To my dearest cousin(s),
I'll be here around September 15th-20th. Amelija, pack your bags and tie up your loose ends I suppose, because I have no desire to linger in New York for too long. I'd like to get across the stupid ocean before it gets properly cold. Alina, pack your bags if you'd like to come, but otherwise clean your house and tell your lover I'm coming to meet you both. No, I won't politely wait for an invitation. The entirety of Canada's wildlife couldn't stop my scientific curiosity and neither can you; I'd dare say you have fewer bears at your disposal. I'm bringing gifts, too.
Nikola
Daniel usually exited the classroom with haste as soon as Erik announced that he was free to do so and hurried for the roof to have a cigarette. His breaks were never very long, and he was quite motivated to use every second of them. He'd just put on his jacket, tapped the pockets to see his cigarettes and matches in place, and was getting ready to leave- he opened his mouth to announce he'd be back in ten minutes, more or less, when he looked at Erik a little more closely than usual, for whatever reason.
Erik had already dismissed Daniel and was now bent over his nearly-finished symphony, or at least the parts of it he hadn't already forbidden himself from touching anymore, obsessing over minute differences that no sane person could hear. The intense frown in the lines around his eyes was visible even though they were partially obstructed by the mask; his gloved hand was frantically writing notes that were supposed to make it easier for Daniel after he was left to practice alone at home (and occasionally, they really did make it easier. Sometimes, though, they'd confuse Daniel to the point where he'd just ignore them completely and do whatever he felt like, which, surprisingly, worked just as well). With his body nervously cramped and his shoulders tense, and his free hand absentmindedly pulling at some strand of hair on his temple, Erik looked like a maestro and more like a young student preparing for a particularly difficult exam, knowing that a single stupid answer might get him a good shouting from a particularly nasty old professor.
Daniel watched him for a second before he decided. Crossing the room in a few light steps, he opened the window wide and sat on the windowsill, rolling a cigarette. Daniel did not particularly like cigarettes, nor did he smoke that often. However, he found that they were a good excuse for making someone stop nagging him and shut up about music for a few minutes.
"Do you mind?" he asked, already lighting it.
"Huh?" Erik's head shot up; he obviously hadn't noticed that Daniel never actually left. "No, I don't care. But Heidel might."
"Heidel smokes more in one day than I ever have. I doubt it." Daniel rambled as the cigarette in his mouth moved with his talking. "He's very disciplined about it, doesn't want students to know, but sometimes you can still smell tobacco on his clothing, although faintly."
"I can't", Erik replied, turning back to his work. His shoulders clenched once again as if expecting some unknown punishment. "And anyway, if he gives me trouble about it, you're going back on the roof."
"Fair", Daniel said. Erik's cold, blunt tone and lack of politeness that once drove fear into Daniel's very bones now seemed to carry a somewhat different meaning.
"What are you working on?" Daniel asked, looking at the city through the open window.
"I'm writing you some notes. Things we talked about today, so you don't forget them when you're rehearsing at home." Erik's hand faltered, hovering over his papers, as if he suddenly remembered something. "Don't take it as criticism. You're doing very well. I'm trying to help."
"Am I, really?" Daniel asked, still looking at the window. "Why are you so stressed all the time, then? It can't be Oliver, and the orchestra hasn't even started rehearsals yet."
Erik looked up again, this time actually looking at Daniel. "Yes, you're driving me insane, if that's what you're asking."
"Ah."
"That's not criticism, either. It's just who I am." he paused. "I- I am not used to working with other people."
"I think it's who I am, too", Daniel smiled apologetically. "I'd like to ask something, but don't get offended-"
"If it's about the mask, you're fired." Erik's voice didn't even falter, but the way his eyes instantly met Daniel's, pinning him to the spot, told Daniel he would be not only fired but promptly thrown out of the same window he was currently smoking on.
"No, I was curious, if I may ask, do you always work when I leave for a smoke? Do you just keep on working until I'm back?"
"Yes."
"And why do you write everything down? I mean, my memory is pretty good, actually. You don't have to do that."
"I'm starting to wonder about that, myself", Erik said, crossing his arms and looking at his notes. "The more I write down, the more you simply disregard all of my notes and do something on your own accord. Perhaps I'm wasting my time."
"Um", oops, "but if you say I'm doing fine, surely it can't be that bad?"
