***
They knew that sooner or later it would happen. Such was the law of this world, into which someone new came every hour, but someone, no matter how hard it was to realize it, left forever. But when this happened, when the tragedy of an unfair life touched them personally, they were so confused that they simply did not know how they would live on. Although, as it seemed earlier, the time spent away from the parent, over time, only moved them away, built a wall that would allow the death of the old man to be taken for granted. What should have happened. And even when everyone was aware of this as never before, in fact, no one was ready for this.
The death of a next of kin on a September day hung over the Simpson family like a black thundercloud that would only dissipate after an incessant, cold downpour - a test they had to endure.
The greatest shock from the sudden cardiac arrest of the old man Abe experienced, as expected, his closest relative - the unlucky son, Homer Simpson. He was completely unprepared to face death. The fact that at the end of the path will be waiting for him. Homer's head was completely filled with anxious, heavy thoughts. The ones he hadn't let near him for so many years. Homer still could not escape from the clawed paws of his personal torments, experiences that day after day tore at his soul more and more. For the first time, his mind full of absurd ideas was visited by a hard truth: death does not spare anyone, and you simply cannot guess when it will be as close to you as possible. You can meet her any day, any minute, even when no one is waiting for her. And no matter how Marge tried to comfort her husband, these thoughts haunted him both in a dream and in reality. The one whom everyone knew as a stupid merry fellow turned gloomy in just one day. He saw death closer than ever. But something, nevertheless, tormented him even more ... He had already seen death once, much closer, didn't he?
- Mom, when are we going home? - Bart grunted, showing his irritation with all his might, but still not hiding a note of sadness in his voice - If you don't know, I need to go to school tomorrow!
- Oh, look, what an excellent student was found! - Liza snapped in response, obviously indignant at the words of her impudent brother - You, for the sake of your own father, cannot wait a few minutes? I'm blown away by your attitude! What if he dies tomorrow too? Imagine it, right? What do you say then?!
Marge groaned loudly and turned at lightning speed to her daughter. Genuine fear and nervousness were read in her eyes. It wasn't that her oldest daughter was saying something untrue, but it certainly shouldn't have sounded right here behind her father's back at the grave.
- Lisa, stop it now! Nobody will die! - it sound a little naive, but in Marge's voice the most strictness was read - And you, Bart, all the more so, calm down! Next time you two don't have to go with us at all, I don't force you!
Marge carefully peered into every movement of her husband, as if she did not hear the voices of the children and the wife, but only continued to sit silently at the grave. He struggled to contain his emotions, and it really bothered Marge. She didn't even know if she should comfort Homer at this moment, or just leave him alone. But when she turned to him again, she noticed that her husband began to behave strangely. The man, straightening his back, stared blankly into the thick darkness in front of him. Among the gloomy outlines of cold slabs and rare trees, it was already impossible to see anything, but he continued to look...
Маrge firmly decided that this was the end of today's visit.
- Homie ... - she called out softly to her husband, touching his shoulder, to which he suddenly shuddered and turned around - Oh... I think it's time for us to go, dear. The kids are tired, Maggie must be bored, and besides... you have to go to work early tomorrow...
- You're right. - Homer said apathetically and again looked into the distance, as if he was afraid of something, and said already in an undertone - Marge... It seems to me that there is someone there...
- Ah? Well, it is the watchman, probably... - Marge answered with an inexplicable tremor in her voice - Let's go.
- No, no, there was someone watching me ... - Simpson added with even more alarm, hurrying to leave the cemetery with his family.
Bart, not even trying to go into a whisper, laughed out loud and pushed his sister on the shoulder:
- Do you hear? Homer is probably afraid that some dead man has risen and now wants to bang him!
Just as quickly as a fifteen-year-old teenager blurted out the first stupidity that came into his head, he felt a strong blow to the back of his head. Marge was never too loyal to her son's antics, which became increasingly unbearable with age.
However, Homer suddenly got goosebumps. Even if he understood the absurdity of another mockery of his son ...
- Umm, dad? - Lisa gently turned to her father in order to defuse the situation - You didn't forget, did you? I'm going to work with you tomorrow.
- What? For what?
- You forgot... - the girl sighed, still accepting that Homer's head was now filled with completely different thoughts - We agreed to go together tomorrow. I will need to film a video report for a school project and interview your boss, Mr. Montgomery Burns.
