Cafe on the bridge

Entering the cafe, Martin sat down with a stranger who was modestly at the end of the hall. She sat without constraint and looked across the hall. He got the impression that she was somewhere out of place. Somewhere not in this place. That now in her thoughts she is in a completely different place or situation. Maybe she came to this cafe just like him to hide something? Her gaze hovered over the hall, and the pose in which she sat, arms and legs crossed, made her not a participant in the events that took place in the cafe. General fun and noise, broken mugs and plates, beer on the floor next to one of the tables. She wasn’t interested in anything. She continuously looked at one point, and nothing could bring her into this reality. Martin decided that the best time would be to sit down with her now. He could not explain why he wanted to sit with her. But he was attracted, that very image of her aloofness beckoned him. There was something in this gesture that reminded him of himself. His seat at the station. And the same indifference to people milling about and people’s lives. She was in a slight melancholy and alienation. The man took a sharp step and walked towards her, either because she was slow, or because the light in the cafe was weak, and there were a bunch of candles on the tables, which didn’t help illuminate the whole room; she didn’t immediately notice what was coming to her. A man approaches the table. For a moment her gaze stopped floating and slowly looking at him she said: — Do you want to tell fortunes on cards? — She said and reached for the deck lying under her hand. — You know, no. I would like to just sit in the cafe, since there are no empty seats. If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here. — Martin was fascinated by the girl. He sat down. Almost without moving a chair. There was a meter between them. She didn’t behave like other girls. There was grace and lightness in her movements; she herself was filled with strength and dignity. There was no rush or fever, and there was nothing heavy in her movements. Lightness is only lightness. — You don’t believe in cards? — The question was absurd in the current situation, but the man, wanting to spend this evening here rather than alone in the cold, was pleasantly surprised when he had the opportunity to develop their conversation. - Not really. I didn’t believe it. I choose to believe myself. I don’t like dragging other people into my problems. And a lot of people go through fortune tellers. Sometimes they can tell more than the security services. If they work at all. — the girl looked at his pose not without curiosity. Martin, who was sitting freely, crumpled under her gaze. But without changing his position, he also began to look at her. Their ping-pong of glances could continue indefinitely. But the girl interrupted him. — Do you think they are useless? And are we supporting them in vain? — the girl glanced sideways at the cup standing next to her, and took a light sip by the handle. And she wrinkled her nose. The coffee has cooled down. She was not happy about this fact. She didn’t want to order a new one. And there was no money. And letting a man pay for her was something new that eluded her understanding of the world. And what she couldn’t accept so easily. — No, I don’t think that we are keeping them in vain. But I think they would be better off being interested not in citizens, but in the actual threat if it exists as they convey. — Martin called the waiter. — That’s how it is. Why should there be a threat? — The stranger casually straightened her short hair with even strands that fell down. Martin noted for himself that the stranger was dressed completely out of fashion. Another detail that makes it stand out from others. A black coat with a belt, a soft pink dress underneath, and high army boots, and on top of the dress a belt with a buckle. Martin could not see what was written on the buckle, and there was no need to do so. — There is always a threat, this world is built on this. If there is no threat, then it turns out that more than half of the world is living incorrectly. Or at least as the other half sees life as meaningless. — Martin took out a pack of cigarettes. — Well, what threat is there for you? — The stranger said slowly and finished the cafe. Wrinkling his forehead and rubbing a light melody with his fingers on the table. Her voice showed interest in his person. She felt that the energy emanating from him suppressed everything that seemed to her a threat. He was a man with cold energy, but at the same time it was definitely safe to hide behind him in case of emergency. — Well, the threats can be different, but, probably, this is, first of all, a threat to the existence of humanity. — Martin paused. Pondering every word. He probably shouldn’t have burdened the young lady with such adult thoughts. Although she seemed quite mature to him. — if a person is not threatened by anything from the outside, then he begins to look for this threat. Next to you. — Humanity? Well, you are right, because if there are no people and people, who will other people lead? What will the world be built on? If we exclude some part of our illusion. And we decide that we no longer need to conquer anything. If we, for example, say that let everyone live as they want. This will destroy the universe and disrupt the universe and order. Which works on balancing the two