«In the swamp? From the swamp hellcats?» the Guardian grinned, handing me coffee.
«Perhaps,» I replied evasively.
«And why „The Damn Mill“?»
«Ask him yourself. He would have won the Blok Prize, if not for his Saturn at XII.»
«Does he write really well?»
«Relatively not bad.»
«Is he damn swampy in love with you?» the Guardian looked into my eyes with curiosity.
«How old are you?» I asked, changing the subject.
«Does it matter? I don’t care,» he answered in such a way that I shuddered, remembering Pasha’s words.
The Guardian turned out to be the same age as Roman, and, compared to Pasha, practically the same age as me. Maybe I paid too much attention to it.
I finished my coffee. The Guardian glanced at the bottom of my cup, in the thick of it…
«What do you see there?» I asked.
«A portal,» he whispered in my ear and laughed.
I welcomed the guests and called on the stage to the Giant Mirror the gloomiest personality among the poets of our time, the author of «The Damn Mill», who then recited his swamp-gothic poems, mixing them with talks to the guests.
Suddenly, the light in the hall – already gloomy, either due to not enough bright light, or in the light of the darkest verses and emanations of Saturn at XII – went out. The Guardian of the Portal instantly lit an antique candle lantern and asked the guests not to worry, since such phenomena with electricity was the most common one in anomalous zones, for that reason there were candlesticks on each table. After just a couple of minutes, their light illuminated the space, and the party went on.
The Guardian disappeared backstage to deal with the electricity, or rather, with the spirits that were pranking with it. I noticed Roman sitting at my table which had a candle light, too. Romance!
Saturn at XII couldn’t help but notice whom I kept glancing at during the presentation, and, instead of chatting with the hellcats during the break, he headed straight for me.
«Alice, what are you doing tonight?» he asked gloomily as I landed at my table by Roman.
«Meditation,» I breathed it out and looked at Roman the way the girls did, giving a man the right to correct them in case…
However, Roman was watching Saturn at XII and me with interest, clearly not intending to interfere.
«Would you like to meditate with me?» the Master of the swamp hellcats did not give up.
«In the swamp?» flashed through my head.
«Don’t you like swamps?» I heard Roman’s voice in my mind.
«It depends on whose swamp and with whom to meditate,» I answered Roman, catching and immediately cutting myself off at the thought that…
«Sorry, I meditate alone only.»
Probably, Saturn would never have left Roman and me alone, if not for a flock of hellcats who flew up to the hero of the party for an autograph, while dreaming of moving to his swamps for a permanent residence.
«Were you able to forgive everyone?» Roman asked, bringing me back to yesterday’s task.
I knew exactly who he meant from the swamp in which we had met, however, since I had no desire to discuss my Past with Roman, I avoided answering.
«Are we talking about me now?»
For a moment, I even thought, «Why? Why don’t I want to chat with Roman about the Past, that he already knows, in part, being a witness to it? Maybe because the Past, that made us met, separated us as well, preventing me to approach him? Or because I suddenly, just for a moment, wished to see Roman in my Future? In the very one, which in 36 nights – or how many of them left? – doesn’t exist anymore!.. Stop all this nonsense!»