Homer, however, grew even more gloomy. And even though he had already worked for more than 15 years at the power plant owned by the oligarch Burns, and crossed paths with him quite often for various reasons, after the death of his father, the mere thought of this man caused only great anger. This vile, vindictive, but at the same time insanely influential old man was the same age as Abe, but still continued to live and was not even going to die. He, as Homer thought, certainly never thought about death. No illness, no misfortune, and even bodily injury could not take his life. Whereas the father didn't even have the strength to call for help when a stroke took his life that night. It was too unfair...
- If you need, dear, then we'll go. Go to bed early today. But just promise me you'll be careful, especially with this interview of yours.
- I promise, dad.
Finding Montgomery Burns' personal office was not difficult even for a thirteen-year-old girl who does not visit the Springfield nuclear power plant so often. She had only to ask the first worker she met on the way, and finding the right door ceased to be a problem.
Lisa, in fact, was very nervous, although she continued to instill in herself the conviction that old man Burns would treat her request loyally, even if the article ended up being quite tiny. The girl believed that this would already be her personal achievement. Climbing up to the floor above, she stopped at a huge door, screaming with all her appearance that the most important person in the power plant worked here. And that made her even more scared. Lisa knew that, probably, even if Burns refused, he would still be soft on the young lady. And yet something did not let her just knock on the door ...
She stopped for a while at a large wooden table, which now, to her great regret, was empty. Lisa knew the man whose name was on the plate of Mr. Burns's secretary. And so she was really nervous to see that Mr. Smithers was not at his workplace. The girl really would have preferred to let him know that she was going to visit the authorities, and as proud as she was, she really needed to ask for advice.
This was the kind of person who couldn't refuse it.
Lisa had known him for a long time, and he always seemed to her a well-mannered, benevolent and ready to help person, even if her family did not cross paths with him as often as she herself wanted. Her father did not consider him a family friend, he was a person far from the Simpsons. As Marge said with a sigh, Mr. Smithers never had enough time to even stop by for dinner. Working for Mr. Burns completely consumed him. However, it seemed to Lisa that her mother simply brushed aside her questions. Maybe the daughter was still too young to understand - there was something in her words, her tone was not right. It was like Marge was lying to her. But Lisa could not come to this on her own. And she was definitely upset not to see Mr. Smithers at work today. Maybe all she needed to believe in herself was his instructions.
- Oh… - Lisa sighed disappointedly, running her finger across the secretary's desk. She couldn't know when he would return, and whether it was reasonable to wait for him, or whether she dared to cross the threshold of Burns's office on her own. Mr. Smithers must have been inside anyway, as always. serving his attention-hungry boss.
The girl stopped at the window for only a moment, still considering how to start a conversation, how to ask the main question to a barely familiar person and not seem disrespectful to him, when she suddenly heard a knock on the door of Burns's office from the inside. The sound was too loud for her to ignore. It was as if something heavy had been thrown at the door, which creaked softly immediately after the impact. A stone fell from Lisa's heart. Dressed immaculately as always, the same person she knew slipped out of the office. Surely not noticing someone's presence, Waylon Smithers staggered, leaned his hand on his desk, but at the same moment, hissed through his teeth in a strangled voice and leaned back against the wall. His eyes were closed, and the man was breathing heavily, unhealthy. This sight was definitely not what Lisa expected to see now...
- Mr Smithers? - Lisa called him cautiously, and, albeit a little uncertainly, she came closer - H-hello...
- Oh God... - man opened his eyes and glared at the short figure next to him. He was in the same confusion from the meeting as Lisa herself - You... you seem to be the daughter of Homer Simpson? Lisa, right?
- Yes, it's me... I understand that you didn't expect to see me. I would like to ask you for advice.
- Oh... - Waylon hardly broke away from the wall and, shaking his head, as if in dizziness, sat down at his workplace - I'm listening to you, Miss Simpson.
- I came to interview Mr. Montgomery Burns for my school project. Do you think I have a chance to talk to him about the operation of the power plant and the development of modern technologies?
These seemingly completely ordinary words shocked Smithers so much that in a split second his indifference on his face was replaced by an indescribable emotion of horror, and several new silver hairs appeared on his already graying head. With genuine fear, he stared at Lisa.
- Oh my God, you... Tell me, do you trust me?
- Of course, sir.
- NEVER, hear me, NEVER ask him for anything. Even about such trifles. Liza, I beg you, hear me! - Waylon's voice trembled as much as ever, when he, putting his hand on the girl's shoulder, looked into her eyes - You definitely shouldn't do this ... Please, for the sake of yourself and your mother, promise that you will bypass this person as much as long as circumstances permit.
