༺═────────────═༻

Richter

༺═────────────═༻

The lieutenant hasn’t been in their apartment since. It seemed to Richter that everything was left behind just like before: Mom was at home with Sally, Dad went to work, and he studied himself. Nevertheless, now there is a military in the city. They filled the street like confetti in a cracker – in sight, everywhere he went, there were always two or three people. In the evenings, the military would gather in groups twice as many to drink and scream a few songs. In the cafeterias, there were always two tables reserved for them, although those who were just sitting on wooden boxes on the street were many more. During the day, they always helped the elders to cross the road, carried heavy bags instead of women, stroked the children on the head, and every time they proudly walked, smiling at each other. Richter had to forget about the meetings at the fountain because in the heat, he was covered with sweaty men in uniforms who also wanted to freshen up. Nobody was indignant because they protected them from danger from outside. Many old people on the benches said that in other cities, persecutions are taking place, and in others, civil war has already started. Some said it was all fiction and the military was eating them up, others believed they were fighting for the right thing. Richter thought the arrival of the military was a little inconvenient — there were too many people everywhere.

Simon was bragging about going abroad and bringing them souvenirs. As the date drew near, he became increasingly sad but did not answer Harry or Richter’s questions. The last few days before he left, he even cried and ran away from the company. Richter thought that his father had forbidden him to do something, so he decided to wait until his friend returned.

— What are you doing here? — Baffled by Simon, said Richter the next day when they crossed paths at the bakery.

— We were not allowed to pass, — the blond one sniffed. — They said the borders were closed to everyone. It’s not fair! I’m telling you, they thought we wanted to escape, but we just wanted to go on vacation!

He didn’t know what to say, so he listened.

— We had to go to the sea, the real one, not this in the port. It’s not even the sea here, just the river. Dad told me that the sea is salty, you know? I’d give you and Harry a bottle filled with sand and water, so you can try. Oh, I'd bring some shells, too.

A friend so fervently waved his arms, articulated with such refined artistry...

— Don’t get upset, — Richter said with a note of sorrow. — I’m sure you still have time to travel. After all, can tickets be returned and bought new?

— Not really... these tickets were given to dad, well... at work, like a business trip. So, if we’re even a little late, we literally can burn them. My chance is gone!

Simon punched the wall.

— Hey, calm down, — Richter raised his hands. — When you grow up, you will earn new tickets.

— You dummy, — the blond bruised his forehead. — Because of inflation, not everything is that simple.

Sometimes, he would leave his friend on his long monologs, stuffed with complex language and business terms, probably overheard by his father. Half of those words were beyond Richter’s comprehension, and he did not ask for an explanation. In such situations, it was easier to let Simon go home and grieve.

Time dragged on. Richter had no activities outside of school, so he and Simon, if he stayed, often just walked around the city.

— Are you sure we won’t be seen? — He looked around while Simon was chugging on his shoulders – he was fidgeting and kneeling on his collarbone, a pretty painful sensation.

— I’ve done it a hundred times. — The blonde one grabbed the roof of the garage; his face was like a tomato, and Richter had to give him a mainstay with his hands.

When his friend rose proudly above him, Richter cowered.

— Do not be afraid. If anything happens, we will leave immediately. — He stretched out his hand.

Richter took a hard breath, jumped, and... almost pulled Simon off the garage while grabbing his hand.

— You're such a boar! Rrrrrr, we eat the same! — The blond one grabbed his hair and his shirt, so Richter could climb up, cringing in pain from pulled out hair.

— You are just skinny, — he tried to excuse himself, shaking off the dust. — I grew up in nature, and you grew up in town.

— Of course, of course. — The friend swept away. — Look at this!

He got closer and gasped. Garages formed a circle, which was divided into a external ring, the garages themselves, and the inner ring - junk with a bunch of bottles, drawers, rags, in general, everything that owners of garages wished to throw away, but for some reason could not.

— So whoever beats more bottles wins, — Simon put a bunch of small stones in the Richter's hand. «The loser will have to fulfill the wish of the winner.