"It's not bad at all, in fact. Still, I'll sleep better when I know I've done everything I can. "
"Sometimes… the explanations… make it less clear", Daniel said, looking into his cigarette.
Erik kept looking at him, saying nothing.
"When we met, you told me you wanted me to find my own style. Have I done something wrong?"
"No."
"And now you want to control every minute detail of every note. How come?"
Erik thought for another moment, then spoke. "This time last year I was working on a completely different project- I had some trouble later on because I apparently don't have the habit of communicating to people which things are important to me and why, or why I wrote the things I wrote the way I wrote them." He sighed. "I'm not keen on repeating my mistakes; I prefer to make each one only once. In any case- well, in your case, I suppose I want you to understand exactly what I meant when I wrote this, and then say it with your own voice. So it's both, in a way."
"So, you want me to capture the gist of what all this means to you- by explaining it very thoroughly? I'm afraid that wouldn't really work - I've never liked long explanations and copious details. I get lost in them; lose sight of what's important."
"How else would you have me do it, mr. Jonsson?"
"I'll think about that when my mandatory agreed-upon break is over. Who's that woman, Alina?" Daniel switched the subject seamlessly. "Is she your wife?"
"No. Not yet, at least. Does it matter?" Erik's voice was dangerously close to hissing now.
"I'm… sorry? I'm just making conversation." Daniel had secretly already asked Oliver who the woman at Erik's house was weeks ago, and Oliver had told him without reservation.
Erik considered it for a bit. "My fiancée."
"That's sweet. Congratulations." Daniel rolled another, thinner, cigarette. "How come you decided to be a musician, of all things? Did you wake up one day and decide, hey, I'm bored, I'm going to learn violin by myself and then I'm going to start writing music? And then you kept at it forever? How does that even work?"
"More or less exactly as you described it", Erik put down his pencil, seemingly relaxing just a tiny bit. "I knew I had some talent, and a good ear, I could play a little bit of piano and read- read sheet music. Everything else was just… exactly as you said: I practiced day and night, read as many books as I could find, and watched other musicians. Except I didn't really decide to start, so much as I was drawn to it. I couldn't not do it."
"That's insane. I can't believe it", Daniel shook his head. "It's actually really amazing."
"Why did you stop?" Erik asked with some new spark in his eyes, now that questions were apparently allowed.
"I never really stopped? I've been working as a violinist this whole time."
"Technically, yes. But surely you know what I mean."
"Huh", Daniel furrowed his brow. They'd been rehearsing for so long that the sun was starting to set on the horizon behind him, casting his head and small shoulders in a golden halo of light. They were still nowhere near done, probably, but it didn't matter- Daniel would have to go to work soon anyway. "Back when I was a kid, music was- hell, I don't know how to explain it. Music was not something I did, it was something I was. It was just sound, just a game, just something happening constantly somewhere in my mind, on a completely intuitive level. When others- my parents, bless them and their ambitions, and my teachers- realized I was talented, they were so eager to ruin it. They put all these rules and notes and stuff into my head, and- now I understood music the way they wanted me to, but it was just so much… worse, you know? I read music instead of hearing it, I reproduced it instead of making it. It's like, from swimming in an ocean I ended up in a little box with iron bars. Everything had its rightful place. Everything had a name. Everything was either right or wrong. And I stopped hearing it the way I heard it as a kid. So… I didn't see any point in it anymore, either. And now... I have to learn to hear it again. Now I have these two ways of hearing and playing music, constantly battling each other in my head." Daniel shook his head. "I can recall myself, as a kid, laughing whenever I found a new way to make noise. And then I hear my professors telling me, Daniel, please stop messing around and give me a proper staccato, and by God, please stop hopping around while you play."
"You can keep moving around", Erik hurried. "It doesn't matter. As long as it doesn't distract you."
"Distract me? On the contrary. It's actually damn torture to keep still. I get so jittery when I play, I might jump out of my skin if I have to keep that stiff damned posture."
"Well, I am not an academic, and I honestly don't care about presentation", Erik shrugged.
"Heidel will care", Daniel remarked.
"Heidel will probably care", Erik rubbed his temples. "I will try to reason with him. He has already been made aware that I don't operate by the same rules as he does. And yet, he let me do this."