- But ... - Lisa was so embarrassed that she did not know how to react, and only looked down - If you ask so, I will obey you. But I really have nothing to write for the project...
- Oh, Lisa... Is it really such a problem? You... well, at the very least, you could have asked me...
The girl became slightly uncomfortable. She saw that this already completely unhappy person sadly looked away and was clearly slightly disappointed. Lisa realized that, preparing for a visit to the station, she had not even considered this option. But Mr. Smithers was, it seems, a person especially close to Mr. Burns, and, most importantly, absolutely more friendly towards her. Only now she felt selfish, no worse than her older brother.
- Excuse me, sir. I... Can I ask you about it now? Please...
- Oh yeah... Sure. But now I'm going to leave... - Smithers, not becoming happier from this, got up from the table - I'll be happy to tell you about everything that will interest you, but not here. Is that all you need here?
- All that's left is the interview. - Lisa confirmed, looking at her satchel, where there was a video camera with an already recorded report.
- Fine. Do you mind discussing it... By the river, let us say. It's a quiet place there. So that no one interferes. Then I can take you home.
- Of course, sir. I would be grateful to you...
Waylon Smithers, patiently waiting for the girl, stopped on his way out. Looking at how she carefully goes through something in her backpack, he did not think that this little journalist was now interested in anything other than a future interview. However, what Lisa noticed, perhaps quite by accident, really made his heart tremble.
- Oh, Mr. Smithers, you... you have blood on your hand! - Lisa gasped and pointed her finger at the man's hand, along which thin crimson streams really flowed - Did you hurt yourself?
- Oh, that's... It's nothing, dear... - Waylon paused to clear his throat, even if that cough did look nervous. - It will heal.
- I have a band-aid with me!... Here, take it!
Ah, this sweet, kind and so naive creature, who had not yet known the hardships of life, so sincerely sought to help everyone. Her sincerity and kindness were not spoiled by either transitional age or human cruelty. Lisa still held out her hands to even a barely familiar person. She didn't know the pain. I didn't know that tearing feeling from the inside when you weren't even allowed to scream, but only silently take blows, one by one, until he got bored. Perhaps these bleeding wrists, which he had to bandage with anything and endure hellish pain, always needed this little plaster so much that they extended kind hands to him...
- Oh, thank you so much, Mr... Burns! I'm very grateful to you for telling me so many interesting things. Well, that's it.
After a pause and once again making sure that all this time the recorder was really taking place, Lisa pressed the button and smiled contentedly. It turned out even better than she had planned. Principal Skinner himself would be delighted with such an interview. She was absolutely proud of herself, anticipating, albeit one of many, but such an important success for her.
- That's all, it remains only to reprint on paper. Oh, I can't express my gratitude in words, sir. You saved me. What can I do for you? - hiding the recorder in a backpack, Lisa turned to her interlocutor.
- Come on, Lisa. Thank you for this. True, I was interested in doing something ...like this.
Waylon tried to smile, but he couldn't seem to make that grin look sincere. Of course he lied. He was well aware that he would never have gone for something like this of his own free will. Remember every detail, every intonation, literally count the train of thought of a completely different person. Pretend to become one with him. It seemed disgusting to him. Smithers did it for Lisa, his employee's daughter... and Marge's daughter. Who, if not him, will be able to imitate the thoughts and manner of speech of a person with whom he lived every day of his life ... Not five, not ten, not even twenty years. Fourty. Terrifying number. Smithers could not believe that his miserable life was passing so quickly. Day after day, everything is the same, the same. He felt innocently condemned, a prisoner of that Chateau d'If, from which no one gets out alive. Even though he was now away from his curse. The gray strands that were reflected in the calm water surface, and the thoughts inspired by an unsuspecting child, did not let him forget that sooner or later everything would happen again...
- Mr. Smithers, are you upset about something? I... Did I ask something wrong? Offended you with something? - Lisa's eyes darted back and forth anxiously.
- Huh?... N-no, God, no. You did everything right. And I... I just look like this all the time. That's all... Would you like some ice cream?
However, an attempt to change the subject and look away with a sad look was not crowned with success. Lisa saw that something was wrong. But if it's not the interview, then what is?
- It's... It's because of mom, right?
Waylon felt his whole body trembling, as if struck by lightning, and it became unbearably hot. How could she know? How could such a young girl know anything?!
- Agrh, I'd better take you home. I'm just wasting your time. - rather rudely suddenly muttered Smithers, and getting to his feet, he went to his purple car.