— I’m not sure if it’s a good idea. — Richter looked around. The houses were quiet, and the lights were almost never on. They weren’t supposed to be seen, right?

Simon pushed him in the shoulder.

— Auch! — Richter started to actively massage the place of injury with a sour face.

— Look. — And Simon threw out the first stone. It flew with a whistle and hit the bottle. The bottle cracked and fell, crashing. Blonde raised his arms upwards, like an activist, and turned slowly, looking up at the windows. Everything was quiet.

— Nobody heard. One-zero. Now it’s your turn.

With a heavy sigh, Richter took one stone. He looked around again. Then he put his hand behind his back and exhaled, closed his eyes, and shot. The next moment, a friend fell to his knees, holding onto his stomach in a fit of laughter – the stone appears to have flown over without hitting any bottles.

— Not everyone can be masters of stone throwing, — Simon wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, — but here I am, the professional. — He took a rock and threw it – another bottle broke.

Richter snorted loudly.

— Harry would have shown you what real professionalism is.

— He is gone for quite some time, isn’t he? — Simon turned away from Richter, looking somewhere behind the garage, and then quietly added: «What if he was taken away?»

But he heard.

— What do you mean?

— No, nothing. Let’s keep playing.

They continued playing stone throwing. In the end, Richter was completely exhausted – all his stones flew too far, no matter how hard or weak he threw. Simon pranced around him on tiptoe, shouting: “Three-zero! Three-zero!»

He wanted to punch him as hard as he could.

— And now my wish. — Simon scratched his imaginary beard thoughtfully. — Let me think...

— Hey, what are you doing there? Get off right away! — A man with a badge on his chest was shouting, waving a baton. — I’m going to beat you up once I get to you!

— Oh-hey, let’s run!

The two boys took off, jumping into the inner ring of the garages, towards the trash. They had to jump over broken glass while the unknown man tried to climb onto the roofs. They urged each other on with words, flying to the rhythm of a frantic heartbeat. This time, Richter climbed onto the roof first by jumping from the trash mountain, pulling skinny Simon up in one jerk.

— To that alley, come quickly!

Somehow, the boys broke away from the «chase», all red and sweaty, as they grabbed their stinging sides. Sitting against the cool wall, Richter and Simon chuckled.

— You're running well, fool. I was just giving in to you.— In fact, the blond one nearly spat out his own lungs, trying to run at Richter's pace. Even now, he was breathing intermittently.

— Next time I’ll choose the game. — Richter tossed his dark hair, which was stuck to his neck.

— But first, you must fulfill my wish.— Simon corrected him carefully.

Richter just rolled his eyes.

— Go ahead.

The blond one paused for a moment, shaking his head. The smile left his face.

— I don’t know if you’ve seen all the posters, — he began from afar.

— Are you talking about strange slogans about birds and snakes? I only saw them twice, but then they were taken down.

— I’ve seen people putting up these posters being taken away by the military. — Simon looked around furtively. — I'm afraid they'll take you too.

— Why? I don’t hang up posters.

— What if they see your passport and want to interrogate you?

But Richter didn’t tell anyone about his passport or about that nasty meeting with the lieutenant. Parents forbade him to tell. Remembering that conversation immediately gives his skin goosebumps.

— How did you find out about the passport?

— I didn't. You just undercovered yourself, you fool! And also I overheard my parents. They said that the military had marked some of people here and that now they would... well, be treated differently. They said that soon it would be impossible to speak with those marked. And I don’t want to stop speaking with someone because of a stupid mark.

— The label doesn't matter as long as you treat others well. And if I don’t do evil, then the military won’t take me away.

— I sure hope so, — Simon picked his ear. — You’re cool, and cool people don’t get taken away. And if they dare, then I will free you.

— You? — Richter laughed openly. — Then you will need to eat twice as much.

— Fuck you. — The blonde rose to his feet, offering his hand to Richter. — Just promise that you will save me if they take me away! That's my wish.

Richter's stomach would burst from laughter.

— I promise.

