She kissed him and ran out to the street.
And I hadn’t the slightest desire to run after. I preferred to go to the pub.
All the same, that day was lost. The next day I lost Margarete.
When I came home after all night party she had already disappeared. All her things, clothes, stuff – all of that was in place, she was not.
Police had been searching for her for a month. With no result.
A whole month and a day later, I came to the café and saw him again. At the same table, with the same angel face, with the same empty eyes the color of the autumn rain.
He looked at me. And he looked like me. He really did.
I turned my back on him, and felt my heart was full of fear. Great, unbearable, deadly fear. It filled every cell of my body, oozing through pores, flowing through veins. I was afraid of everyone and everything at that moment, of every breath and every rustle.
I was afraid that all my dirty secrets had come out, that all people in that café had known them and they despised me, they laughed at me, looked down on me.
Not having the courage to stay there longer, I ran out. I ran, ran, ran. I ran down the streets, ran to my home, to my fortress, to my own world where I could be safe.
I wanted to fall asleep and see no dreams.
Next morning I found that all my secrets were still mine, and police found Margarete.
Her body. It was found in the river 2 miles from the city.
I chose not to see her. I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t.
They said it was an accident. I believed. I chose to believe. I chose to live and live without her.
And 3 weeks of that life later I met him for the third time.
– Why? – My cigarette ashes fell on the table, but I couldn’t take even one puff. – Why?
His eyes were on me, the color of the autumn rain, cold and empty.
And suddenly those eyes of the dead angel came to life – the fire broke in them.
– Why? – he leaned towards me and grinned. – You know better.
It was Margarete’s phrase – she always muttered it being angry with me.
“You know better”. “You know” – and I knew. I knew it better than anyone else.
I always knew she loved me. She loved me when I left her alone, loved when I forgot about her, loved when she’d been waiting for me for hours on the streets, in the cafes, at home.
She loved me when I shouted at her:
– I’m sick of it!
She just hugged me tight.
– I know why you are sick, – whispered she. – That’s because you have a small fish instead of the heart, and it swims in your chest as if it is the sea.
– Oh, really? So what color is it?
– Color? – she always wrinkled up her nose and was silent for a second only. – I think it’s red. No, I’m sure it’s red. Red! Red! Red!