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Direville Dreams
Lina Dee
Second mystical collections of 9 short stories by LINA DEE about the life of a fantasy city in Western Europe in the first half of the XX century.Author and producer of project – Lina DeeIllustrator – Monaskrel’artTranslated by I. Stepashkin
Direville Dreams
Lina Dee
© Lina Dee, 2021
ISBN 978-5-0051-7665-3
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
DIREVILLE DREAMS
By Lina Dee
Edited by Ludmila Termeneva
Translated & edited by Igor Stepashkin
Illustrated by Monaskrel`art
“Direville Dreams” is the second collection of 9 stories-sketches about the life of a fantasy city in Western Europe in the first half of the XX century.
Mysterious and fascinating events continue to take place in the life of the port city: one of the residents inexplicably turns into ruby octopus, girl Joan dreams all the time and in her dreams she flies, as a reality, and two friends make their way into the closed territory of the former psychiatric hospital and are very close to solving the mystery of Direville ‘s treasures…
All of them and other residents of Direville are looking forward to the winter holidays! But suddenly, on the eve of the long-awaited holidays, the angry nobody known why the old woman in a gray hat with the help of an unusual black powder and the stolen doll Juel made the residents of Direville to fall asleep…
Will the snowy city wake up or will dream forever?
A speaking book
Having a long look of his deep-set eyes on scarlet wavy clouds, a tall man in a checkered suit and shoes polished to shine – Mr. Evander Lee – entered the two-story house of dusty gray color and, passing by the walls decorated with bright colors images, proceeded into the building, glancing in the direction of the kitchen to a vase of maroon roses standing on the table and a gingerbread house baked by someone, attracting with its wonderful smell and fabulous miniature details. For a second, his gaze paused on icicles and geometrically accurate snowflakes hanging from the roof, powdered in some places with powdered sugar, but refraining from temptation, Evander found himself in his office in a few moments, where on the black polished writing desk by the window was his writing machine «Underwood» and a few white sheets laid. On the back of the high chair was hung someone’s shiny, like scales, golden-green dress decorated with feathers but he did not touch it.
Evander took off his hat and hung it on the hook. He turned on an exquisite powder-colored lamp decorated with gold beads and the finest embroidery, shaped like a half-closed umbrella on a bronze stand, and holding the newspaper with the Direville’s news for a few moments in his hand threw it aside.
For several weeks now the writer has been postponing work on a new book, and unruly fingers refused to knock on the keys, sometimes experiencing repairs, gentle strokes, and even rough handling.
The ambient atmosphere of luxury and warmth was extremely important for his inner state, and even if Mr. Lee could not concentrate and plunge into work, he thought, reflected and reminisced only in a pleasant atmosphere.
Many of its interior items, romantic decor elements, scattered silk and lace items in the house shouted about the presence of a woman in it – but no one has ever seen a woman in this house…
And actually, guests dropped by very rarely to a famous writer.
Looking around like after a long absence, Evander looked out of the window, while the scarlet clouds were carried away by jealous sadness, enveloping them in a gray haze, the neighboring little children were squatting and carefully studying the reflection of the sky in the only puddle outside.
– I want the book to speak! – said Mr. Lee, with an anguish in his voice, and with a sharp movement of his hand he closed the curtains, imagining how Miss Bumble proudly puts his new book on the shelf of her bookstore. How people smile, holding it in their hands, turning over the pages, as it speaks to them…
Then, Mr. Lee changed his face, sat down at the table, waved his arms, like a pianist before the game, and his fingers very gently tapped the round small keys; the room seemed to be filled with warm sunshine, and the sparkling glare illuminated the typewriter and the writer’s hands. He dreamed to write such a book, after reading which, nobody certainly would want to sleep.
After a few hours, the office smelled of sweet female perfume; the man was distracted from the rattling and clattering pans living on a white sheet of paper, and looked in the mirror in the elegant openwork frame…
Eyeless shadow
The golden sun of the eleventh month, drowned in the sunset clouds, gave way to a dark short evening. The most ferocious force of nature broke out in Direville that evening
Many residents were already slumbering sweetly, hiding in their cozy or not beds, but in the window of house number 17 on Dire Street one could see a dim light of light.
Mr. Melville probably for the hundredth time was perplexedly strolling around the perimeter of his small house, often stopping and looking at his insensible shadow, blackening on the wide and empty olive-green wall, trying to see his eyes in his shadow. But they were absent…
Recently he especially often noticed that, while his mind was partially engulfed in fragmentary visions, his eyesight remained a firm foothold restraining growing insanity.
