Second Act - Uma Moldura Quebrada

Jo was led into a small room with gray walls, where, apart from a table and two chairs, there was nothing else. The guard lightly pushed the prisoner in the back and, making sure that he obediently sat down on the chair closest to the exit, closing the door behind him. Gloomy thoughts hovered in Jo's mind. He had been serving his sentence in this prison for two whole years, and that was only one-ninth of the entire sentence. During this time, he almost forgot what it was like to be free, breathe fresh air and communicate freely with other people...

A crazy thought crept into Jo's head that he was called into this room in order to release him from here early, but common sense suppressed this idea. Eighteen minutes have passed since the guard walked out the door. Jo, although accustomed to long and tedious sitting in a cell, was already tired of sitting on this hard chair, and he wanted to get up - not to go out, but just to stretch his stiff legs - when suddenly the front door, which was located just behind his chair, opened and the prisoner heard measured steps.

The man walked around the table and sat down in the chair opposite Jo. The prisoner began to look at the stranger. He looked like he was about thirty-something years old, or at most forty. He had short black hair and a neat moustache under an aquiline nose. He was dressed in a gray and clearly worn-out jacket, under which was a white shirt with a black check, and around his neck was a black tie. The stranger’s behavior, or rather the way he confidently carried himself, could be evidence that he had previously served in the military.

Jo, bored within the walls of this dull place, only had two minutes to understand in general terms who was sitting in front of him. It worked out that the stranger was in no hurry to start a conversation - automatically he said a dry greeting and, sitting in a chair, simply looked at the prisoner, clearly waiting for something. Finally he broke the silence in the stuffy air:

- So, I have the honour of seeing before me Jordan Thurlow, the same man who, two years and five months ago, was sentenced in United States District Court for the District of Oregon in the criminal case of one Delia Yonce? - he said insinuatingly.

When the stranger finished this introduction, Jo felt his insides turn over. It was not a matter of the somewhat rude intonation performed by the interlocutor’s baritone, but the fact is that this man, whom Jo sees in front of him for the first time, uttered a name dear to him - even if it was not a secret to everyone who was in this building, but for him, twenty-six-year-old Jo Thurlow, these two inmost words caused his body to experience an uncontrollable increase in heart rate and some breathing problems that only went away as the day went on. It was clear as day that the heart wound was fresh even after so much time spent in the dull dungeons of this concrete coffin.

The topic that the stranger brought up interested Jo. The momentary confusion caused by the spoken name soon gave way to calm and determination. Jo confirmed that the stranger was not mistaken in his guesses, internally understanding that in fact this man already knew everything if he was assigned a conversation with him. Adjusting his moustache, the inspector Galbraith - this is how the interlocutor introduced himself to the prisoner - made it clear that now the two of them would have a long interlocution.

The policeman asked Jo to start a story about how he ended up behind bars, and in particular to focus in the story on everything that concerns Delia Yonce, because this will serve as the basis for the subsequent story, but from his, Galbraith's side. Jo asked why mister inspector decided to start this speaking, but having received a dry response "Your words, Jordan, will help my investigation", he decided not to waste time and got down to business.

So, two years ago... Those blessed times for Jordan Thurlow had such a halo in his eyes that it seemed as if a completely different person had lived that life, and that for some reason someone else's memories had entered his head. This state of affairs was not caused by the passage of time - in fact, from the very first day of his prison sentence, Jo deliberately tried to abstract himself from what he had lived before, so that his heart would not suffer from the pain of loss. But no matter how much he wanted to push all the memories away into the attic of his mind, Jo, hearing this dear name from the lips of other people, fell into a state when his heart was ready to jump out of his chest from melancholy. Delia... He said her name tenderly. It sound so pretty and sophisticated at the same time...

Preparing to lay out the information of interest to the inspector, mister Thurlow, as he always did, began to collect his thoughts randomly scattered throughout his mind into a single whole, and also tried to feel as if he was reliving the events of days gone by. If not for this, he would hardly have been able to string together at least two words, and so he, having begged mister inspector for a little time - four minutes to be exact - began to tune in to catch the wave of the past. Having thrown away the nonsense of high-flown judgments, Jo seemed to freeze in one place - fixing his gaze in front of him, he seemed to begin meditation and surrender his thoughts to the foretime.

When Jo finally pulled himself together, the silence in the visiting room was finally broken. His interlocutor, slightly stretching his numb hands, prepared to catch every word that would come out of the mouth of this prisoner...

***

August of that year was unusually hot. Jordan Thurlow noted that this had never happened in his area before. Since his mother's death, he has never travelled outside of his hometown of Portland, and in connection with this, Jo, who previously did not like to travel around the world, roundly took root in the soil of his native home. Most of his free time, which was available to him in his chosen profession of culturologist, then twenty-four-year-old Jo spent walking in the forest behind his residential area.

There he slowly, one might even say melancholy, wandered along the paths with his faithful dog and, like romantic poets, his thoughts and feelings were almost completely given over to the nature around him. Exercises of this kind used to drag on until late at night, and so when Jo walked to home with Buffalo, the latter somewhat annoyed the neighbours with his ringing bark, which he made for any reason - be it a mouse running through the bushes or the cry of a night bird sitting on the branches.

As a matter of fact, from the sum of all these circumstances it followed that that among all the residents of Parkrose Neighborhood Jordan Thurlow had a reputation as an unscrupulous and lazy hedonist, whom, as he himself thought at times, was tolerated only because in the modern world you can’t just go and tell a person you don’t like everything that you think about him, and at the same time give him a strong thrashing - for the letter of the law hovers over every citizen like the sword of Damocles, and therefore, everyone, willy-nilly, has to, gritting his teeth, live according to the principles prescribed by The Highest of This World...

But one fine day, a change that occurred in the life of the entire village seemed to turn the entire routine of the last offspring of the Thurlow upside down. It was from that moment that Jo realized that, formally speaking, he was grabbed by the legs and began to be pulled underground, and even if he really wanted to, all he could do was slightly loosen the grip of the tenacious hands of this strange feeling called "affection", but there is no way to stop her intentions for his final fall to the center of the Earth. From that sacred - or is it cursed? - moment the name "Delia" was forever imprinted in his mind, and in fact his whole life could be divided into two stages - before meeting that girl and after...

Jordan Thurlow missed the very moment the Yonce family moved in, because just at that moment he was stuck at work in the center. So before he returns home Jo only caught sight of the burly mister Yonce himself - just at the minute when he was paying off the old Harris Sherwind. Jo had previously heard among the merchants that this stocky man with an incredibly scowling expression was planning to move here, but he didn't care much. They then met their gazes, but, without saying a single word to his future neighbour, the gorilla-like mister Yonce, wincing somehow in disgust, got into his car, which was parked at the gates of the Harris house and drove away. The next day Jo also left the Parkrose Neighborhood - true, not having his own personal car, he boarded the bus in the old fashioned way, which always travelled on schedule between the countryside and the center.

Jordan stayed in the center for about five days. There he had a place to spend the night - he rented a room in the cheapest hotel, where, of course, there were not the same amenities as in his home, but what difference did it really make to him where he rested after a working day. Actually, his life always flowed in this way - he was idle in his house, sometimes received calls from his boss, and, going to the center, did essentially meaningless work, which, however, brought in just enough money so that he could live without luxury, of course, but Jo never felt like a poor beggar either.

After working those five days, mister Thurlow left the building where his office was located and, quickening his pace, headed to the bus stop, where he, as always, got the bus that carried people on the route already described above. At that particular moment, the car was a little late, and Jo sat on the bench with a bored look, looking at other people who also needed to get to countryside. They were mostly old ladies who had small retail outlets in the Parkrose Neighborhood. Some were with a bag, some were with a basket. Five minutes passed. Jo looked at his wristwatch - this driver is already a full fifteen minutes late! Mister Thurlow didn't know what circumstance forced old Martin to make such a seemingly minor deviation from the rules prescribed by the highway administration, and deep down he had a desire to somehow get even with him, but Jo realized that this was not only a completely pointless undertaking, but also that he, being a frail and stunted young man, could in no way compete with this former athlete, who in his old age decided to choose the profession of an intercity bus driver.

Fortunately, when the time on his watch already showed about six o'clock in the evening, a familiar white bus appeared around the bend and stopped nearby. Mister Thurlow was in no hurry to get on, because, being a man, and a young one at that, he was simply obliged to let ahead of the respectable old women who, pushing each other, entered the front door of the bus. When the last woman, whom Jo recognized as the merchant from whom he always bought all sorts of bathroom accessories, disappeared into the black doorway, he got up from his usual place and, under the shouts of old Martin hurrying him, entered the crowded bus interior.

Alas, the traders took all the seats. Even those seats where no one was actually sitting were occupied by heavy bags. Jo had no choice but to spend the entire trip holding onto the handrails, from which the yellow paint had peeled off in places due to frequent friction, revealing the shiny aluminum surface hidden underneath. Behind the large windows of the bus, views of the trees spread out near the highway flashed by, among which there were occasionally lonely buildings - both residential and all sorts of cafes, shops and similar attributes of the modern American urban landscape.

Mister Thurlow saw all this for the millionth time, so with nothing else to do, he went deep into his thoughts - at such moments his eyes rested on one point and did not register anything. People around him might have thought he was having some kind of seizure, but in fact his mind was simply starting to float somewhere away from his body. During that trip in the bus, the subject of his thoughts was, as you might guess, the fact that a gentleman he did not know was moving to his native village. Jo asked himself what this man outside the city was looking for, what motivated him when, without bargaining, he paid old Harris Sherwind a considerable sum of money for that two-story house where in the old days the drunken brawls of Harris and his friends took place...

A theory arose in mister Thurlow's thoughts that perhaps this surly guy was a family man, and he bought a house in the outback in order to give his wife and child - for some reason Jo was sure that mister Yonce had an inheritor - the opportunity to live in nature. But on the other hand, how could this affect his work? Before Jo's eyes was the sight of mister Yonce getting into an unsightly-looking compact car. Apparently, this gentleman made a bet with his family that they would move out of town, knowing that with a personal car he could go to work without any problems. For some reason mister Thurlow imagined how this guy who looked like an old bear had to get up early in the morning, in order to have time not only to have breakfast, but also to get to his place of work, which, as Jo was firmly sure of this, was located in a wealthy area of the center.

Mister Thurlow couldn't help and laugh at his vision. The old women sitting on either side of him shuddered in unison. Jo heard the dissatisfied hiss of some tradeswoman - seems to be the one who sold fruit. But to him, tired from this day culturologist, somehow didn’t care what these uneducated broody thought about him. He didn’t try to restrain this sudden flow of fun that fell on him and laughed until old Martin suddenly turned around and waved his hairy fist right in front of his nose. Non-conflict - and to be honest, cowardly - Jo immediately stopped neighing like a horse, and the driver, muttering rude words to the ill-mannered youth, put his hands on the steering wheel again.

Five minutes later, the bus finally brought the entire mass of people rushing home to their home village, and mister Thurlow, who was lucky enough to stand right at the exit, immediately jumped off the bus, raising clouds of dust. The merchant women following him began to loudly swear after him, but he, being in a cheerful mood - which Martin’s fist still could not completely extinguish - almost flew to his house. Why was Jo having so much fun? Was it really the image of a gorilla rising early in the morning that his mind painted that caused such a paroxysm of ecstasy in him? Mister Thurlow did not understand psychology, so he stopped thinking about his own behavior, and, having moved away to a safe distance from the bus stop, he slowed down slightly.

Be that as it may, fatigue made itself felt. Approaching his home closer and closer, the mischievous spark of fun inside Jo finally went out, and he, with his head down, seemed to force himself to walk. Having reached the fence of old Harris's house, he suddenly stopped rooted to the spot. At first, Jo himself did not understand why this happened. He continued to stare at his feet, but with his whole body he suddenly felt a strange feeling, as if a hundred people were looking at him at the same time. The legs did not obey their owner, and for a couple of seconds Jo could not even move his neck. "What kind of misfortune is this?", he thought.

Time seemed to freeze around mister Thurlow - because for him two seconds passed as slowly as if two millennia. In addition, he felt the heat begin to spread throughout his body, and it seemed that just a little more, and his skin, unable to withstand the high temperature, would begin to melt. But, thank God, this feeling has finally left him. Jo seemed to have woken up from a nightmare. He looked around. The sun has already set and darkness has not yet fallen on the earth. Birds were sitting on a tree on the other side of the road.

With their soothing chatter, Jo was able to shake out this strange disease. He had already decided to go to the gate of his house, but something made him glance at the house of old Harris. The lights had not yet been turned on in the rooms, so the windows that looked out onto the road did not stand out against the general background of the house. Not having strong eyesight, mister Thurlow was about to turn his head back when he suddenly saw a small human figure in the leftmost window of the second floor.

It was a little girl. It was not clear what she was wearing, because from here mister Thurlow could only see her head. She had long and tousled black hair with a small bun on top of her head. The young stranger's face had a hint of some subtle cunning. The child looked directly at Jo with curiosity. What attracted her? Maybe it was his confused look? It seemed to Jo that this was precisely the case, for her lips stretched into a smile. How long did they look at each other like that? Mister Thurlow no longer remembered this. But the piercing gaze of this pair of eyes seemed to drill right through him. He moved awkwardly, still looking out the window. Little girl said something (mister Thurlow could not have heard her words from such a distance) and her head disappeared from the square of the window, in which gray curtains now occupied all the space.

Jo came close to his gate and, catching in his ear the barking of his faithful dog, who was running on the other side of the fence, with shaking hands he pulled out the key and inserted it into the keyhole. He crossed the threshold of the wicket and, shouting at Buffalo, who was joyfully jumping on his owner, locked it behind him. Putting the keys in his pocket, he squatted down and patted the dog's head.

- Well, chum, I suffered today... How are you? - as if addressing a child, he stammered

Buffalo tried to lick his owner, but Jo got up in time and, wiping his hands on a handkerchief, grabbed an armful of laundry, which he had hung on the clothesline since yesterday, and went into the house. He had thoughts in his head that he, such a bungler, forgot to buy the dog something to eat, but fatigue prevailed over all other feelings, and in the end Jo headed to the bath. There he turned on the tap and, while the bathtub was filling, carefully laid out the dried clothes so that at the end of the washing up they were within easy reach. Then Jo hastily took off all his clothes and, in what the mother gave birth, plopped into his own ocean, which consisted of hot water and soap suds. It seemed to him that all the stress he had experienced that day was draining from his body into the water. While soaking in the bath, he could finally, with a clear conscience, forget about all his worries and become like a carefree seal.

Jo continued to lie in the now cold water, until suddenly a trill of a telephone call was heard from the next room. With some laziness, he began to get out of the bath and, putting on clean clothes, wondered who could call him at such a very late time. After getting dressed, Jo pulled on his favourite slippers and went into the bedroom. Before picked up the phone, which was on the nightstand near the door, Jo noticed that he had forgotten to draw the curtains some days ago.

Scolding himself for his oversight, mister Thurlow raised the phone to his ear. On the other end of the line was Japhet, his close friend and work colleague at the same time. As it turned out, the reason he called was that while leaving work, he accidentally confused the folder with his materials with Jo's folder. The latter, having promised a friend the other day to drop by his house, which was located in the same village, ended the conversation and hung up.

"It didn't work out very well", thought mister Thurlow, staring blankly at the telephone. As he could see, the fruits of his prostration did not bring any benefit, but on the contrary caused inconvenience, not only to Jo himself, but also to the people around him. Heading to the kitchen, he went through the options in his head for what to do with himself, so as not to give his body a reason to relax. He hated sports with every fiber of his soul, about physical labour in the garden he also thought with some anger - since the death of his mother, this tiny piece of land on his plot has become overgrown with weeds - and, taking the eggs out of the refrigerator, Jo came to the conclusion that no matter how much he wanted, he absolutely could not jump above his stupid head.

Lighting the gas, he began to go through the memories of the past day. In the morning, he opened his eyes in that tiny hotel room and, filling his belly with some cheap semi-finished products, went to the office. There he mechanically carried out the actions prescribed by the charter - Jo noticed to himself that he couldn't even really remember what he did at work - after which, having reported to his boss, he headed to the bus stop. Mister Thurlow skipped in the memories that segment associated with the bus trip, and stopped at how he suddenly felt feverish as he approached the house.

So what was it? Could the look of children's eyes really put him, a twenty-four-year-old man, into such a disease? The shape of that little girl's face flashed before his inner vision again. Jo decided to change his train of thought and began to figure out who she could be. Five days ago he saw mister Yonce pay for that house. And now, as you can see, he and his family have already moved in there. Sounds logical, Jo thought. That little girl, as it was not difficult to guess, was the daughter of the new owner of the house. So he was right about his new neighbour having a child.

