In the Mountains

      Ciel lies, weaves a long, sweet web, and Daddy willingly believes him.       Mr. Vincent Phantomhive is a respectable middle-aged man, an exemplary family man and a single father. He truly believes this fairy tale very readily: Ciel will go to some educational event and, perhaps, but this is far from certain, his son will be able to enter a university, and with a good humanitarian base and a Christian bias! and Ciel and his brother Sirius were just studying at Catholic school, this is a great opportunity! This is definitely not something to be missed, as well as promotions like buy five unnecessary frying pans for the price of two.       In fact, Ciel is simply tired of sitting at home, and he deceives his father in order to take his money and go to a nearby town for a few days to relax.       Sirius, his twin brother, of course, doesn’t quite believe it: he’s not Dad and doesn’t so easily accept everything Ciel says at face value. Convincing him, who is trying to at least slightly shake his father’s confidence, is a separate task. Firstly, Ciel says that he does not need to be driven at all (“Ciel, Dad has a car, in case you forgot; you don’t have to go with some sweaty nerd from the supermarket”; “But, Sirius, Dad has work, and Cedric is not “some sweaty nerd from the supermarket”, but a good friend of Dad’s, which means I’m in good hands, and nothing bad will happen to me…”). Secondly, Ciel says that the presence of a father or brother is redundant (“I can help you at the event; what do you need to do? draw a poster? play the piano?”; “Sirius, thank you very much, but I can handle everything just fine on my own…”). The words pour out of Ciel’s mouth like molasses, so sugary that it makes his jaw clench: Ciel will behave well, Ciel will be back in a week, Ciel will post photo reports and won’t get into trouble. Honestly!       Cedric — his name is actually Simon, but Ciel has such an airy head coupled with impenetrable stubbornness that he cannot remember such a simple word — is driving a young nymphet. He reeks of sweat; Ciel’s tender mucous membranes are irritated, and Ciel shows this with his entire appearance without the slightest twinge of conscience: he either grimaces his face, or squeezes his nose with his fingers, like a clothespin. He sits in the back seat, fans himself with a cheap glossy magazine he found in the pocket of the driver’s seat, and looks out the window at the fields passing by. On the cover is a naked woman, winking flirtatiously and proudly showing off her ample breasts. Ciel is not interested in this, of course, he is taller than dumb men with chronic erections and reads only classical literature, not some porn magazines.       Cedric drops Ciel off at a motel on the outskirts. Cedric tries to invite Ciel to come with him, but Ciel resolutely refuses, and annoyed Cedric goes off alone to his nerdy friends to play a console, read comics and drink vodka with juice. The boy tried to seduce young Phantomhive a couple of times, but in vain. Little Ciel is like a monk, only with the eyes of a whore. Inaccessible. A boy from a pin-up poster.       The cloudless blue sky seems especially ominous, heavy, as if it is pressing on the low mountains, hidden behind the branches of dry, dead trees. The motel is surrounded by languid forest, battered by the winds and the hurricane that happened two months ago. Near the motel there is a gas station with rickety gas pumps and a holey shop roof — and a cafe-diner. Beyond that is just the city, an automotive industrial center in decline; and not many people live here — less than a hundred thousand. It’s not a one-story Britain, but it’s still far from skyscrapers. One and a half stories Britain.       Ciel does absolutely nothing useful for two whole days: he sleeps as much as he wants, eats cakes, swallows strange modern literature called “fan fiction” (quite a fashionable thing), chats on the phone with his slightly stupid but loyal kent Arthur and Sirius. Restless twin brother calls almost every two hours: Ciel, did you eat well? did you sleep? is everything going well with the event? Of course, everything is just great! Ciel built a sugar castle on the coffee table from refined sugar cubes, which is now terrorized by ants.       To be honest, Ciel notices the ants by lunchtime because he woke up by then from Sirius’s call. Now he sits on an unmade bed, sunlight faintly filtering through the curtained brown windows. The motel rooms have a boring and ugly interior: everything is brown, orange and khaki, such a pretentious boho. You can’t help but think that you are in Mexico, although you are still in old Britain.       On the coffee table next to the sagging sofa there are perfectly even snow-white cubes, forming the ruins of a sweet medieval castle, in which marauding ants are hovering — black specks of caries on the white surface of sugar. They walk from the ruins to the edge of the table in even columns of soldiers, carrying away the loot.       Ciel doesn’t like ants: they are disgusting, stupid, overly susceptible to collectivism and herd mentality, such black and nondescript creatures that work for wear and tear and for the sake of death. But Ciel doesn’t plan to do anything with them. He’ll wait until the cleaning lady comes.       