บท 14: Chapter 14. Deprivation
August 31, 1938
Wednesday
We returned to the orphanage in the late afternoon. I couldn't believe it was the last day and the last night here. Tomorrow we'd be heading to Hogwarts together. The slight excitement of what was to come wouldn't leave me.
"Are you coming to me tonight?" I asked about Irene's plans, straightening the bundles of robes. The step under my foot creaked disgustingly, probably because of the weight of all these bags filled with scales, pots and textbooks I was carrying.
"Right after dinner. We'll look through the textbooks together," she said, as if she could read my mind. I couldn't see her face, because her entire upper body was hidden behind the purchased goods.
"When we grow up, we'll have a big library."
"And all the books will be mine."
"Ours," I said. Well, look at that.
I felt Irene roll her eyes defiantly. Realizing that I couldn't see her pale face, she clicked her tongue loudly to make sure that I could see her indignation. But I said nothing to that either, then she snorted:
"Pfft! No way!"
"Don't forget, you already have my last name," I grinned and turned to the second floor.
"Let's split up before lights out. We need to get some sleep!" I heard Irene's voice going up to the third floor.
We went to our rooms to pack our suitcases. I packed mine pretty quickly, probably because there was nothing to pack. I only had two plain suits of Muggle clothes, so I figured, with the school uniform available, I'd take one just in case. I carefully put my wand in the bottom of the suitcase and packed my textbooks, robes, and the diary Irene had given me. Martha's voice was heard in the corridor, calling out to the kids for dinner. The footsteps were approaching my room, and a moment later there was a knock on the door. I liked Martha! She was always respectful of privacy, not like Mrs. Cole, who apparently hadn't been taught to knock.
"Tom," she had a warm smile on her face, "it's time for dinner."
"Yes, Martha," I nodded indifferently, closing my suitcase. In case someone comes into my room and comes up with the idea of going through my things. Of course, that idea is unlikely to occur to anyone, but it's better to be on the safe side.
I took my time going down to the first floor and headed to the dining room, where I sat down at the familiar table. I couldn't even believe it was the last time I had sat here. A deep breath. There were a lot of kids around, swarming like an anthill. They were rumbling and moving around like some kind of bugs. Ugh.
But my attention quickly shifted. Irene appeared at the entrance in a light-colored dress, the same one she'd worn when she'd shown up here at the beginning of summer. Her hair was loose. Small black sandals stomped tinklingly toward me.
"Do you think," she said as she sat down in her seat, tossing her hair back, "that the food at Hogwarts will be as bad?"
"I hope it's much better." I shrugged indifferently. "Maybe then you wouldn't be so thin and pale..."
"Then you wouldn't be so thin, either, and your hollow cheeks would be gone," Irene interrupted me, and then looked intently at me. "I wonder how much taller you'll get because now you're already a head taller than I am."
I shrugged again.
"I guess you, dear Irene, won't grow much."
She mumbled something inarticulate as she took the copper spoon in her thin fingers. I couldn't stand it, so I said something that was always on the tip of my tongue, "Dwarf."
The emerald of her evil-looking eyes dimmed, the eyebrows furrowed — I stared blankly at the grimace for a minute, at least. Irene found it harder and harder to keep her menacing expression, and finally she burst into a high pitched laugh. The sound was hoarse and squeaky at the same time. Oh gods, like a kettle on the stove! I couldn't stand it and laughed. Our voices turned into loud guffaws, and this fact, apparently, shocked others very much. Everyone was staring at us, apparently because we usually looked indifferent and silent.
Irene, wiping away a tear caused by a fit of laughter, fell silent. She took a deep breath, assuming a solemn pose, as if she had just sat on the throne. I had already studied her facial expressions and habits, and it was obvious to me: it was time for another tall tale.
"Out with it." I gave the go-ahead, sipping tasteless tea.
"In the darkest, scariest hour, a black raven flies over the boundless forest..." Irene began in a hushed voice. "He is so tired... Chained up, he's been in a dungeon for three hundred years... He is almost a disembodied spirit. But he is free now! Rushing through the clouds with his mighty wings! He is a king, and he is a sorcerer. The most powerful! What's that light in the distance? It's a small village... He steals the most beautiful bride... What grief!" Irene's face in a matter of seconds was distorted in the most theatrically sad grimace. "Even her betrothed could not help her! No one could save her. Oh, poor young girl!" the voice sounded strained. Then Irene glanced at me, waving her hand as if she were expecting a question I never asked. She couldn't wait, so she asked it herself. "Do you know why?" her voice was barely audible. She beckoned to her, and I automatically bowed my head. She won. The intrigue was really interesting, so I listened to every word, though with ostensible indifference.
"Why?" I asked quietly, raising my brows.
"The Deathless!" Irene shouted, hitting the wooden tabletop with her spoon. The guys at the nearest tables flinched in fright. I got goosebumps.