Jo almost felt a sense of misplaced pride in his "amazing" deductive abilities, but he tensed and suppressed this feeling. Of course, people can't read each other's minds, but mister Thurlow had a gut feeling that human thoughts could penetrate the minds of other people like sound waves, and so he tried his best not to think of ideas that, if spoken out loud, would cause at least a couple of dissatisfied glances in his direction. Jo had no idea why, in his own understanding, thoughts were like a transparent glass storefront that anyone passing by could easily look behind, but he had to live with this since childhood.

Be that as it may, during that bus ride he managed to hit the nail on the head regarding the marital status of his new neighbour. Jo began to wonder what would change from this day in his life. Well, first of all, now when he goes out into the street, will bump into this overweight man either on the road or in the store. Remembering the unkind look mister Yonce had given him five days ago, Jo made it clear to himself that this family would label him a slacker and vagabond. However, absolutely everyone who knows him thinks so, so it’s nothing special - mister Thurlow is no stranger to such attitude from others.

He was more concerned about how he would behave in front of his new neighbour's young heiress. Jo still remembered her look - the feeling of being looked at by a crowd of hundreds of people could not be pleasant. Being a rather shy person by nature, the concentration of attention on his person from other people always plunged Jo into some kind of strange numbness, and in this case, not only is it a child - for some reason, mister Thurlow was always afraid of kids, thinking that they could read the thoughts of adults - also her location so close to his house...

Jo has spent his life avoiding looking other people in the eyes - the human gaze in his understanding is like a strong spotlight that illuminates all the nooks and crannies of his soul. In the case of the daughter of his new neighbour, everything took an even more serious turn. Mister Thurlow could even swear that quite tangible rays emanated from the eyes of that girl... Trying to find a definition of that evening mystery, he stopped at the spears. His imagination pictured long, transparent poles, as if carved from glass, with sharp tips that came from the child’s eyes.

- What kind of nonsense am I saying, - Jo said out loud, - I collided with the eyes of an unfamiliar girl and, pardon me, almost died on the spot. I'm completely went limp!

Suddenly mister Thurlow wanted to kick or just hurt himself, here the action is not important, it’s all about the result - Jo firmly believed that a strong painful shock would bring the desired effect. He looked in front of him - a frying pan, covered with a lid, stood on the stove. Fully aware of his actions, Jo extended his left hand forward and touched the red-hot iron with two fingers. After which, he ran to the bathroom, placing his burned hand under a strong stream of cold water from the tap. He smiled - "Yes, he taught himself a good lesson, however..." The tips of his little and ring fingers were very red and sore. Nothing special, laying some unfortunate fingers on the altar of socialization is a mere trifle.

Mister Thurlow headed into the bedroom, noticing that it was already quite dark. He turned on the light and began looking in the closet for ointment for burns. Having found the treasured jar, he dipped both fingers into it and, screwing on the lid, put the ointment in its rightful place. "For two, maybe three days it will ache a little, but it’s okay", he thought. But he realized to himself that there is no need to faint from the fact that all sorts of youngsters are looking at him. Jo laughed at his own joke and went to dinner.

Jo finished the scrambled eggs quickly, one might say that he didn’t even satisfy his hunger, but, as a doctor he knew once told him, that’s not a bad thing, because when go to bed, it’s better not to eat enough, because stomach won’t be entirely comfortable. Mister Thurlow did not understand what this could be connected with, but why would he argue with a certified follower of the teachings of Aesculapius? Therefore, having ingested this practically dietary dinner, Jo got up from the table and, having rinsed the plate under running water, put it in the kitchen cabinet and slowly trotted into the bedroom, getting ready for bed. He reassured himself that, in essence, a new neighbour was by no means a disaster, on the contrary, new people in surroundings it's always good. Yielding to the embrace of Morpheus, before Jo's inner sight a pair of cunning eyes flashed again...

He met the next day as a different person. No, mister Thurlow's appearance has not undergone any changes at all - he was still a dystrophic man with consumptive breasts - but it was like a switch went off in his brain. Jo seemed to be attacked by euphoria, it seemed as if he was beaming with energy. At breakfast he wondered what to do with himself. Having outlined the plan by which he would act today, mister Thurlow finished his meagre meal and headed to the bathroom. There, holding his face under a stream of cold water, Jo rinsed off a little and looked in the mirror. His unruly hair was disheveled in all directions, and coupled with his somewhat crazy gaze, he looked like an angry and hungry student. "So", he thought, "Should trim his hair, otherwise with such a hairstyle he will only scare folk..."

Without thinking twice, Jo went into the office and, grabbing his wallet from the table, put it in his pocket as he walked. Already closing the wicket, mister Thurlow remembered that he had not fed Buffalo since yesterday. "It’s okay, chum, I’ll grab you some food today, I won’t forget", he thought. He put the key in his shirt pocket and, slightly straightening his hair, went on a hike to the hairdresser, which was located at the other end of the Parkrose Neighborhood. However, Jo did not forget to note to himself that cheerful female screams were heard from the yard of his new neighbours - one voice was older - as he understood, it was missis Yonce - and the second was younger. He already knew the owner of this voice by sight since yesterday.

Mister Thurlow thought that the female half of the Yonce family was enjoying their first day in a new place and, mentally imagining their walk around the yard, continued on his way. It seemed that the thought of those two only made Jo feel better. Without stopping for a second, he began to quietly whistle a melody, which, as it seemed to him, was suggested to him by the singing of birds that he had accidentally heard last night. It was more fun to walk this way, and besides, concentrating on trying to reproduce that song, he finally got rid of obsessive thoughts about his new neighbours. Carried away by this matter, Jo did not notice how he had already approached a residential building, on the ground floor of which there was a hairdressing salon. Having finished with his aria, he briefly admired the flowering bushes that grew near the entrance, and, taking a deep breath, entered the room.

In the tiny foyer, which preceded the hall itself, his modest person was immediately noticed by guy sitting on the sofa. It was Kelsey Pettipas, the son of the owner of this hairdressing salon, who, in fact, served as a barber in his mother’s establishment. Seeing Jo, he jumped up and he and the client shook hands, after which the latter began to say that, in fact, he needed - just remove excess hair on the sides and front so as not to look like some kind of garden scarecrow in public. The hairdresser laughed at these words and got down to business.

Mister Thurlow watched with interest in the mirror as the skilled hands of Kelsey Pettipas brought his hair to a civilized look. It was a real pleasure to see how scissors in the hands of a professional saved Jo from the bristling tangles that so disgusted him and made a bad impression. Despite the fact that he soaked in the bathroom almost every day, he almost never thought about his hair, which is why it, one might say, lived its own life. Jo recalled that in his childhood he did not like to get his hair cut, allegedly because the scissors would accidentally touch the skin on his head. Be that as it may, childhood phobias have finally disappeared from his mind...

When Kelsey Pettipas finished his business, Jo, paying him, asked if he remembered the last time he came to him for a haircut. The guy, after thinking a little, somewhat hesitantly stated that up until that moment he had seen mister Thurlow a whole year ago.

- By the way, did anyone get your hair cut today? - unexpectedly for himself, Jo decided to follow up with another question.
- You are the first client, calm down, - said Kelsey Pettipas cheerfully. - For at such an early hour few people bother to get a haircut, - added the hairdresser.

Mister Thurlow looked at his watch - it was ten minutes to nine o'clock in the morning. It turns out he woke up a bit early today... Jo left the hairdresser somewhat gloomy from the thoughts that had washed over him. "Did moving his family with a little girl", he thought, "Really change me so much internally?". There was no logic to it, but it happened. He spat angrily to the side, thinking that in this way he expressed contempt for common sense. However, it so happened that the lump of saliva landed not on the asphalt, but on a wooden cart, which was being driven by some old man, who immediately began to angrily express his displeasure to the young man, and Jo had to apologize profusely to him, but even this incident could not drown out the confusion in his head.

Soon the old man rolled his cart as if nothing had happened, and mister Thurlow, stopping near a building with a bookstore window, wondered what else he should do today. Jo remembered the evening phone call. He should exchange his work materials with his colleague, otherwise this would be an awkward situation... When leaving the house, he forgot to take the folder, so now, without delaying the matter, he ran back. The barber shop and his house were separated by quite a long distance, so mister Thurlow, who was not accustomed to physical activity, was exhausted already a third of the way. "Alas, you can’t jump above your head", he recalled his own thoughts. Therefore, he had to get home at a slow pace, which did not seem like a good idea to him - because he felt that until he gave Japhet his things, these shackles of promise would never fall off from him...

After some time, Jo was already in the area where he actually lived. He noted that only now people began to go out into the street (and it was already about twenty minutes to eleven), and he suddenly, for no apparent reason, wanted to take a roundabout route in order to approach his house from the other side, without being seen new neighbours. But Jo remembered how yesterday he punished himself for cowardice, and, having overcome this stupid desire, he boldly headed towards the house along the route he had walked a million times. Peering into the faces of passers-by who came across his path, mister Thurlow thought that he would certainly meet mister Yonce or someone from his family.And so he was not at all surprised when he noticed that near the gate surrounding their site, there were two human figures. From a distance it was clear that one belonged to a portly man, and the second to a little girl. Jo[, as he had done at the barbershop, stopped for a moment and breathed more air into his lungs.

Well, now he will see with his own eyes the person who last night so greatly changed his inner consciousness. Jo suddenly felt cheerful - he found it funny that he, a grown man, was so impressed by some peanut. It would be nice if some respectable gentleman or lady could give such an impetus to his mind, but the child... When mister Thurlow reached the father and daughter, he was already laughing out loud. He caught displeased glance of mister Yonce and decided that it was worth stopping not only his laughter, but also his movement. Jo stopped a few steps away from his neighbours, turning over the words of greeting in his mind.

For some reason, he couldn’t quickly figure out how to greet this family. He seemed embarrassed about something. The three of them stood opposite each other for half a minute, and mister Yonce himself was the first to break the silence. Unable to hide his contempt for this inappropriately cheerful young guy, the huge man muttered through his teeth:

- What kind of behavior is that? Laugh at the top of your voice. What are you, a horse?

It was a great mystery whether he had such a sense of humour or whether he was trying to tease the impudent young man, but the fact remained a fact - his little daughter, hearing this words, burst into laughter. The father began to hiss at the girl so that she would stop doing this, and Jo was finally able to collect his thoughts. He waited until mister Yonce finished scolding his daughter and turned his attention back to his neighbour. When he finally raised his head, mister Thurlow immediately blurted out the speech he had prepared.

Jo could no longer remember with what words he had greeted them, but the memory of what he had received in return was fresh in his mind. The head of the Yonce family sullenly listened to his greeting and, as if doing a favour, introduced himself to his neighbour as a pharmaceutist. Then he lightly pushed his daughter on the shoulder with the words "Well, go ahead, tell him what your name is, keep this civil". The girl took a small step towards Jo and, taking the hem of her dress in her hands and, bending slightly, complied with her father's demand. How easy it was to guess, mister Thurlow heard only one word from her lips - Delia...

Hearing her first word, addressed directly to his modest person, Jo was again for a moment seized by that strange sensation, as if the gaze of hundreds of people were directed at him at the same time. Fortunately, he quickly got over this feeling and, without hesitating in answering, addressed her a compliment, something like "Very pretty name". The three of them stood there for a couple more seconds and then went about their business. Mister Yonce and his daughter headed to the car - apparently they needed to go to the city - and Jo, still holding in his head image of Delia's crimson cheeks, went to his house to grab a folder with Japhet's materials. It seemed a little strange to him that the girl was embarrassed when she met him in close proximity to her. Mister Thurlow had cut his hair this morning, so it was unlikely that his appearance had anything to do with it. Maybe this was her reaction to the laughter that had overwhelmed him before?

Covering the wicket behind him and at the same time waving away the hungry Buffalo, Jo almost ran to his room. He began searching for the folder. For some reason, it slipped his mind where he had put it yesterday under the influence of fatigue.After spending about three minutes searching, mister Thurlow finally found the item he was looking for on the floor near the mirror in the hallway. This is what he screwed up yesterday - he usually always puts things away neatly when he returns home... Picking up a slightly dusty leather folder swollen with papers, Jo suddenly remembered that this happened because before picking up the dried clothes from the street, without thinking twice he threw them over the door to free his hands. The only thing he couldn't understand was why the door was open. Did he, when leaving for work five days ago, forget to close the front door of the house itself? Thank God he has a dog to guard his property, otherwise this could have ended badly.

Clutching the folder between his legs, mister Thurlow closed the door properly. Then he walked up to the gate and, looking at his faithful dog with a knowing glance, stepped over the threshold. Turning the key in the keyhole, with peripheral vision he saw that there was no longer a car near the gate of his new neighbours’ house. Clearly, he thought, the pharmaceutist and his daughter were really going to town on business. Jo thought that they had left too late - his logic told him that if mister Yonce was going to arrive at his workplace on time, he should have left about the same early as mister Thurlow himself that day, after all, in order to get to the center in a small car, needs to spend at least forty minutes - the bus, led by old Martin, rode for about that long.

Putting the key in his shirt pocket, Jo repeated to himself what he needed to do - now he must fulfill the promise made to Japhet, who last night asked him to drop by to exchange materials. The walk to it was a little less than to the hairdresser, but mister Thurlow, knowing his body, discarded the idea of ​​running and, wiping his hands on a handkerchief, slowly directed his steps towards the only area in his village, where once upon a time ten multi-storey buildings were erected. This time Jo no longer whistled to himself after meeting the Yonce family - with the possible exception of missis Yonce herself - he was in such a state of mind when there is no desire to waste energy in vain. When he finally approached the third entrance of house number one hundred and fifty-four, mister Thurlow almost completely lost all his gaiety, and, dialing the apartment number, waited for the door phone signal with a feeling close to the one in which he met mister Yonce himself today.

So the door opened. He almost ran up to the fourth floor landing. His friend had already opened the front door, and Jo, without much warmth, said "Hello" to him and entered his apartment, which was filled with the aroma of fresh baked goods. Japhet was somewhat embarrassed by his colleague's gloomy appearance, but, wisely deciding that if a person was not in the mood, then he should not pester him with questions regarding this, he accepted the folder from mister Thurlow's hands and invited him to follow him to the kitchen. There he proudly pointed to a dish on which lay a small pile of shortbread cookies. Jo remembered that his friend loved to cook himself, and noticed that he was lucky to be visiting him at the very moment when he had just finished his next "culinary experiment". Sitting down in the seat offered by his friend, he watched as Japhet poured boiling water into the teapot. He decided that now it really wouldn’t hurt him to eat, considering that he didn’t even have any eggs left in his house - mister Thurlow finished the last four of them this morning.

Waiting for the black tea to brew - Japhet did not recognize another because of his principle of being a lover of Indian life - the owner of the apartment shared with his guest the recipe for today's dish. According to him, he simply beat three eggs with a mixer (oh, it's them again, thought Jo) and half a packet of sugar, poured a glass of sunflower oil into this mixture and, having kneaded more flour into it, immediately put the resulting dough in the oven, without even trying to give it any beautiful shape. As Japhet said, this is because it would be a shame to spend time on the beautiful design of a dish that had a high chance of turning into a completely inedible substance after baking.

But apparently the gods favoured the cook, so his first attempt at making shortbread turned out quite edible. Jo chewed with great appetite the fruit of his friend's culinary labours, not forgetting to wash it down with tea, which, if it had been his choice, he would have replaced with coffee. Looking at the owner of the apartment, mister Thurlow noticed that his heart seemed to lighten - Japhet was no longer embarrassed in appearance as he was when he met the guest, now his face was glowing with happiness. "As I understand", Jo noted to himself, "Like any person interested in the art of cooking, the opinions of other people were always important to him, not like me..."

Jo didn't notice that the pile of cookies was gradually reduced to a small amount of crumbs. He was still hungry, so he asked Japhet to give him something from the refrigerator. He, pleased with the assessment of his culinary experiment, walked past the guest and, opening the refrigerator, began to list to his friend what he could treat himself to. Of all the above, mister Thurlow liked most the can of canned fish, pea salad with sour cream, as well as store-bought sandwiches, which Japhet, returning home from work, grabbed at some eatery located just across the road from the parking lot. Taking the food from his friend’s hands and laying it out on the table, Jo read the inscription on the packaging of these sandwiches - yeah, that means friend Japh decided to treat himself to some junkfood!

