Sunlit oak tree

Irene sat at the table and smiled slightly; for the first time she got out of bed with a feeling of lightness and felt hope, which, although looming on the horizon like a ghost, still added color to her life. Arthur sat at the table, as always, not in the mood. Having lived with him under the same roof for many years, Irene ceased to be interested in the reasons why her unloved husband always had such a sour face. At the beginning of her marriage, she still tried to be a good wife, but then she got tired of doing nonsense and pretending, and she gave up this business — Arthur still did not appreciate her efforts. Today he was dissatisfied with everything possible: he found fault with the servants, with the gardener, with his own adjutant. Catching her husband’s gaze, Irene realized that today she too could not avoid the bitter fate of being humiliated. — Irene, why are you smiling today? Usually you walk around like a gloomy cloud. — Arthur breathed in fumes, sitting opposite her; Yesterday he drank a fair amount and came home when it was already past midnight — more precisely, his adjutant brought him. What a shame for the Colonel. Irene looked at him sternly. And why should she report to him? — I can’t be happy in your presence? — Arthur pursed his lips; he realized that he did not make her happy, and the reason for her smile today was not him either. No matter how much he wanted to be an exemplary husband for Irene, he remained a tyrant who deprived her of her freedom, forcing her to marry him. — No, of course you can, I just rarely see you like this. Irene took a sip from her cup of coffee and folded the newspaper. Arthur drank a glass of water. “You need to be at home sober more often.” Or is your work now a second home? — Arthur read coldness and disgust towards him in her eyes. — You know, I work hard for us. — Arthur tried to smooth things out; Irene smiled sarcastically as always. “Yeah, of course, for us,” flashed through her head. — What’s so funny? — Arthur began to get annoyed by this situation; he had a severe headache, and he was unable to endure it; her smile seemed mocking to him. — No, nothing, just. — Irene put an apple pie in her mouth. “I thought that if this is “for us,” then why did you only now hear me asking me to go out into the world at least sometimes? “Irene rested her head on her hand. “I asked you about this many times when we were in Austria, where I had absolutely nothing to do, and only now, having arrived in Berlin, did you fulfill my request. — Arthur shrugged. He simply had no idea; he, a man who was forty years old, wanted to sit near the radio or read a book more than in a cinema hall or in a theater. He had already seen enough in his life and now he wanted peace, unlike the always restless Irene, who was eager to travel, then to the theaters, then to some premieres, then to social parties. Arthur was dissatisfied with his rank because of the encumbrances and responsibilities; Irene used it everywhere as a pass. He opened up a lot of different activities for her, and she didn’t want to get bored just like that. If she is destined to spend her whole life with him, then let her take advantage of him a little. “I don’t know, I probably didn’t want to,” he responded indifferently. — Or didn’t attach much importance to it. You know, I expected that I would see you more often in the kitchen and in home clothes, rather than in a lot of diamonds and expensive dresses. “That’s what I thought, I’m sorry that I didn’t live up to your expectations.” — Irene put the plate of apple pie aside. Arthur did not expect this from Irene, he decided to smoothly change the topic. — As I know, you are going to Hilda’s for a holiday today, have you already chosen a gift? — Certainly. — Arthur gets up from the table, time is running out. Irene nods — she understands that he doesn’t care, he will be busy with his own business. — I hope this is not one of those paintings that is stored in the attic? Why do we even collect this dust? — Irene looks up from the white tablecloth to Arthur; he stands and still looks, waiting for an answer. She began to get angry — at least out of decency he could not say so. His collection of cars, which sat idle in the garage, were even bigger dust collectors than her paintings. — Do you think this is dust? — Arthur nodded positively. Irene put on a casual face; she was partly ready for this conversation, fully aware that he would express his dissatisfaction to her. Arthur, to her great regret, was an uneducated and uncouth boor; she had no reason to be surprised that he would consider art dust. However, each picture had something significant for her. The painting that she bought on the day she came to Augustine’s gallery hung in her bedroom, and she looked at it every evening, remembering those days. — Maybe then we’ll start with your cars and the collections of butterflies that hang throughout the house? Or don’t you consider animals under glass