- Sorry sir, I really didn't mean to say that. I'm sorry... I just wanted to know something... - Lisa's former euphoria from a successfully recorded interview seems to have disappeared in an instant - I'm confused. You never come to visit us, although your mother seems to be waiting for you... No, I'm sure!
- No one is waiting for me in your house, Lisa! - the man tried his best to restrain his nervousness - Forget about everything that your mother could tell you... I just can't come to you, you know? I can't.
Lisa could hardly feel and realize how much pain and bitterness were in these words. She just couldn't know. Beloved, desired daughter of loving parents, brought up in respect and understanding, she looked at the world with open, clear eyes. She was far from the pain of that unfortunate, abandoned child, bleeding in the corner, shuddering over and over again from heavy steps. The one who never had a choice. There was never a right to feelings, to love, to your life.
"I hate you" - he learned these words too soon. He endured pain, endured humiliation, screams, until it became something familiar. Forty years, like a watchdog, he had only what to carry out commands and orders. And never know when the next blow may be too strong to be the last... It was the release that Smithers dreamed of all his life. But to which he was never given the opportunity to touch.
- Oh... Excuse me... - Lisa became even more gloomy, sitting down in the back seat of the car and tucking her knees to her chest - I didn't know that everything was so. If only I knew at least something, except memorized formulas and rhymes...
The engine roared and the car moved in complete silence. Smithers was silent. The same thoughts were running through his head. Heavy, and hidden from everyone ... Her image, her beautiful gentle face, sincere, kind smile. Her kind eyes that smiled at him. And again a dead end, the realization of what is never destined to come true. "I HATE YOU, HATE YOU!" - shouted in his head a sobbing six-year-old child, crammed into a corner. He never had the right to a normal life. And what was the point of even allowing the thought of her? About what will never become his reality? Waylon found again that it was best for him to just ignore them.
He crossed out this beautiful portrait in his head, painted it black. What was so close right now... He preferred to remain silent, and did not answer anything. He once again put an end to himself...
- You got drunk again, you bastard! Pathetic freak, drop dead...
The voice was quiet and tired. Perhaps even too much. It was so disgusting for him to see this picture again that he just wanted to get away from it as far as possible. He just didn't want to see what his tired eyes actually saw. Again.
A sudden kick in the stomach made Smithers cringe on the floor, hearing a buzzing in his ears and terrible nausea. He was completely helpless now. However, as always. He couldn't remember when the kicks changed to the cane, which seemed to be even less painful. Or maybe the alcohol was doing its job, dulling the pain, making it insignificant... He perfectly understood that in any case this punishment awaited him.
- And if I'll die, what will you do? Will you leave me to feed your dogs?! - Waylon's tongue stuttered, but he could still say something coherent.
- Ungrateful drunken creature, it will not be enough to kill you... Everything will not reach you in any way, you are doing everything to harm me. You want to take me to the grave, right, bastard?
The buzzing in his ears intensified with another blow.
- You will not get it. You will be the first to die. Be sure of it. You know better than anyone that I can do this at any moment... - Burns straightened his back and frowned harder, looking at Waylon coughing foam. His tone seems to have become less aggressive - Listen to me carefully. Tomorrow is an important meeting, you'll get there yourself, I'll be waiting for you in the office. If you're late or show up drunk, I'll kill you on the spot. I won't regret it. Mark my word, son.
All the same loud steps moved away along with the ringing from the head, and very soon there was deathly silence in the house. A dark puddle of whiskey spilled from the half-empty bottle onto the carpet, but he didn't seem to care. Somehow getting to his feet and holding on to the wall so as not to fall to the floor again, Smithers wandered almost from memory into the hallway of this damn mansion. Those red walls made him sick.
Ringing on the telephone. There was no way to look at the time - he was too drunk to get to the wall clock, and to tell the time, too. But Smithers only glanced out the window. It was already quite dark. Perhaps it was too late for that. But the hands themselves reached for the telephone receiver. And suddenly... this voice.
- Y-yes? I'm listening, who is this? - a voice slightly agitated by the silence into the receiver was heard on the other side.
- It's me, Marge... - Waylon swallowed. His mouth was completely dry.
- …Oh, h-hello, W-w…. - The voice became much quieter. She never dared to say his name - Hello...
- We need to meet. Now. It is important.
- Oh, God... Y-Are you drunk?
- It does not matter. We will meet? Please... I can't be here anymore...
There was silence on the other side of the telephone receiver...
- I will come. Please be careful...