The West Road
Little Lena lived in the tall building seen through the oaks on a small hill, the windows of its upper floors still give the view of the city covered with sunny dust: lime slices of new houses, the roofs of old brick houses - the fragments of a red sky plate that had crashed here ages ago, the mossy growth of the trees, rising along the sides of the hills, and the road leading west, wide, free from cars, if observed from a distant window on a summer afternoon, it seems to be made for the thought, not for the cars, but for the thought heading to the horizon, to run and catch up with the sun of the mythical athletes of my childhood.
But little Lena lived on the forth floor, and she couldn't see the west road, it was shielded by the trees, and only in winter, when the leaves disappeared, she could see the white smooth line running to the horizon, especially in the morning, after a snowy night, the road then would become clear, like a frozen river, and she could be the same until playing boys and homeless dogs spoilt her whiteness, but, to tell the truth, little Lena didn't look at the road, she preferred looking at the yard, at the bushes, at the asphalted cells, divided by the labyrinths of the parapets, using which together with hardly distinct cracks in the stones, one could get as far as to the roof of any garage or transformation cabin, kids playground with loose logs and mushrooms painted scarlet - sometimes crows came to sit on them - the forsaken cars, bleached with rains and winds, cars that no one seemed to need anymore; to cut the long story short, little Lena liked looking at all those so much familiar things that there was a part of her own self out there, beyond the window, in a way, this glass had become looking.
The day that little Lena liked most of all was the Christmas, it was even better than her birthday, because at Christmas she got the very best wished presents, sometimes those she was even scared to wish. All that was done by Santa Claus, who visited houses where children lived at night, with his mysterious, magic bag. Little Lena told him of her wishes in whisper going to sleep, crossing her hands gracefully on her chest, and he heard not even what she was saying, but what was standing beyond her words, and brought her not what she had asked him for, but what she wanted in fact. It was scary, when little Lena realized how Santa loved her.
So, on that Christmas night, when little Lena was almost eight years old already, she woke up at night, she had never done so before on Christmas night, she woke up because she heard an icicle fall from the balcony, or a dog bark in the lower yards, or a drawing room door squeak, she didn't know why but she woke and saw her dad standing on his knees near the Christmas tree and putting the presents under it, the presents that were supposed to be brought by Santa, but weren't. Little Lena watched her dad placing the bags with presents in the light of the yard street-lamp, and she realized that Santa handed the presents over to dad through the open door, because he hurried to other flats, she waited, she pretended to be sleeping, she waited for her dad to go away, then she got up and looked through the presents, but they were all unnecessary, not at all what she wanted, the thing that struck her most was a doll with a white ribbon, packed in a plastic box and so ugly! Suddenly little Lena thought that Santa had simply been mistaken, that she had received the gifts meant for another girl, from a different house, and little Lena burst into tears from her nuisance and pity for the missing magical presents she had been waiting for all the year long. She was crying fairly violently, because her sorrow was enormous, but quietly, so that nobody would know that she had got up and was crying from her sorrow, that she was so greedy and wanted better presents. Then she dressed up, took the ugly doll in the plastic box and softly left the flat; the lock clicked, of course, but not very loudly, and little Lena ran downstairs, she wanted to find Santa and tell him he had mixed up the presents. Between the third and the second floor little Lena looked out of the window at the yard, but there was nobody there, and the snow was covered with confetti and the footprints of the people that had been celebrating Christmas, so that it was impossible to trace Santa this way. Getting down, little Lena stopped near the bench, at the slippery, hard snow, not knowing what to do next. A few windows in the house were still lit, little Lena knew there were people who didn't believe in Santa and celebrated Christmas all through the night, and that was why nobody brought them any presents. Little Lena went along the wall of the house, looking back from time to time, she hoped that Santa was still inside or in the next house, and that he was about to go out of the front door.
She went on until she saw a man sitting on the log in the middle of the playground. The man was dressed in a dark, unbuttoned fur coat, which was so small for him that his hands (red with frost) were considerably poking out of it, and on his head was an insecure hat with ear-flaps, one ear was hanging down, while the other was put upright, so the man seemed to be using it for listening to some mysterious music of the magical Christmas night. He was sitting with his head down, and maybe he was even sleeping this way. Little Lena came up to him, the snow whispering under her feet, she expected to hear him snore, but he didn't, he was very quiet, casting his hands poking out of the sleeves in his lap, these hands seemed too thin compared with the furry sleeves of the coat, they reminded of nude, helpless bodies of mollusks leaving their decayed shells. Suddenly the man shivered and turned to little Lena, she almost shrieked with surprise. The man looked at her as though not understanding where she was, of course, the smell of wine came from him, but not too strong.
"Did you see Santa here?" little Lena asked shyly, clutching the doll in the whispering plastic box.
"He went that way," the man waved his hand, not even waved but cast one of his hands aside, like a cloth.
"When?" asked little Lena.
"Not long ago," said the man, still trying to find little Lena with his empty eyes.