to be dust collectors? — Arthur was confused. Yes, he didn’t know that his wife could be irritated by something in the house no less than he himself. If you look at it as a whole, their house began to look more like a battlefield, where everyone was trying to crush each other. He hung butterflies and beetles, she collected paintings, he collected cars, she collected rare publications. - Well, you compared: animals and some kind of daub. Irene began to boil with anger, she pushed the cup to the edge of the table and stood up from the chair. “Arthur, I understand everything, but let’s end this conversation, it’s useless.” Besides, it won’t make anyone feel any better—you understand perfectly well that I won’t stop buying paintings, and you won’t stop collecting butterflies and cars. Arthur’s jaw tightened at that moment — either from hatred, or from the fact that he did not expect Irene to say something to him in response. He never expected that his wife could contradict him like that. What came over her today? The veins on his forehead stood out and he clenched his fists. — Yes, we will finish it now, but we will not finish it for good. I’m going to Austria soon — please take the trouble to get rid of all this junk while I’m gone. If you live under my roof, then you must follow my rules,” he said in a cold commanding tone. “And I also think that you’re doing all this in vain.” If I see one more painting in our house, I’ll throw them all away. At this point the conversation was over, and the man walked away. Irene was left sitting alone. She wasn’t in the mood at all, and she didn’t want to go anywhere after that either, but she couldn’t refuse her friend, and besides, she was Irene’s only one. She pushed her coffee mug away and asked for champagne. *** Augustine waited in the car for about fifteen minutes, and this began to worry him. Yesterday, when he drove up, Irene came out almost immediately and got into the car. But, despite the anxiety, he sat quietly, half asleep. Yesterday evening turned out to be difficult — Yum was completely out of control, and Yunna, too, having picked up her brother’s wave, did not listen to anyone around her. Agnes and Augustine are tired of their whims; something had to be done with them. Yum kept talking about GY, and Yunna didn’t want to go to school — these problems made her head pound. Augustine kept thinking about his sister’s words — maybe this was really a good decision, maybe something would really come of them? It’s not all doom and gloom after all. They will grow up and begin to assess the situation more soberly. Augustine came out of his thoughts only after the door slammed; out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Irene had come today in a dark burgundy velvet dress. While she was getting comfortable, Augustine turned to her and their eyes met. Irene had tear-stained, red eyes. Time passed slowly on the road, and Augustine constantly looked in the rearview mirror. Irene alternately sighed, like an unhappy prisoner, and then looked at her feet, trying to pretend that everything was fine. But the tears took their toll. Augustine did not want to get involved in her affairs, so he watched the road, however, when he heard a whimper at the end of the road, he looked in the mirror and, looking at the crying Irene, realized that he needed to stop. He slowed down near a small park located near the center, and, turning off the ignition, turned to Irene. — Irene, what happened? — The girl continued to swallow tears, without giving an answer. — Did I do something wrong? — No. — Irene wiped away her tears; she was overcome by shame that Augustine saw her like this. — I just felt offended. — Augustine turned to the steering wheel and realized that it was impossible to drive her in this condition. He got out of the car and opened the back door. — Irene, calm down. I know a small lake nearby — let’s go for a walk, it’s still impossible to take you in this state. — The girl looked up at him. “But I’ll be late,” the girl tried to object. — Is that all you care about? Irene smiled — yes, in some ways Augustine was right. Her tears were probably not the best thing Hilda needed to see. She got out of the car, wiped her eyes with a handkerchief, and she and Augustine walked along an alley lined with oaks—mighty centuries-old trees that created shadows. — So what happened, Irene? — Augustine walked slowly, giving her the opportunity to keep pace with him. — It’s a long story. It’s just… I’m sorry, I felt embarrassed in front of you. — Irene walked, looking around. — Irene, you are not to blame for anything. So what happened? “I never cry, but here it is…” Irene shrugged. — Things just piled up, you know. I saw you and remembered the time when I sang and when my whole life looked different. I often remember Alex’s birthday, when everyone was having fun, and suddenly all this fell on me. I understand that I would probably really like to be the same now, but it’s