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"Uncle Rat went out to ride, Kitty alone, Kitty alone. Uncle Rat went out to ride, Kitty alone and I."
She lowers her head, shaking her short reddish braids, pausing in her song. She stares off into space, and then, perking up like a bird, turns around.
"And what will you be when you grow up?"
The girl she talked to almost falls into the lake out of surprise. She barely stays in place, adjusts her white bonnet, and looks back, slightly surprised.
"I don't know. I... Maybe a writer, or a weaver, or something. I haven't thought about it yet."
"Wow," she smiles, wringing out the damp hem of her lime-green dress. "I'd like to be a doctor. Helping people, that's, well, great. I guess."
"What kind of doctor? Just a healer, or maybe something special?"
She merely shrugs in response and tosses a pebble into the lake, unsuccessfully. She snorts, turning away from the splash.
"Just a healer! The last thing I need is... I don't even know what. What do people need, if not to be cured?"
"Bring new life, for example. There's no one nearby to help with that."
She giggles awkwardly, tensely, and shakes her head, her hair fluttering slightly.
"A midwife? Oh, no way! That's... That's terrifying! I mean, I don't understand how that's possible, and..."
She breaks off mid-sentence, suddenly becoming so quiet that you can hear the frogs discussing something on the other shore. She looks like a frog herself. Evergreen, like a winter fir, with a wide mouth and sparkling eyes. And strong. She flies across a ditch no worse than that foal led along forest paths by a boy who never comes close.
"Well, you know," her voice suddenly becomes quiet, muffled, "we... We don't live in an ordinary place. I think there's something special here, and something very scary. For us, this is just another day, but Mr. Endicott said he used to live somewhere else, but he doesn't remember anything. And he hasn't changed. Not at all. He used to come when I was four, and he's still the same, like an ant in tar. And eight years have passed... Eight, right? I don't remember."
The only answer is a hand on her shoulder and quiet sympathy. Never before has the sparkle in the eyes of this usually cheerful girl from the edge of the village faded so quickly. And she continues.
"Well, so... It's dangerous here, huh? I don't know if the Beast exists, maybe Mom just scares me with him to keep me from wandering around at night, but what if? Maybe he really is somewhere... Somewhere over there?" She raises her hand, pointing somewhere toward the thicket. "I've heard about witches, and evil spirits, and dead people in the distant field. And why else would people be in such a remote place? I don't want... to see those who go through this. And those who will have to see it for the rest of their lives."
The other girl hugs her, awkwardly, but sincerely. She buries her forehead in the collar of her turtleneck.
"I know... But there's hope, right? Maybe it's not so bad? And don't believe anything about the distant field; I went there last winter in a cart. There and back. There are no dead people there. Just a kitten. Black, small, the size of two tomatoes, with a bow around its neck. And he talks, like that horse. He's not scary."
"Maybe." She droops for a moment, then flushes again, jerking her head up. "Let's check, shall we? Your parents aren't as atrict as mine, are they? Tonight, by the garden wall. I'll sneak away somehow. We'll go into the woods, maybe... Maybe we'll find that stone house."
"Abandoned? You know, let's do it. I've been wanting to go there for ages... I think it's used to be an inn ? A hall and plenty of rooms on the second floor. That's what the neighbor said. The short one, I believe him—nobody don't even keeps an eye on him, parents even let him near the stove, and he can squeeze through any crack. Believe it or not, I saw him on the roof of the mill yesterday, dragging his friend up there. What did they want?"
***
The years passed, and the conversation faded. She forgot herself so completely that she did the exact opposite of what she'd been telling for a whole quarter of an hour. And she'd been right then—it was scary. Better than the last attempt, when she'd been assigned not to heal, but to protect those who had failed. But it was still bad, still not as she'd hoped. Maybe it would have been better to become a village healer.
But she forgot deeds, words, the past, and even names. She remembered only the night in the deep forest, the blood on her face, and the blazing eyes staring into her very soul. The Beast existed; he watched, swinging his branch-like antlers. He gestured with his long-fingered hands. Like a human, but not quite, but something frighteningly wrong. He spoke in a singsong, guttural voice, but she didn't listen. She walked in the other direction, not knowing where or why. She pulled the lime-green fabric of her cap over her ears, trying not to hear a word, tangling in her own dress. Could it have caught up? It could, but it didn't. Waiting for something.