"It is impossible," the words came out with iron-clad certainty.
Irene cast the most displeased glance in the world, because I'd just ruined the solemn moment with my intonation, with my appearance. She snorted, unable to accept the spoiled climax:
"It is possible! Somewhere in the sea, in the ocean, there is an island, on that island is a big tree, under the tree is a huge closed chest, in the chest is a hare, in the hare is a duck, in the duck is an egg, in the egg is a needle, and the needle is death," Irene spoke like a tongue twister, so halfway through her utterance I lost the thread of meaning.
There was a deadly silence. At some point I realized that we hadn't been eating, but had been staring at each other for a few minutes.
"Bullshit..." I started my next rebuttal to her nonsense, but Irene interrupted me.
"No, it isn't! The Deathless!" An aluminum spoon flashed in front of my forehead. Good thing it wasn't a knife. I barely had time to pull back. "How do you think he's going to get killed if no one knows where his death is?"
I sighed deeply, and plunged my cutlery into the soup.
"Where did you get that from?"
"I don't know!" Irene laughed, finally coming to terms with my protest and skepticism, and continued the evening meal. "When Dumbledore spoke of wizards, I remembered that."
"Well, hypothetically... If you and I are wizards," at this point I began to speak in a whisper and without any pretense, so that no one would hear us, "then, perhaps, this can also happen. But how could this... The Deathless do such a thing?"
"It's A Ritual Of Eternal Night."
"What?" I grimaced in incomprehension. "Are you sure you didn't know you were a sorceress?"
"How do I know if I knew or not, Tom?" Irene grumbled. I probably shouldn't have been so strict, because memory loss is a serious thing.
"So, what's the deal with the ritual?"
"Well, you just have to make a human sacrifice..." Then she smiled and added, "Or several. Well, thanks to this, the soul is enclosed in a phylactery. Then a person dies and is reborn as a full-fledged wizard who cheated death."
Irene cheekily smacked her lips at the end of her speech, as if it was something ordinary, like washing your hands, for example.
"Wait, wait... What lactory?"
"Phylactery. Well, the object where the soul will be enclosed. As long as it exists, so will the wizard."
"And if the wizard is killed?"
"If he's killed, he'll be reborn."
"Wow." That's all I could say. Perhaps my reaction was too dry and indifferent, but, in fact, this new story really stirred something inside me; it was as if something long and sad moaned in the most unknowing part of me, hearing the echo of a forgotten old one. "But I wouldn't make my phylacteries with an egg. And, as it turns out, bunnies and rabbits are very unreliable guys!" I winked, and Irene laughed.
The tasteless chowder was eaten. I pushed the empty plate away.
"I'll wait for you at my place."
"Okay," Irene mumbled through her stuffed mouth as she chewed her bread. "I'll just go to my room and put my suitcase under the bed, just in case. I'll go to Mrs. Cole's, too."
I nodded approvingly and headed back to my room. The dull gray corridors of the orphanage were sullenly silent. As I walked up to the second floor, I glanced up at the huge elongated window. It was getting dark. I had always known I was special. Was all this finally happening? Here was the second floor. Somewhere upstairs there was a loud, obnoxious pop. I would have thought it was Irene, if she hadn't been in the dining room, but on the third floor, where the sound came from.
When I went to my room, I found that the light bulb under the ceiling was burning dimly. Wow! It was finally fixed. Wool's orphanage had long since tried to switch to electricity, but kerosene lamps were still in use, maybe because they were cheaper. I frankly didn't care. I waved my hand as if out of habit, and a small ball of fire soared to the ceiling, brightly illuminating the room. I pulled the first book I could find out of my suitcase and sat down on the bed. The book was a little shabby, but in pretty good condition; the title on the cover was The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble. Obviously, there are dark forces. But the question is, will we be taught them?
A circle of thoughts carried me away. So many questions! So many new, unexplored things! The hunger for knowledge flared stronger and stronger with each glance at the pages of the book. When the realization came that Irene was still not there, I found myself on the twentieth page. What was taking so long? I probably didn't pack everything. I stared back into my reading, which was so fascinating that I didn't notice the time flying by.
Thirty-eighth page. Too long. Without a doubt, I was determined to head over to her and cuss hard. She had promised!
With a completely disgruntled look and a vile intention, I confidently left the room number "27". I went up to the right floor, walked to the end of the corridor, and met the familiar shabby numbers on the door «37».
"Irene!" Without knocking, I pushed the door open. With defiance and indignation, I said, "You said that..."
Emptiness.
There was no one in the room, which made me squeeze my eyes shut tight for a moment. After I opened them, it was obvious that I wasn't imagining things. I slowly walked inside. After standing in silence for a while, I spoke, figuring out what she was up to, "Irene, it's an idiotic idea to play hide-and-seek with me right now."
She had a habit of throwing the phrase "Find me!" and then running off to another floor of the orphanage and hiding. Apparently, this game has now been taken to the next level, and the "find me" stage has simply sunk into oblivion. Except that the timing was completely wrong.