Apartment's owner, having transferred the dishes chosen by his friend to the table, closed the refrigerator door and did not deny himself the pleasure of joining the meal. So they sat opposite each other, devouring all this culinary splendor by both cheeks - Jo opened the can of tuna with a kitchen knife and both of them, armed with forks, took turns putting oily pieces into their mouths. Mister Thurlow managed to grab the last piece before Japhet did, and, taking a spoon, began to eat the salad, while the latter opened one of the sandwiches. "Tuna and after it pea salad..." Jo thought to himself. "Yes, this is far from an exemplary change of dishes, but does my friend run a restaurant in his apartment? No!". Besides, at the moment he was more concerned not with any rules for serving dishes, and their own calorie content. Therefore, he, without hurrying anywhere, sent this salad into his insatiable mouth, spoon by spoon...

The owner of the apartment has already managed to finish the first sandwich, and has already started the second. The third was the last of the food remaining on the table. Mister Thurlow put the now empty salad plate in the sink and picked up this piece of fast food. On the wrapping paper he saw the mark "Chicken". Looking at the labels of the sandwiches his friend had gotten, he noticed with some annoyance that, as it turned out, Japhet had taken both beef sandwiches for himself. Oh God, there's that chicken again... First, scrambled eggs at breakfast, then eggs in shortcrust pastry, and now the meat of this bird itself... "What the chicken's curse?" he thought to himself, holding a sandwich in both hands.

- How's it feel? - asked Japhet, who eating faster than his leisurely friend.

Jo, whose jaws were currently chewing a mixture of two rolls, a leaf of lettuce and a chicken cutlet, could not give him a word, only nodded in the affirmative. Japh's face lit up with happiness again - it seemed that he was glad that the guest liked everything that was in the master's refrigerator, and not just the work of his own hands.

- I actually took these sandwiches by accident, - he began to tell the guest. - I leave the boss all cheerful, go down to the street and feel like I want something harmful. Remembering that there was a diner next to the highway, I got on my motorcycle and went. I’m driving in general, and, noticing a sign, I stop. At the checkout I say "I’ll have two beef and two chicken", and, having paid with what I found in my pockets, I continue on my way home. But, having already entered my apartment, I realized that I could not cope with everyone, and I satisfied my hunger with only one. Anyway, - he said with some sympathy, stroking Jo. - But he fed you. There's nothing to eat at home, right?

Having already finished with this invention of the hands of cooks unknown to him, mister Thurlow replied that yes, Japh was right, he has serious problems with food at home.

Looking around - as if afraid that they were being overheard - Jo was about to tell his friend about his new neighbour, when suddenly Japhet raised his finger up.

- Listen, mate, what now writing in papers! - he said loudly

With these words, apartment's owner pulled out the latest issue of The Oregonian from under the table.

- Japh, you know... - Jo said hesitantly

Mister Thurlow wanted to say that he didn’t care about all these press, but his friend could no longer be stopped.

- "Dog earned an bacon", - Japh loudly announced the news headline.

"Sounds like the title of a moral story for kids", thought Jo, making himself more comfortable in his chair.

- "In a controversy, two dog trainers decided to find out which breed is the most patient and causes more sympathy among others", - friend started reading.
- What kind of cynological quarrels... - mumbled mister Thurlow.
- "To resolve the issue, they arranged an examination for their pets", - Japh continued
- Do you really thinking, what this is interesting to me? - Jo couldn't resist.

Japhet lowered the newspaper and looked at him - his hidden behind glasses eyes expressed reproach, like that of a mentor.

- Wait a bit, it will be more interesting further, - he said and buried his face in the newspaper.
- You always tell everyone that "more interesting further", - Jo imitated his friend.

The owner of the apartment ignored this guest’s remark and continued reading.

- "Cummins and I decided to check whose dog performs the commands "Stay" and "Sit" better, - tells Nuell Saberlow, famous cytologist-instructor of Portland", - Japh read.

"Hmm, I think I've heard this name before", thought Jo.

- "We both decided to left our dogs for a whole hour on Pearl District. Well, on a bit of a lark, I placed two felt hats next to them and a "I'M ASKING FOR BACON" signs too", - after these lines, Japh could not help but laugh a little.
- It seems that these are circus performers, not dog handlers, - his friend caught his tone.

But at the same time he thought that this Nuell Saberlow had something in common with that same friend of his late mother who helped her get a dog. Over the years, Jo had forgotten his name, but this extraordinary antics from the newspaper involuntarily made him remember that cheerful, muscular man.

- "The winner was my Labrador Flarie - passers-by were pleased to encourage the gallant white giant, who also bowed at each donation".

Having read this, Japhet raised his head and looked at mister Thurlow over his glasses.

- Do you think you would have acted the same as the onlookers from Pearl District? - he asked a question.
- Well, that's unlikely, - Jo replied. - I have my own dog, why should I give money to someone else?
- There is common sense in your words, - Japh nodded. - Only dogless apartment residents can afford such expenses.
- How would you do it yourself? - mister Thurlow decided to turned the spotlight.
- I? - Japhet, his hands occupied with the newspaper, furrowed his brow.
- You yourself live in an apartment and don’t have a dog, - his friend rightly reminded him.

The owner of the apartment decided to evade this question and returned to the newspaper.

- "In an hour Saberlow's dog Flarie earned whole eight United States dollars, and his competitor, Cummins' fearsome rottweiler named Raider, just a measly two American bucks", - he read.
- I hate rottweilers, Japh! I hate 'em! - theatrically exclaimed Jo, imitating a hero from some action movie.
- You're not the only one in Portland, it's now scientifically proven, - Japh laughed.
- Was that the end of the article? - mister Thurlow said, seeing his friend put the newspaper on the table.
- Yes, that's the whole note. Or do you think that an article about some trainer would deserve a separate page?
- It's understandable, - his listener nodded. - The best thing about it is the eye-catching title.
- And if remove it, - his friend answered. - Then there would be nothing interesting left.
- So why did you read it to me then? - Jo looked at Japh somewhat reproachfully.

He didn’t answer, he just took off his glasses and began to wipe them with a piece of suede. Jo reached for the newspaper.

- You can take her with you, - apartment's owner said casually as his friend picked up a copy of The Oregonian.
- No-no, I'll just take a look - his guest answered hastily, running his eyes over the lines.

The first thing that caught his eye was the huge heading, under which was indicated the name of note's author - certain Megan Heaton. Next was the text that Japh had just retold to him, and at the very end of the article there was a black and white photograph in which the big man was holding a huge white Labrador on a leash. The caption under the photo read "Nuell Saberlow and his faithful Flarie". Jo looked at it and froze, not believing his eyes.

- This is the same trainer who helped our family with dogs! - he exclaimed, throwing the newspaper back on the table.

Japh, who had already pushed his glasses up his nose, raised his eyebrows in surprise.

- What, do you feel proud that your friends are mentioned in the press? - he quipped.

Mister Thurlow said nothing to this, only lowering his head down onto the linoleum that covered the kitchen floor.

- Curious, - Japh continued. - How much would your Belgian malinois earn? - he meant Buffalo.
- I don't think anyone would give him even a cent, - Jo noted with some sadness. - He's so rude...
- This same Saberlow fitted it for you, right? - his friend smiled.
- Yes of course, - mister Thurlow remarked with some annoyance.
- Everyone is always fooling you, - the owner of the apartment said either comforting or mocking. - And then they write about those who fooled you in the newspapers.
- Stop it, - his guest was not amused.

Meanwhile, Japhet suddenly pretended that there was no conversation between them about dogs, and asked his friend with sudden gaiety in his voice:

- Well, you must have been very surprised when you opened the folder yesterday and saw materials about Greece there? Yesterday I was quite surprised when, instead of materials regarding Kinthia, I found in my folder sheets covered in someone else’s handwriting, telling about some book bestsellers in Munich in the seventies.

Yes, it was true, mister Thurlow was tasked by his boss to collect information of this kind. The task was essentially to collect information on the sales of several famous fantasy novels in the above-mentioned city. In this matter, Jo was greatly helped by one man who was called onkel Korble behind his back. He was an old German from Wiesbaden, who in the early eighties moved from there to America - or rather to Portland - according to him, because of the contraband trade. On the Das gelobte Land he did not stop his dirty deeds, on the contrary, he organized a bookstore, where - illegally, of course - he sold German books at half price to people who could read in this language. Among them, as you might guess, was mister Thurlow himself, who more or less learned German as a child through the school curriculum - one might even say, he was one of the few among his peers who really became proficient in studying it.

As a matter of fact, with the support of onkel Korble, Jo began to write his little investigation. To be brief, for some strange reason among the Munich residents enjoyed wide popularity book by certain Die Brüder Strugatzki, whose long title could be roughly translated into English as "It's Not An Easy, To Being A God". Mister Thurlow had no idea what the book was about, but the impressive figure that appeared in the column "Am Besten Verkaufen" (Best Sellers list) interested him in the sense that if the Germans bought this book in great demand, then why shouldn’t lazy American Jo read it at least once.

On the advice of old German, Jo, without using the services of a translator, under the his dictation, wrote something like an application, where he indicated the title of the book and the author, and gave it to Korble, who stated, that thanks to this procedure, the desired book will be on mister Thurlow's desk in a couple of weeks. By the way, the old jackal didn’t even take a cent from him for this operation - apparently, friendly relations among the German people have some kind of almost sacred value, although, looking at onkel Korble, Jo strongly doubted it...

Putting aside thoughts of the proud German people, Jo answered the question addressed to him regarding the folder:

- No, Japh, to be honest, I was so tired yesterday during the bus ride that I was too lazy to look at the materials - I immediately went to wash. And you distracted me from the bath with your call.

He couldn’t resist inserting a barb into his sentence, which in good faith should have been said yesterday on the phone, but then he was a little in the wrong mood.

- Well, I'm sorry, Jo, I didn't know that you were simmering in boiling water like a chicken in a saucepan, - Japh was also not averse to exchanging jokes with his friend.
- Oh, how I’m already sick of this chicken topic! - mister Thurlow shouted in anger.

The owner of the apartment asked his guest what was the matter, and Jo briefly told him his previously mentioned thoughts regarding the fact that since yesterday evening he had not really eaten anything other than eggs. Japhet joked that today, at least, he treated him to peas and fish, but his interlocutor, having expressed his experiences, closed himself off and did not really hear his words. Japh, noticing his friend's condition, hinted to him that it might be time for him to go home. Shuddering slightly, mister Thurlow agreed with him and, shaking Japh’s hand, wanted to say something, but his tongue no longer obeyed him...

Leaving his apartment on the fourth floor stairwell, Jo shivered a little - it turns out that he could not even imagine that because of the cooking it was so hot in Japhet's apartment that, having gotten used to such a temperature, he was already frankly cold outside its walls. Barely moving his feet, mister Thurlow went downstairs and, almost colliding at the door with some neat man with wide eyes (out of fear or what?), finally left this building.

Outside, he felt that the weather had changed somewhat. And in fact, the sun, previously shining brightly in the sky, was covered with clouds for the first time this week. Now, Jo thought, he wouldn't have to squint in the blinding sunlight as he approached his house. This essentially simple circumstance for some reason filled him with energy, and he ran forward, as he had in the morning. To his own surprise, mister Thurlow was not exactly exhausted, his legs were not even tired by the time he had covered the entire path and, pulling the gate key out of his pocket, looked at the roof of the Har... Sorry, Yonce family.

His sensitive ears caught the sound of walking on the grass, which was coming from behind the neighbours' fence. Someone from the female half - for mister Yonce himself could hardly move so easily - was walking near the house. Jo, after a slight hesitation, opened the gate door and almost lost his balance - his starving dog pressed paws against his stomach with such force, that if his owner had not grabbed the iron gate with left hand, he would inevitably have been lying on the grass right now.

It seems that during this incident some funny sound came from Jo's mouth - apparently a muffled cry - for on the other side of the fence, from the side of the new neighbours’ house, a well-known ringing laughter, like the sound of bells, was heard. Mister Thurlow suddenly felt a surge of shame. He was almost completely sure that the little girl could not see anything behind the tightly packed boards of the wooden fence, but he understood that the very noise of the fuss (as well as his scream - although he couldn’t remember whether he actually made it at that moment) caught her attention. Hesitantly struggling with himself, he was able to control his feeling of embarrassment and, as if nothing had happened, said to his faithful Buffalo:

- Well, excuse me, chum, I completely forgot that you’ve been hungry for six whole days.

After patting the dog behind the ear, he went into his home. Pulling the formal shoes off your feet (he could not get used to the fact that wearing sandals is not a sign of falling into childhood), he said out loud so as not to forget:

- Okay, Jo, remember - you must feed the dog, otherwise you will pay dearly for not looking after protector!

The somewhat commanding tone of his own address slightly stretched the corners of his lips, but inside he was not laughing. For now, he wants to take a short nap. He was decidedly too lazy to go to the bedroom, so Jo settled down right on the sofa, which stood in a fairly spacious kitchen next to the dining table and, putting a seemingly tightly packed sack of flour under his head, stretched out his legs and, forgetting about everything in the world, surrendered to the power of the younger brother of death.

The dream he had then on the kitchen sofa struck him with its strange combination of cute and creepy in equal proportions. In more or less detail he saw the coast of some sea. On sand strewn with shells of vieira (a scallop), two children were running around - a boy and a girl, both of them looked about ten years old each. The children were dressed in some old fashion, evoking an association with Victorian England. They ran after each other across the sand, unwittingly scattering it with their feet. Then they stopped next to each other, and the boy, taking out a black bowler from somewhere in his bosom - Jo remembered that it was clearly sized for someone older than that child - threw it up. The hat spun in the air and fell into an air current, which carried it away from the water. The boy rushed to catch up with the headdress. The girl remained standing in place, looking after him and shouting something - apparently, these were encouraging words. Soon the figure of her friend disappeared behind the sand dunes that stretched deep into the beach. The little girl apparently got tired of standing in one place, and she skipped along the tracks left by her friend’s bare feet.

And then, in fact, mister Thurlow saw what plunged him into horror then - as soon as the girl came quite close to the dunes, when suddenly four creepy people jumped out of there - they were dressed in black suits, black cloaks fluttered behind them like raven wings, and all of them, except one, the fattest one, had black bowlers on their heads shiny with sweat. These men in black were running at a slow pace - as if the world itself had stopped at that second - and as they walked, they pulled black rubber-covered police batons from their belts... The last thing Jo remembered was the heart-rending scream of the girl from whose eyes he saw this action.

- What a nightmare! - having woken up and, trying to calm down his wildly beating heart, he blurted out throughout the kitchen.

Sitting on the sofa, he suddenly felt that his cheeks and hair were covered with something like dust. He quickly rose to his feet and saw dense clouds of white powder rise in the air. Jo swore angrily - it turns out that while he was sleeping, the sack of flour opened up and now he will have to put himself in order again. Well, okay, he, who likes to lie in the bathroom longer, is no stranger to washing, but here’s what to do with the flour scattered on the sofa and on the floor... Cleaning had never been a priority for mister Thurlow's household chores, so when he thought that sooner or later he would have to collect the spilled flour into a garbage bag with a broom and dustpan, he suddenly felt uneasy.

He glanced at his left hand. The wristwatch, the glass of which was lightly coated with flour, showed twenty minutes to six. Must hurry, suddenly it dawned on Jo. The butcher's shop closed at six thirty, therefore, he needed to leave the house as soon as possible so that his dog would not die of hunger. Mister Thurlow walked into the bathroom and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. Flour covered his hair just this morning... Jo decided not to resort to water, because if he went outside now with a wet head, then "come to me, common cold!". Therefore, he solved the problem of unpresentable appearance in this way - he took off his flour-stained jacket, shirt and pants, and put on a T-shirt and shorts instead (for a long time he had not taken both of these items of clothing out of his wardrobe due to his strange complexes). After that, Jo stood over the trash can and, using a comb, began to comb out the flour stuck in his hair as thoroughly as possible.

After looking in the mirror, he decided that some kind of headdress would come in very handy for his wardrobe, because he couldn’t get rid of the flour dry, and he didn’t want to scare people with his white hair. Barely audibly swearing at his own sloppiness, he opened the wardrobe again. There he found an old camouflage cap, clearly designed for a much younger person. But, lacking anything else, mister Thurlow put it on his flour-dusted head and once again looked at his reflection.

