Город Ветра

Take me away to the city of the wind on the other side of time - 2008 A.D. Here has come the long-awaited evening of Friday which means the end of the working week. A grey-haired man looked tiredly at his office and, switching off the lights, went out into a spacious hall. Having locked the door, he went towards the elevator, on his way there pulling out of a bag, hanging on his shoulder, a shabby book in a bright orange cover. Approaching the elevator, he pressed the call button and leant against the wall, paying no attention to a group of girls, who have stopped near him and begun to whisper. He was not excited by their interested glances at all, their languishing sighs only made him screw up his face, his eyes never coming off the pages of the novel. The elevator slightly tinkled, and the doors parted, allowing tired workers inside. Kakashi pressed the button of the ground floor and rested his elbows on a steel hand-rail, having adjusted the bag, hanging on his shoulder. The girls, who had also got inside with him, silent and bewitched, were devouring with their eyes the object of their lamentations – the handsome grey-haired man, the well-known writer and translator Kakashi Hatake, the dream of all single ladies working at this office, and not only there. The elevator smoothly arrived at the ground floor and let the people out into a spacious hall. Kakashi, who kept on reading, quickly crossed the hall, approached the door, pushed it with his free hand and went outside. The evening Tokyo was ablaze with the fire of the setting sun. Hatake slightly frowned, because the sun hurt his eyes, and deeply inhaled the cool evening air, looking around and remembering all this fiery magnificence surrounding him. Ten minutes later the sun lit the noisy city with its last rays and disappeared behind one of skyscraper towers. Disappointed, Kakashi looked around in search of a taxi, but did not find anything of the kind. As there was no trace of a taxi, he leisurely walked towards the underground station. The thing that irritated Hatake in the underground transport most of all was the evening rush-hour, when the majority of firms finished their work and the tired employees, who did not have their own cars, and there a lot of such people, hastened to the underground, hoping to be the first to make it to the platform. To their disappointment, there they faced a crowd with the same expectations, who did not wish to give way to anyone. So, in such a charged atmosphere Kakashi had to get to his flat, which was in the suburbs of Tokyo, in one of the elite districts. Having made his way to the train and even managing to find an empty seat, Hatake leant back, blissfully closing his eyes. To the right of him sat an old woman with her grandson. Without disturbing anybody, they were silently exchanging remarks. A shabby kind of a guy sat at the left, he was probably more than ten years younger than Kakashi. He did not pay attention to anybody, in his ears there were tiny ear-phones and he was listening to some modern band which was in heavy rotation on all the radio stations and TV channels. Hatake only smirked at the fellow’s choice of music and again plunged into reading his novel. Suddenly the head of the man began to spin, and he, having dropped the small volume, put his hands to his temples and began to massage them. A girl, who was standing near him, threw a concerned look in his direction: - Excuse me, are you alright? - Yes, it’s just a headache, probably, because of stuffiness …, - murmured Kakashi, loosening the tie on his neck, and went on rubbing his temples. –What the hell?! – He hissed and narrowed his eyes, trying to concentrate and push aside the pain, he didn’t want to faint there! Though, because of his way of life, it was quite possible. Working practically all week long without any rest, not sleeping at night had become his habitual way of life, thanks to which he could now afford everything that he had ever wanted and even more. It is necessary to pay for each blessing, and Kakashi paid … with his health. Recently headaches became frequent companions of his measured life; therefore he always carried pain killers on him. Opening his bag, he groped for the saving pills in one of the pockets and quickly took them out. Squeezing out two pills onto his palm, he instantly swallowed them, closing his eyes and relaxing, for a second allowing the pain to take control of his consciousness to feel it subside several minutes later. But this time something went wrong: instead of the blissful silence and slackness, Kakashi began to hear some sounds which were reaching him as if from the depth of his consciousness. Lazily, he slightly opened one eye and looked at the boy with the player, thinking that these sounds were emitted by his gadget, but no, the guy was still listening to something loud, rattling and cutting the silence like a knife, something that considerably differed from what Kakashi heard. Closing his eyes, he once again tried to concentrate; now there were some hardly distinguishable words added to the strange delicate melody: … take me away … to the other side … A low voice was whispering these words, they seemed unearthly, coming from some other, faraway place. The train began to slow down, and Hatake quickly rose from his seat, waking up from the pleasant sleepy comfort, which surrounded him while he was in some kind of a trance. He quickly made way to the doors and with the usual stream of people slipped out of the train onto the platform. The crowd quickly dispersed, leaving Kakashi to walk along the dark