"Hey! Hey, how are you? Can you walk?"
She found herself sitting by a log. Her head was spinning, and there was a metallic taste in her mouth. Focusing her vision, she realized there was a person standing before her. An ordinary, short woman in a simple dress, somehow very familiar—her voice, her face, the way she touched with the gentleness of autumn leaves.
"I... Yes. Where am I?"
"I'll explain later." The familiar stranger took her arm and pulled her to her feet. "The Beast might still be nearby. Let's get out of here."
The road was easier and more straightforward than she thought. They entered a building—familiar, almost scraping at the depths of memory with its two-story structure and brickwork. It was bright and warm, and it seemed safe.
"Sit down and rest. I'll get something... You can change your clothes. Don't be afraid. Everyone here... They're ours. The same."
She raised her head, looked around. There were four more people in the room, and they all seemed strange. As if they'd seen each other before, talked, as if she knew what to expect from them. That guy in the huge beret, barely reaching the table, looked like he'd been there years ago. And his friend sitting next to him, too. They seemed to have been together somewhere, gone somewhere... Are they really still inseparable? Or is it someone else? The man with glasses, sitting right by the wall—was he one of those people who cries when they step on a bug? His glasses are distinctive. And that strange one, hiding his criminal nature too poorly. Who is he talking with... Ah, the horse outside the window. How familiar that horse is. A gray stallion with a white spot on his muzzle. He must've been somewhere...
"Change your clothes and come have tea. It's cold today." The woman, apparently in charge of the place, smiled, handing her a simple garment folded several times. "Don't be afraid. No Beast will come here... We have hope for life. And a dog."
She merely smiled back and stood up. And the dog really was here – there, sleeping by the door in a pile of fur. And there's nothing to be afraid of.
And the tea was warm. All bright and cozy. Everything is fine. She lowered her head, smiling, but immediately perked up again when someone called her name.
"Now tell us, who are you?"
She stared into space, trying to remember. What was her name? Linnie, no, Elena... Harlequin? Minerva? It was all wrong. She knew what she was doing, but who she was—she couldn't remember at all. Maybe she'll remember someday, but...
"What do you mean?"
"Well, we're all somebody here. We have the Tailor, the Highwayman, the Baker, and Patissier... I'm the Tavern Keeper. The Dog is the Dog. And for some reason, the horse's name is Fred, but that's what he tells us himself, and whether to believe it or not, I don't know. We all forgot our real names here, but that's not necessary. The main thing is that we're still at least someone. It's better than being nobody."
"Oh, that's what you mean." She smiled, halfheartedly, but sincerely. "I think I'm... a Midwife. At least, that's what I remember."
"That's good." Tavern Keeper sat down, putting her arm around her new acquaintance. "Stay. We're all lost here. The Unknown is dangerous, besides. We should stick together."
And she stayed.
***
"Uncle Rat, will you marry Lady Mouse? Kitty alone, Kitty alone. Uncle Rat, will you marry Lady Mouse? Kitty alone, and..." She pauses mid-sentence, staring into space, unblinking. How people stare, trying to remember something.
Tavern keeper looks at her in surprise, takes her hand—and it's as if she's remembering something herself. This song, this voice—something familiar, almost painfully dear. All that flashed through her mind was the sparkle of the lake, the splash of a fallen pebble. And the warmth of someone else's body. Midwife had become close to her in the six months they'd spent together, but now it seemed as if those six months were only a fraction of the totality of their bond. They understood each other perfectly, could hug longer than necessary, without any reason. Looking into each other's eyes, trusting the very depths of vulnerability. And it was some deep feeling, deep as if for some reason they couldn't quite remember. The chant opened something else. As if it had happened before. As if they had been together forever. A lime-green dress, reddish hair—what was her name?
Maybe it doesn't matter now.
"Don't think about it, dear. Everything is fine. You're safe."
Tavern Keeper rests her head on Midwife's shoulder and hugs her tightly and tenderly. Midwife closes her eyes in response, smiling at the feel of the cotton cap under her cheek and the way her face is pressed tightly against the collar of her turtleneck. She kisses the top of her head, knowing she's shy about more, but she needs to show her deep tenderness without words.
It doesn't matter about names. About the past, about the Beast, about the dead in the distant field, who turned out to be real.
They're here, and nothing more is needed.