A man looked at him from the mirror, whose resemblance could be described as an adult, who, surprisingly, was at the development level of a twelve-year-old boy. Jo gave this epithet to himself for the simple reason that the clothes that he could find in the closet were small in size, and on his dystrophic, but still mature body, such a wardrobe looked extremely stupid. But feeling that his dog was waiting for the treasured piece of meat, he cast aside the feeling of awkwardness that had begun to overcome him and, slightly tucking his black and white hair protruding from under his cap, went to the butcher’s shop.

By the time mister Thurlow finally got there, the hour hand on his wristwatch already showed six twenty-five. The young guy who was trading was already preparing to close, but Jo, who arrived in time, still managed to contact him. "Give me all sorts of scraps, no matter what" - such was his request, which the seller complied with, noting among other things that the tripe that his last buyer took had already managed to spoil a little. But Jo didn’t care one bit about this, because even back when he lived with his mother, he learned that the dog that guards the house (not the one that runs within its walls), to maintain her energy, she must eat a large amount of raw meat, and it does not matter whether it is fresh or slightly rotten. Never in their entire lives did they feed first Buddy (the Thurlow's first dog, whom Jo first saw during his childhood), and then Buffalo with all sorts of dog food, for the mother believed what was written in some old book on dog breeding, given to her by one former military man, her acquaintance.

Taking the bag of meat in his hands, mister Thurlow noted to himself with pleasure that for once he would please his faithful dog, who had been running around the territory entrusted to him for all these six days without the opportunity to eat anything. And wished good luck to the butcher - more precisely, his son, who sold in this shop - Jo headed back home with a smile on his lips. And imagine his surprise when, passing by his neighbours’ house, he heard his name pronounced in a ringing voice that was already familiar to him... He froze rooted to the spot at some distance near the fence. From the outside he probably looked funny - an adult man, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt that was clearly too small for him, was holding a heavy bag of rotten meat scraps in both hands... In fact, it was quite obvious that such a spectacle would inevitably cause laughter from his little neighbour. And so it happened.

Bursting with laughter, Delia sat on the fence, dangling her legs shod in black shoes. Jo didn’t know what to do, so he stood there a little undecided and decided to go to his house, but as soon as he took a couple of steps towards his wicket, he immediately caught her question in the back:

- Have you got a dog, ajussi Jo?

Mister Thurlow was a little surprised that the girl, who was essentially seeing him for only the second time in her life, immediately addressed him in such a familiar tone, but he didn’t even show it, but stopped again and turned to her (don't run away from the child, after all), said:

- Yes, we live here together, I'm at home and Buffalo is out.
- He's protecting you, right?
- Certainly. I can't stand dogs that eat their owners but don't do any good.

For some reason, Jo decided that there would be no shame in complaining to this girl a little.

- My dad thinks so too, - his interlocutor answered. - We never had animals at home, although I asked him...
- Yes, it's sad...

Mister Thurlow thought that this was the end of their conversation, and, making a slight bow in her direction, walked up to the wicket. Delia looked after him for a while, and then suddenly jumped off the fence and managed to run up to Jo just then, when he was already preparing to close the wicket and feed his dog.

- Will you show me your dog?

The girl said this and made a sad grimace. "She press on pity or how?", thought Jo.

- Wait, I'll feed him first, - he began.
- Yes-yes, I heard you promise him this, - Delia interrupted him. - But please let me look at it!

Mister Thurlow thought for a few seconds. He felt that the little neighbour, who, due to her age, was simply bursting with the bursting desire to learn as much as possible about the world, will never leave his humble person behind, and, trying to drive the dog away from the wicket, Jo almost quickly threw out his answer to her:

- If you ask your dad for permission and he doesn't mind, then I'm in!

Without waiting for Delia's response, he slammed the gate and headed towards the bowl where he always put food for Buffalo. The latter was already so exhausted from hunger that he tried to jump on the owner and tear the bag right as he walked, but Jo, who tried to instill in the dumb dog the concept of discipline, angrily shouted at him to be patient. When he finally reached the bowl, Buffalo still managed to tear the bag open with his teeth. Tripe, some chunks, and also some meat juice began to fall out of it, emitting a rather disgusting aroma of rotten meat. Mister Thurlow noted with displeasure that drops of juice fell on his bare legs and, sneeze, immediately rushed to the bathroom.

There, without wasting any time, he took off all his clothes and, contrary to his usual routine, decided not to fill the bath but to stand under the prickly jets of the shower. Thoroughly soaping your feet in order to completely get rid of the annoying smell, he noted to himself that, it turns out, he again made another promise, and it would be nice if this person had known him for a long time... Starting to wash his hair, Jo began to reason that making a promise to a neighbour who lives next to your house is not the same as doing the same to a person who lives God knows where. When he had already finished washing and began to dry himself, mister Thurlow no longer doubted the (in)correctness of his just made decision.

Jo started looking for something to wear. His beautiful suit, which he had stained with flour, continued to lie on the floor next to the bathroom - in a hurry to the butcher, he completely forgot about it - and in the end he had only the option of putting on the clothes of an overgrown teenager again. "It can't be helped", Jo said, and, putting cap on the go - no longer for the sake of hiding flour in the hair, but for health - went out into the yard. His faithful Buffalo was busy eating tripe. Jo couldn't resist the pleasure of watching his dog for a couple of minutes, listening as he let out a predatory purr as he paid tribute to his first meal in six days...

- Yes, chum, forgive me for not feeding you for so long, - Jo said barely audible.

Then he remembered Delia. I wonder if she really ran to ask permission from her gloomy father, or if she, seeing that her neighbour was busy, finally decided to leave him alone? Jo really wanted things to work out this way, but the sense of duty, which was caused by the promise given to her, forced him to go out the wicket. Covering it behind him, he looked around. The girl was nowhere to be found yet. Mister Thurlow decided to wait a couple of minutes and, not knowing what to do with himself, began to look at the fruit tree that grew on his neighbors’ property.

It was an apricot that old Harris Sherwind planted many years ago in memory of his deceased grandfather.Now, in August, there was no longer a single fruit on the branches, but Jo still had fresh memories of when Harris, who had previously lived here, was distinguished by the breadth of his soul, collected the fruits falling from the tree and went to his close neighbours, treating them to fresh apricots. Oddly enough, but last July - it was by this month that the fruits were already ripening - old Harris, apparently already preparing to move out of here, broke this tradition of his and not one of the apricots that poured on the branches fell into the mouths of any of his neighbors, including Jo. Either he simply forgot about the tree, or, more likely, he collected those fruits and sold them on the market - uncharacteristic for him, but normal behavior for a person who lives in the suburbs on his own plot.

The realization that the Yonce family moved in exactly the same month when all the apricots had long since disappeared caused Jo to have another fit of uncontrollable laughter. He, trying to restrain himself from laughing at the top of his lungs, bit the inside of his cheeks. The sudden pain caused a tear to come out of both his eyes, against his will. Mister Thurlow was about to wipe them with the back of his hand, but before he had time to raise his hand, he caught movement from the side of the neighbour’s gate in his peripheral vision. Forgetting about his face, Jo turned. His eyes did not deceive him - Delia was actually running towards him now, gesticulating animatedly. She stopped five steps from him and, not knowing where to put her hands, rested them on a fence post.

- Ajussi Jo, dad allowed me to go into your yard!
- For what?

All of a sudden, the energy typical of children her age made him wary, and Jo decided to play the fool.

- Well how can it be, ajussi Jo, you promised to show me your dog! - again making a sad grimace, the girl answered with some anguish.
- You know, - Jo raised his top hand and began scratching the back of his head. - For some reason it seems to me that you, uh...
- Am I lying? Oh, you're a cad! - Delia suddenly exclaimed with sudden aggression.
- Wait-wait, I just want to hear it from your dad in person! - Jo realized what he had done and began to make excuses.
- Huh, are you afraid? You big crybaby!

Declaring this decisively, Delia took a breath, tilted her head back slightly and, completely unexpectedly for Jo, spat right in his face. The latter stood stunned in place and looked after the girl, who was running towards her gate. Stepping over the threshold, she turned her head in his direction and sent him a smile filled with playful mischief. Mister Thurlow stood there without moving. He heard from someone that if swallowed it, this automatically lowers status in the eyes of the offender, so he patiently waited until the neighbour disappeared behind the fence.

Jo was overwhelmed by a whole ocean of feelings. He felt resentment, shame and fear at the same time. The first is from the fact that they spat on him, the second from the fact that with his words he clearly did something wrong, and the third from the understanding that an offended child could complain to his formidable dad. Slowly moving his feet, mister Thurlow walked into his house. Entering the bathroom, before putting his cheek under the running water, for some reason he took a piece of this saliva on the tip of his finger and brought it to his nose. These white bubbles gave off a faint aroma of mint candies. Apparently, mister Yonce has a liberal attitude towards spoiling his daughter with sweets, Jo thought while washing his face. Well, or a wayward girl (after what he had just experienced, he had no doubt about it) herself, when she wanted it, contrary to her parents, she found the desired forbidden fruit. Mister Thurlow decided so, because Delia's father looked like a domineering man who clearly had his family under control, and it would obviously not be sweet (in every sense) for his daughter without any effort on her part.

Wiping his wet face after the water, Jo remembered her cry "You big crybaby!". Were two tiny tears on his face really that obvious? Or was Delia angry that an adult man suddenly, for no reason at all, began to fawn over her and make excuses, like her young peers? A suspicion crept into his thoughts that among her classmates she clearly has the status of an out-and-out hooligan, who only acts like an obedient girl in front of her father. Unsure of this theory, mister Thurlow threw a towel on the washing machine next to the sink and trudged into the kitchen. He knew for sure that he didn't want to eat - firstly because he had a good lunch with a friend that afternoon, and secondly, this spit from Delia managed to completely discourage Jo’s sense of appetite, which had gradually begun to increase in the evening. Therefore, having already automatically opened the refrigerator, he did not take anything from there - fortunately there was nothing to take anyway, there was nothing in the refrigerator except an empty glass jar of some kind of sauce

Slamming the door, Jo took off his T-shirt, wet with sweat, and, throwing it on the radiator, went into the office. There, his gaze immediately fell on a leather folder, which seemed about to burst from the papers that overflowed it. He opened it and pulled out sheets of paper on which, in his small handwriting, he had written information about Munich's book bestsellers. Mister Thurlow's eyes ran down the list he had painstakingly compiled during those five days spent in his cramped hotel room... Yawning, he packed the sheets back - he absolutely did not want to continue this work, at least today. All Jo wanted at the moment was a good night's sleep. He didn’t try to persuade himself - he went into the bedroom and, taking off his shorts, which were too small for him, fell flat on the pillows. He made himself comfortable and wrapped himself completely in the blanket. Multi-coloured lines hovered before his eyes, quickly intertwining with each other. Gradually he fell asleep.

***

- Forgive me, Jordan Thurlow, - for the first time during this time, the inspector interrupted the prisoner's story. - But for some reason I was amused by how your relationship with this person developed. First, in your words, you almost died under her gaze, and then unexpectedly, you fought back! As they say, from love to hate!

Jo, a tired of talking, was breathing deeply and looking forward at the policeman. He, having taken on the role of listener, for obvious reasons, did not show a single sign of fatigue - on the contrary, he looked slyly at mister Thurlow, clearly interested in his story. Jo did not reproach the inspector for interrupting his story.

- No, mister inspector Galbraith, there was no affection that evening, and where would it come from? - he answered the last phrase of his interlocutor. - Then, standing on the outside of the Yonce's fence, I was scared. I felt like I had been shot with a bullet laced with poison.
- You're a joke though, Jordan! I have never heard such a definition of the arrows of the Cupid from anyone at all!

The inspector, teasing his interlocutor, noticed that wrinkles appeared on the latter’s face near the eyes. Might have thought that Jo was trying to fight off the onset of sadness. However, this only lasted a couple of moments. The prisoner suddenly smiled and answered:

- Who knows, mister inspector, maybe it will be easier for strangers to notice such changes!

Jordan sniffled and wanted to blow his nose into his sleeve, but inspector Galbraith prevented his action by taking a clean handkerchief from the pocket of his gray jacket and handing it to his interlocutor. He thanked him, blew his nose noisily a couple of times and put the handkerchief on the table next to him.

- Yes, take it for yourself, what am I, greedy or something? - the policeman said cordially.

Mister Thurlow thanked the inspector again and, putting the handkerchief in the pocket of his orange prison suit, continued his story from where he was interrupted a couple of minutes ago.

Jo greeted the new day with a severe headache - having not yet really woken up from sleep, he, wincing from the spasms running through his brain, barely got out of bed and sat down on the blanket that had been crumpled during the night. Soon, when his eyes were finally able to focus, he was able to roughly understand the cause of this illness - outside the window the rain was pouring down like buckets. Mister Thurlow read somewhere that with the change of weather, certain magnetic storms pass over the territory, which in people with poor blood circulation cause pain in the brain, similar to what he is now experiencing.

In any case, for Jo, who, in his own words, was a professional procrastinator, the headache was not any serious hindrance, because he had to turn on his brain very, very rarely - he even forgot how to solve arithmetic problems from the moment he finished his studies at High School. Even when he had to deal with paying for some services he needed, he used to honestly declare that he hardly knew how to count, and as a result, this could sometimes result in sellers cheating him, as he once had with the purchase of Buffalo through Nuell Saberlow. But Jo has long lost any pieces of pride that anyone who lives in society should have.

Be that as it may, the headache, although it did not interfere with his business, was an obstacle to a happy pastime - it’s not so easy to even just walk when there is a risk of falling somewhere with blackness in eyes. So Jo decided not to go anywhere today, but just sit quietly with some reading material in his hands. Rinsed lightly under running cold water, he wrapped himself in his battered green bathrobe and, looking in the mirror, thought that before he could take in the food of his mind, he also needed to provide food for his stomach.

He didn't even need to open the refrigerator to remember that there wasn't a single crumb of food in his house. It’s sad, he thought, he’ll have to wait out this ill and then go to the store to buy something... Slightly shivering from the cold, mister Thurlow went into his office and began to look for some interesting book in his small library, which was located in a bookshelf that occupied the entire wall - all the inheritance that he received from his maternal grandmother (like this house itself).

His eye caught the strange name that intrigued him - "The Book of Light". The hands themselves grabbed this book in a hard blue cover. Plunging into a chair, Jo prepared to read this manuscript, which, for some reason, it seemed to him, could tell the reader about the lives of the servants of the Templar Order and their infamous curse - he himself could not explain why this name evoked such associations in him, apparently his hunger for information about the novels of Walter Scott and similar authors he loved as a child affected him.

Sitting by the window, he involuntarily plunged into memories of how this book got into his house. It was just recently - last month, when mister Thurlow, having finished his short work day, walked out of the door of his place of work and, taking a deep breath of the warm July air, leisurely walked along the wide sidewalk towards the boulevard, which he could see from his office window. He had not yet walked a few steps when he caught the eye of a man standing near the wall of a building decorated with decorative tiles. Jo was immediately struck by the fact that despite his good build and youthful appearance, the stranger’s long hair was completely silver, as was the thick beard that covered his entire face. Mister Thurlow walked past him, but the stranger suddenly moved away from the wall and followed him.

- Take a book! - the silver-haired man spoke inaudibly, but loudly enough.

Jo, without slowing down, looked back. The stranger, stretching his arm forward, somehow strangely minced his feet, almost dancing as he walked. His voice sounded too young for his aged face - apparently he used some kind of hair bleaching product. But at the moment that was not the point at all - the crazy light that burned in the man’s eyes testified to the extent to which he was out of his mind.

- Take a book, take-a-book, takeabook!... - raising his voice, he muttered, jumping with every step.
- What's the matter? - mister Thurlow asked sternly, trying to break away from his pursuer.
- Let you take a book! I'm has good book! - the whacky said, shaking his whole body.

Jo quickened his pace a little, hoping that his shadower would leave him behind, but where there! This silver-haired man, dressed in denim overalls, has become even bolder - his movements became even more fussy, and the whacky began to mince his feet even more energetically, continuing to repeat the same word, which now sounded like "takabuk", he pronounced it so incoherently. This was starting to get on mister Thurlow's nerves, but his upbringing didn’t allow him to start running. Eventually the crazy man overtook him and stopped on the road, blocking his path.

- What's the matter, I said? - Jo repeated his question even more sternly.
- Take one, just one book! - said the pursuer, mumbling lips.

With these words, the whacky grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him towards him. Mister Thurlow silently shook off his hand and walked forward, but this only provoked the silver-haired man in denim overalls even more, who, without stopping for a second, began to pursue him again, coming in from one side, then from the other, like an annoying jackal. Jo was already starting to get angry, but the stranger, dancing around him, pressed harder and harder, as if trying at all costs to prevent him from passing.