"You'd fight to let me embarrass you on the stage but not to let me smoke in your own office?" Daniel gestured at the little room around them. Perhaps "office" was generous. It really was a tiny walled-off part of a former classroom that they simply told other people to not go into. Erik put some of his things in the desk drawers, and that was that. He politely and tentatively asked if they had any spare upright pianos he could use in the tiny room, and the next day he was there, the old one from the basement was already waiting for him inside (and properly tuned, too). The students who brought and tuned the piano at Heidel's request each found a little gift on their desks the next day, notably without any message or even the sender's name.
"If I annoy him too much by arguing about every little thing, I won't be as credible when I argue about the important things. I don't care in the slightest about your smoking habit. If Heidel demanded you stop altogether immediately, I'd not lift a finger to help you."
"And you care about me doing my own thing?" Daniel's break was long over, and Erik knew it; however this uncharacteristic chattiness could be used to break at least a tiny bit into Daniel's annoyingly hard shell and make him cooperate at least a little, so he allowed it.
"I do", he replied. "When I started playing music, I was also simply hearing it, living it, making it. It was all trial-and-error, intuition and freedom. My mother- well, adopted mother, to be precise- let me do as I pleased and tried to help if she could. I'm starting to think the reason you might be the right soloist for this exact job is that in the beginning, you had a similar path. I'd be a fool to take it from you now."
"You were adopted?" Daniel tilted his head, obviously curious.
"I can't believe how much easier it is to say things like these in English", Erik shook his head in amusement. "I could never say it in French; I doubt I would find the words even if I wanted to. I pity people who only speak their mother tongue. Everything you say must be very personal to you."
Daniel looked at him with lips pursed in a sort of annoyed grimace, forgetting about his cigarette until the ashes started falling around him, carried by the wind.
"Yes, I'm a fool to take that freedom from you", Erik concluded, taking his pencil out again and crossing out his notes with long, decisive strokes. "Not anymore. You're an adult, and ready to take this into your own hands. I will be here every day from three to five - I'll be with Oliver after five - if you need anything, come by whenever you want. But I won't make you come regularly anymore, if you don't want or need to."
"And if I start slacking off?" Daniel teased.
"Then you will be fired", Erik replied matter-of-factly. "As anyone else would. But I doubt that will actually happen. I'll see you sometime by the end of this week, I presume?" he passed Daniel his sheet music, nodding politely. "It's probably time for you to go to work- I won't keep you any longer. It was nice talking to you, Daniel."
"Likewise", Daniel packed up his things, hardly believing his luck.
As Daniel exited the building considering where he might grab a quick dinner before he was off to work, Erik slowly made his way to greet Oliver. He knew Daniel's newfound friendliness would not last long - Daniel Jonsson was so elusive that Erik couldn't really find a single person in New York who actually knew him well, or any meaningful piece of information about him that wouldn't require him to actually break into his apartment or do something equally morally reprehensible. People, it seemed, tended to think they knew or understood Daniel very well, and yet, at every possible chance he seemed more than eager to disappoint them and vanish into thin air, burning bridges behind him seemingly on a whim. Erik was not so naive to think a person like that would be so easily reached.
Or maybe I'm too cynical.
(Daniel didn't come again by the end of the week - it was a matter of principle, and Erik never mentioned it. But on Monday he came at three o'clock sharp, punctual, ready, with a glint in his eye that wasn't there before.)
Alina was swamped with work.
She was always swamped with work this time of the year, so it wasn't really a problem. School was starting, kids had to be re-introduced to the concept of learning and behaving after months of gleefully forgetting how to do both. Paperwork had to be done, schedules had to be made, and all the miscellaneous work that all educational workers did (and usually hated) was usually due yesterday; Alina could swim quite well in the sudden flood of stress and minuscule details, but that didn't mean she liked it.
Alina's additional workload this year had a surprisingly optimistic and pleasant addition - she was in charge of writing letters of recommendation for students who wished to continue their education further; moreover, those immigrant children who already knew English well enough or excelled at a certain subject enough that they could transfer to more difficult, specialized schools. Usually, most of those letters would be done by July, but seeing as Alina's own paperwork had only arrived recently, she would have to make do and use Dowling's influence (and her own, newly-acquired influence that came with her new teaching license) to squeeze out some empty spots in the schools her students wished to go to. The last thing she had to do was less of a timebomb; Alina had several students who would also require scholarships for various reasons, and it was her job to find ones that they could qualify for and help them apply for said scholarships (as kids are notoriously bad at giving paperwork to their parents to sign, and even worse about returning or submitting it in a timely manner to proper authorities).