Ciel is too squeamish to bother with them.       Ciel gets out of bed. He fell asleep in the same clothes he wore yesterday: a long black T-shirt with the ornate inscription “Évanouir” and shorts to the middle of his shins. The stockings are sadly lying on the floor, strewn with crumbs of chips, next to the shoes. Ciel lazily scratches his slightly sore tummy. A stupid nineteen year old boy will never understand what he needs to eat.       Ciel needs to somehow have fun, because he is already tired of idleness, and he meets Sebastian.       A new friend lives in a motel on a permanent basis because there is not enough money to rent a normal place. Sebastian is the average British type: slightly coarse dark hair, sharp features of an emaciated face, pale skin and a standard build with a leaning towards thinness. This is an adult man, much older than the overgrown nymphet Ciel.       At a cafe, Sebastian orders the two of them hamburgers and coffee. Ciel looks at the old diner and asks:       “Seb, for some this is kind of a tactless question, but I don’t care: how old are you?”       In fact, he is a very nice young man, he is just poorly mannered.       Sebastian looks up from wiping his spoon and says:       “I’m thirty-two.”       He rubs the cutlery with a soft cloth. There is a pungent smell of alcohol — an antiseptic. Ciel wrinkles his nose.       Ciel asks again:       “Thirty-two?”       “Yes, I haven’t been a schoolboy for a long time,” Sebastian smiles tiredly, but at the same time a little cheerfully. On his sharp, slightly thin face this expression looks a bit wild.       “You’re thirty-two, and you still don’t have a wife and children?”       “Pfff, how did you figure that out, Ciel?” Sebastian puts the spoon back into the wicker case and starts to rub the knife.       “Well, usually married people don’t live in motels. The very concept of “marriage” does not fit with a cramped square room…”       Perhaps Sebastian is divorced, or he has a bad fight with his wife, and they sit in motels while their children — a sweet daughter and a sweet little son — live with some Aunt Claire and wait to be given to the correct parent, “Bastian, forgive me! I can’t imagine my life without you and our children!” — “No, Emily, you sucked Jonh and kissed our children with the same lips… You are terrible! slut!”, a dull suburban fling, but Ciel doesn’t think so. Sebastian is most likely childless. Sticky family dramas, smelling of vanilla and shoe polish, are not for him. Something stands out from his type.       Sebastian’s eyes express tired condescension, which cuts off all attempts of the young bitch Ciel to look good against the backdrop of the overgrown loser. Ciel pouts. Sebastian asks:       “What about you? Are you sixteen, boy?”       “I’m nineteen. I’m still a nymph.”       Sebastian polishes the table. It’s like an obsession — a mania for cleanliness. Cleencore. This world is dirty and vicious, full of filth. Any contact with it infects you with thousands of microorganisms, vile tiny creatures: chlamydia, staphylococcus, E. coli.       The planet has always been an unsanitary monstrosity, and the natural environment is no less disgusting and murderous than huge human garbage dumps.       “I see… when I was nineteen, it also seemed to me that people at thirty were already such antediluvian animals, not extinct mammoths. They wear suits, go to work, dream about a new car…”       The waitress — a bimbo in a blue dress with a white apron — brings two saucers of fatty, small but dense hamburgers: a patty, melted cheese, strips of bacon, a slice of tomato and some lush lettuce. The bimbo waitress pours hot coffee from the pot into cups and places one at a time next to the dishes. She smiles. Sebastian says:       “You are especially beautiful today.”       The waitress laughs, wishes the “handsome guys” a pleasant meal, and leaves. Ciel looks at the mountains outside the window and says:       “I’m not that stupid. I know that people at thirty-two are not old.”       “Clever boy. But if you want, you can consider me a dilf.”       Sebastian smiles and leans forward a little, resting his elbows on the table. A black shirt, black trousers, black polished oxford shoes — he looks like he’s going to someone’s funeral. Against his background, Ciel looks like a suburban nymph in an airy cream-colored shirt, mid-calf shorts, teasing stockings and shoes. Firstly, black is boring, Ciel believes, ugly and gloomy. Secondly, even despite his Daddy’s busy schedule, Ciel has no problems with the image of a father, there is no need to look for him in other men. He’s not some kind of nerd with a weakness.       Ciel digs his teeth into a hearty hamburger.       “Bon appetite,” Sebastian says.       Ciel catches his gaze. Tired, battered by life, but still quite warm. Sebastian’s eyes are a delicious, chocolate color. It looks like sediment in cocoa.       “Thank you. And you too, I guess.”       In fact, he is a very nice young man, he is just poorly mannered.       There’s definitely something in the mountains.       As they leave, the portly man with the moustache and 1950s bowler hat lowers his newspaper and looks out the window. His cup of coffee and plate of boring oatmeal cookies remain untouched.  