- Get lost! - Jo replied through clenched teeth, looking with hatred at the insane smile on the face of his pursuer, covered with thick silver hair.
- Take a book and I'll go away! - the whacky was already screaming, continuing his attempt to grab his hand.

Meanwhile, mister Thurlow had already approached the store, which at that time was crowded with quite a lot of people. The people gathered at the showcase looked in bewilderment at this strange dance of the silver-haired man in denim overalls, until some tall, thin man in a tracksuit decided to intervene. Grabbing the madman by the shoulder, he tried to pull him away from Jo, but he stubbornly resisted his strong hands.

- I'm has good book and he have none! I beg him for take a book! - the silver-haired man shouted loudly.
- Chill out, gaffer! - the sportsman tried to calm him down.
- I follow him for half an hour already! Let him take a book! - the whacky in denim overalls did not stop

The madman lied - he chased mister Thurlow for about three minutes, God willing, but for this he managed to bring his victim to such a state that if it had not been for the intervening athlete, the silver-haired man would probably have had a hard time. Jo walked through the crowd, but felt an object hit him in the back. Turning around, he saw the whacky remove his hand from the pocket of his denim overalls, while the athlete continued to tenaciously hold him by the shoulders. Mister Thurlow looked down and saw an open book lying in the dust - it was not difficult to guess what the madman had thrown at his back. Bending down, Jo picked her up from the asphalt and, holding her under his arm, continued his way to the bus stop, while a policeman appeared at the store window and began to perform his duties - namely, to detain the silver-haired madman in denim overalls.

Jo was distracted from his memories by a phone call - fortunately the telephone was right next to the chair, he didn't even have to get up to pick up the receiver, although the very fact that he was disturbed at a very inconvenient time for him made Jo mentally say goodbye to the prospects of overcoming his headache. Stretching his hand towards the telephone, mister Thurlow began to turn over in the back of his mind the people who might disturb him at such an early hour. He was sure that it could not be his boss, Ruth Vardiel - for all who were under his command were well aware of two facts from his life - First of all, mister Vardiel liked to lie in bed with his wife Camille until lunchtime (which is why he didn’t show up at work until twenty-two in the afternoon), and secondly, he was not one of those who needlessly disturbed his employees during non-working hours. Besides him, Jo also immediately dismissed Japhet - after their get-together yesterday, his not very sociable friend hardly wanted to call the person with whom he spent almost the entire day.

So who called him? Clutching the telephone receiver, Jo still wincing from his headache, held it some distance from his eyes for a couple of seconds, as if trying to mentally transport through the speaker holes to the distance to the subscriber’s device at the other end of the line, and, deciding that it was enough to hesitate, he brought it to his ear.

- Mister Thurlow, did I disturb you? - Jo heard a voice unfamiliar to him, clearly belonging to an adult woman.
- Hello, with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to? - he asked politely

Jo decided that since the person was unfamiliar, it was better to speak in much the same way as when working with clients.

- I apologize that we were not able to meet with you yesterday, unlike my husband, - the stranger answered as if apologizing.
- I'm not sure what you mean, madame? - Jo asked.

Mister Thurlow was already beginning to lose his temper a little, because he hated it when people, instead of immediately telling him what they needed, began to evade his questions.

- Sorry, I forgot to name myself. I'm Ivette Yonce, your new neighbour.

Jo was numb. The moments of yesterday’s incident that occurred between him and the young representative of this family flashed feverishly through his head, like pictures in a kaleidoscope. Trying not to show fear - although he already felt how his unfounded ligaments were beginning to stiffen - he asked:

- How can I be of service to the wife of the esteemed mister Yonce at such an early hour?
- Oh, there’s no need to be so familiar with me, as in anyway we don’t live nearby.

Mister Thurlow heard his interlocutor burst into laughter. He almost physically felt as if a stone had been lifted from his heart - the tension preceding it was so strong. He laughed in response, although his laughter was not so much from joy as from nerves. When, as it seemed to him, two minutes had passed, the voice of his interlocutor reached his ears:

- Could you do us a favour, mister Thurlow?
- Uh, what, excuse me?

Jo, who had not expected such a development in the conversation, immediately suppressed his laughter.

- I would never have asked you about this if my husband had not said "Okay, my joy, I agree" at yesterday’s family council, - answered the woman.

"More riddles", thought Jo, "How much beat around the bush..."

- Hmm... And what is your request, missis Yonce?
- Ivette, please call me Ivette, - his interlocutor corrected him
- Why should that be? - didn't understand Jo.
- You know, - she began to explain. - First names are much more friendly, and since we are neighbour, then...
- Well, - mister Thurlow interrupted her. - So what do you want, missis Ivette?
- Finally, - he heard a sigh.

Apparently, the woman on the other end of the line was tired of delaying this conversation. After being silent for a couple of seconds, she continued:

- It's all because of Delia. Baby tried to persuade us to let her look at your dog, that we, knowing full well what everything could lead to if we refuse, not only allowed her to enter your yard, but also allowed her to visit your home.

Mister Thurlow felt the fear that he had managed to calm down begin to devour him from the inside again. He, rubbing his forehead with his left hand, on which drops of sweat appeared, slightly removed the pipe from his mouth and turned his head to the side, let out a wild cry, which seemed to combine the headache that had been consuming him since the morning, the desire to escape to the ends of the world and this strange feeling of regret for the wasted years of his life.

- Pardon me, what did you say? - missis Yonce asked with some surprise.

Coming to his senses, Jo realized that he had just made a mistake by giving vent to his feelings. He said:

- All right, missis Ivette, I said "all right".
- Well, okay, otherwise it feels like you dropped the iron on your leg.

She laughed at her own joke, and mister Thurlow decided not to be left out and joined his neighbour.

- Okay, laughter, of course, is the best medicine, but you still shouldn’t abuse it, - a woman's voice reached Jo. - Now I’ll boxing my daughter lunch so that if she suddenly gets hungry, she can have a snack at your house, and we’ll come to you soon.
- So... - mister Thurlow said thoughtfully. - How many minutes should I expect you in? I just, how shall I say this...
- We are going to leave the house in half an hour, - the neighbour answered immediately. - But if you're not in the mood to see us today, then...
- No-no, I just wanted to say that I don’t really have any clean clothes, - Jo interrupted her. - I wouldn't want to...
- Don't worry about your appearance, mister Thurlow, - his interlocutor began to calm down. - Just behave with dignity, that's all that's required of you. Oh yeah, regarding clothes, - after a pause she repeated. - I was just getting ready to do the laundry after lunch, and since we don’t have a lot of dirty laundry at home, then I can, as a neighbour, do you a favour for a favour - for the fact that you sit with Delia, I will wash your things. This is okay?

Mister Thurlow was digesting this long tirade from his new neighbour. Why on earth would she is so eager to gain his trust? Is this all really on the initiative of their daughter? Unable to find answers to the pile of questions that had piled up on his poor head, Jo said only "Yes" into the phone. He received a chuckle and a cheerful "Até logo" in response.

- I'm sorry, what did you just say? - he asked.
- See you, - missis Yonce explained and hung up.

Mister Thurlow continued to hold the phone to his ear, but only beeps could be heard from it, indicating that the conversation between him and his neighbour had come to an end. He was still in shock from the content of the talking that had just happened between them. Slowly, as if half asleep, he put the phone down and plopped down in a chair, clutching his head with both hands. Darkness filled his gaze. Jo didn't know how long it had been since he hung up, but when from the yard the piercing bark of his faithful Buffalo reached his ears, he, looking for yesterday's shorts and T-shirt, cursed in every possible way the Cronus, God of the harvest, who did not take pity on his pitiful slave and did not make any efforts to delay this inevitable meeting for as many hours as possible...

Jo walked out onto the porch of his house. The rain, which he had the pleasure of seeing this morning, has finally stopped. He glanced at the wicket. Buffalo, as befits a good watchdog, ran near it and burst into barking. "So", mister Thurlow thought, "How great it would be now..." But common sense reminded its nervous owner in time that this was complete idiocy, let the dog loose on guests, especially if they are his neighbours and - most importantly - representatives of the better half of humanity. Sighing, Jo took the collar with the leash pre-attached to it hanging on a nail near the door and walked up to the wicket. The dog looked at the owner and continued to rush at the fence. The man had to almost forcefully put a collar on the powerful neck of his Buffalo and, tying it to a pole that stood some distance from the entrance to the house, let the guests in.

- Greetings, - Jo said to missis Yonce. - Hi there, - he nodded to her daughter.

Both women bowed to him and, stepping over the threshold, looked at the dog, which, at the sight of strangers, began to rear up, trying to get ahead.

- So, welcome to me, - mister Thurlow smiled. - As you can see, my dog is vicious...
- I think he'll get used to it, - missis Yonce said mysteriously, winking at little girl
- Hey, where are you going? - exclaimed Jo as Delia began to approach Buffalo.
- What are you afraid of, mister Thurlow, he won't touch her, - the neighbour said without a trace of concern.
- And how do you... - he started.

But Jo didn’t have time to ask his question and died out in mid-sentence. Delia was already standing next to the dog, who had stopped trying to break free from the leash. Now he sat still and looked at the girl with puppy dog eyes. She bent down and, patting the Belgian Malinois behind the ear, started whispering something cheerfully to him. And her mother turned her head to Jo and smiled.

- H-h-how is that possible.... - muttered mister Thurlow.

Jo, feeling ashamed of his dog, tried to fight back the tears that were welling up in his throat. He could not even think that his Buffalo, behind whom he always felt unquestioning loyalty to his master, would bend like a lamb to someone else's girl...

- How about you let us in? - missis Yonce said in a businesslike tone
- Yes, missis Ivette, right away... - Jo answered briefly

Closing the wicket, he headed towards the porch. The woman stood in the yard for a while and, calling her daughter, slowly followed him. In the hallway, Jo, smiling embarrassedly, said that he could not offer the guests slippers or any other house shoes. Adult guest nodded understandingly.

- Well, yes, you couldn’t imagine that a mom with kid would come to you, - she said ironically. - If it is no secret, when was the last time a woman set foot on your doorstep?
- Five years ago, then my mother left this world... - Jo said quietly.
- My sincere condolences to you, - she answered in a cloudless mood.

While the adults were having this dialogue, the little girl, without thinking twice, took off her shoes and, appearing before her mother and Jo in white stockings, jumped up and twirled in some kind of carefree dance.

- Be careful, Delia, don't get your stockings dirty, - missis Yonce said sternly.
- Fear not, mommy! - the child said loudly.

Delia stopped dancing and looked up at her mother. Then she turned her gaze to the owner of the house.

- You have a very cute doggie, ajussi Jo! - she said ingratiatingly.
- Well, yes... - mister Thurlow began slowly. - I understand that I could not resist your charms.
- Nothing can resist me! - she answered with some pride
- No messing now, dearie! - the mother again began to reason with her daughter.
- I'm hungry, - the girl ignored her words. - When are we going to eat?

When the child said these words, mister Thurlow only now noticed the picnic basket covered with a red towel, which missis Yonce was holding in her hands. The latter nodded to Delia and asked the owner of the house to take them to the kitchen. Jo slowly trudged ahead of them. There was an emptiness in his soul at the moment - one might think that Delia's ringing voice extinguished all his thoughts. Entering the kitchen, mister Thurlow offered the guests chairs. Adult guest, thanking her, put the basket on the table and, taking off the towel from it, began to lay out the food from it. The baby girl did not sit down at the table - she went to the window and tried to open the tightly drawn curtains. Jo rushed after her and helped her in this matter. The kitchen was illuminated by the rays of the sun, which was already shining with all its might in the sky, which had already cleared of clouds.

- Where are your dishes, mister Thurlow?

Jo moved away from the window and, opening the kitchen cabinet doors, asked a counter question:

- What exactly should you submit, missis Ivette?

The woman, after thinking a little, asked the owner of the house to get two large plates, two saucers and two cups (and the same number of forks and spoons). Noticing the bewilderment on his face, missis Yonce said that she herself had already had a good breakfast, so she was giving all the food to him and her daughter. Shrugging his shoulders, Jo complied with her demands - taking out the necessary dishes and cutlery, placing them near the sink.

- Let me myself, - the woman said immediately.

Missis Yonce took the initiative and began rinsing the dust-covered plates under running water. Jo stood next to her, not knowing what to do with himself. The little girl, who had previously been standing and looking out the window, came up to him and pulled him by the sleeve.

- What do you want, Delia? - mister Thurlow asked her
- Ajussi Jo, do you have anything interesting?
- Toys or something? - Jo inquired.

At the same time he tried to pull his hand away, but the child held tightly to his sleeve.

- Books! - she shouted. - I've already played enough in my eight years, - the girl suddenly said seriously.
- Well, books... - he thought. - I have a small library, - mister Thurlow began.

On these words Delia jumped in place.

- But it's mostly just scientific gobbledygook... - continued the owner of the house.
- I love science books, - the young guest interrupted him.
- You talk about encyclopedias, but in my bookshelf I mostly have materials on higher mathematics, - he said dryly

The little girl was a little depressed. Jo thought that he shouldn’t have answered the child so categorically and, stopping trying to pull his hand out of her grip, said in a soothing tone that he could have been mistaken, because he practically doesn’t read and already doesn’t remember well what’s there.

- Okay, so let's look at your books? - Delia asked him.
- Why wouldn't he? - Jo answered cheerfully.

The young guest let go of the man’s hand and followed the owner of the house, who was already entering his office. There he opened the bookshelf and, squatting down, began to take out books from the lowest shelf, where, as he remembered, literature for children was kept, which his grandmother had willingly supplied him with at one time. Delia went to the nightstand, which stood next to the desk, and asked Jo what could be there.

- If memory serve, there are vinyl records, - without taking his eyes off the books, he threw over his shoulder.

Delia, without asking permission, sharply pulled the handle towards herself. Jo, holding back from yelling at her, ran up to the nightstand, from which envelopes with records had already fallen out onto the floor, which seemed to be waiting in the wings to be released. Yes, he had already forgotten that the entire bedside table was filled to capacity with "mummified music"...

Most of the vinyls belonged to his late mother. Others were gifts from Jo's own friends and classmates. But, unfortunately, the record turntable has not been in this house for a long time - mister Thurlow sold it when he needed money for a funeral. Although it was not a big problem - that record player could only play audio, recorded in monaural format, therefore, if he wanted, Jo could buy himself a normal stereo system (or even switch to compact discs, which were then gaining popularity), but somehow it turned out that with the death of his mother his attraction to music died too, that's why he lived with a nightstand full of vinyl records, which he needed like a dead duck.

Now all this splendour lay on the floor at the knees of a little girl who, without knowing it, opened Jo's "attic of reminiscences". She began to sort through the envelopes with interest.

- Huzzah, I found it! - she shouted joyfully

Mister Thurlow sat down next to Delia and looked at the record cover. It was a photograph of a wheat field with clouds hanging over it. A woman with a red scarf on her head, standing with her back to the viewer, swung a sickle at the ears of corn.

- I'm so happy now! - Delia repeated.

Looking at the genuine joy of his guest, the owner of the house remembered how he got this record. This was six years ago - then his mother was trying to resist the cancer that had almost completely overcome her. Hamish McIntosh, his classmate whose parents had just returned from vacation in Lisbon, For his eighteenth birthday, he gave him an album purchased there from a musical band that was then just gaining popularity. There were fresh memories of how Jo, while his mother was in the hospital, turned up the volume to maximum and turned on the record player. But perhaps the monophonic system could not cope with the stereophonic record, maybe he just wasn't a fan of synthesizer sounds, but other than disappointment from these "electronic squeakers" Jo received nothing then. This record has been collecting dust until today, when it didn't fall into hands moved to this village young fan of the genre, which for mister Thurlow was a mystery behind seven seals.

- Ajussi Jo, I can take this for myself, right? - the little girl asked, unable to contain her joy.
- Of course you can take it, - Jo yawned and, rising from his knees, added. - I see you really want this.
- I just thought what would be best for Jerry, - she said as if making excuses.
- Who is Jerry? - mister Thurlow asked without much interest.
- That's, uh... - Delia's cheeks turned red. - That's boy, with whom I study in the same class.

"Most likely, this is her school sweetheart. Common thing", Jo thought.

- He loves electronic music, - continued the girl. - I made him a promise that I would give him one of these records for his eighth birthday.
- What date is his birthday, may I ask? - Jo already felt interested in talking with this child.
- And if it's my secret, then what? - Delia made a serious face.
- Then I won't pester you with questions about your classmates, - mister Thurlow conceded to his young interlocutor.
- All right, I'll tell you what, - the baby girl said as if she was doing her a favour.

