The red-haired clown. A novel. Elena Fedorova

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      “When I happily emerged from the water I was punished,” Simone smiled. “I spent the whole week in the tower covered with ivy. I was sitting by the window and wa imagining myself an enchanted princess, who must be saved by a knight on a white horse. It certainly should be a knight, he certainly should be on a white horse,” she began to laugh, having slightly thrown back her head.

      “I was fantasizing so much that I even got disappointed when Paula said that I was free, that I could go downstairs to my room. I just did not feel like going downstairs. I felt so good at the top next to the clouds that I decided to do something forbidden. I ran here and…” she looked at Charles. “And I realized that here, on the hill, it was not worse than in the tower. It was even better because here was freedom. And one can see things that cannot be seen from the tower. There, on the right the crucifixion. The bronze crucifixion, polished by the hands of the pupils. Everyone wants to touch the feet, the hands and the body of the Saviour. But I like the fat Angel most, who is hiding among apple and cherry trees. No one ever goes to him. He is very, very old, although, he looks quite young, younger than us. He is a plump three-year-old baby. And yet, he is completely lonely. He is the same lonely as I am. Do you want to see him?”

      And without waiting for a reply she rushed down the hill. Charles rushed after her. He wanted to laugh loudly. He had never had such a good and fun time. The wind was whistling in the ears. The skirt of Simone was rustling like a mouse in the corner. The music of nature was spreading over the garden like the song of a nightingale reaching from far away. Simone froze. Charles was standing next to her. In front of them, there was a white three-year-old baby with wings. He had the white plaster oval face, the searching lifeless eyes, and the plump lips.

      “Do you like it?” taking a breath, Simone asked, having firmly gripped his hand.

      “For you – yes, for me – no,” Charles replies.

      Simone flushed from running fast. Her hair had gotten out the sleek hairstyle, having formed two beautiful curls at the temples.

      “Tell me, why did you bring me here?” he asks, looking at her inspired face.

      “I thought you were lonely like this Angel, like me,“she turns her head and looks into his eyes. “You, the little red-haired clown, were standing on a big arena, the audience was laughing, and it was not funny to me at all. It seemed to me that you were the Angel, the three-year-old toddler with a strict look of the lifeless eyes, forgotten by everybody. I thought that when the music stopped, the audience left, the circus were empty, you would be all alone. It is easier for me. There are many of us here.”

      “I am not lonely,” Charles said. “I have friends-clowns, Bebe and Lele.”

      “But, in spite of this, you are a lonely man, aren’t you?” she looked searchingly and released his hand from her hand. Released. Freed.

      “Depends on what you consider loneliness,” Charles smiled, marvelling at astuteness of this child. In fact, he feels unbearably lonely among the crowds.

      “I am talking about the loneliness of the soul,” she whispered. “Now I do not feel it. And you?”

      “Me too,” he answered in a whisper.

      “So, you want to come here again,” she said, having smiled.

      “I suppose,” he said, having touched the plump hand of the Angel.

      “Simone, it is time to go back,” a stern voice peeled from the hill.

      “It is time to go back,” Simone sighed. “Paula is calling me.”

      “Who is she, this Paula” Charles asked.

      “Paula is a teacher. She is watching us, makes us wear these impervious, solemn and funerary attires. Even our legs are black,” Simone lifted her skirt, having shown Charles the leg in a black crude stocking. “I do not like Paula. She is evil and cruel.”

      “And what about Madame La Rouge?” Charles asked, having remembered the hazeleyed, penetrating deep into the heart, look.

      “I am afraid of her,” Simone confessed. “I am afraid of her beauty, her tender voice, her searching look. Sometimes I think that she is not who she claims to be. It is like she is playing a role, hiding her true face and feelings behind an impenetrable mask of coldness. You also put on a mask of the red-haired clown to be a clown, to hide your noble face from everyone and even from yourself.”

      “Simone!” the voice of Paula was heard nearby.

      “Let’s go,” Simone said, squeezing the hand of Charles. She captures him again. She wins. They go up slowly. They are silent. At the gate, she looks him in the eye and says softly:

      “Come here again, if you can,” she releases his hand. “Oh, I have forgotten to tell you that this attire of a young aristocrat suits you. Goodbye.”

      She turns and runs away. Charles opens the gate. He lingers there for a moment, thinking that he does not want to leave this amazing place, this quietest silence for his many-voiced show-booth. But he cannot stay here. Only young pupils in black dresses-traps live here.

      “Monsieur Charles, can I ask you to do me a small favour?” the voice-cello was heard from the side. Charles turns around. Madame La Rouge looks at him and smiles mysteriously.

      “Please, give this envelope to Mr. Schwartz Schtanzer. This is the report, the financial letter. He has long been waiting for it. A messenger will arrive tomorrow, and you…”

      “Of course, I will comply with your request. Besides, I am going to visit my uncle,” Charles said. The lights of curiosity flashed in the eyes of the lady. “Today, we are having dinner in “Tirras”.

      “The restaurant ‘Tirras’?! ” Madame La Rouge exclaimed. Charles nodded. She shook her head.

      ‘Mr. Schtanzer is so wasteful. But… It is not our business. Simply, the commitment to luxury has always been a mystery to me,” she smiled. “You, Monsieur Charles, may think that I am a stingy woman. But my stinginess is just the saving of time. I am sorry to waste precious minutes, seconds on trendy shops, restaurants, and night cafes. Those who lives a spiritual life, does not need anything. They can make do with a little. They need the unpainted table more than the polished one with lots of drawers, packed with unnecessary things cluttering up primarily their mind… My mind is free from clutter. Goodbye. Bow to Mr. Schtanzer.”

      She turned and walked away, rustling her skirt. Charles closed the gate, passed a hand over the cold bronze, and smiled: “Madame La Rouge, you cannot be called stingy. Perhaps, Simone is right, you are an amazing actress. I noticed the shine of your eyes when I told you about a trendy restaurant. You wanted to go there instead of me. But… you found the strength to cope with the shortterm desire. You decided to play the role of an ascetic, who made a choice between a thing and an essence. You coped well with the task. I even believed that you are not the earthly, grounded creature. Bravo.”