She was nearly finished, cheerful at the thought of going home to her family, when a knock sounded at her door. Curbing her disappointment, Alina put on a friendly face and asked, "Come in?"
The door opened slowly, shyly. Behind it stood Anna Preston - Walter's mother - and entered hesitantly after Alina's invite, sitting down on the chair across Alina. The woman was still somewhat uneasy every time she saw Alina, but less so - and after Walter had been tutored all summer by Amelija, who sometimes even came by to say hello to his family, she'd grown quite bolder and friendlier with them.
It was quite alarming to Alina how now had that look about her again - frightened, quiet, as if expecting a swift and severe punishment.
Alina realized quickly, even as she struggled to exchange niceties with the woman, that she was about to hear something terrible.
"Walter might not come back", said Anna Preston. "For this year, at least."
Alina's blood boiled in her veins, and even though she kept her face perfectly still it still seemed that the woman caught something in the single second she took before responding.
"Alright, mrs. Preston. Thank you for telling me. May I ask what prompted this decision?" she tilted her head slightly to the side, her voice low.
"He's going to start working", mrs. Preston said. "Hank Jr. and Samuel both started working at Walter's age, and now it's fair that he does too - besides, with the two little ones, we need all the help we can get. It's good for him, he's a healthy young man and he needs discipline. He'll grow up better working, than with his nose stuck in books." the little woman recited it like a poem.
Alina took a second too long to respond, but it was the best she could do. "I- I see, mrs. Preston. Well, as long as it's in Walter's best interest, I have no problem with it. If it helps him, that's great! Tell him I wish him all the best." she said in the fewest words she could manage, having decided it was best if she didn't open her mouth too much. God knows what might come out, such as for example, her opinions.
"Thank you, Miss", mrs. Preston said, slightly surprised. "I do hope- think it'll be good for him. It'll get him closer to his brothers, and to his father."
Alina smiled sweetly.
"And, uh, if we- if our situation gets better- we might send him back in a year or two. Would it be possible to continue his education later? Where he left off? Or will he be too old?"
"Perhaps he could. If I'm still here by the time he comes back, I'll definitely do my best to make it happen." Alina said with equal cordial sweetness, which obviously made the woman more than a little uneasy.
It took about fifteen more minutes of niceties and Alina trying her best to express kindness and sympathy for the woman, for mrs. Preston to be convinced that her request would go without a catastrophic explosion. Alina was, meanwhile, going through her own personal hell - torn between contempt for a woman who couldn't make herself protect her own life and was willingly and chronically risking her children's lives; and sincere sympathy for the woman currently cowering before her as she probably cowered before everyone in her life who showed even a little bit of backbone. Alina felt a sort of disgust-by-proxy to be put in the category of people this woman considered "potentially dangerous", even though there was nothing she could do about it; all the self-control and kindness in the world would not bend her spine or make her voice meek or her eyes shyly avoiding other people's gaze as mrs. Preston was currently doing in front of her. Mrs. Preston was entirely right to think her potentially dangerous, but for completely wrong reasons.1
Once mrs. Preston finally left, Alina closed the door after her, and after a moment's hesitation locked it.
She slid her back down the door, sat on the floor and cried soundlessly until she could no longer think. Then she straightened up, fixed her hair, splashed her face with cold water, and left the school with her back straight as if nothing at all had happened.
"Miss Alina", she heard someone calling after her. Alina turned, doing her best to compose herself and make her face look vaguely normal. Sam Preston, having spent his entire 17 year old life tuned into others' feelings and the possibility of them snapping suddenly, didn't miss how upset she looked.
"Miss, I'm sorry to bother you when you're off work", he took off his hat as he hastily apologized. "It's just, well- I'd like to speak with you, if you don't mind. About Walter."
"I've already spoken to your mother", Alina said. "She told me he's not coming back."
"I know, yes, I knew she'd come", Samuel nodded. "That's- that's why I'm here."
"I see", Alina straightened and coaxed her miserable-looking face into forming a polite expression.
Samuel was silent for a moment, then burst out. "Please, please don't blame Walt for not coming back- it's, it's not his fault. I mean, I hope something still changes and he can come back to school - but please don't blame him, he loved your lessons and he's so grateful to Miss Amelija for coming to teach him. It's really… not that he wanted to start working right away. I know he's proud and stubborn but no matter what he says, he's just trying to make himself feel better. I know him and I know he actually wants to come back, so, I know how much effort you and Miss Amelija put into his lessons- I don't want you to feel like we're not grateful for it."