And she told he this. "Hmm", Jo thought, "Delia's boyfriend's birthday falls on that day, when I found out that my mother would never be with me again..." Mister Thurlow, of course, did not tell his young guest anything about this, but he couldn’t help but notice to myself that it can be funny, that chance is a strange thing, because nothing prevents the process of death and birth from happening one after another...

- But you would probably be interested in listening to this record yourself, wouldn’t you? - he said out loud.

The girl's eyes darted around. She jokingly swung a blue and yellow envelope at him.

- What gives you that idea? - she said with cheerful malice.
- It's in those eyes of yours, though, - he answered calmly.

In order not to disturb the atmosphere of fun that hovered in the room, mister Thurlow took the blow with a record packed in an envelope. How fun it was, sitting like that and communicating with the child. Until this moment Jo could afford this except perhaps during those times when he himself was in his childhood years. Looking back, he could say with confidence that it was on that day that he began to treat Delia as something more than just a neighbour...

While Jo & Delia sat on the floor in his office, the girl's mother finished setting the table in the kitchen. Having washed her hands and leaning half a step into the office.

- And on that lovely note, y'all, welcome to the table! - she shouted.

Two voices mixed in response to her invitation:

- Thank you, missis Ivette! - Jo replied.
- Thank you, mommy! - Delia did not remain in debt.

Of all three who were now within the walls of this house, it was its owner who wanted to eat the most. Therefore, he did not hesitate and, getting to his feet, went to the kitchen, where the table was already set, the richness of which struck the imagination of mister Thurlow, who, due to some stinginess, usually ate scrambled eggs and store-bought sandwiches. But what is good for a grown man, for a child... No, not better, rather just the opposite. Perhaps such a definition should not be applied to all children, but as for the young heiress of the Yonce family... While Jo happily devoured what was on the table, the little girl fidgeted in her chair and looked bored, picking at her plate with a fork. Only when it was time to drink tea did she perk up a little and, not depriving herself of sweets, took a couple of eclairs.

- Dearie, you can't eat nothing and indulge in sweets! - missis Yonce took on an educational tone.
- Mom, come on, I'm just... - embarrassed child.

He decided not to interfere in this exchange of words. It seemed to Jo that neighbour would begin to reproach him for the fact that her daughter did not really eat anything. Like, considering how quickly you eat everything, she thought it was better not to snatch the last piece from you and leave everything as it is...

- Mister Thurlow, - a woman turned to him. - Will you walk us to the gate? Otherwise...
- What, that is all? - her daughter interrupted with a hint of obvious irritation.
- Delia! Don't offend the mother! - missis Yonce said with about the same intonation

Jo decided that if the fire of discontent begins to flare up between women, then it is better not to loom under their noses and retreat. He wiped the crumbs stuck to the corners of his mouth and stood up from his chair.

- Oh, finally! - the woman was happy. - Let's go, mister Thurlow, Delia are already complete.

The owner of the house nodded to his adult guest and was about to go out onto the porch, when she suddenly let out a loud "Ah!" and asked where Jo's dirty clothes were. He remembered the telephone conversation that took place this morning between him and his neighbour, after which, slamming the front door, he went to help her pack that very flour-covered suit. The little girl, delighted at the fact that she could stay in this new place for at least a couple of extra minutes, ran to his office.

When the adults finally finished their deeds - just fold the clothes and put them in the previously emptied picnic basket - Delia hasn't left the room yet. Her mother's telling her that it was time for them to leave had no effect on her daughter. Jo, signaling to missis Yonce to wait a little, quietly, as if a hunter, afraid of spooking his prey, entered his own office. There he witnessed Delia, standing at the window, vigorously gesticulating to someone. Mister Thurlow coughed ingratiatingly. Baby girl turned her head towards him - there was no feeling of surprise on her face, rather some kind of businesslike. Jo became curious about what interested her and also stood at the window, which overlooked the back side of his property. Of course there was no one there. Mister Thurlow touched the shoulder of Delia standing in front of him with his index finger. She reluctantly turned away from the window and, lowering her head, went to her mother, who was nervously moving from foot to foot, holding a basket in her hands.

- Can I carry... - Jo decided to show gallantry.
- We'll only get to the wicket, to our house, on our own, - missis Yonce interrupted him

He took the basket from woman's hands and the three of them went out into the yard. Clouds began to creep in on the sun again. Mister Thurlow looked at his dog - he sat quietly at the post, not making a sound. "The girl intimidated him", Jo thought. As they approached the fence, a loud and dissatisfied sniffling reached Jo's ears from the street. Opening the wicket, he almost came face to face with mister Yonce, who, with his hands on his hips, looked at his neighbour with some hatred. However, the sight of his wife and daughter leaving the yard slightly reduced the degree of his displeasure and he, taking the basket from his spouse, walked ahead of his family, giving mister Thurlow a parting look full of suspicion.

Jo, having shouted after the Yonce family the duty "Till we meet again", closed the gate and headed to the post to untie Buffalo. Oddly enough, as soon as the women left the territory, the dog immediately began barking and rushing in all directions. His owner had to make a lot of effort to hold the dog and remove the collar from his neck. As soon as Buffalo felt free, he ran up to the fence and began jumping on it again. Jo, still perplexed by such a dramatic change in his pet's mood, stifled a yawn and, hanging the leash on a nail, walked into the house.

He walked into the kitchen and glanced at the table, on which only dirty plates remained from its former splendour. In any case, he was no longer hungry, so he collected all the dishes and started to wash them in the sink, began to wonder what he should do now. Having finished washing the dishes, he carefully put them in their places and looked at his wristwatch. "Yes, the shops will be closing soon", Jo thought. In order not to meet tomorrow like this (i.e. without food), he went to the store. When mister Thurlow was already returning back with the packages, the sun was already setting. Passing near the neighbours' gate, he again noticed mister Yonce's car near them, which he had last seen yesterday morning. Without trying to make any sense of it, mister Thurlow went into his home and unpacked his groceries. Looking around at the full shelves of the refrigerator, Jo slammed the door and remembered that he had forgotten to put the books and records that had fallen out back.

He entered the office. When his gaze fell on the books and envelopes scattered on the floor, he suddenly felt sad. Jo felt something like loss for the first time in years. In no hurry to start cleaning, he went over the events of the past day in his head. Here he and his young guest come into his office, so he begins to pull books out of the closet, and she opens the nightstand without asking... Here he is in a hurry to the sound of records falling to the floor... And then he allows the little girl to take away a music album that is of no interest to him... Jo ran out of the office - "No, I can't remove the consequences of this, I can't...", he thought in despair.

He ran into the bedroom and buried his face in the pillows. Twenty-four-year-old Jordan Thurlow cried like a child whose strict parents forbade him to communicate with the friend he was interested in. When Jo went to the bathroom, wiping away his tears, he muttered under his breath something like "Delia was right, you, Jo, is big crybaby and you're worthless!". Already standing at the mirror and looking at his reddened eyes, it seemed to him for a second that the outlines of his own face had something in common with the face of his little neighbor. But when he, having washed himself properly, looked at his reflection again, this strange feeling disappeared, as if it had never been there.

Feeling the need for fresh air, mister Thurlow went out into the yard. It was already getting dark. His faithful Buffalo lay quietly in his place, getting ready for the sleep. Jo looked at the home of Yonce family. Despite the late hour, only one window on the first floor was light. Mister Thurlow couldn't know how the neighbours arranged their rooms, but he remembered that when old man Harris Sherwind lived in this house, the chants of his drunken drinking companions were constantly heard from that window. "So this was the living or dining room", Jo thought. Perhaps the new owners saved electricity and in the evenings turned on the lights only where three of them could gather, and in their personal rooms they made do with small lamps...

Mister Thurlow couldn't be sure - after all, this is never the ultimate truth, just his guesses... He suddenly remembered his very first meeting with Delia, when he stood on the other side of the fence and she looked at him from the second floor window. No, Jo thought, his guess about saving light was complete nonsense, because at that moment (when according to the clock it was no later than now) the light was definitely on in the nursery... At the same time, he dismissed the idea that Delia was probably now outside the walls of her home. There is, of course, a possibility that she was taken to some relatives who lived in the center, but he had some doubts about this.

The next morning, Jo opened his eyes and stared at the chandelier hanging from the bedroom ceiling. The glass saucer had a pattern painted in blue, the details of which seemed to depict some kind of birds. For some reason, contemplating this pattern made mister Thurlow fall into a state close to a trance. Looking steadily at this creation of an unknown decorator, he recalled that the sky was in similar colours on the cover of the record that Delia took yesterday. Shaking the disease, Jo started getting dressed. Remembering that the girl was going to give that record to her classmate for his birthday, he thought that, after all, the fate of things can sometimes be very funny - at first, the envelope with this album came from the factory to some music store in Lisbon, then he moved to the living room of parents of Hamish McIntosh - his own classmate. And even in Portland the cycle hasn't ended, because first, after lying at that guy’s house, the record fell into his, Jo’s, hands. Now it is in the power of a girl living in a neighboring house, and then the album will travel again, only now to the house of a certain Jerry, who, as mister Thurlow realized, lives somewhere in the center...

When his brain has already digested this stream of thoughts, Jo was already standing in the kitchen, washed and dressed. Opening the refrigerator, he thanked himself for not forgetting to go grocery shopping in advance yesterday. Looking at how the eggs were placed in the cardboard, for some reason he could not help but notice how ingeniously but simply the packaging was designed. Having stopped turning them over in his hands, he suddenly remembered the cookies that Japhet had treated him to not so long ago... After placing the eggs on the table, mister Thurlow began to look for a mixer. Alas, he was in terrible condition - where the wire connected to the device itself, the insulation seemed to be charred. Jo decided not to plug it in, fearing that he might get an electric shock, and, putting the mixer back in the cabinet, began to think about how he could beat the eggs - after all, he cannot make shortbread dough without breaking eggs...

And then mister Thurlow, inspired by yesterday's show of concern on the part of missis Yonce, let out a joyful exclamation - what if he asked them for their mixer for an hour or two?! If she agreed to wash his things, then what’s wrong with not lending her neighbour a cooking appliance? Hastily, as if trying not to fly into heaven with happiness, Jo dialed their phone number and, pressing the receiver to his ear, waited patiently for the person on the other end to come to the machine. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long for an answer - a minute later he heard the slightly sleepy voice of missis Yonce:

- Hi, I'm listening.
- Hello, did I bother you, missis Ivette? - Jo said a little too cheerfully.
- It's okay, we're already up. What do you want, mister Thurlow?
- I decided to start baking, - he said.
- Oh, this is just wonderful! - unexpectedly his interlocutor let out a joyful exclamation. - What are you going to cook for us?
- For us? - he was taken aback by her question.
- Well, aren’t you going to give Delia and me a treat?
- No, of course, - mister Thurlow answered politely, who was already beginning to regret that he had decided to call them.
- That is great. So what will you bake?
- Shortbread. But the thing is...
- Wow, we love shortbread!
- Missis Ivette, you didn't listen to me. I wanted to ask you one thing
- Don't have a recipe? If you want, I can right now...
- I need a mixer, - Jo is already tired of talking to her.
- Okay, mister Thurlow, I'll send Delia to you. She was going to go for a walk anyway, so let her help you, give you...
- Thank you, miss Ivette, - he interrupted her. - When should I go outside?
- In ten minutes. We'll wash and get dressed, - said the woman, as if I was coddling a baby.
- Well, Goodbye.

He heard that Portuguese interjection again and hung up. Sitting down in a chair to catch his breath, he imagined himself as some kind of six-year-old blockhead, whose mother, without delving into the feelings of her son, is trying to force him to be a friend of a boy with "good and exemplary behavior". Jo felt like fate was playing a cruel joke on him - why didn’t he suffer a little and go to town for a new mixer, who dared him to call these obsessive Yonces? Mister Thurlow wanted to punch that invisible and powerful being who was pulling his strings in the face, but common sense told him that this was in no way possible to realize, because the fate of a human is decided by the human himself...

Jo went out into the yard in advance so that when the little girl came to the wicket, he would not make her wait several minutes (as happened yesterday). He called Buffalo and wanted to put the collar on him again, but, remembering that Delia would not come to him, he limited himself to patting the dog on the back. Then mister Thurlow sat down on the cold stone steps of the porch. Maybe it wasn't a very smart decision - he remembered how his mother told him as a child that he should not sit on a rock - but he wanted to quickly finish with this task imposed by himself.

When he heard quick footsteps on the other side of the fence, Jo immediately rose from his seat and walked to the wicket. Buffalo did not move from his place, continuing to sit at the post. Mister Thurlow opened the wicket and saw his young neighbour. In her right hand she was holding a package containing a cardboard box. Jo wanted to just take the mixer from her hands, but Delia, without saying a word, decisively stepped over the threshold. He looked after baby girl in bewilderment and followed her. They went into the kitchen, where the young lady put a bag on the table and asked the owner of the house if she could wash her hands. Jo said that since she came into his house as if it were her own, then let her do everything as she sees fit. She thanked him with a smile and went to the bathroom. Mister Thurlow decided not to embarrass the child and went out into the yard, mentally trying to understand her behavior.

He stood and looked at the dog. After a couple of minutes, he suddenly shuddered and turned around - it turns out that Delia had quietly crept up behind him and lightly shoved him in the back. He watched as she laughed at her prank and did not scold her.

- Well, apparently they've been waiting for you at home... - he said with a sigh.
- They let me go for a walk, you heard what mom said, - the girl answered, blinking twice.
- But my home is not a place for walking, - mister Thurlow rightly noted.
- So let's go outside, ajussi Jo! - the baby said cheerfully.

And she, bursting into laughter, ran to the wicket. Jo, not fully understanding her intentions, followed her.

- Gotta go fast! - Delia shouted as she walked.

- Sorry again, mister Jordan Thurlow, - inspector Galbraith interrupted the prisoner for the second time. - From now on, I would like you to give only the main points of your story regarding Delia Yonce and her family.
- All right, as you will, - Jo agreed. - To be honest, I'm tired tame the tongue.

***

In general, as soon as Delia once visited the house of her neighbor, Jordan Thurlow, she became his frequent guest. For the last half of the summer and all of September, she, with or without her mother, visited Jo on any occasion, clearly reveling in every minute of her visits. What did they not do... Basically, she simply had intimate conversations with the owner of the house, who knew how to listen to her, and often sat next to her when he read books from his library aloud to her, and sometimes spent time in the kitchen helping Jo (and mother, in cases when she honored this house with her visit) cook according to recipes that he asked his friend and colleague Japhet over the phone.

Mister Thurlow was on good terms with missis Ivette Yonce herself, they got along well and told each other a lot. Pretty soon Jo found out exactly how his new neighbors met. As Ivette told him, she, being the daughter of a farmer (who at one time moved from Aveiro to New York), at twenty-two married her college friend, but alas, her first marriage was unhappy - mister Cynader, who not only was her peer, was also extremely capricious and picky in character. While married to him, Ivette constantly heard obsessive requests from him so that she would discard all romantic illusions and give birth to an heir as quickly as possible. To this, the then missis Cynader invariably answered him that the decision to give birth is primarily the woman’s initiative, and if her husband really wants to have a child, then let him first devote himself to more serious activities than golf in the company of drunk friends. But this was not the only matter, Ivette had problems with pregnancy - in the two years she spent married to this man, she had two miscarriages, which also did not benefit their union. In the end it all ended with mister Cynader divorcing her, which put her in a very disadvantageous position - in fact, Yvette had nowhere to go, her father-farmer did not want to house an adult woman who was already an independent person in the full sense of the word.

Out of grief, Ivette went to a certain spa in Verona, where she met her (then still future) second husband - mister Yonce, who treated his bronchi there. They mutually fell in love with each other at first sight, meeting for the first time in the hall near the fountain. The fact that he was twenty years older than her was not a hindrance. Next day, when it was lunch hour, the pharmaceutist sat next to her as she sat alone at the table. After talking about life, the two of them went to the spa's garden, where Ivette gave mister Yonce an apple, which he, having taken from her hands, began to eat, but immediately threw it on the ground, because it turned out to be wormy. Taking advantage of a man's confusion, the woman rushed to him and kissed him right there, under the tree, after which she rushed out of the garden to let the pharmaceutist know that he would take further actions himself. And mister Yonce did not hesitate - when the next day there was dancing at the sanatorium, he invited Ivette to tango and after several circles they began to order alcoholic cocktails. As a result, this resulted in the fact that, being in a tipsy state, the woman decided to take the pharmaceutist to her room, where, without unnecessary foreplay, they immediately fell on the bed and gave vent to their feelings...