Perhaps this madness began to exist already separately from his visions, the man did not understand it anymore.
Melville went out into the yard. After sitting there in an open arbor for some time, studying with his eyes the movement of the foliage of trees bending in different directions, he returned to the dark house and went the bed. The Moon appeared out of the darkness, and its soft light streaming out of the window illuminated the pale blond hair of a pale man and his unusual sparkling eyes with rectangular pupils, which Mel did not want to close.
A gray mouse ran silently across the floor; her small eyes blinked with red lights, the fur flashed with silver, and it suddenly disappeared as well as it had appeared.
After lying for some time in the flow of this monotonous light, looking indifferently at the Earth’s companion, which once resembled him a gold coin he sucked in the unventilated, musty air of the house and got up exhaustedly. Passing on the carpet of scattered papers with sketches covered with a thin layer of dust, he put on his shoes again, threw on overclothes, slammed the door loudly, and went out without closing it with a key. Leaving, he wanted to look in the mirror, but he did not. In the hallway were left to stand three pairs of identical shoes, lined up in a row.
***
First snow felled diagonally.
However, being so attentive to everything around before, Melville, only threw an indifferent look at the tiny snow-white stars flying exactly from the lantern. The searchlight opened a dark stone road covered with fallen purple leaves.
Snowflakes landed on the crooked autumn leaves one by one. Picking up one of them the cold wind whirled around it just a little and dropped it in a couple of steps from the previous location. Fresh unique stars immediately changed melted one. But, not having sat in a new place even for a second the shabby sheet crumbled under the heavy sole of Mr. Melville’s boot into many pieces.
If on the way one could fail and get somewhere else, Melville would have done it: he wanted to disappear.
It was deserted. The houses on the left and on the right squeezed the narrow street on which homeless dogs and cats of various stripes were swarming, trying to pull out the leftovers from the garbage cans.
Crossing the city center, Mel could have heard drunken obscene jokes coming from a familiar bar from Stove Street, the hysterical cry of a woman who scolded her husband in a new house on Veil Street, and the crying of little children. But he was deaf and dumb, and therefore the sounds did not touch his ears; he continued to walk without fear of a gusting wind blowing directly into his face and open neck with a nasty ice cold chilling down to his bones until another vision took him by surprise.
The man punched himself on the head, but the vision only became clearer. Then Melville stopped near the majestic marble arch and leaned against the column. In a vision, an unfamiliar woman appeared on his knees in the Direville Forest, which the inhabitants called «hissing». A woman wearing a light dress with a fur cape looked like a queen. She looked straight ahead into the void at someone or something, and uttered some words. But there was not a soul around her. Land and trunks were covered with moss. And through the mist-shrouded crowns of trees rays of light penetrated from all sides.
The vision ceased. Melville shook his head and walked on.
His weathered white face became red, but a calm and purposeful walk led him, now over the ruts, to the coast.
Without going down to the shoreline, Mel found the highest cliff, and, going to the edge, without looking down, he slowly began to undress.
Melville unbuttoned the buttons and took off his coat, boots, pants, shirt, several amulets, underwear – and all this neatly, lined up to a millimeter, folded in separate piles – out of habit. Having tucked his hair behind his ears, a naked man held his gaze on the shoes he’d taken off, as if he had noticed something on them – or remembered something – and, turning around, lifted his head up, directing his gaze to the bottomless dark-blue abyss.
The moon illuminated his body again, snowflakes cluttered around skin, face, eyes. He noticed them for the first time, but did not move.
Realizing that he was standing on the edge of a cliff he took a desperate step forward, straightened his shoulders and jumped headfirst down. Approaching the water, Melville closed his eyes for fear, not noticing how his shadow, turning into reflection, had a different outline.
A loud outburst followed, which Mel could not hear, the blinding brilliance of the moonlit splashes and dark waves enveloped him with calmness.
Diligently folded shirt, riding up in the wind, unfolded like a Christmas gift, and a light bracelet made from dried rowan berries was blown into the air and swirled, taking it off the cliff in search of a new shelter.
Ruby octopus
At first there was a translucent silence.
The birth of a new day has become pure and silent. In the «Hissing Forest», a gray squirrel sat motionless on a stump covered with moss and sparkling frost. It seemed to be bewitched and turned to stone, listening to other sounds with wide eyes and picked up ears. Everything was coming to life.
Somewhere nearby, the crunch of branches and the snorting of a large animal were heard. It was a sorrel thoroughbred horse that glittered even without bright sunlight and waved a glistening mane on the run. The silver vapor from her nostrils melted into the air as quickly as the deaf thumps of the hooves, slipping into the invisible past.
