sight as well.
   "Nevertheless, what's your name?" For the Soul, it didn't matter what to ask about.
   "Why do you need my name? You won't remember it anyway," even a slight bow of the head could have not destroyed the composure of that statue.
   "No, I will."
   "It's unlikely," the Queen shook her head. "During your lives on the Earth, you forget everything that has happened before."
   "And I won't!" The Soul wanted to know the name of the Master very much, but the Queen shook her head again.
   "Everybody say the same. You yourself said the same thing last time..."
   "And what did you tell me last time?"
   "You better look how beautiful it is," the Queen easily changed the topic of the conversation.
   "It is..." agreed the Soul.
   The Earth - this blue globe covered with deep-blue oceans, clothed with clouds, - indeed, was a wonderful sight. Surrounded with the eternal darkness and tiny spots of stars, it was spinning around the bright Sun. From time to time it was tearing the white shroud overhead, showing the contours of continents, and it seemed to the Soul that the Earth smiles at her.
   "It's time for you to go," whispered words turned into a thunder in the silence around.
   "Where?" the Soul had no any desire to leare.
   "To the Earth. Your baby will be born soon."
   "And who will he be?"
   "You don't have to know everything beforehand."
   "Why?"
   The Master didn't answer. Then the Soul asked:
   "What if I don't go?"
   "Humans can't live without the soul. The baby will be still-born."
   "But why do people live even if they sell their souls to the devil, then? How come?"
   "I'll tell you next time. And now you have to go." The Queen lightly waved her hand and a warm breeze picked up the Soul and carried it back to the Earth.
   Being carried away, the Soul managed to cry:
   "Nevertheless, what's your name?"
   The Queen of Death was silent. She was silent until the Soul disappeared in the clouds of the planet, and only after that she said:
   "Kaliro. My name is Kaliro." And she disappeared, as if she hadn't ever existed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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