The next morning, waking up in the same bed, mister Yonce in the heat of love told Ivette that he wanted to leave the sanatorium with her immediately, so that they could live together, to which she agreed without further ado. However, the pharmaceutist was in no hurry to marry her - as a result, they lived for a long time in his apartment in New York just as roommates. When her lover was missing at work, Yvette, having nothing better to do, read the books he kept at home. She was impressed by the work of a certain B. Taggert, which, in fact, gave the expectant mother an idea of what to name her child.

Ivette found out quite quickly that she was having a girl - medical ultrasonography, which she did two months after meeting the pharmacist, made it clear that that night spent in the Verona's spa was not in vain. Out of curiosity, she decided to play with her lover in game "Guess What I'll Name Our Baby", but after the pharmaceutist's futile attempts, Ivette opened up to him, that their daughter will be named Delia, because according to the book by B. Taggert this name means "always visible", which will bring good luck to their heiress. Ivette remembered that when mister Yonce heard this, he walked around for several days in deep confusion, the reason for which he never revealed to her. When Jo heard it from her lips, he thought that apparently the point was that the pharmacist had always dreamed of a son, but he did not tell his interlocutor anything about his guesses.

Be that as it may, it was the fact of Delia's conception that became the impetus for the further rapprochement of Ivette and mister Yonce - ten days before the birth of the heiress, the latter took care of obtaining a marriage license, and when the girl was finally born (and it was in the morning), pharmaceutist, upon leaving the maternity hospital, immediately took the happy young mother to his close friend, where a special person who arrived there held a marriage registration ceremony, after which the newlyweds of different ages began to live a happy family life. Ivette didn’t tell Jo why, after eight years, the whole family decided to move from New York to Portland. Based on her hints, he assumed that there was something more serious behind this than the baby’s complaints about life in a small apartment, but, be that as it may, he decided not to go into this topic.

But mister Thurlow talked not only with missis Yonce herself. He was also very interested in communicating with her little daughter. They were so good with each other, that when Jo had to travel to the center for work - usually for five days, but sometimes for a week - then the young heiress of the Yonce family immediately deteriorated, and the little one fell into a state that could be roughly described as a mixture of boredom and sadness (she was still far from depression). At such moments, she seemed to be locked inside herself, nothing brought her pleasure, and to her parents’ attempts to try to make her laugh, she responded only with a look in which a certain reproach was felt. Even her usual love for sweets faded at such moments, no matter what they offer her - ice cream, cake or fruit - little girl, without saying a word, pushed the plates away or shied away from the hands helpfully extended to her...

Only school, which started in September, began to bring her joy and pleasure in those moments when her neighbour was not at home - Apparently, it was due to the fact that the elementary school where she studied was located in the same area where mister Thurlow worked. They did not intersect at such moments for obvious reasons, and it was mutual consent - neither Jo went to school, nor Delia ran to him from classes - but it seemed that the fields of waves emanating from them intersected in this place. As for the school affairs of the young heiress of the Yonce family, she, contrary to Jo's suspicions, was not a bully - Delia had the fortitude to stand up for herself at some points, but she herself never got into a fight and she never - do you understand? - never occurred to bully her peers. It happened that, having witnessed bullying, the girl immediately came to victim's defense and it even happened that the hooligans later asked her forgiveness for unworthy actions, but none of those who knew her could describe her as an damned wretch.

She didn't have many friends - if Delia were asked who she was friendly with among her classmates, then she, after a little thought, would single out two girls, daughters of people who worked with her father. Both of her friends were six months older than her, and by nature they were somewhat arrogant excellent students who put themselves a little higher than herself. At first, Delia didn’t even pay much attention to them, but when she one day saw how a boy from another class called them bad words, she reprimanded him, involuntarily aroused respect on their part (most likely, it was simply beneficial for them to have such a girl as a girlfriend who would protect them). And if anyone had asked who she had warm feelings for, Delia would have blushed and pointed her finger at the boy with golden curly hair who invariably sat closer to the teacher's desk.

This boy was the same Jerry, born Jerome, the son of Taylor Myron, one of the richest listing brokers in Portland. The parents decided to send the boy to the school they themselves went to as a child, although in terms of status it would be more appropriate for him to study at an institution with a higher reputation, but what could he do, the will of his parents is adamant... At this school, Jerry Myron felt much like a prince disguised as a pauper - he looked down on his classmates, tried to stay away from everyone, and when other boys tried to offer him friendship, he looked at them with an arrogant look. It is not surprising that he often became the cause of fights in class, when the most hooligan boys got tired of this untainted angel and tried to take out their childhood anger on him. Tried - because the young heiress of the Yonce family, who, as was already known, always stood up for the weak, took Jerry under her, shall we say, protection from the very first day. True, on those days when, for family reasons, she was absent from classes, the hooligans seemed to break loose and, trying not to catch the eyes of the teachers, beat up her love interest during breaks...

In general, Jerome Myron, who at school was a direct target for other people's insults, was dear to Delia. She could not say for what qualities she fell in love with him, but she was always pleased to realize that she could be useful to this golden-haired boy. Most of her thoughts related to school closely intersected with Jerry's personality. His name was something intimate to her, and whenever she had to talk about his identity, her cheeks turned red and her breathing became ragged.

Alas, the feeling was far from mutual - the culprit of her love torments was, how should I put it, not particularly delighted with this. Jerry, of course, did not quarrel with the girl who protected him from the attacks of other boys, but he didn’t reciprocate her in any special way - personally, he liked another girl much more who was in the same class, Tessie Parillo - daughter of a certain bookseller. She was a tall blonde, who, like Jerry himself, despised others and kept herself apart from everyone

Actually, it was precisely because of this nature of his passion that the boy could not make friends with her - it was as useful as starting a relationship with your reflection in the mirror. So little Myron, secretly sighing for the young lady Parillo, was friends with this dark-haired gal, whose face for some reason made him associate with a Chihuahua. Jerry had never said something like that out loud - both in conversation with everyone else and with the young heiress of the Yonce family herself - but it was clear from his eyes that he was forcibly tolerating this girl, from whom he had only one benefit, protection from bullies.

Be that as it may, Delia was head over heels in love with this boy, and she took advantage of any opportunity to cross paths with the listing broker's son. For example, one day she and her father went into a grocery store, where, by a happy coincidence, Jerry himself was with his mother, Miriam Myron. Seeing him, the girl immediately rushed to the boy with joy and, taking his hand, said that she wanted to go with him to La Boutique Fantasque. Luckily for her, young Myron did not resist her, and the children left the store, followed by the surprised glances of their parents. Delia led him into the shop where they were met by an old man who somehow reminded the girl of Einstein, only without a moustache, he was wearing a white shirt and a black leather vest. He had something to show his little visitors - At first, the children looked at small toy animals that danced the tarantella, and then the owner of the shop showed them a table on which a toy train rode by itself.

Delia and Jerome stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing wide-eyed at the wonders of La juguetería fantástica. When the self-propelled toy train made a couple of circles, the girl took advantage of the moment and quietly took the boy’s hand in hers, squeezing it with all her might - from excitement her palm was very hot and sticky with sweat. Perhaps that is why Jerry suddenly broke free and ran out of this shop without a word. Baby girl looked after him with tears in her eyes, while the old owner grunts something displeasedly at the listing broker's ill-mannered son. The girl returned to the grocery store, where at that time her father was arguing with Miriam Myron about the fact that he allegedly allows his daughter to just take and take other people's children to an unknown place. At the sight of young Lady Yonce, the Jerry's mother calmed down a little and, without even sparing a glance at the girl, she took her son by the arm and went home, while mister Yonce quietly scolded Delia, who silently looked after Jerry...

But one time the golden-haired object of her unrequited love did Delia a favour. It was mid-September when his parents took their son to their summer cottage for a few days, which, by a happy coincidence, was located not far from the home of the Yonce family. Jerry did not notify his classmate about this, but Delia, accidentally seeing him at the market - where she was shopping with her mother at that moment - hardly hiding her joy, she asked the boy about what fate he had ended up here. At that moment, Jerry, languishing with melancholy in a country setting he didn’t like, decided to brighten up his loneliness a little and without hiding told her the address where the Myron family’s summer cottage was located, and also the time at which he will wait for him. Delia then couldn't sleep a wink all night, thinking about how she would meet Jerry. And so, when the time came to leave the house in order to arrive at the right time, she ran there without any second thoughts, almost glowing with happiness. However, when the girl was already there, there was not a soul in the Myron's cottage - cunning Jerry, who wanted to laugh at a naive girl, specially arranged a date with her for that day and hour when he and his parents were already driving in the car on the way home to the center.

But Delia never found out about this trick. On the contrary, she got into her head the obsessive idea that this was her own fault, as if she herself had missed out on her happiness. When her father brought her to school the next day, she met Jerry in the hallway before class, walked up to him and, with downcast eyes, said to him sadly "I'm sorry.". The boy was surprised by her unexpectedly meek reaction, but without showing it, he played along with her state, saying "It's I who should be sorry" and ran to class. That day, Delia, without responding to her friends’ greetings, sat through all the lessons in the same position, and even when Charles Pevec, the most rowdy-dowdy boy in her class, apparently inspired by her condition, snatched the pen from her hands and was about to throw it in the trash can, the girl remained sitting in place, only raising her eyes, red from tears, to the bully. The young Pevec was confused and, after standing indecisively by the trash can, he walked up to Delia and put her pen next to her books...

When, while visiting mister Thurlow, Delia shared this story with him - of course, without knowing the true state of affairs on Jerry's part - her interlocutor was somewhat amazed that this girl, whose whole nature seemed to be filled with the energy of life, could feel such a complex of guilt because of some mere trifle. Jo tried to calm the girl down by reading her a poem by some author with the strange surname Blok - something about an accordion and buttercups - but the baby girl, shouting to him "I'm going out the play", ran to her home, not wanting to show neighbour her tears, which by that time were already filling her up from the inside. Both she and Jo were sad that day, only if her sadness was caused by impressions from a failed date, then her adult friend’s was caused by her reaction to his attempts to somehow calm her down. For two days Delia did not go to her neighbour, being in a depressed state, but on the third day the girl perked up and again visited mister Thurlow, who, however, at that time was keen on reading a certain book, which made it seem to his young guest that he was not particularly pleased with her visit. To entertain the child a little, Jo first in front of her eyes burned that book, which didn't contain anything smart, and then invited the girl to go visit his friend Japhet, to which she agreed without further ado.

From the fourth floor apartment where Jo's colleague lived, the young heiress of the Yonce family brought back pleasant memories - firstly, Japh, who knew how to cook for real (unlike mister Thurlow who trying to imitate him), threw a feast for her stomach, upon arrival, he treated her to baked lamb shoulder and stewed beans on the way back. Secondly, Delia listened with great pleasure to a fairy tale from the old collection "Fables of My Father Swan", which the owner of the apartment read out loud, since the girl herself was too lazy to read herself, and besides, she just liked to sit in his cabinet and listen to his pleasant voice, while not forgetting to comment on what she heard. At the very beginning of this literary reading, the girl even allowed herself to be indignant that the author did not explain the name of the main character, to which Japhet stunned her with the answer, the essence of which was that her own name did not mean “always visible”, as her mother told her from early childhood, but was the name of the island where, according to ancient Greek myths, the Greek goddess Artemis was born.

Having learned about this, the young heiress of the Yonce family then felt as if wave of truth extinguished the fire of falsehood, which she was not slow in admitting to her adult interlocutors. Then mister Thurlow said with a smile that she had a good vocabulary, and some kind of light flashed in Japh's eyes, hidden behind the thick lenses of his glasses. This moment might have seemed unworthy of attention to the girl, if not for what followed next. When Japhet finished reading the fairy tale and the three of them went to eat beans, at the table he pulled out a notebook, where he wrote down this random remark from Delia from memory, slightly paraphrasing it. The girl then inquired why he needed it, to which she received the answer that it was needed for his research concerning Americans bearing Greek names. Baby girl considered this explanation complete nonsense, gave up on the matter and, deciding that it was time for her to go home, went to get dressed.

As Delia and her adult companion approached her family's home, the girl, who had previously been walking behind Jo, suddenly rushed towards him and, grabbing his hand, pulled him strongly to the side. He, trying not to fall to the ground, grabbed the fence with his free hand, accidentally driving a thin sliver of wood into his hand. The little girl opened the gate with a laugh and disappeared into the yard, and mister Thurlow, trying to remove a splinter that had gotten into his finger with his teeth, was stunned to catch with his ears the sounds of her footsteps coming from behind the fence. When the front door of the Yonce's house finally closed, he sighed and raised his head - it was dark in the window of her room...

- I hope you don't mind, - the prisoner took a break. - If from now on I return to a detailed description of the events that happened to me?
- Well, you go right ahead, - mister inspector Galbraith nodded understandingly.

***

The day after he and Delia returned from Japhet, Jo was awakened by a phone call. He, having forgotten about getting dressed and washed, walked up to the telephone as he was and put the receiver to his ear. It was his neighbour, missis Yonce herself. He, as if fighting with the feeling of dissatisfaction that overwhelmed her, notified mister Thurlow that while washing her daughter's underwear, she noticed something strange and therefore in the afternoon she would take her daughter into town on business. Then she took a short pause, apparently waiting for Jo's answer, but he could not find anything in response to these words. In a breaking voice, Ivette added that mister Thurlow was very lucky that her spouse and Delia's father was at work at the center at that time. Jo's internal organs appeared to be filled with liquid nitrogen. He felt that above him, like above Damocles - the favourite of the Syracusan tyrant - was hanging the sharpest sword of justice, which threatened to fall down and cut his unfortunate head into two halves...

He continued to hold the receiver to his ear, although only beeps could be heard from it. Finally, having mastered his numb limbs, he dropped it next to the telephone and, feeling the ground disappearing from under his feet, managed to grab the table top with his hands. In such a pose, vaguely similar to the figure of a son from a famous painting by Rembrandt, Jo spent, according to personal feelings, no less than two hours. Then he stood up and, feeling that he needed fresh air, almost ran out into the street. Thank God that not a single member of the Yonce family caught his eye...

Standing near his gate and turning his head from side to side, mister Thurlow was convinced that it was still possible to walk calmly on this earth. And he, still feeling the cold in his back, decided to walk to the store. No, not for the sake of shopping, but in order to, in an environment where there are a lot of people, try to get rid of the loneliness that tightens his soul. Trying not to break into a run, Jo directed his steps to where the entire population of the Parkrose Neighborhood was purchasing essential goods. Having reached the first tents under which fresh fruit was sold, he suddenly heard his name. It turns out that two old women, who at that time were taking red apples from the merchant, were engaged in a lively dialogue with each other. Mister Thurlow tried to stand behind the awning so that they could not see him and strained his ears.

- You know, Patricia, I have a suspicion that this scoundrel Jordan obviously did something to the pharmaceutist's daughter, - the old woman with a white scarf on her head spoke, muttering her lips.
- What makes you think that, Elsebeth? - her younger friend asked.
- Because I just met Ivette this morning, - exclaimed the interlocutor. - She was as pale as death!
- Oh, the poor... They were connected with what?
- Well, she said that she asked her daughter to put on new drawers and, while taking her old underwear to wash, she noticed that they were red with blood.
- What, has the baby started her period? At eight years old?
- Ivette couldn’t believe her eyes, and forgetting about the laundry, rushed at the girl with questions. And she told her that yesterday she visited certain ajussi Jo and ajussi Japh.
- Two murderers... My God... They should sit together!
- The pharmaceutist's wife has the same opinion. I barely persuaded Ivette to go and get checked by a doctor before calling the police.
- So what's next?
- She went home after that. Maybe she really did that, or maybe she couldn’t stand it and unleashed police bloodhounds on the b******s
- Dear God!

Patricia - old lady who was younger - noticed hiding Jo and started screaming. He immediately rushed as fast as he could away from the shops, hearing the words "Ordinary, scabby, pitiful fiend!" flying after him. That's it, he thought, goodbye freedom... And at the same time he asked himself the question of what was happening. He never committed any lewd acts with Delia, avoided kisses and did not even embrace her, and here on you... There is clearly something wrong here, he thought, being already halfway to the house. Meanwhile, clouds began to gather in the sky. Without slowing down, mister Thurlow glanced at the far ahead clearing full of tall grass. It was already the end of September, and now the previously green ocean of plants was coloured in shades of yellow and orange. Thick clouds that had already filled the sky with might and main created a very interesting conjunction.

