Chapter Text
The raindrops were tapping the window sill tonelessly.
"I have nothing to talk about myself," I said in a toneless voice.
The man on the opposite side of the table lit a cigarette and took a slow breath.
"You're young, but you've got something, don't you?"
"No. Nothing," I repeated.
"Then, for example, where are you from?"
"A small town, in the middle east."
He's listening to me and said nothing.
"It's a small town where everyone knows everything about each other, even like who's fucking who."
He didn't move an inch of his eyebrow at all to my vulgar word choice. Creep.
"It's not the place for me," I said. "That's why I came to this town. That's it."
Tap, tap, tap. It's so silent, there's only the small sound of rain.
Yes, I had wanted a place where I could belong. I thought I could find it in a big town. But that hope quickly faded. No one cared me here. I haven’t seen stray dogs until I came to this town, and I was just like them.
He took the cigarette out of his mouth and stared at me. I felt uncomfortable, as if he could see right into my head.
"Then you jumped into me—literally," he said.
"It's easy to earn in that area," I said.
I didn't know if it's a research institute or what, but the people walking around there would've rather taken out their wallets or checkbooks and got out of there than got into trouble.
But he was different. He looked at me with an appraising stare and he said, "you, won’t you come with me?"
His eyes behind the round glasses gave me a strange creepy feeling. I didn't want to get in trouble either. For once, it was my turn to leave quickly.
I walked quickly down the street, but then it suddenly started to rain. There was no clouds in the sky until a few minutes before. The rain was so hard that I got soaked and wet from top to toe in a minute. Shit, I cursed my lack of luck. What a day.
As I stopped to cross the street, the rain pouring on my head suddenly stopped, though it was still raining in front of me.
"It looks like we’re going in the same direction," a calm voice said from behind me.
A black umbrella was held above my head. I glanced behind me but before seeing, I knew it's the guy from earlier. I glanced up. "You always carry an umbrella?"
"For a rainy day," he said. The voice sounded like smiling.
The traffic was paused and he pushed my back as he started crossing the street. I could have just ignored him and run in the other direction, but for some reason, I couldn't escape from his hand, which was just put lightly on my back.
His apartment was so ordinary, neither particularly luxurious or poor. As soon as I entered, he suggested that I take a shower. I obeyed him, thinking it wouldn’t go wrong if I took shower—which I hadn’t in days, or even weeks—before I left here.
I thought so, but then I found myself sitting at the table with him.
"What's your name?" he asked and I answered, "Klaber."
And then he asked me the question – "Tell me about yourself, your life, who you are."
He put his cigarette in the ashtray, poured coffee from a pot, and served me. But I didn't feel like touching the cup. I still didn't know who the hell he was.
"Are you hungry?" he asked. I looked away silently, but he got up and disappeared to the kitchen. I knew it was time to run away, but again, I couldn't move.
Within a few minutes, I smelled something delicious.
"Here you are. You Americans like it this way, don't you?"
He put a plate with a hotdog in front of me sitting on the chair holding my knees. It was hotdog, but it looked slightly different from the ones sold on the street. The bread was more round and hard, with a long sausage sticking out of it. Plenty of mustard on top. No ketchup. But I couldn't resist the smell, and bit into the end of the sausage before thinking anything.
The juicy and salty taste of the meat spread in my mouth. It was the most delicious thing I'd ever had in my life.
I almost cried. What kind of idiot cried while eating a hotdog?
He remembered something and left the room again and I wiped my eyes and nose with the back of my hand quickly.
He returned with a small notebook in his hand—a stylish notebook with a hard navy blue cover. He put it on the table.
"I give this to you," he said. "How about keeping a diary?"
My hand stopped completely. I really didn't get what this man was thinking.
He tapped the cover of the notebook with his finger and sat down in the chair next to me.
"We, scientists keep a journal of our experiments. It helps me organise my thoughts. And when I look back later, it brings back memories of the day as well."
I didn't have such thoughts, or anything that I wanted to remember in my life, I said, and throw the last bite of the hotdog in my mouth. He smiled and reached into the inside pocket of his suit. He pulled out a pen and placed it quietly on the notebook. It was a shiny black luxurious pen.
"Try writing with it."
He rose lightly from his chair and leaned toward me. His low, slightly hoarse voice whispered in my ear.
"I'll tell you something good. The touch of the writing with this pen on this notebook is so—"
I think my face flushed a bit with his next words.
I was thinking to spend just one night and leave, but one night turned into a week, then a month, and—
I rub my jawline, feeling the wrinkles and a beard that didn't existed back then. I turn the page which is now yellowish.
If I I hadn’t met him, Mr. Voller, there, what my life would be like. I have no idea, at all.
I close the notebook, pat the navy blue cover, and toss it into the small box—box full of notebooks.