sides. — No one. Managing yourself is too boring. Considering that you are an ordinary person — Martin took a cigarette out of his mouth and shouted to the old waiter. Whom he knew since childhood. He shouted to the young man and he slowly trudged towards them through the crowd of people. — Besides, why does the world need heroes if there are no villains? How will we understand that tears are bad if there is no laughter? If one person plays different roles, he will go crazy. After all, you can’t play many roles. — Yes, I’m listening to you — A young boy, leaned over them — Bring this lady a cafe and some good wine for us, please, and a cheese plate. — The waiter left, and the girl continued to watch. — Why did you decide to order coffee for me? — She stirred the cards and looked at them for something. Martin didn’t know exactly what, but judging by how passionate she was about this process, something was interesting to her. — I ordered you coffee because I don’t want you to drink yours. It cooled down and your face looked like you were extremely upset by the fact that you didn’t finish it earlier. — Why wine? I’m not going to drink with you — But I want to have a drink with you. What is your name? — The stranger was silent. And all she did was look at him. — I won’t tell you until you tell me your name. — Martin considered this to be fair, considering the fact that he himself was the first to sit down with her. “My name is Martin, I like to look at paintings and drink wine in this restaurant on Sundays, and I also love dandelions,” the stranger laughed. Leaning back in his chair. It seemed that she had not heard anything more crazy than this bunch of facts from different areas of his life. But she was glad that he did not tell her on a roll-up tape, and did not broadcast everything at once. Limiting myself to just three facts. Having done everything, on the contrary, she would have immediately stood up and walked out from behind the steel. And she would consider this hour in her life and day half empty. — Why specifically about dandelions? -The stranger turned her gaze to him sideways. Martin shrugged. He couldn’t say it himself. He simply believed that it was more important to tell a person about dandelions, what you love and what pleases your soul, than about work and weekdays. Which sometimes make you sick too. Why say this to another person? — Don’t know. Now you. — They brought them a bottle of wine. And coffee with cheese. Martin poured himself some wine, placing the cheese in the middle of the glass along with his cigarettes and cards. — My name is Pauline. This is a Portuguese name. My mother gave it to me. Originally from those parts. I come to this cafe because I really love the atmosphere here. And I also really love silence. Days of silence. — The girl began to speak, and Martin listened and did not interrupt her. Always wanting to listen to her quiet and melodic voice, he strangely calmed him down and now that cafe really seemed somehow bright and calm to him. Despite what the cafe actually looked like. Gray walls, and a bunch of different posters on the walls. From different years and centuries. Old military uniforms, guns hanging on the walls, pistols. Dresses hung like mannequins telling their own stories, and shabby tables, hanging antique telephones. For messages, and a typewriter for typing letters. And there was a post office nearby, from which they were sent. It couldn’t be said that everything in this cafe irritated him. But not everything suited him. But now that Pauline said how wonderful this cafe is, Martin really thought this place wasn’t so bad. Snatches of phrases reached him. But he didn’t know what to answer, because he, too, could tell about a lot and find much in common with her. — I also like coffee in the evenings and hot tea in the mornings. And in the evening I definitely like to swing on the swing. — On the swing? — Martin asked again in surprise. — This is the first time he meets a person who talks about swings with such cheerfulness. — Well, yes. What’s wrong with that? Or do you think that girls at twenty cannot swing on swings? — Pauline was already prepared to defend her point of view about the swing, but Martin quickly gave up — No, no, what are you saying, I think that a swing is better than a TV. Plus the swing is outdoors. And the majority of your generation sits in their homes, with record players, and even worse, televisions. This box is the worst and most useless in the world. — And how old are you. If you divide us into different generations? — Martin finished off the rest of the wine from his glass and wanted to pour himself some more, but stopped — I’m thirty-five. Look as if you hope that you will never be as old. It will be, don’t worry. — Martin leaned back in his chair, Pauline — No, I know that I will be thirty-five, forty, and seventy. But just why do you divide our generations and yours? Does it spill much? — Now yes. — Martin sighed, looking back and realizing how life had flown by. And how it continues to accelerate exponentially. But people can’t keep up with her. — What does it mean now? — About thirty years ago. Generations could understand each other and talk about life. And now this concept is looked at from too many different sides, and sometimes you don’t understand. Maybe it’s you who’ve grown old. Either it is the current generation that has changed the concept of life and turned everything upside