***

        The motel room is cramped, slightly permeated with summer heat. A caustic sunlight breaks through the blinds. A fan spins under the ceiling. On TV they show stuffy politicians in suffocating ties and shirt collars: they are either deciding the fate of the world or playing “Jeopardy!” — and the quiet voice of the announcer is erased to a booming mumble, an auditory padding that clogs the ears so that it is not quiet. The single-and-a-half bed is unmade.       Quite a handsome man, Ciel thinks, spinning in front of a grimy full-length mirror. He’s so skinny in his fluffy shirts and shorts. Doll legs, thin arms — a figurine from a shop window that you can only look at and lick your lips.       At the end of the self-care session, Ciel: brushes his teeth for the second time; applies makeup to his face (a little strawberry lip balm and just a drop of mascara; Ciel is lovely even without layers of “plaster”); combs his ash-blue hair. God. I’m so fucking awesome, Ciel thinks. He would fuck himself — just to touch the beautiful. However, Ciel doesn’t let anyone — touch the beautiful. He’s an inaccessible flower. A cross between a cymbidium orchid and a Venus flytrap. Try sticking your fingers in.       In the corridors of the motel, Ciel meets Sebastian — and he offers:       “Do you want to go bowling? It’s not far, in a residential area.”       Ciel asks thoughtfully:       “Will there be food at the bowling alley?”       Ciel’s tummy wants to eat: it would like a cake; or sugar; or maybe a greasy hamburger with coffee.       “Of course,” Sebastian says. His gentle, slightly rough-skinned hand ruffles Ciel’s hair. “I’ll feed you, fidget.”       “I’m ready for anything!”       Sebastian laughs. His laughter sounds like a pleasant, deep rumble. He asks:       “Have you been bowling before?”       Ciel describes in general terms how as a child he once went with his mother, father and brother, and later, at an older age, only with his father and brother — Ciel omits the detail about where his mother went — and, in general, if his memory serves him correctly, it was fun. There was definitely one strike. Or maybe not. Ciel barely remembers his childhood: Catholic school, white stockings, hymns, cafes on weekends, Dad’s old Ford, mom’s scented candles, quarrels with Sirius over ice cream… Too distant to touch.       Too distant.       “It’s great that you have such pleasant memories of bowling,” Sebastian smiles, leaning his shoulder against the ornamented wall of the corridor. “My Dad loved bowling. Every celebration took place at our local sports club. It was so… you know… I can’t describe this feeling.”       Sebastian pauses and says sadly:       “Perhaps tenderness?”       A fat man in a gray suit and bowler hat staggers past them. Ciel is distracted by him — and is not completely moved by Sebastian’s story. Disgust towards the fat man knocks down even the most timid beginnings of reciprocal empathy. Ciel tries not to show it.       In fact, he is a very nice young man, he is just poorly mannered.       “A nice story,” he says. Such soft, warm childhood memories. It’s cool to remember such things! That is, not to forget. Memory. To have a memory.       They go bowling.       