Crystal Garden. Ewa Bash

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      “How old are you, boy?” he said as he put the cup in front of me.

      I looked at him. He had an unusual gaze and looked at me without any particular expression. It was difficult to decipher his mood, but even still I felt comfortable with him. I thought I could trust him. The hell could’ve I trusted him! But more on that later.

      “Fifteen” I answered.

      “Well, if you are looking for a new life, I have an offer for you.” He sat back in his chair and reached for the cup. “I need an assistant. There is a lot of work to do, but you’re not afraid of a challenge, are you?” He leaned forward a little.

      “No,” I answered.

      “I’ll give you shelter, food and anything else you need in exchange for a promise. You must stay here until November, when the last harvest of grapes is gathered.”

      “All right” I promised.

      He held out his hand and I shook it. His grip was strong and confident. This was not a man of compromise.

      9

      So, that’s how my life at the vineyard began. I worked from early in the morning until late at night, and soon forgot about everything. I had no time to mourn Sunny or think about Annie. My insomnia had disappeared, and my appetite returned. I grew four inches and gained strength. My old clothes now became too small, and my mentor brought me some new trousers, shirts, and boots. They were clearly custom-made, even if they were old-fashioned. They certainly weren’t t-shirts and jeans, but I wasn’t complaining. I definitely liked this new style.

      The Mentor, which is what he insisted on being called, brought me back to life. He became a father figure to me. He took care of me. I remember I once spent the entire day in the scorching sun working in the vineyard, and in the evening I came down with a fever. He took some cans from the kitchen cupboard and made an absolutely crazy concoction. The smell alone made my eyes water.

      “Do not worry, this won’t kill you. It will help you,” he said as he handed me a mug. Indeed, in ten minutes I was back on my feet and ready for my next job. I had never felt so light and cheerful.

      “Nature gives us everything we need,” he used to say when talking about his herbs.

      The Mentor taught me how, where and when to gather herbs, their types and purpose. And finally, how to make concoctions that not only cured any illness, but also improved strength, courage and even charm. Actually, the Mentor taught me a lot. I don’t recall my real father teaching me anything at all. I thought the Mentor was my friend. He never lectured me or tried to probe into my soul. He didn’t ask too many questions. He accepted me for who I was without trying to fix me or make me less “difficult”. He didn’t even think I was difficult. He encouraged me if there was something I couldn’t do and never scolded if I made mistakes. However, I couldn’t really call him a kind man. He rarely expressed any emotion and rarely smiled. If only I knew who he really was. On the other hand, it wouldn’t have changed anything if I did know.

      The vineyard stood apart from busy routes and other farms. There was no-one else for many miles, and the Mentor didn’t allow me to go far, since I’d made my promise to him. To tell the truth, I had no desire to go anywhere. I came to enjoy the quiet and measured life full of village romance and fresh air but without any conventions, norms of behaviour, unnecessary questioning or false sympathy.

      In my spare time, mostly in the evenings, I took a horse and rode around the area. The Mentor had five black thoroughbred horses. I fed and cleaned them and their stable. As a reward, the Mentor allowed me to ride. He taught me that as well. I discovered other passions too. Passions that I never would have imagined. In the living room there was a large bookcase with so many wonderful books hidden there! For connoisseurs of antiques, they were worth millions of Euros, but here they just gathered dust on the shelves. There were first editions of Shakespeare and Goethe, old maps of Europe, treatises of Greek classics. I’d never been a lover of books, but the Mentor’s library absorbed me. I spent hundreds of hours leafing through old, yellowed pages.

      My silent companion, Alicia, was always close by. That’s if the Mentor didn’t have her with him. He was often away on business. I had no idea what kind of business he was involved in, and I wasn’t really very interested. I thought he was just a farmer. Little naive me!

      Well, anyhow, when the Mentor was not home, I had to take care of Alicia. With Alicia everything was simple; I just had to put some dog food down for her and that was it. Looking after myself was far more complicated. When I got fed-up with pasta and fried eggs, I learned to roast meat and stew cabbage. It wasn’t as easy as I thought. So much food was thrown in the bin after my experiments! But at least Alicia had fun. It seemed to me that she was giggling at my sorry attempts.

      Alicia was a beautiful dog. She had short black hair with a blue tint and huge violet eyes. I’m not certain if it was normal for dogs to have eyes like this. And what a character! She was wilful and stubborn, and constantly made fun of me. Sometimes she hid my stuff, sometimes she hid herself so that I had to look for her around the house while she was watching me quietly from a hiding place getting ready to jump out on me. In a nutshell, we were never bored when we were together.

      However, the most interesting things happened at nights when the Mentor was away. One night I was woken by the sound of a grand piano playing. Somewhere deep behind the stone walls, an unknown musician was telling his story. I’d never heard anything as beautiful. There was every emotion within that melody: longing, passion, anger. I saw living pictures in my imagination. The music enthralled and carried me away to snow-capped mountains, then made me fall into darkness and despair. Was I dreaming? Can a dream be so real? Can we wonder in a dream whether we are actually dreaming? But the Mentor had no grand piano. There was no room in his tiny farmhouse for such a thing.

      I got out of bed and walked into the living room. As far as I knew, there were only two exits from the living room. One to my room and the other into the corridor which led to the kitchen and the Mentor’s bedroom. But the melody was coming from behind a door I hadn’t noticed before. I pulled the handle and the door opened. Behind it was a long corridor with many more doors. All of them were open. The ghostly moonlight lit the way as I explored. Most of the rooms were empty, but here and there stood some old furniture. The melody was louder now, and it filled the entire space. At the end of the corridor, I saw a thin strip of light under a half-open door. The music was coming from there. I looked in. Chandeliers with burning candles were hanging on the wall. Against one wall was a grand piano. A girl was sitting at the piano with her back to me, so I could only see her long, dark hair. I wanted to open the door a little wider, but it creaked, and then I woke up. It was already morning. Alicia was sitting in the middle of the room and staring at me. Later when I checked there was no other door. Though I have heard a piano a few more times and could swear I wasn’t sleeping.

      Another mysterious thing happened on the last day of the harvest season. It was almost mid-November, and the first frost was on the ground. The weather was nasty. Cold wind chilled to the bone, and the low and dark clouds were depressing. It looked like it was about to rain, but it didn’t come. The Mentor and I worked together side by side until late on a crop that was particularly important to him. The Mentor said that wine from these grapes is sweet like a mortal sin and couldn’t be compared to anything else. I later learnt that sin was something he understood.

      By the end of the day, I was completely exhausted. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, only to be woken a short time later by voices and laughter. The sounds came from the living room. I wondered why the Mentor had guests at this hour, and why he didn’t tell me about it. I rolled over in bed, but couldn’t sleep. The voices were too loud and so was the music. In the end, I got dressed СКАЧАТЬ