impossible — and that’s why I started crying. — And what happened? We…” Augustine scratched his head, “we last saw each other at Alex’s birthday, and then you disappeared, no one heard anything about you.” What happened? Did you start crying because you wanted to go back to the past? — Augustine looked at her carefully; Irene was nervous, as if she was going to confession. Augustine felt that Irene missed not only the past, but also the emotions and freedom that had been deprived of her. “I got married against my will, but it turned out to be the lesser of two evils.” “Irene understood that Augustine was one of the few people who could save her at this moment, simply by listening. “I moved to Austria and then came back here because Arthur was transferred, that’s all.” I gave up my singing career and settled completely at home, began to study art. Arthur is not my man, but it’s not that he’s bad. — The girl faltered; Augustine, who had been listening to her attentively, stopped. “He’s just a womanizer, a sadist, and really loves all sorts of perversions in all its forms.” But this is understandable, he works in the SD. — Irene looked at Augustine with irony — it seemed to her that too much time had passed for Augustine to still retain the features of something childish and airy and, despite his black uniform, to still be the same kind person. — Do you just miss emotions? — Yes… I miss the joy, the lightness. Do you know why all adults miss their childhood? Because only in childhood there is spontaneity, freedom from the burdensome burdens of life. — Augustine laughed; his laughter, which rang out in the park, scared away the birds flying past, and they flew in a completely different direction. — How did it happen that you got into the party? “It’s a long story, but in short,” he sat down on a bench, and Irene with him, “it happened because the gallery where I worked was closed in 1933, and the choice, taking into account the fact that I had no education, none left at all. I also needed to pull in the younger ones, so it turned out that I ended up in this job. It turns out strange, Irene, the lowest and most immoral professions pay the most. It turns out that humanity encourages evil, and then, when it fails to restrain it, it remembers morality and law. — Augustine, believe me, I would also like to avoid this fate, but how did I know that I would fall into such a trap? But still nothing can be done. — In any case, you have already calmed down, and that’s good. Besides, if we leave now, I think we can still make it to my birthday. — Irene looked at her watch and stood up in a calm mood; between her and Augustine, some invisible wall that separated them collapsed. Hilda’s holiday was in full swing when the car with Irene pulled up to her house. The birthday girl greeted the belated guest with a light amber and greeted Augustine. — Hello. Are you her new driver? I haven’t met you before. Irene watched, shifting her gaze from Augustine to Hilda and back again. — Yes, I’m a new driver. We were late because of my carelessness — I missed the turn. How clumsy of me… I apologize. — Nothing. Irene, let’s go have some fun! “Hilda led her to everyone else. Irene just looked after Augustin, who, going to the car, sat down to wait for her, pulling out a book by Junger from a drawer. The girl returned earlier than Augustine expected. He had almost finished reading the book — only a few pages remained. He heard Irene’s steps, recognizing her by the sound of her steps — her gait had not changed in many years. It was seven twenty on the clock. — Home? — Irene was silent. She seemed to have shed her unnatural smile and desire to demonstrate anything. Arthur will come late again, there is no point in her returning home. — No, take me anywhere but home, Augustine. He was embarrassed. — Where should I take you? — Irene thought. — Take me to your place. Augustine, who had previously been looking in the rearview mirror, now turned to face her. — To my home? Irene, I will take such a risk… Arthur may notice. “He doesn’t come home before twelve, and besides, he has someone.” — Augustine sighed. Yes, he was aware that Arthur went somewhere every evening, but it was unlikely that he was so stupid as not to notice the absence of his wife at home. Although, if you think about it like that, then yes, Arthur won’t notice. If he didn’t notice her tears today, then, of course, he won’t notice anything else. — Okay, let’s go. “Irene clapped her hands, and Augustine rushed off. Yum and Yunna still went with Agnes to the theater today to watch the new premiere of the film. He can definitely calmly devote the evening to himself. Driving along the evening streets, Irene opened the window slightly, and the wind played with her hair. Augustine drove the car smoothly and carefully, Irene even almost fell asleep. Augustine was also happy — he remembered the evening they spent together. Oh yes, this was one of those rare memories that Augustine