The bowling alley is truly spacious, illuminated by a galaxy of lanterns, and the floor is equipped with so many lanes that they seem endless: the lines of roads are like the lines of ketamine. In addition to a couple of girls, there is a group of men in the bowling alley, notable lovers of bowling balls with beer, and also a friendly family with two boys, very loud, but located at the other end of the room. Overall, it is tolerable.       Ciel tries to launch the ball a couple of times, but it is heavy and uncomfortable — and there were no strikes. Little Phantomhive does not know how to lose gracefully. Having traditionally made a scene, he sits down at the table and sips a milkshake through a straw. It was bought by Sebastian — a consolation prize for the capricious silly boy.       Strike!       Sebastian is better at the game. Ciel watches his buddy? his friend? his sugar daddy? (something else?) and a little jealous. Apparently, Sebastian didn’t lie about his childhood at the bowling club: he bowls the balls just right.       Strike!       On the table are two club sandwiches, three chocolate muffins, a half-empty cup of coffee and, of course, a milkshake in a special pretty cup with a fluffy cap of whipped cream and a cherry on top. All sweets for Ciel. Glucose is good for the brain.       Strike!       Sebastian sits down next to him. Ciel takes a sip of the milkshake with such a languid look, like a hero from a film noir, and then pretends to fight when Sebastian tries to take a sip too (“Hey, we didn’t agree on this, you have your coffee!”; “Don’t worry, I can order you another one”).       “Are you having fun?” Sebastian asks. The top button of his shirt is unbuttoned, and Ciel accidentally looks at his collarbones.       “Mm…” Ciel hums, sipping his cocktail. Delicious. “In principle, yes. I remembered that the last time I was bowling, my brother was trying to impress our cousin with his skills and slammed the ball right onto his own foot.”       Ciel pauses with a gloomy and displeased expression. Sebastian frowns.       “He broke some bones in his foot, to be honest, I don’t know much about this topic at all and don’t know what and how. He’s limping a little now.”       “I sympathize.” and Sebastian’s voice really expresses sympathy. Something warm and slightly sad.       Strike!        Ciel is a little stupefied.       Soothing lounge music comes from the speakers. Sebastian takes a club sandwich and bites into it. Ciel follows suit. The sandwich is tasty, but a little soggy and sticky.       Strike! People around him continue to rattle their skittles.       Sebastian nuzzles Ciel’s cheekbone and breathes gently, then tries to move to his lips and even touches them, weightlessly, without having time to cling, because Ciel — the chaste and timid slut Ciel — pulls back.       All his arrogance disappears somewhere. Silly Ciel looks away.       An aversion to homosexuality was instilled in Catholic school and now Ciel kind of doesn’t give a fuck, but he doesn’t seem to give a fuck…       “Why doesn’t anyone eat muffins?” Sebastian nods his head towards the plate with chocolate muffins. “Who did I buy these for? Ciel… don’t offend this man.”       Strike! Sebastian goes off to play bowling. Ciel pulls the plate of muffins towards himself and hypnotizes it with his gaze.       The man in the 1950s bowler hat at the next table takes pictures of the menu and the mountains from the window.       There’s definitely something in the mountains.  

***

 