"Calm down, honey", Alina touched Samuel's shoulder gently, upset by that torrent of words. "I'm not blaming Walter for anything. We wanted to do it, he- you- don't owe us anything. And even if he chose by himself to abandon school, it's fine if he wanted it." It was a lie, really- Alina was very much hurt and disappointed, and she definitely didn't consider a thirteen year old child mature enough to make important life choices; however, looking at Samuel's sincere guilt and anguish she felt a need to reassure him just a little. Sam, it seemed, had very little control over what was going on in his family, but nevertheless seemed to carry all the guilt for everything that went wrong.
"He didn't, really", Sam said miserably, clutching his postboy hat. "Hank and I- my brother Hank, not dad- we spent all of last summer with Walt, and he looked really happy about his lessons, he was so full of energy. Kept bragging about stupid boring math, but he was so happy we pretended to understand what he was on about. I think he's really unhappy about it all- it's sometimes hard to tell, he gets so defensive when you ask him anything. But he looks really unhappy to me."
"I'm sorry, dear. If there's something I can do to help, just tell me."
"I don't know", Sam sighed. "Hank already tried everything. He told Dad he thinks Walter should continue with school, that we'll all have better lives if he goes to college, that he can get a scholarship- nothing works. I honestly wish Hank was in charge of Walter, he understands him so much better. But it is what it is."
"I agree", Alina said, looking away in hopes that Samuel wouldn't notice the fury that threatened to overcome her. "You kids are good people. Stick with each other, always. You'll need it."
It was as innocent a remark as she could think of, but Samuel burst out into a desperate rant. "I know what you must think- Hank and I should just take our brothers and sister and all run away and protect them from our dad, but I can't- I don't know how to do that! It's not that simple!"
"Honey!" Alina pointed a strict finger at him. "I said no such thing. I'm not blaming you for any of this."
"Did you know that Hank used to think all families were like ours?" Samuel rambled on. "Dad's parents are just like him, both of them- and mom's folks are too; she's not, but she thinks it's normal! And Hank, he started working early and always minded his business, never had friends. He used to fight back against dad, thinking it was normal - and until I grew old enough to ask other kids if their parents are also like ours, we all thought it was normal!" Samuel took in a breath. "They're not, are they? They didn't lie to me?"
"No, no. They're mostly really not like that", Alina reluctantly agreed, wondering where this was going.
"Hank didn't believe me at first, he was afraid he'd be just like Dad when he grew up - but I somehow managed to convince them all. And now I can't do anything! Neither of us can! Dad has the final word! Even if I took them all and ran away, law would be on his side!"
"Law hasn't had its say in this matter yet, darling", Alina's voice was cold and sharp as ice. "We didn't have much leverage before, or enough information. But I know more now, and if at least one of you is willing to stand by what you said, a lot of things could change."
"I-" Samuel finally shut his mouth. "I- do you mean...?"
"You know exactly what I mean, honey, and how seriously I mean it. Think about it over time. I need witnesses, not rumours. Do you understand me?" her eyes flashed strictly at him.
"I- do, miss." Sam nodded. "I'll tell Hank. We'll tell you what we decide."
"Alright, Sam. Thank you.", she nodded. "I have to go home now. I'll see you."
"See you, Miss", Samuel said politely, putting his hat back on and walking away with his shoulders slumped by some unimaginably heavy burden.
If they do agree to go against their own father, Alina mused as she sped back home, it might take years for them to gather the courage. Hopefully it won't be too late for Walter back then.
Is this really the best I can offer them? She thought as her eyes welled up with tears again. She had no answer to that.
When Alina came home, she found (not to her great surprise) Jack there as well as Erik and Amelija; Jack and Amelija seemed to have some heated discussion of their own which Erik ignored, blissfully entranced in his own work. Still, when Alina came, obviously distraught, they all left what they were doing and turned to her.
"What is it?" Erik asked from his own room through the open door.
"Nothing", she tried feebly.
He blinked. "I'm not that naive. Do you want to go and talk elsewhere?"
Alina took out a chair and tumbled into it like a tower of cards across Jack and Amelija, burying her face in her hands. She told them, more or less, what happened; she took out some parts about the talk she had with Samuel. Her head still felt burning hot, and she couldn't muster up the kind of cold, calculated fury needed to actually think about any plans for the future.