Somehow Simon’s fears turned out to be justified. Sometimes, while going out to buy bread after school, Richter saw shadows in the alleys. They did something and then quickly ran away – and in the places of the shadows, posters appeared with strange allegories, calls for freedom and equality. There were also drawings or graffiti, all painfully different, but the content never changed: “Free yourself from oppression,” “Say “No!”,” “Turn 50 years of domination into 50 years of freedom!” The military and police did their best to block others from contemplating the slogans. Very often, the walls were painted over with white paint, and the posters were torn down and burned.

Neighbors whispered in the hallways, foreshadowing dark times. Everyone walked on tiptoe, not lingering in the corridors for long – you never know what anyone might think.

Although things didn't stop painting the houses. In those places where Richter often walked with Simon, now he had to watch his step. Glass from broken windows was constantly found until it was removed.

— Why didn’t they hit all the shops on the street then? — Richter asked in innocent bewilderment.

— These are protests – they deliberately choose. — Simon rolled his eyes.

Other complications appeared a little later. Richter saw the military, cursing, hanging posters with rules, while agitators on pallets shouted: «Attention to all residents! You are required to carry your passports with you and report suspicious activity! In such difficult times, impostors infiltrated the ranks of local residents. Obey the military and remain calm.»

As it turned out, only those who had marked passports were classified as suspects. A couple of times a day, the police stopped Richter, checked his passport with incredulous squinting, and then began, like a memorized song:

— Have you noticed any suspicious activity, young man?

— No.

— Your neighbors didn’t see anything?

— No.

— Are your parents always at work?

— Yes.

Finding nothing suspicious, they returned his passport and wished him a good day. And the boy himself did not attach much importance to this. «They're here to protect us. They want what's best.» — Richter always told himself.

He consoled himself with this idea even when, at the last bell at school, Richter was separated from his friends. It was unclear why they decided to build them this way for general photography. The teachers answered questions that this was necessary.

When Simon printed the photographs for exorbitant amounts of money, Richter saw that he was almost obscured by those children who were placed in front.

— It just happened that way, — Simon justified. — I don't think they did it on purpose.

«Everything is for the greater good.» — He continued to repeat until he gritted his teeth.

His parents were unhappy with this situation, but they still did not say anything.

— Where are you going? — Richter asked as Father pulled his hat on his head, and Mother put on her shoes.

— I’ll take a walk with your mother, otherwise she’s sitting at home all the time. — As always, dad answered cheerfully.

— What if they take you away?

— They won’t take us. — Father snapped with firm confidence.

— What if they hurt you?

— We are going together for this. Don’t worry, we’ll be back in a couple of hours.

It felt like they returned only at midnight, when Richter woke up from the rustling of clothes in the corridor.

Time passed, and gradually, everyone got tired of this way of life. The news was no longer neutral; every evening, the announcers called on people to keep their eyes open and lay down traitors to the regime. People on the streets discussed rallies in other cities, blocked roads, military convoys going east and those returning to the west; they talked about killed people in the alleys – after all, all this was not shown on the news. Sometimes, at night, Richter woke up from loud bangs somewhere on the outskirts. Mother and Father did not say what was happening, but he eavesdropped on their conversations through the wall — he had excellent hearing.

Stolen novel; please report.

— The coup will break out. It’s only a matter of time. Then blood will run through the streets.

— I don't want them to see this.

— We have no options left.

Every time opponents of the occupation were shown in the news. There were televisions in the cafeterias, and everyone could see the full details of the criminals. Women, men, even teenagers. They were not connected by blood ties or strong friendship; the only thing they had in common was that they were “different.” Richter always remembers how his stomach turned into a knot, and a current ran through his fingers when he saw the evil faces of the people around him.

— They hate them. They can hate us, too. — He expressed his concerns to his mother and father, who looked at each other heavily.

— They have nothing to hate us for, — Father squeezed his Mother’s hand. — We did not harm them.

— But what if they start to harass us?

— You have to fight back.

He never liked the idea of using violence to protect himself. It felt so dirty, so wrong. But sometimes, there was no choice. Classmates with whom he used to sit at the same desk made fun of him on the street. Quiet chuckles, contemptuous glances. It got to the point of public name-calling, pushing, and hair-pulling. One day, his hat was stolen, and Richter became so angry that he chased after them, shouting threats. And when he finally grabbed the villain by the clothes, he swung his fist while he squealed and begged for mercy... and was unable to hit. He let him go, returning home without his hat.