There was an open suitcase on the bed. Stuff was neatly folded.
"I'm going to pull you out by your hair, okay?" I slowly got down on all fours to look under the bed.
Emptiness.
A deep breath. No, she wasn't that stupid to pull this prank now, at such an inappropriate time.
"Irene?" I said more demandingly, opening the closet doors where she had hidden more than once.
Emptiness.
I went out into the hallway and looked at the clock that hung in the far corner. Dinner was at seven o'clock at night. It was now ten past ten.
Something was wrong.
I hurried over to Mrs. Cole. Irene was probably there, and they were sorting out the paperwork. I knocked confidently and pushed the door open without waiting for an answer.
"Mrs. Cole, is Irene here?"
Mrs. Cole was sitting at the desk, filling out some papers. Her stern gaze was fixed on me. Not wanting to reprimand me for my behavior, she simply voiced it:
"She's in her room, Tom."
"She's not there."
"Tom," Cole waved back irritably, "I am not in the mood for your silly jokes. The children all went to their rooms. Irene was at my place after dinner, and we had all the paperwork ready. Besides, the bed check was made twenty minutes ago. She's in her room."
"She's. Not. There," I said through my teeth.
Mrs. Cole could tell from my tone that I wasn't lying, yet her skepticism was literally felt physically. She got up from her desk and left the office, gesturing for me to follow her. She headed toward Irene's room. Opening the door, she was met with a mute emptiness. There was a shadow of alarm on her face, which I immediately caught.
"Where is she?" I asked insistently, as if demanding that she show me now where Irene was.
"I suppose she's just playing with the girls. It's the last day here, after all, Tom. I'll do the bed check again, and you go to your room."
I nodded obediently and headed for the second floor. I didn't want to listen to her, but it was probably the most logical thing to do. I didn't close the door of the room completely so I could hear what was going on in the orphanage. I sat down on the bed, listening intently to every sound and step. It seemed that Irene was about to run into the room with a ringing laugh, like a little hurricane, and again make the buffoonery that I hated so much and... liked.
I heard Mrs. Cole and Miss Blair going all around the orphanage, opening every door and looking into every room. Irene was nowhere to be found. She could not have gone outside because the doors were locked from the inside, and only the matron had the key.
I restrained my cold mind as much as I could. Run away? No. She wouldn't. Only things were starting to get better. Only we had found a way to be what we wanted to be. All the stuff, absolutely everything, was in Irene's room.
You didn't run away, did you?
I didn't realize how much time had passed. Unable to stand the tension, I left the room and headed toward Mrs. Cole again. As I walked up to the third floor, I glanced at the elongated window.
Darkness.
Mrs. Cole gave me a worried look when she saw me on the threshold of the office.
"Tom," she seemed to be struggling to find the words. "Irene is nowhere to be found. We've already called the police. Perhaps she's run away."
Every word of hers felt like a nail in my flesh. It seemed like everything that was happening now was not happening to me. I tried to take a deep breath, but it felt like all the oxygen in the room was just gone, and so was Irene.
"Are you okay, Tom?"
"I'm fine," I said hoarsely.
"I could see that you two were getting close, and..."
"We weren't close." Her pity hit the iceberg of my indifference. Mrs. Cole stared into my face. I met her with a look of complete apathy.
"Tom... Tell me, please, have you never hurt Irene? Maybe..."
"Maybe what?" I interrupted her with a nervous chuckle.
"I suppose nothing, in that case," said Mrs. Cole, studying my face carefully. "Go to your room, Tom. If she is found, I will let you know at once, in person."
Without answering anything, I turned around and quietly left the office. As soon as the door slammed shut, I stopped, gasping for air. Mrs. Cole thought I had something to do with Irene's disappearance. If only I had been!
Straight down the hall to her room.
The suitcase still stood open on the bed. It seemed as if Irene had gone out for a minute and was about to go back in.
It was almost twelve o'clock at night.
"She's not coming back," the mind kept saying.
I somehow made it to my room and sat silently on the bed. A strong gust of wind blew through the building, howling wistfully down the drainpipe. A flash of lightning illuminated the small room, and a violent roar of thunder followed. Rare drops of cold rain pounded monotonously against the window, growing into a persistent downpour. It pounded on the windows so hard that it seemed as if it would just break the glass.
Where are you?
It felt like my insides were shackled with the iron hoops, tightening more and more. It made me even nauseous. I hugged my stomach and leaned forward. It was so... Unbearable! Droplets whipped against the glass and the eaves, trickling down the drainpipe. A flash of lightning illuminated a window with seven white stones on the sill.
Where are you?
Unbearable. If only I could, I would just cry. But I can't... I don't know how.
Helplessly clutching my hair, I just screamed as loud as I could.
All that came out of my throat was a muffled wheeze.
If only I could, I would cry.
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