"I get it", Jack said, shaking his head. "Damn it, I get it. I get them. It's unfair, yes - but it was all happening so fast. It was too fast, too drastic of a change - suddenly Walter had good grades, then he was all over you like you were his parents, then he started getting tutored by Amelija - it was all too soon, and they got scared. They think you're going to take him away from them."
"I would take him away from them in a second, if I could", Alina's voice cut like an icicle. Her face was cold; her eyes flashed with hatred. "They have good intuition, at least."
"You can't", Jack pointed a warning finger at her. "Don't do anything stupid. The law is on their side, still- he belongs to his parents, and not you, and nobody will care that you'd be a better parent to him. Don't do anything stupid until we've had time to think about this. For now, they have the last word."
"I understand." Alina slowly got up and started rummaging through her kitchen drawers without another word. Jack looked at Erik in confusion, taken by the apparent ease with which she took the news.
Erik was not so optimistic, and when the sound of the first plate crashing echoed loudly across the room, he was thankfully prepared. He hurried to the kitchen; Jack and Amelija moved back.
Alina stood, handful of plates under her right arm, as she took out one by one with her left and threw them, full-force, against the wall furthest from Erik.
"Children", she said calmly, throwing another plate with each following word, "Are. People. Not. Property."
"Legally", Jack said very slowly, "you are, in fact, wrong. He belongs to his parents." This seemed to shake her out of her apparent trance, and as she turned around to face him Erik managed to quickly take the rest of the plates from her on time; he didn't actually think she'd ever aim them at Jack, but the crashing plates wracked his nerves a little too much.
"He belongs to himself!" Alina shouted, waving her hands around her in fury. "He is not some puppet to be controlled until he's an adult! Why do you think these things happen? Generations after generations of bitter old people drag their children down to mud with them, only to continue the cycle again! I, I can't let that-" She stopped, putting a hand to her mouth. She shut her eyes tight, trying to compose herself. Erik watched silently, having no idea how to help; he put his hand on her shoulder but she didn't seem to notice. It was obvious this might simply be one of those situations one could do nothing about; Erik could recognize it, and Jack could recognize it, both having seen those stories countless times and learning to deal with them. The only thing they could do was accept it and try to move on with their lives.
But Alina, even after all these years of working with kids like him could not deal with it, and would fight tooth and nail against the overwhelming avalanche once again.
"This narrow-minded judgmental attitude is beneath you", Jack remarked quietly, sitting down at the kitchen table. She opened her eyes in shock.
"Excuse me?"
"It's not his parents' bitterness weighing him down. I knew you grew up rich, but I didn't expect you to be this near-sighted", he straightened in his seat, looking straight into her eyes. Alina looked like every word he said put a knife through her chest – normally, Erik would try to stop this and intervene, but he was still shaken from all the shouting and crashing, so he simply stood there. Jack continued, still piercing holes in her head with his eyes. "His parents, flawed as they are, don't know anything else than what they've lived all their lives. Do you think they believe your flowery promises? Do you think they're doing this to put him down, to spite you personally, to actively sabotage him and themselves? Maybe, partly, yes. But have you considered that they might – at least his mother – be doing this because they think this is the only option they have that will keep them all fed and alive? That they want to give their son a secure future – shitty as it might be – rather than some off-chance at vague success that in their eyes looks suspiciously close to a scam that will dig them in even deeper? Have you considered that they don't listen to your ideals and speeches because it's hard to hear almost anything on an empty, fucking, stomach?" His lip trembled slightly at the last word, the only sign of how absolutely furious he was. They had never seen him like this; he looked like he was barely holding himself together with tremendous force. He looked at her for a moment as if he had some more choice words to say at her, but instead he slowly leaned back in his seat, looking at her silently.
Alina, for her part, looked absolutely terrified, Erik realized, and wondered if she may not have been actually scolded by anyone else she cared about since she left her father behind in Croatia.
I'll feel the echo of this conversation for a long time, he realized. This was not a failure she'd live down so easily. She had nobody to blame, and a whole lot of people were angry at her. Oh, God, I'm tired. I know I'm supposed to focus on helping her. I know she's been through a lot with me. But I'm so tired. I'll do it, but I'm so, so tired.
Jack may have realized the same thing, or maybe he was simply tired himself, and after a while he stood up and grabbed his coat. He walked towards the door, stopping and turning at the doorway.