      There are two days left before leaving. In the morning, Dad calls and asks how things are.       Ciel replies:       “Good.”       Dad calls him a good boy and asks to eat three times a day. Then, closer to ten, Sirius calls and asks how things are.       Ciel replies:       “Good.”       Sirius asks him not to get into trouble and says that he bought him some book. Then, closer to lunch, Sammy calls and asks how things are.       Ciel replies:       “Good.”       Seymour says that he is pretty and suggests that they go for a walk in the center. Ciel tells Cedric that maybe later, if there are no things to do in the evening. Cecil mumbles.       “W-well, okay… w-we’ll be at Subway with the guys if anything happens… um,” and Ciel ends the call.       In fact, he is a very nice young man, he is just poorly mannered.       In the courtyard of the motel, Ciel meets Sebastian. He’s sitting in his car, his legs stretched out the open door, smoking a cigarette. Sebastian’s car is a faded silver old BMW, probably the same age as Ciel, maybe even a little older. There’s a Burger King bag thrown on the passenger seat.       “Morning,” Ciel says.       “Good morning, late bird.” Sebastian flicks his ashes. “How did you sleep?”       “Wonderful. I lay with the window open, butt up, and fell asleep watching the TV.”       “I had no doubt. You are nymphet, after all; sleeping in delicious positions — a confection.”       The overgrown loser, of course, will not refuse the sweet nineteen-year-old cake. Ciel is so delicious, like a fake cheesecake behind a pastry shop window. Inaccessible.       “Do you want me to take you to the center?” Sebastian suggests, blowing out an uneven stream of smoke. “To go for a walk.”       “Sure.”       Ciel likes to go for a walk at someone else’s expense. His father’s money is not enough for him: Daddy didn’t exactly give him much, but to cheat him dry is to shoot yourself in the leg, in the tender fragile leg, oh poor legs. Ciel is a prudent boy. There are so many good people besides Daddy who are ready to help! During his vacation, innocent Ciel was pestered by:       1) the fat nerd Simon (serial — unsuccessfully);       2) some forty-year-old truck driver whom Ciel tricked into giving him a cheeseburger;       3) a cop who tried to prove to citizen Phantomhive that he was a drug addict;       4) the thirty-two-year-old loser, a motel rat.       Dirty, lustful people. And Ciel doesn’t give himself to anyone (almost). A forty-year-old man eats his meat and now insatiably feels Ciel’s delicious fleshy body parts (in fact, not very fleshy: he’s skinny)? and directly says that after a tasty cheeseburger, he should put an unwashed penis smelling of cheese with royal blue mold in his pretty mouth? Ugh! That won’t happen. Ciel knows what to do: throw a tantrum; lie that he’s actually fifteen; in between, he can screw between the legs: these men are ordinary and useless human beings. Nature gave two — and keep them for the rest of your life. Not a chicken to hatch new ones.       With Sebastian, it’s not so scary. For some reason.       The town grows further along the highway — below the mountains, above the forest. One and a half-story Britain.       Ciel eats a taco, then vomits it, and Sebastian holds him under the chest and gives him water. Then they walk around a three-story shopping center. On the third floor, all the pavilions are closed. People are no longer interested in furniture or women’s clothing or bed linen — everyone huddles on the first floor near the communication salon, phone repair and food court.       Ciel buys himself new panties and a couple of movie cassettes. Then they go into a pet store. Ciel stares at the animals.       “They’re so cute…” Ciel stands in front of a cage with rabbits. One, black and white spots, is chewing on a straw, the second, sandy, is sleeping. “It’s a pity, I can’t have one… Dad forbids it.”       “Why? You’re already a big boy.” Sebastian looks questioningly at Ciel. He has been obediently carrying bags with groceries for about an hour.       “When I was a kid, my hamster died because I didn’t feed it. Forgot.”       “Forgot that you need to feed a living creature?”       “Don’t lecture me!” Ciel replies irritably. “I have one living creature — me! — and sometimes I forget that I need to feed it, too. The main thing is that I don’t forget to wash it. I don’t like to stink!”       “You smell good, yes.”       “Thank you, it’s shampoo from the motel. We use the same skincare products.”       “Such cheap rubbish somehow tastes good on you.” Sebastian smiles cheerfully. “You also have nice perfume. Roses, right?”       “Something like that.”       Ciel looks at the fish, at the Madagascar cockroaches, at the chinchillas, at the kittens, at the puppies. He moves from the aquariums to the cages.       “I had a dog when I was a kid. Russian Borzoi.”       “Did you forget to feed it too?”       “Nope,” Ciel shakes his head. “He wouldn’t let me rest until he got food. And he was more interesting than a hamster. My brother and I often played with him until he died three years ago.”       Sebastian shouldn’t know that the dog was also named Sebastian.       The mustachioed man in the 1950s bowler hat takes a photo of a pet store window, their backs — the creamy airy shirt of the nymphet and the funeral black of the overgrown loser — and the view of the mountains from the panoramic window of a shopping mall.       There’s definitely something in the mountains.  