The rider was a dark-haired, handsome woman in a cream airy dress and a fur cloak letting her not to cold, managed the horse very powerfully and strict; every movement she performed at high speed was perfectly accurate and confident. The woman galloped in lonely pride, and the trees came apart from her flash-like glance.
After spending the whole night in an abandoned hut in the Direville Forest, Fairly was able to complete preparations for her important visit and was finally firmly established in her intention.
Silence gave up, defeated, and cheer up from sleep, rapidly speeding wind broke free from captivity, moved its branch of the majestic pines, aspen leaves and rare mountain ashes, down to earth, relentlessly he began to tear off the last leaves of blueberries, leaving twigs leafless, naked, stirred up the ferns and walked along the soft moss.
Fairly was overwhelmed with inexplicable excitement and having jumped out of the forest, she only put on speed. Small rare snow fell from the sky.
The deaf thud of hooves, invading the awakened Direville, turned into a clatter, beating the rhythm along a cobbled road. The city was already buzzing like a big steam engine, especially on the main streets and markets, sinking in a million mixed smells. People selling along the road frightened jumped off to the side in front of a fast galloping horsewoman, fearing to be crushed. On the square there were not only adults, but also children of different ages. The poor children of peasants and artisans were very different from the spoiled and well-groomed offspring of aristocrats and the rich. With a miserable look, they stared at the windows of bakeries with fresh pastries, the first fair carts with sweets and handicraft goods, appearing everywhere, as if by magic, the first bright decorations. Everything was interesting for them. Such people usually huddled in apartment buildings for several kids in a tiny room or even in one for the whole family, in old barracks… or shacks for servants.
The rider looked into the eyes of a dirty, unkempt child, turned to her, and her heart responded with a sympathetic blow, the horse reared, even more frightened the boy, but, turning the animal around, she rushed on.
The woman was already far from this place, and the face of the poor boy had long stood before her eyes. She galloped very quickly, but managed to notice how a red two-story trailer with young passengers was moving along the steel rails running through the city. It was the first time she saw a real tram, in Fairville they have not been yet.
Fighting up a cough, Fairly crossed several familiar streets and climbed the bridge over a green duckweed pond, not covered completely with snow, where her horse almost knocked down a shocked, something painted clown with a round wicker basket, from which a baby crying came…
The green pond was left behind, and the woman slowed down; the horse named Thunderstorm stopped, and the tired lady regally looked around the southern part of the clearing behind the pond, looking like an abandoned wasteland. She knew that she was hiding behind this visible emptiness. She did not need to cast any spells, warn of her extremely rare visits, or wait a long time for an invitation. Just a second later, the protective shroud fell, revealing an impressive Victorian castle, and the gate creaked open.
The beige-and-coffee stone castle with a gray roof, covered with greenery in some places, as well as an extension, has not changed at all since the last visit, only in some places rusted gates twisted around dried ivy. All the same barely visible cracks and chips and the same indifferent hospitality. She mentally ran her hand over her beloved balcony, from which she adored admiring the beautiful view… The woman was breathing heavily, her chest was excitingly heaving under the cape; Because of the surging memories, blood ran through the veins twice as fast, she remembered every grain of sand in this gloomy world. Whether from excitement, or from the beginning cold, she nevertheless went into a cough and could not stop for a long time.
Having driven a horse into the castle courtyard, the rider walked along a path strewn with the last dried autumn leaves into a stable and tied Storm to the stall, where two wild horses and a horse were already standing.
– Hello, Demon! You’re just the same as him.
She tried to stroke the black escaping mount, but he was only moving away and spinning strongly, as if stung.
Leaving the stable alone, she crossed the main road and was at the foot of the castle. Quickly running up the stairs and brushing off the road dust and dirt, the brunette started to open the heavy door, but it immediately opened and a gray-haired butler, an obliging henchman of the castle, appeared before her, and bowed very low, inviting her inside.
– Mrs. Fairly…
– Hello, Pastar.
Having entered the dark living room, the guest inhaled the familiar smell of «home» and climbed the oak spiral staircase to the second floor. The reigning twilight was familiar to the eyes and now was very comforting. It seemed to be a deep night in the yard, although the day was in full swing. A woman found Dire in a solemn blue suit, tailored to order and decorated with golden mustard flower patterns on a waistcoat, in a library, studying myths and legends about sea monsters. The brother turned the pages coyly, like an actor playing in an amateur play with a candlelight dancing flame.