treasured. He had wine in the glove compartment, and when Augustine arrived, he took it with him. They rose with flying steps. Irene wanted to walk instead of taking the elevator. She laughed, rushing up the floors, Augustine looked at her, walking quietly somewhere behind. — Irene, not so fast, I don’t have time! — he shouted to her. — Have you forgotten how to walk? — that was all he heard in response. — What kind of apartment do you have? — Thirty-fifth. — Great, I came faster than you. Augustine arrived much later than her, a couple of flights of stairs behind. Irene was happy like a child. Only she could combine seriousness and joy, and they changed with each other so often that it was impossible to understand what she really was like. Irene laughed, looking forward to the evening ahead. There was finally life in her cheeks, they turned pink, and now her eyes, framed by thickly painted eyelashes, no longer looked dead. She flew into the apartment while Augustine hung the coat she had thrown on a hook and walked into the kitchen, taking a corkscrew. He took out glasses and poured a strong drink into them. — Do you have a record player? — I have a radio. — Irene was pleasantly surprised. — But still, let’s not take risks by listening to English songs, but let’s listen to German records. — I don’t mind. “Irene rested her head on her hand, sipping her wine, while Augustine took the record out of the case and put the record on the player. Returning to the kitchen from the living room, he found Irene sitting with an already empty glass. — Have you already drunk everything? “It’s very tasty,” she said slightly ironically. “Besides, I miss the fun and you.” — Irene, you can’t get drunk like that. Why are you missing me? Irene thought about it — a little drunk, she could afford to say what she wanted, and she was happy about that. — Don’t know. You know, sometimes you struggle for years to establish a connection with someone, to understand the person even for a second or two, and there are people whom you barely touch, and you already have a connection for life — and it doesn’t matter if this person with you or not. You will always try to reach him. — Irene leaned towards Augustine. “I missed you, Alex, I tried to write all the time, but I couldn’t, and even if I sent letters, I didn’t receive an answer.” — Augustine sat closer to her. — We sold Alex’s apartment in Munich and everyone moved to Berlin. This happened at the beginning of 1933. I’m sorry, I also wanted to understand why you, having promised to write, never wrote to me. “I was so drowned in shame for those confessions, Irene,” Augustine began to repent. A lump of shame and clumsiness rose in his throat. — Ashamed of what? — For saying how much I like you back then — at Alex’s birthday. I drank quite a lot then, but from that moment on I don’t drink anymore. “But will you drink today if I kiss you?” Do you allow yourself to do this? Augustine waved it off. It was all stupidity, albeit very serious stupidity. But for Irene — no. She actually pulled him towards her and kissed him, lightly and quickly. For the first few seconds, Augustine did not even realize what had happened to him. “Irene,” he said, barely breathing. — Let’s consider this a gift from me to you — and it doesn’t matter for what. At least for tonight. Augustine smiled. It was easy and good for him. He also felt different and, looking now at Irene, he realized that maybe he had been waiting for this all this time? — May I dance with you? “Irene stood up and nodded. They began to dance, moving easily and simply around the apartment. He took Irene home, as promised, when the drunkenness from the wine wore off. On the way they talked about a lot of things, but the most important thing is that Augustine was not afraid to talk with her about politics, about economics, it seemed that one could talk to her about everything. She was not one of those girls who don’t understand or understand anything, but just expect you to tell them something, and they will exclaim about how smart you are. You could talk to Irene as an equal interlocutor, and this is what attracted Augustine — She attracted someone with something that most did not have. And that is why Augustine secretly envied Arthur. Arthur could admire her every evening and see her every evening, but he did not take advantage of this, preferring something cheaper, but at the same time never giving away his toy, which at any moment could be proudly used at balls — both to show off and introduce. Irene woke up from the light brake of the car and looked out the window — they had arrived here again. Irene looked at Augustine. The one on her. — It’s time for you, it’s almost twelve. Irene smiled. “You talk as if I’m Cinderella.” “But the evil stepmother will clearly not be happy.” Go, we’ll see you very soon. Irene kissed Augustine again goodbye and got out of the car, waving to him. “I’ll get used to your love…” was all he could whisper after her.