"Your heart is in the right place, if that's of any consolation to you. But you'll never go further than this if you refuse to adapt to the real world." With those words, he closed the door behind him with a bit more gentleness than normally and left the room in complete silence.
Alina started sobbing before the sound of his footsteps faded, and didn't stop for hours no matter what anyone tried to say to her; in fact, she didn't even look at them, didn't seem to register anything they said. Erik had never seen her like this, never considered what it looked like from the outside, to see someone so distressed and disconnected from the world; he was usually the one lost in his own head with her trying to reach him. This sudden shift was something he was completely unprepared for; it filled him with panicked desperation as frustration stuttered his unsuccessful attempts to console her, followed by shame at the thought of what she had to endure with him until now.
"This won't be fun for anyone", Amelija said to him in French after Alina excused herself and went to bed. Amelija also tried comforting Alina, but her heart had already turned to stone; all the hours she put into teaching a child who could barely read advanced mathematics were for nothing, and she could either repress her anger, sadness and betrayal, or do something very bad and not at all helpful.
Erik stared at the door for a second, but didn't move.
"She was never good at accepting defeat. This might take a few days." Amelija shook her head.
Erik sighed.
"Jack is right", she remarked. "I'm afraid this might be a necessary lesson for her to grow up."
He really wasn't in the right mood for another discussion.
"Shame about the kid", she added. "He's really clever. I loved him. If it was me in her place, I think I'd be damn near broken-hearted. It's a god-damn tragedy, but I don't think there's anything anyone can do."
"Do me a favor and don't repeat any of that in front of your sister", he said dryly. "We don't have that many plates left."
Erik didn't immediately follow Alina after she stormed off; there was always a certain gestation period between her anger and self-doubt, and he rarely had any luck talking to her while she was still digesting her feelings. He was not in a hurry; he finished his own work for tomorrow while Amelija occasionally came out of her room and looked at him with her arms crossed and suspicion in her eyes.
"One of us should go talk to her", she said quietly, leaning on the doorframe of her room. Alina had gone to Erik's room, probably unthinking, and the implication was that it would be him to go after her.
"No", he replied, not looking up from his notes.
"No?"
"I'll talk to her later."
"I don't want her to be alone in that state."
"Neither do I", he looked up at Amelija. "But in case you haven't noticed, we only managed to upset her further, so maybe she wants to be alone. Maybe she wants to think about something else for five minutes before we remind her about all this again."
"I hope you know what you're doing", Amelija pointed a finger at him.
"I do not."
Erik knocked on the door to his own room, aware of the irony, a few hours later. He received no answer, so he gently opened the door with his elbow as his hands were occupied by various things.
"Alina", he said quietly. She was sitting on his bed, her chin resting on her knees, in the same child-like gesture he already saw several times when she thought the world was ending.
She nodded, but didn't really pay attention to him.
Erik came inside and sat on the bed, presenting her with some bread and cheese on a plate, a bottle of strong liquor Amelija had brought from Croatia, and a deck of playing cards.
Alina obediently took the food and opened the bottle, remarking only "I thought we said we'd drink less."
"That's still valid - I just thought you might want a short vacation from your thoughts."
"I do", she took a sip.
"I'd like you to teach me that card game you played with your sister", he said, taking out the cards and mixing them.
"Briškula?" Alina looked at the cards. "These are not my briscola cards. These are standard bezique cards. But we could still play briškula with it, just let me take out some -"
"Do you know how to play the other one?"
"Bezique? Certainly. Do you remember me playing it with Auntie Giry?"
"We can play that too. Whatever you'd like."
"Alright", she mumbled, eating her sandwiches and taking swigs of alcohol. "I see what you're doing, and you know what, you're right."
"I don't know what you're talking about", he said. "Am I mixing them right?"
"You're distracting me."
"I am. What of it?"
"Nothing. Thank you."
Alina was remarkably good at cards, even when she was distressed, drunk and simultaneously explaining the rules and trying to win. She managed to win the first few rounds, but as Erik quickly learned the rules and she quickly got less and less sober, her advantage was diminishing, and she had to put actual effort into winning. He managed to trick a few surprised laughs out of her by playing wildly unorthodox moves and getting away with it.
"That's- that's not how you play this game", she concluded when she got bored of it, putting the cards back together. She wiped the few crumbs off of Erik's bed and put everything away.
"Was I not within the rules?"
