- In the most direct way! Things are subject to loneliness, too, and I am ripe to tell you something secret! - Castle swallowed painfully, effortlessly, looking at his dirty hands. - When I was a child, I had a toy, a bone ball. You know, the kind of Chinese filigree bone carving where the ball is carved right into the ball, and they can rotate independently of each other. In essence, this trinket has no applied meaning, but only emphasizes the undeniable skill of the carver. These things are one-of-a-kind, and it was given to me by one of my mother's best friends, captain Henri Seville, a longshoreman. Tall, thin, with a distinctive "French" nose and eyes as black as darkness, he was quick in his movements and thoughts, and I never saw him sad or frowning: he was always smiling. He and my mother wrote thick letters to each other that made her blossom like a rosebud, and when Henri stayed with us he always took me with him everywhere. To theaters and children's shows, hockey and soccer games, rodeos and motorcycle races. In the winter, it was always the ice rink or the ski slopes, but museums were always something special to him. I always wondered how it was that my captain never got tired of traveling through vast exhibition halls? Seville could hang out in front of an exhibit he particularly liked and dream about something of his own. Henri always told me later that things, especially those with a hidden meaning, aren't just things; they contain knowledge. They contain a comprehension of the world and the ability to communicate one's vision of it to others. And one couldn't agree more.
Seville always gave me something, and when it was my eighth birthday, Henri showed up on our doorstep with a beautiful box in his hands. And I waited for him. I was waiting for him, like a field that withers in the sun for abundant rain, and so I hung on his neck. My captain smelled of the sea, tobacco, raw fish, and... medicine, but I did not focus on this, I was already admiring a memorable gift, a balloon. Then there was a celebratory feast, and then we drove to Central Park. We took a long, long boat ride, ate more than an ounce of ice cream, and when we got home Henri, citing urgent business, politely bade us all farewell and disappeared. For a long time. Forever.
I waited for him, waited very long. I rushed to the door at every call, picked up the phone before my mother, but it was all in vain. In response to my tearful inquiries, my mother only held up her hands helplessly, and then I was firmly and firmly resentful of Henri. I even swore that I would never lay a hand on him. Of course, it takes time for a child to figure out how to hurt an adult, so I threw a balloon in my heart into some pond in the back of our neighborhood. I agree that it was stupid. I agree that the balloon had absolutely nothing to do with it, especially since there was still a lot I didn't understand.
Rick paused, and his shoulders didn't just droop, they sagged. Kate still couldn't see his grim face, but that it was indeed grim, Beckett had no doubt whatsoever. Memories like that wouldn't make one light-hearted, and how nice to have a friend by his side. Who, in a caring gesture, would cover his shrunken hands with the palm of his hand.
- Go on, Castle," she pressed her fingers lightly over his. - Understanding is worth a lot. And trust, perhaps, too.
- He died the day after our last meeting. At the table, right in his quarters. It was a severe, incurable illness that had been eating away at him almost since his youth, and I did not learn all the tragic details until much, much later. And then I felt wildly, horribly, painfully ashamed of myself, of my unfounded suspicions, of my disbelief in him, and of my ill-considered action. I ran like a madman to the very spot where I had drowned the balloon, but I was a naive fool, and I was sorely disappointed, for there was a state-of-the-art highway running through the former park. Cars flew past me with noise and clatter, and I stared dumbly at their flickering color and felt something in me die forever. From that day on I lost my appetite, my peace, my sleep, I stopped smiling at people and going to wild parties. Evenings were invariably spent in the attic, by the window, contemplating the neighbor's rooftops and the beckoning glaze of the Hudson. My mother fought for me. She tried to get me out into nature or to the amusement park to shake me up, but only a trip to Champagne, to Seville's grave, brought me back to my senses. A humble village, an old cemetery on the outskirts of it, a gravestone dark green from time, and an inscription that barely made it through the mold: "Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas," which meant "Happy is he who can know the causes of things. And the date of death, two days after the day of my birth. And then, falling to my knees, I begged Henri's forgiveness for my recklessness. While my mother prudently waited on the sidelines, I was able to say all the things that were so strong and so painful in my soul. Now that was real, incomparable relief. It was the same granite that had fallen from my soul as the one under which Henri was resting. I took some soil from his grave as a final touch, and now I keep it with me. It's a tribute, the essence of gratitude and sorrow for an irreparable loss.
Rick sighed heavily, his lips pursed even more dramatically, and in some confusion, Kate hesitated to ask.
- Why didn't I see this container in your possession before? - she let out a muffled voice, squeezing his fingers even tighter.
- I'll tell you in your own words: personal is personal. You of all people should know that.
His large palms parted, and still clutching his fingers with hers, Kate saw the flat velvet box, slightly stained with ash and soot.
- Here! - Castle resolutely held out the box to her. - It's yours. I found it and fixed it.
- Thank you," thanked Beckett muffled, taking the watch with her free hand.
Castle immediately prudently unhooked his fingers and easily, springily jumped up and hid his hands behind his back.
- I've probably cursed myself a hundred times for being tactless, and if there's any reason why you shouldn't be angry with me, I'd like to know about it.
- I'll tell you about it, Castle, only a little later," Beckett carefully opened the box and looked at the thing so dear to her heart with a hazy look. There was no longer any doubt that she and Castle were spiritually close, nor was there any doubt as to who would be allowed to serve her coffee. And Caslov's well-deserved chair will certainly not be empty, because Rick is valuable to her, as a partner, as a friend, and as a man who understands her better than a psychologist. And even if there are still some rough edges in their working "triangle" with Jordan and Castle, now they both urgently need a rest. A hard day, an unusual night, and such an unpredictable tomorrow.
So familiar and weighty: Beckett fastened the watch on her wrist, and returning the flashlight to its owner, resolutely went up. Down the stairs she descended contentedly and glowing with joy, not even thinking to check how far behind her her indispensable "tail" was.