Then he suddenly realized that he'd never find her, and craned his neck, so rapidly that he almost fell down from the log. Little Lena also looked up and saw that there were stars in the sky. There were so many of them, little Lena had never seen before. The man murmured something, staring at them, and little Lena murmured something in reply, but she didn't understand what. But she couldn't stand there long, she had to go and find Santa, she turned and went away, and the man remained sitting on the log, lifting one of his furry ears, looking at the stars as if they were a gigantic beautiful cake.
Little Lena went down the narrow icy road along one side of the hill, clutching the ugly doll with one hand and clutching the bushes with another, in order not to fall. The skate road was laid near, it was covered with runner scratches, and a red mitten was seen on its side in the bushes. There were no street-lamps near, but the snow itself was shining to little Lena, probably reflecting the flaming stars floating in the dark. The narrow road finished, and little Lena was now walking along smooth snow among the trees covered with ice. The houses were no longer seen, and after that little Lena's memory of the experienced sounds also disappeared, and silence became for her.
She was walking in silence, her plastic box whispering something, gradually she felt cold, because she had forgotten her red mittens at home. Everything was so calm around, as if there had never been Christmas here, as if Christmas had deliberately decided to never visit this place. Then little Lena saw something clear among the trees, and when she approached, it turned out to be a small church. It was not white but azure, which separate white spots, its cupola was very azure, and the windowsills were white; the door could not be seen; it was probably on the other side of the church. Little Lena didn't feel like looking for the door and getting in, she just stopped to take a look at the beautiful icicles, hanging from the shut window, and then she heard something.
"Break off the branch," somebody said in low whisper.
Little Lena turned around, but saw nobody. She went round the corner of the church, but there was nobody either, as well as no footprints on the snow (which had been fallen all throughout the afternoon). And there was no door. Little Lena went round the next corner, then the last one - the church had no doors at all.
"Break off the branch," somebody whispered again.
Little Lena turned around again and saw nobody. She wanted to run away, but she didn't dare to. She couldn't understand where the whisper was coming from: the inside of the church or outside, among the trees. She came up to the nearest tree, broke off a small branch and threw it upon the snow.
"Bullfinches are full of blood," said the voice, quite near this time. "They come to us from the north, from the cities of the dead."
Little Lena screamed and ran to the side where she had come from, but she couldn't, for there was already someone standing there, it was a girl wearing a brown coat, so thin that she was indeed hard to distinct among the trees. The girl's fair hair was done in a braid, and her face was beautiful and scary. It was so scary that little Lena, as soon as she saw it, immediately began trembling, she shivered, she felt wooden cold, her nails pinched her palms, her teeth clacked in her mouth.
"Oh, you're afraid," said the girl. "Have you seen bullfinches?"
Little Lena shrugged her shoulders. In fact, she had never seen them, only in books with pictures. Bullfinches didn't come to our town.
"Bullfinches are the satellites of horror." The girl spread her arms, probably symbolizing horror. "They are full of dead blood. You think maybe, that dead blood is dark and cold? No: it's clear and flaming like the sun."
The girl suddenly blinked, which was quite unexpected of hers.
"There's quite a lot of blood in you, girl. Where do you find it?"
"I always have it," whispered little Lena.
"Strange. I thought you were looking for something here."
"I was looking for Santa," confessed little Lena. "But it seems that he is nonexistent."
"Santa exists," said the girl in an icy voice. "He's there." She pointed to the azure church.
"There are even no doors," hesitated little Lena. "And all the windows are shut."
"Santa is there," repeated the girl. "Do you want to see him?"
Little Lena shook her head.
"Do you really want to see him?" The girl's laugh sounded like a hiss.
"No," said little Lena.
"I know that you do," smiled the girl.
She approached little Lena, the latter stepped back, but the girl caught her elbow, little Lena again stepped back insecurely and fell in the snow. The girl fell upon her, and, although little Lena couldn't watch her scary face any longer, she had no strength to resist. She only wanted to be lying like that, paralyzed, feeling the sleepy cold slowly penetrate her body, like a cloth.
"I'll show you Santa," whispered the girl tenderly. "I'll show you the bullfinches. Big, hairy, scarlet, like fair apples. Do you want it?"
"I do," said little Lena helplessly. "Won't they peck me?"
"No, no, of course not," smiled the girl, taking little Lena's plastic box with the doll, and putting it carefully on the ground. "You won't feel no pain, not at all. You dreamed of seeing Santa, you'll see him. You dreamed, didn't you!"
"Yes," said little Lena. "I dreamed."
"Wonderful."
Little Lena stupidly watched the thin, bluish-white fingers undo the buttons of her coat, she couldn't do anything, she could only watch.
"Now look that way, over your head. Right there," the girl stretched her arm over little Lena's face.
Little Lena craned her head and watched. There stood a tree upside down, and on its braches were real bullfinches. Big, scarlet, like fair apples. Beyond them, was the starry night.
"C'mon," whispered the girl. "Go to Santa." She pressed herself to little Lena, so that her body jerked in the direction of head, before the icy teeth in one tearing thrust crashed her throat. Little Lena jerked her legs, she ran west along the wide snowy road, following the setting in the dark purple sun, she knew, that if you wouldn't catch up with the sun you would never see it again, for it was leaving for ever.
"Go, go," the girl strongly pushed little Lena, "go to Santa."
Original Author: Ilia Masodov.