"You were, but barely. But I'll let it slide because I haven't had a game this amusing in years." she sighed. "Thank you. This was indeed a good vacation from my thoughts. Unfortunately, the problem will still be here tomorrow, and I have no idea how I'm going to solve it."
"We."
"Sorry?" she turned to him, wiping a loose tear.
"We are going to solve it. I'm going to help you. We've always done these things together, and you've never left me alone when I had unsolvable problems; what makes you think I'll leave you to handle this all alone? Even Jack, Amelija, they've done all they could for Walter all along - do you think they'll abandon you now?"
"We should have done something sooner", she whispered. "We should have - should have removed that man from his family somehow. Hurting them- he's continuously hurting them, and now they have fewer and fewer options to get away from him. He's slowly making it worse while we're lying to ourselves. We should have done something sooner."
"We- perhaps", he said, struggling to keep his focus as Alina started crying again. "Do you think we could have? I don't think anybody would have stood on Walter's side, including Walter himself. I don't think anybody would have believed us if we told them where Walter's injuries were from, back when he was a delinquent constantly getting into fights, or that anybody would have cared." he paused. "Unless you're suggesting a less… legal route, in which case, I could have done that, I suppose…?"
"No", she said. "No, I won't risk you going to prison, I promised you. I'll deal with this somehow, but I won't have anything happen to you. I'd sooner kill Preston myself."
"Please don't."
"No, I won't, of course. But it still frustrates me- how many more options he has to ruin their lives than I do for making them better. You'd think the law was made to keep people like him protected, instead of children like Walter and Sam."
Erik had just about had enough of patiently waiting while Alina was crying, and he outstretched his arms to embrace her. She didn't do anything, but at least she didn't protest either.
"Alina", he whispered softly into her ear as she stared into the distance. "Alina, I know you're sad. You have every right to be. You have every right to take this as badly as you will, and I will pull you through, as you have done for me countless times. I will make it better. I promise I will."
Alina looked at her hands. "You don't need to make me better. The world is simply a terrible place, and it's about time I got used to that fact. One person can not change it. I can not change it. It just is what it is."
"The world is a terrible place", he gently moved a stray hair from her temple. "It's monstrous, even, and dark, and cold. And terrible things happen every day and nobody blinks an eye or turns their head as they see them. You don't need to tell me that. I won't disagree with you."
Alina said nothing, made no sound as a few more tears streaked her cheeks.
"I have no right and no intention to ask of you to pull yourself together, or to not be so miserable, or to accept reality as it is. As wicked as the world is, it's not irredeemable as long as someone like you can cry for someone else's misery. It might make it easier for you if you hardened yourself and found a good explanation why everything happens for a reason, why people deserve to suffer, why only the strongest should prevail. But I won't tell you to do it, because nothing in the world would have any worth anymore."
"I'm tired of crying", she uttered bitterly. "And all for nothing."
"No, not all for nothing. Maybe you can't save everyone you meet. I will do everything I can to make this better, I promise you. It will never, could never be all for nothing. Everything you did will be remembered, I can't explain to you how, but I can promise it because I was there once, long ago, and it mattered. And I remembered."
He took a deep breath. "Alina, darling, I won't ask you to stop crying, to pull yourself together, or to not despair. You can cry and rage and despair all you want, and it's about time I took care of you and helped you, instead of the other way around. All of us - me, Jack, Yana, we'll all do everything we can to help you with this. We'll think of something. But I must ask you one thing. You cannot give up even if we don't succeed. I need you to keep making this world a redeemable place. Keep crying for lost children, keep helping people that are forgotten, keep coaxing the good out of this world with your cookies and your stories and your laughter. If I can help you keep that light and that conviction however I can, through this broken and monstrous world, it will be the most important thing I'll ever do. Please allow me at least to try."
Alina wrapped her arms tightly around her lover's body, burying her face in his chest. "You're already helping."
1 At this point, the reader will have to forgive me for not getting into Anna Preston's head to explain her thought process as I often do with my side characters. Not that I think mrs. Preston's inner life is invalid or unimportant- on the contrary. However, in certain periods of life, we shield ourselves from feeling certain feelings and identifying with certain people as a means of self-preservation. While I don't judge the mrs. Prestons of the world, and understand how hard it is to break free from this particular brand of hell (I've had my close encounters with it, too), the feeling of despair and hopelessness that comes from accepting your role as a victim is currently locked away from me, for mental health reasons. Perhaps we will tackle them in one of my future books, but for now, this is as good as I can do.