He genuinely smiled at her, throwing the age-old quarrel into an endless abyss.
– Hello, sister!
– So you already know?
– Damn Ruby octopus… Well, at least he made you visit my modest abode…»
– Yes. But I come not because of it.
Fairly changed her face, becoming more serious, pulled a battered card hidden in a secret pocket from her long sleeve and showed Dire a movement of mystical red fog…
At this time, a dirty little boy with the female nickname Bonnie, who met his eyes with the keeper of the city of Fairville, got to the house, went into his room, which looked like a small closet, and said goodbye to invisible friends. Having sat on the dirty floor, he began to dig in old, tattered boxes and finally found his beloved and only wooden toy a cute donkey, recently donated by his grandmother, with whom he still lived, was very happy to find and, dusting off the toy from dust, proudly put on the windowsill. Bonnie thought that the donkey looked out the window, but he immediately pulled himself up and, gathering the boxes in a row, got up from the floor and again called out invisible friends.
«Boomerang»
Through the evening darkness it was possible to see only the pale light from the windows of houses and street lamps.
Shrouded in secret, Direville was excited and with bated breath waiting for the famous maestro, who at this moment was already slowly entering the city in a painted carriage, waving long blond hair at bends and occasionally tapping musical fingers on hard surfaces. His crazy eyes glowed, his pupils were dilated, and Mr. Rockwell dreamt images of local young charmers and married ladies, trying to see through the windows the carriages hidden under the headdresses of the faces of oncoming women, besieging the carriage, like snowdrifts.
The great, young violinist, heartthrob, the coveted handsome man with shady reputation of Casanova and the card player, on his third attempt, reached Direville, despite the impresario’s dissuasions.
Placed on the pillars of the city posters with the announcement of his long-awaited performance in the «Theater of Dreams» brought beauties to frenzy. And now, brassily jostling, they were shaking from the cold, breasted across the milky mist to the motel to try to get inside and figure out the maestro’s apartment.
Having enjoyed the street buzz, Rockwell knocked back the harsh drink in one fell swoop, winced with a satisfied grin and rubbing the bow with a rosin, picked up the instrument. Having played a quarter of the concert in a passionate rush, fascinated by his favorite music and himself, he threw open the window and leaned out.
Wild frenzy wasn’t long in coming and Rockwell, without closing the window to the end, performed several long pieces for his fans. The night came on and the violin, tearing apart the soul, was silenced. When he looked out of the window again, one after another the lights went out before his eyes. The cries at the gate subsided, and he called the impresario for a personal conversation, after which he washed himself and quickly fell asleep.
The next day, on Saturday, after midday dry permafrost and after a dizzying performance, hot and tired Rockwell, leaving the «Theater of Dreams», like a noisy crowd of jubilant fans who were at the concert, heard the bell ringing from all over the streets. According to custom, they spread important and urgent news. And now, in front of the theater, trying on the mask of an important gentleman, a man with a solid baritone called for public attention. He stood on a high stool, holding a bell in one hand, wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief clamped in the other, and chanted: «Listen, listen!»
But his voice melted into women’s screams: the girls started a fight, trying in this way to «divide» the attention of the desired maestro. At that moment Mr. Rockwell was approaching the carriage in a long fur coat of ermine, saving himself and the precious violin.
Rockwell has already learned about the strange incident from the impresario, with whom the eared coachman shared the news. And they, like many other residents of Direville, headed towards the coast to see the miracle with their own eyes.
The horses screamed desperately, reared up, the carriage reeled, and the restless women rushed to catch up with the elusive idol, clinging to the windows and sides of the carriage. The blond beamed back.
Strangers and streets flashed around the musician. Underfoot, hooves and wheels squished terrible slush mixed with discarded last leaves. From the pipes of industrial factories and stone houses, like gins, ready to fulfill bad and good desires, clouds of dirty smoke were flying. A little girl with a bright bow on her head was sitting and loudly crying on the steps of the one of houses, having lost her doll named Juel. She petted the curly big dog and did not want to go back home.
Rockwell followed the weeping girl with his eyes and stared at the fat rat running across the road. Rat wasn’t afraid.
The musician was ready for everything: work hard, give concerts, revel in women and alcohol, help those in need, give interviews, play cards, be in the thick of things, change cities, just not to be alone with himself for a long time and not to remember the face of mother dying from measles. Memories floated randomly and now he was returning to childhood, where he played hide-and-seek with her at the pond, hiding behind a mighty rustling willow, and after a moment blue lupines growing at her parents’ house were remembered…