And then Jo remembered what the landscape spread out before him looked like - the nature of his native village was almost completely a living embodiment of the cover of the very record that he gave to his young neighbour back in August... He remembered her story about how she gave the record to Jerry, and he supposedly responded to her gift with only "Thank you", but deep down Jo felt that Delia, in telling him about this incident, was simply limiting herself to only the first half of what actually happened - at the same time, she didn’t lie, but she didn’t fully tell the truth either. Returning his thoughts to the present, he began to think that if he could trust the words of those two old gossips, then when interrogated by her mother, Delia also did not denigrate him and Japhet. All the same for her reverent parents - for the father in particular - one fact that their little daughter was in the company of two adult men in an unfamiliar apartment, was reason enough to hand Jo over to the court butchers, who will pass his mortal body through the knives of the bureaucratic meat grinder. Honestly, it would be better if they killed him right there on the spot than subjected him to such torture - death is clearly more desirable than such a life...

But even saying these words to himself, mister Thurlow was still afraid. He was afraid that Delia’s furious father would open his skull with his powerful hands, and the fact that under police escort he will be taken to dark and damp dungeons, where he will have to rot until the end of time. Is it really all because of certain gal, the daughter of a paltry medicine seller? Not that this solved anything in the real state of affairs, but Jo could not help but be offended by the fate that brought him, distant relative and descendant of one of the most influential figures of the former (and extremely short-lived) Saorstát Éireann, to the scaffold because of the daughter of some American. When Jo approached his house, the first drops of rain had already begun to fall on the street.

Rejoicing at how well he had timed his walk, mister Thurlow, without even bothering to check that he had closed the wicket properly, entered the house and followed to the kitchen. From the feeling of threat that still did not want to retreat, he did not feel like eating at all, but he tried to find a bottle with some kind of drink - he just wanted to drown out his fear with alcohol, even the most terrible one imaginable. Alas, there was not a drop of this substance at home, except for the flask, at the bottom of which there was just a little pure ninety percent alcohol - this amount barely fit on the teaspoon into which Jo shook out the contents of the flask. He put the teaspoon containing the contents into his mouth and exhaled. His throat felt a slight burning sensation, the disgusting bitter taste made him wrinkle his face, but he could not achieve the desired intoxication.

It’s a shame he didn’t buy a bottle of something strong when he went for a walk. In any case, he had to live in freedom, God willing, until tomorrow morning, for a premonition told him that this would not end the matter, and the return of mister Yonce will only worsen his already unenviable position. Jo did not know what to do with himself at this time. He couldn't get even a little drunk, and he couldn’t try to do anything without this doping - the fear was eating him up from the inside. Therefore, mister Thurlow, standing a little near the window (behind which it was already raining), closed the curtains and went into the bedroom, where, without undressing, he immediately climbed under the blanket. He fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.

He had a dream that he, while still a very small boy, went hunting with his cousin into the forest. A piebald dog of some hunting breed was running behind them. The weather this morning was cloudy, but there was no rain yet, as well as the sun, which had not yet risen. He asked his cousin why they went so early. The grown man looked at the boy and replied something like "The ducks haven't woken up yet, so it will be easier to shoot them". Little Jo wanted to ask one more question, but then the piebald dog, bursting into barking, rushed forward into the impassable thicket. The expression of complacency immediately disappeared from his cousin's face - it was replaced by the tense expression of a professional hunter who has already smelled the game and is trying not to scare it. The man rushed forward after his dog, holding his hunting rifle at the ready. The boy, who was openly pinched by the heavy boots, could not run after his adult companion in the same way, so little Jo, trying not to slip on the mud, trotted after his cousin. And then a shot rang out. A man was shooting somewhere in the thicket, his piebald dog was squealing wildly. The boy wanted to cover his ears, but his hands seemed to not obey him. And his cousin, to the accompaniment of an increasingly heart-rending dog, continued to send shots there, into the thorny branches of the thicket...

Jo shuddered and immediately raised his head from the pillows. The dog's heart-rending screams continued to ring in his ears, but these were not echoes of the dream he had just seen - sounds came from the street. Mister Thurlow, covered in sweat, swung his feet off the bed and, pulling on his slippers, ran out into the yard. The rain, which began in the afternoon, had already turned into a real downpour by nightfall. But Jo, already standing on the porch, did not pay attention to the heavy streams of water that lashed him all over his body. All his attention was occupied by the wild picture that opened before his eyes - near the wicket, which was wide open, stood huge man with a bowler hat on his head. He had a pistol in his hands, which he pointed at poor Buffalo. When mister Thurlow went outside, the dog didn't even whine anymore - an angry man shot him in the throat five times. And when he lifted his head from Buffalo to Jo, the owner of this yard, continuing to stand on the porch, let out a heart-rending scream. It was a cry in which fear, pain of loss and wild, all-consuming hatred for the one who was now standing at the wicket were mixed together...

What happened next, mister Thurlow practically couldn’t remember. Only fragments, as if in a delusional dream, remained in his memory moments how he then, already soaked through in the rain, rushed towards the killer with his bare fists, how the latter knocked Jo to the ground next to the dead dog with a strong blow to the chest and began to inflict powerful kicks on him with the fury of a wild animal. Then everything around sparkled with blue and red lights, he heard the howl of sirens. Mister Thurlow remembers how, covered in mud, he was grabbed by two men in uniform and thrown like a sack of flour into the back of a truck.

And then, no longer in the darkness and not in the dirt, but in a spacious courtroom, he stood and, with his head down, listened to the verdict, according to which he was destined to spend eighteen long years in a maximum security colony. With eyes that seemed to be covered with a veil, he looked around at the people gathered at that moment. Not finding among those gathered the one who started it all, his attention was distracted by the scream of his friend Japhet, who stood up and extended his hand forward - apparently pointing at one of the respected members of the trial - angrily recited "Some fiends eats other fiends! What a great thing to be doing when y'all don't have a humaneness!", after which he suddenly grabbed his heart with his other hand and silently fell to the floor, and then the guards grabbed him by the arms like a sack of potatoes and dragged him out of the courtroom...

***

- Anyway, that's all, mister inspector, - exhaling, Jo completed his narration. - You are unlikely to be interested in how I began to do time in these stinking walls?
- Well, well...

The prisoner and the policeman sat silently opposite each other. Mister Thurlow, who wanted to stretch his legs after sitting for a long time, was about to get up, but then his interlocutor raised his hand.

- Wait, Jordan Thurlow, our meeting isn't over yet.
- What's the matter, mister inspector?

Jo asked him in the tone in which a little boy is trying to get an answer from his strict father about why he can’t go for a walk.

- You told me your half of the story, and I want to tell you mine, - mister Galbraith answered almost solemnly
- What, is it really possible that this family, through whose fault I am here rotting alive, still any incidents happening?
- You get the point right, Jordan. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Sit down.

And mister Thurlow sat down on a hard wooden chair. A spark of curiosity began to light up inside him. He suddenly became very interested in what this strong-willed man with a military bearing would tell him now. Who knows, what if... Jo tried to think about Delia as little as possible, but at that moment her small figure was resurrected before his mind's eye. He, trying to cope with the excitement that was bursting through him, answered his interlocutor:

- I'm all ears, mister inspector...

When mister inspector finally told the prisoner his long narration - starting with the incident with the grocery store's pickpeanut and ending with his last conversation in the office of the mister chief inspector Schaeymoure, Galbraith wiped the sweat from his forehead and licked his dry lips. The prisoner was still sitting opposite him on his uncomfortable wooden chair, with his hands folded in front of him. Feeling the expectant gaze of mister inspector on himself, Jordan shuddered all over and raised his right hand to his deathly pale face.

- What's wrong, aren't you feeling very well? - Galbraith asked with sympathy.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Jo sniffed and inhaled noisily. The inspector felt a little uneasy at the sight of the crying criminal, and he involuntarily turned his gaze to the surface of the table at which they had been sitting all this time. At the same time, he wondered what in his story could upset this twenty-six-year-old man so much.

- Delia... - Jordan's whisper reached his ears.

"Well yes, exactly", thought Galbraith, "It's all because of the girl, the same one who landed him behind bars". With this thought, mister inspector again raised his head to his interlocutor.

- I see, - he began, - that some parts of my story upset you. Sorry for this, but these are facts.

Speaking these words, the inspector mentally reproached himself "How can you, a policeman, stoop to the point of apologizing to a criminal?"

- The truth hurts, I know, - Jordan muttered quietly, blowing his nose into his sleeve.
- I really don't like this state of affairs myself, - Galbraith continued. - But you can rest assured...

Mister inspector suddenly interrupted his speech - he thought it would be very strange if the policeman gave the child molester a promise to bring justice to the child murderer. But the first words of this speech had an effect on the interlocutor - Jo suddenly stopped sniffling and fixed his eyes, red and wet with tears, on Galbraith.

- You will do your best to, - he said with anguish. - So that the child's soul can be avenged?
- I wonder at you... - the inspector began, but the prisoner did not let him finish.
- I want Delia not to feel abandoned in the next world. Do you understand me, mister inspector?

Having blurted out these words in despair, Jo then dropped his head into his hands - this plea clearly exhausted him. Galbraith continued to sit silently in his chair, not knowing what to answer to his interlocutor. A minute passed, but Jordan showed no signs of life, and Galbraith thought that the prisoner had fallen asleep. The inspector rose from the table, preparing to leave the interrogation room, but as soon as he took a few steps from the table, Jo suddenly opened his eyelids and, with a quiet groan, grabbed his chest with his hand. When Galbraith quickly walked to the door, which was just behind mister Thurlow, and, throwing it open, came face to face with a grim policeman holding a rubber baton - it was a guard who was assigned to monitor what was happening. The inspector immediately turned to him:

- Take this man back!

Clumsy and elderly man gave the inspector some kind of mocking glare:

- I hope mister did not die of boredom, listening to the cruel excuses of this vile p... - he began.
- Joke me here! - inspector threatened him with his finger and quickly left that boring room.

Guard, muttering under his breath "These are what the nerves need to listen...", slowly walked up to the chair behind which mister Thurlow was sitting, and, tensed slightly, grabbed him by the shoulders with both hands. Jo, whose eyes were feverishly rolling in their sockets, tried to instinctively throw off the fingers that grabbed him, but the guard, with incredible agility for his size, tore the prisoner from the chair and led him back to the cell.

The supervisor, standing next to the door leading to the cell, opened it for the guard, who pushed mister Thurlow inside. A couple of moments later, the heavy steel door slammed shut, and the sound of the heavy steps of both servant of the order died down in the corridor. Now this man was securely cut off from the other people. But twenty-six-year-old Jordan Thurlow no longer cared about what was happening in this world. He continued to lie on the floor in an uncomfortable position, staring blankly at the wall. It was unbearably stuffy in the cell, so he automatically opened his mouth wider in order to inhale at least a little air.

Little by little Jo lost track of where he was, and then suddenly the cheerful cries of children reached his ears. He hardly opened his eyes and was stunned in silent amazement - around him there was a grass-covered hillock. The midday sun was shining above his head, the birds were singing cheerfully, and ripe orange fruits hung from the branches of the apricot tree under which he lay. Getting to his feet, Jo slowly - as if every step he took was an unbearable burden for him - wandered to the side where the excited hubbub of kids could be heard. After a few steps he involuntarily stopped. What he saw shocked him to the core.

Along a well-trodden path straight towards him was approaching a small procession of five people. Ahead of all walked, moving her long legs wide in red shoes, young black-haired woman with bob hairstyle - her cream-coloured corduroy dress gave her figure a slightly pompous seriousness, making her look like a primary school teacher. Behind her, like a brood of little ducklings, walked four kids - two boys and two girls. They were barefoot and dressed in colourful dresses, pants and shirts. The children, judging by their pretty faces, were between seven and ten years old, no more. The boys, squinting at the bright sun, stayed a little behind, the girls, on the contrary, rushed forward and, cheerfully exchanging glances at each other, constantly tried to overtake their adult mentor.

- Mother Jo, look at apricots! - came a loud, high-pitched voice.

It was shouted by a younger boy who was walking at the very end of the procession. Stretching out his thin hand, he pointed straight at Jordan standing by the tree. He felt a little awkward - it was shameless all the kids started looking at him. The woman stopped and, turning her head in the same direction where the children were looking, smiled.

- Mother Jo, can we eat them? - asked another voice, more softer.

This question was asked by a girl in a yellow dress. "Curious, Jo - it's short for Josephine?", thought Jordan...

- Of course, my children, - said the black-haired woman and smiled even wider. - You can pick these fruits as much as you like.

After her words, the children, all as one, rushed to the tree. Jo, trembling all over, stepped back.

- But please, be reasonable! - the woman, remaining standing on the road, made a serious face and shook her finger at them.

The children, not paying any attention to her warning, ran up to the tree, began to jump up screaming and pick orange apricots from the branches, not at all worried that an unknown adult man was standing literally two steps away from them. It seems that this is the first time the kids have seen such a fruitful tree - with amazing tenacity and methodicality, they absorbed the fruits directly from the branches. And it suddenly dawned on Jordan that none of these five - four minors and one adult - just doesn't see him!

- Are you full, my children? - five minutes later, a woman shouted, who remained standing at some distance from the tree.

Jordan thought that either she simply didn't like apricots, or that she believed in washing the fruit before eating it.

- Mother Jo, maybe a little more? - the older boy begged in a capricious tone.
- We gotta go on the road! - already with a note of order the woman said - We have a very long way!

The children stopped screaming. They silently looked at each other and with obvious reluctance headed towards the road. The woman waited patiently until all four were gathered next to her, and then slowly walked forward. This time the girls barely trudged behind her, and the boys walked ahead and quietly had some kind of argument among themselves. Jordan, who was still standing under the apricot tree, looked with some sadness after the retreating procession. He involuntarily felt like a worthless, useless person, whom no one would ever remember and - as he had just seen - no one noticed. While thinking about this, Jordan suddenly noticed that one of the girls, who was walking last, suddenly stopped. He thought that she apparently wanted to take a breath, but when she turned her head towards him with a black bang on her forehead, he felt his heart begin to beat wildly.

Because that girl was none other than Delia herself. Her bottomless eyes looked at him point blank. She looked divine in her dark blue dress. She smiled, as if she had been waiting for this moment for a long time, and began to slowly approach the tree. Jordan couldn’t believe his eyes and thought it was just a hallucination. He awkwardly backed away and, burying his back in the trunk of an apricot tree, slid down it to the ground. The little girl apparently thought it was funny - she laughed and extended her hand forward. Jordan sat there, hesitantly, under the tree for a few seconds, and then, blushing, he took Delia's hand and smiled timidly.

They never allowed themselves hugs, kisses, or any other way of expressing love that required physical contact. Their feelings for each other could be called silent emotional attachment or the most banal sympathy. Now, as Delia stood in front of Jordan, sitting on the lawn, he wanted to tell her a lot. For example, give her a compliment that she has become even more beautiful... Ask if anyone is hurting her... Apologize to her for the long separation... In the end, just ask if she's happy to see him... But he still couldn't think of the right words. Jordan, still holding her tender hand in his rough palm, swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat and, trying to keep his voice from trembling from the excitement that overwhelmed him, almost whispered word, only one word:

- Sweetheart... - a sort of smile was appeared on him lips.

In response to this word, Delia's cheeks were blushed. She let go of her hand and gave him a somewhat shy smile. "Ideal of a mankind", Jordan thought, "Or, more precisely, womankind". As he understood, she was already ten years and four months old. He felt something like remorse for the fact that two years ago he had so unceremoniously entered Delia's small cozy world. But he could not do anything - after all, the past cannot be returned...

- I know. I remember, - unexpectedly Delia said quietly.

Jordan felt that her voice had changed in a strange way, but it could only seem to him - after all, that he had not seen her for a long time. And yet, hearing that "I remember" he felt his heart clench. "Well, when such an subject of the highest virtue speaks, my skin is starting to crawl", Jordan thought, not taking his eyes off her.

- Ajussi, there won't be any trouble, - now Delia repeated quite clearly and distinctly. - I promise, - she added.

He wanted to ask "what kind of trouble?", but the girl did not give him such an opportunity. Tears flowed from Delia's eyes, and the next moment she suddenly rushed to grown man and wrapped her thin arms around him. Jordan, forgetting about everything in the world, grabbed Delia by the shoulders, and, pressing baby to him, began to stroke her head. The little girl's body, trembling with sobs, radiated a faint warmth...