***

        “Do you want us to go to the mountains? Fresh air and all that.”       “Okay,” Ciel answers shortly, yawning. Sebastian pushes a plate with an omelet towards him — a yellow mass with pieces of bacon and a pinch of orange zest. Sebastian bought groceries yesterday and cooked this deliciousness.       Sebastian chuckles.       “Eat, charming mister. Lil' prince.”       “I’m just Bambi the deer.”       After breakfast, Ciel, lingering his gaze on the lifeless mountains, returns to his room and immediately takes a shower. The water is cold today because the hot water was turned off. Fucking motel.  

***

      “I got you some cakes for a snack.” Sebastian hands Ciel a box of Twinkies without looking up from the road. “I think they’re your taste.”       “These are lousy cakes.”       In fact, he is a very nice young man, he is just poorly mannered.       “You’ve eaten exceptional junk in front of me, nothing but fast food and worse. Don’t show off.”       “…well, okay.”       Ciel picks up the box of cakes and looks at the dead mountains and the dry forest.       There’s definitely something in the mountains.       A black Pinto Ford drives behind the old BMW. It’s a trough, not a car. Ciel hugs the box of golden cakes, takes one out and starts eating. At some point, he gives Sebastian a bite too.       Ciel thinks he should have worn sneakers. The stupid boy put on shoes instead.       They walk through the forest. The soft, yielding ground slightly caves in under their soles, damp blades of grass lick their shoes, and the wind tugges at their fluffy shirt. Around them are firs, firs and only firs, gigantic and ancient, older than Ciel, Dad, Sirius and even Sebastian all together. The sky is covered with heavy clouds, the sun is not visible, but it seems to be somewhere in the evening.       “Beautiful, isn't it?” Sebastian asks.       “Yeah.”       A torn-up packaging of Twinkies with withered, formerly golden biscuit crumbs and smears of white cream is lying on the ground. Ciel thoughtfully examines the find and kicks it.       “Someone made a mess,” he says, his mouth still sweet from the cakes Sebastian bought.       “Probably some wild animal ate it,” Sebastian replies.       “Are we in danger?”       “I don’t think so. The scraps look old. It’s probably already gone. And as far as I know, there aren’t any bears or wolves around here, so the most we’ll see is a skunk.”       “I’m scared.”       “It’s okay, I’m with you.”       Ciel looks worried, but obediently swallows Sebastian’s verbal reassurance. They continue walking. The sky is getting heavy, and rain is about to break. The wind bends the treetops. Ciel stops, dumbfounded.       A red spot against the background of the evergreen forest.       “Bastian, what is this?” Ciel asks, his voice trembling and on the verge of hysteria. He freezes. His eyes reflect wild fear, but Sebastian’s presence keeps him from acting abruptly.       A shapeless lump of flesh. In shape and size, it resembles a human figure, but awkward, knotty, as if disfigured by genetic mutations, devoid of distinct limbs. Its body is entangled in steel ship cables, biting until it bleeds. And it also leaves a slimy, bloody trail behind it as it slowly crawls across the grass. Like a slug. A meat slug.       It lifts up what looks like a head — and opens a fleshy O-shaped slit, resembling a mouth.       “Bastian, what is this?” the creature says in Ciel’s voice.       Ciel screams and clutches his heart. The creature twitches in fear and screams too, in his voice. Then it starts barking like a dog.       “Ciel, don’t panic…” Sebastian takes two feverish steps back.       “Ciel, don’t panic…” the creature repeats in a pleasant baritone and adds in a different voice: “Kevin, bullets won’t take this creature! Kevin! Run to the car, call us for backup…”       Sebastian breathes heavily.       “Ciel, don’t panic… Woof! Bastian, what is this?” the monster doesn’t calm down, changing voices non-stop. “[W h a t a p r e t t y f a c e!] Agamemnon Pharmaceutical products are a guarantee of your good health and the health of your children. Are we in danger? It’s a skunk.”       “Shut up, you damned worthless thing!” Sebastian barks.       “Shut up, you damned worthless thing!” the slug replies.       Three loud shots ring out. The one who fires is a mustachioed, overweight man in the 1950s bowler hat. Horrified, Ciel tries to pretend it’s not happening. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.       The smell of acetone hangs in the air.       “Woof! Bastian, what is this? I’m scared. Woof!”       It looks like Ciel is about to wet himself from fear and the intensity of what’s happening.       Sebastian grabs Ciel’s hand and       There’s definitely something in the mountains.  