streets all alone. All through the way to his house he slowly replayed in his head the words which he had heard on the train. Casting a sad tired glance at the dark windows of his apartment, he took out the key, unlocked the door, went inside and took off his shoes. He threw his bag onto a little table in the drawing room and walked upstairs, to his bedroom. Quickly taking off all his clothes, he took a yukata out of a big wardrobe and, putting it on his shoulders, picked up a fluffy terry towel from a chair. Having taken a shower, he went downstairs and turned on an electric kettle. While it was boiling, Kakashi took out a big white cup and put a tea bag in it. Having done that, he made himself comfortable in a chair. Time passed slowly, the tea was going cold, but Hatake did not move, trying to catch that concentration that he had in the train, he would like to hear once again that wonderful song that had unexpectedly overtaken him there. After ten minutes of meditation, he sniffed disappointedly and drank his tea at a gulp. In his bedroom, he fell on the bed, without taking off the covers, and instantly plunged into a deep and sound sleep. Take me away to the city of the wind on the other side of time – 1345 A.D «Take me away. Take me away!» - Iruka thought, watching the flames lick the logs. Take away… He shouted these words again and again while terrible people in black clothes dragged his mother somewhere. The young man remembered how his father tried to beat off his wife from the strangers, but he was slashed on the neck with a dagger and … Iruka still remembered it with pain. That rainy night, he was rescued only because his mum had very strictly forbidden him to leave the cellar. No matter what might happen. And he obeyed her. Through the cracks in the cellar door the boy saw his father killed, and fumed with silent anger at the black people. … Mother… he found his mum next day. Her dead body was brought ashore by the tide. Later the old man Sarutobi, who sheltered the orphan and said he was his grandson, explained that his mother had been accused of witchcraft and sentenced to the test by water. "Murderers", - Iruka twisted from the memories. The test … It was a real execution. An execution of an innocent woman. Since then he had sworn to himself that he would not give up his attempts to rescue those who had been slandered. Yes, the young man did not have the strength to kill all the Hunters, but he had the Gift. This damned gift of the Hell or Paradise. If he had known about it earlier, his parents … would not have been lost… “Enough” - ordered Iruka to himself. He closed his eyes and hid his head in his palms. He couldn’t change the past. He couldn’t return his precious people. But he should live! For the sake of them! - Hey, lad! Sing to us. You’re the … as it … the storyteller, - said in a hoarse voice some drunk man. Iruka sat straight and looked at him. - What should I sing to you, kind mister? – The young man smiled friendly. He was disgusted with the stuffy hall, the reddened faces of the soldiers and peasants, dissolute maids and their glances, which they continually threw at him. But it was necessary. Which meant, the song will sound! - Sing about Lekke – the victor of Witches, - cried out another voice. Iruka bowed his head in agreement and touched the strings of a small harp. He began the story in a low voice, hardly audible against the music: At the dawn of a bloody day the good Lekk Asked from God a sacred sign To expiate and burn out the mortal sin That torments soul with a doubt. Will not turn aside the brave Lekk – warrior, His hand will not tremble, delivering the last blow. He fights our sins, the sacred redeemer. Everyone, in whom there sleeps the infernal gift, will die! «A herd of sheep», - thought Iruka between the verses. If only they understood that Gift is a present, not a damnation. But they can’t … They are not used to living without reveling in someone else's pain. The young man started to sing again, and the hall listened to him, bewitched. No wonder, after all, his Gift was Music. He could rule the entire world with it. But nobody needed to know about it. Iruka sang and saw in the fire the words of the spell reflected on beer mugs. Take me away to the city of the wind on the other side of time The ballad ended. Some more minutes the audience listened to the silence, and then started to clap. Iruka rose and bowed. Coins began to pour into his shabby bag, which meant that he could spend the night in the inn, not under the bridge. And a meal… a real hot meal. Till the end of the evening the young man sang another song about the hero and a couple of amusing easy songs about love and insidiousness. Drunk people were generous. They noisily thanked for each performance. At last, the clients mounted their houses and left. Iruka counted the money and asked the owner of the inn for a room. Whether in gratitude or because of the coming Christmas, the owner let him have the room at the price which was almost twice lower than usual. The young man quickly ate and went to his tiny room. He took off his clothes and washed himself with the cold water, which the servant had left in a jug at the washstand. He rubbed himself on a dry towel until his skin reddened and slipped under the blanket. The bed was not comfortable, but still better than the earth. Mentally Iruka returned to the hall filled with the suffocating smell of bodies and alcohol. The young man concentrated on the song and silently whispered the words that came to him then: Take me away to the city of the wind on the other side of time