down. Previously, a person at thirty-five was considered learned by life, and wise, and educated. And now, at thirty-five, I think I just got out of education. And it is believed that he still needs to finish his studies. — What’s the point of education if you still end up making a fool? “The idea was not fresh, it had been in his head for a long time, but for some reason Martin brushed it aside like an annoying fly when after the army he went to study and then returned to his hometown. — Well, how to be educated — He said automatically, as he was taught at school. — To be smart? — Pauline repeated as if tasting the phrase — But this is not so — the girl stated this and slammed her fist on the table to prove her words. — After all, being smart does not mean knowing subjects from the school curriculum. You will never gain the knowledge of the whole world, and this is a fact, but you can decide for yourself what you study. We can’t study everything. No matter how the governments of the world try to cram everything into the program, this cannot be done. You can study the minimum. And period. And then it’s up to you what to study and what not to study. And only when you begin to understand one area can you consider yourself smart. But not in all of them. If you spray yourself on everything. Then your life won’t be enough because humanity has come up with so many things. And not everything feeds your soul and not everything feeds you. — How do you make a living? — Oh, that’s not the question! You ruined my mood. — Pauline looked at him with disappointment. It was clear that such questions infuriated her. Martin grinned, “I can answer any question, but not about money.” — Why? — Pauline began to look at herself in a small folding mirror with a compact. — Usually people are asked these kinds of questions first. This says a lot about a person — Much? — The girl laughed. — No, he doesn’t talk about anything. For example, I know a man who works in a law office on Fifth Street. But at the same time, the fact that he is a lawyer does not mean that he is careless in things, or that he has absolutely no understanding of women and has no taste. In our understanding, if a person has a certain profession, then some behavior or some way of life must be assigned to him. We think that if a person is an athlete, then he leads a healthy lifestyle, but many athletes smoke. We believe that surgeons or doctors are people with a sacred profession. But no one realizes that they can drink wireless and be greedy; we believe that those women who have no more talent for anything become housewives, although each can give a hundred or even more points ahead to any man. I don’t like when people ask me about my profession, because it won’t tell you anything about me that I’m a cook by profession. But I don’t cook at all. Because what is in the kitchen is not mine. — Martin imagined her cutting onions in the kitchen and choking in tears. — Okay, then let’s tell fortunes on the cards. I have a question that I want to ask you and your cards. The girl smiled; this approach suited her more. She didn’t like it when they asked specific boring questions, it infuriated her. In addition, night was coming and there were a lot of visitors in the restaurant, and the owner had to open a second room. The girl looked closely at her interlocutor. He was interesting, but too cold and detached from people. He closed himself off from this world by preparing the gun that lay on his shoulder. He was a soldier by nature. Tired of fighting and wanting a warm life. However, he never let go of the war in his life. Just like she fled to another continent. Outside the window, cars were noisy, stuck in the snow, people came in from the cold and, realizing that there were no places, turned around and went to other places. Pauline looked at the wall clock, and for some reason time passed very slowly today, without any hiccups or hesitations. Like an elastic band. It cannot be said that this upset the girl; on the contrary, she loved such moments. Moments of solitude with the universe and with yourself. Martin was thinking about his past. About his father, who lies alone on the grave, about the pharmacist, who is working his last shift today, about the snow, about his neighbor, who, in a way unfamiliar to them until that moment, began to penetrate his soul, she acted slowly but surely, he didn’t even have time to understand how… With their such a relaxed conversation, he opened almost his soul to her. The warmth of her soul, the warmth in the cafe lulled him into sleep. He wanted to lie down, but he held on, and after finishing the wine from his glass, he began to ponder the question of what to ask him. What else can he tell her? And how much fortune tellers do not look at our souls. Some will say that a fortune teller is a charlatan and an extortionist of money, and there is nothing magical in their profession, but others will say that the invention of the card itself solved many important issues in the history of people, and in many ways. It seemed that the universe itself was concentrated in the hands of the stranger, when she took the decks in her hands, it seemed that with the mesh of cards she seemed to penetrate even deeper into his soul, trying to take possession of it all. And yet, fortune tellers were an amazing people, and it was impossible to classify them as just people. They were like cats, forever wandering between two worlds.