***

      “Ciel, I love you,” Sebastian says and laughs.       Ciel is silent. He is lying on the backseat of the car. There is the box of half-eaten Twinkies and the bag of Burger King underneath. It smells like cold French fries and a double cheeseburger.       It is sad, a little scary and empty. Ciel does not know where they are going, does not know what is happening and what happened.       It feels like a piece of his life has been cut out.       Ciel remembers his childhood. Soap bubbles shimmering and trembling in the summer sky and his mother’s smile. Catholic school, white stockings, hymns, chatting with Sirius before bed, rubber jelly and his father’s wristwatch that was stolen a couple of years ago.       In his hand is a photograph of the L*** mountains, which was attached to the windshield of the old BMW and taken from the window of room number eighty-three. The room in which Ciel lived.       On the back is the caption: “There is definitely something in the mountains.”  

***

      …A man named Diedrich von Schweitz lived in room seventy-seven, but a week later, at the time of check-out, the man was not in the room and nothing spoke of his presence. Instead of a man of indeterminate appearance (the motel staff couldn’t remember a single distinguishing feature of Diedrich, except for his age), an unknown woman was found hanged in the room. The television was on, there were open bottles of beer on the table, a bench scale, and traces of an unknown white powder, later identified as heroin. Other notable finds included a photo of the L*** mountains, presumably taken from room eighty-one or eighty-three, with the caption on the back: “There’s definitely something in the mountains.”       An investigation is underway. Presumably, the woman committed suicide in a drug-fueled stupor.         Sebastian throws the newspaper onto the highway rushing past the window. On the side of the highway lies the half-decomposed body of a deer. The mountains remain behind.  

***

      Ciel wakes up at home. His room is bright and clean. The whole mess of things — wrinkled shirts, dirty coffee mugs, a dried-out slice of pizza, a milk canister, an old stuffed rabbit with one glass eye and other junk — has disappeared somewhere. Perhaps tidy Sirius could no longer tolerate this mess. Ciel doesn’t know for sure.       Sirius’s worried face looms over him. Sebastian sits to the side. Ciel’s fragile, delicate hand is in his large, warm palm with black nails.       Ciel thinks that he won’t go to the mountains anymore and that he wants cotton candy. Sebastian doesn’t let go of his hand.       Then Ciel grows up. He gets more serious, his teasing shorts with stockings turn into long, modest bell-bottoms, his dull friends disappear from his social circle — oval, so few people are ready to tolerate the metamorphosis of the nymphet into the normal person. Ciel stops being afraid of the future, Ciel stops being afraid of growing up. It happens imperceptibly and quickly. Painlessly, like under anesthesia.       Ciel understands that he is an adult when he turns twenty-three and has a nice two-room apartment on the outskirts of London, a normal, “no-nonsense” job like a legal consultant and a strong marriage.       Sometimes he dreams of mountains, and Ciel wakes up screaming and Sebastian’s warm, pleasantly heavy hand lying on his waist. It calms no worse than Corvalol. But Sebastian is, of course, against taking sedatives. The tranquilizers, prescribed for panic attacks, had already ruined Ciel’s stomach.       Ciel no longer eats Twinkies — lousy cakes — and hates slugs. Unpleasant associations.       Sebastian no longer reads newspapers. It’s strange to know that a woman hanged herself in his room while high on drugs. It’s strange to know that the room he was staying in wasn’t actually his room.       They’re thinking about getting fish and adopting a child. Probably a boy.