Once upon a time, he happened to go to Aunt Pan's bakery for bread, as always. But at the sight of him, the old woman actively waved her hands and drove him away.

— Sorry, little one, but you better not come here again.

Then, a lump stuck in his throat, and he did not know how to answer and what to say, how to justify himself. «I’m not like them» — was on the tongue while the lower lip trembled, and the legs carried him home.

This happened with other stores as well. As soon as he stepped on the threshold, they checked his passport and, apologizing, asked him to come in the evening - so that, apparently, no one would see. When Richter forgot his passport, without a twinge of conscience, the sellers immediately drove him away with brooms. Soon, he returned home empty-handed, and only Victoria helped — she ran to the store for two while Richter watched her child.

Everyone he knew from the entrance and neighboring houses openly stared at him. They were afraid. He felt on his back every burning glance, full of condemnation or regret. He didn’t make eye contact with any of them, fixed his head on the floor, and quickly walked past. Every time his knees shook. It seemed that they would now surround him, point a finger, and say: “Guilty.”

Guilty, but of what? He was unable to understand. Those who broke shop windows and painted walls are the real enemies. It's not him. He is kind, good, takes care of his sister and helps his mother, and does not offend anyone. Was it his fault that he was born with different blood?

At night, he often had nightmares. He dreamed that he was falling into the abyss of hands. They were grabbing his arms, his legs, his hair, shouting «Guilty! Guilty!» They would pull him down while the boots of the police and military men were helping to push him to the very bottom until the moment where he sees neither light nor sky; to the point where he couldn't breathe. Richter jumped up at night, covered in cold sweat, trembling cowardly, begging not to do this, and then he would just lay in the bed until the morning, looking at the ceiling.

— Wow, you have big bags under your eyes! — Simon screamed at their next meeting.

— I can’t sleep,— he commented dryly, rubbing his eyes.

— I have an idea on how to cheer you up, — the blond raised his finger in the air. — I was just going somewhere.

Richter followed Simon resignedly, only noticing his appearance after a while. Of course, his clothes were somewhat better than other boys, but today, he looked simply excellent. Ironed shirt, nice brown trousers, polished shoes, slicked hair, he even wore a tie! Although, to be honest, Simon looked a little funny. You could say he's a smaller copy of his father. Not like him: his shirt is wrinkled, his pants are covered in dust here and there, and there’s nothing to cover his dirty head with. Although, he could easily pass for a builder.

Simon led him for a long time, through all sorts of nooks and crannies between the houses, until they came to an internal area, like the one that Richter had in the complex. It was more difficult to get here from the street, and Simon obviously didn’t live nearby. A man let them inside the house, and through the internal doors, they found themselves on the landing.

There were a lot of people, and everyone was pushing and indignant, so the blond unceremoniously pushed everyone away with his elbows while Richter nodded his head and apologized. He was brought right under the stage, which had clearly been put together hastily, and Simon asked him to wait and then disappeared.

A few minutes later, Simon and his father, Frederick, it seems, came on stage — oh, impossible. They were dressed identically, completely businesslike.

Clearing his throat, Frederick walked forward, waving his hand to the side.

— People, thank you for coming to this humble meeting, — the man began deliberately. — You have given me the honor of bringing these truthful words to the masses.

Simon winked at Richter. He looked happier than ever, trying to hold back a quiet chuckle and a growing smile. Richter just stared with his mouth open.

— Since childhood, we have been told that everyone is born equal. Everyone was born naked and vulnerable.— The man spoke loudly and confidently that he didn’t even need a microphone. The crowd buzzed quietly but listened carefully to the words.

— I drew new flyers. We will put them in the mailboxes. — It came from somewhere behind.

— We grow up and acquire clothes and skills, but we still remain equal... — The speaker continued. Simon looked at his father with such fascination. — But man is a complex creature, and it is inherent in him to distort the true meaning.

Some in the crowd became excited.

— Clad in one flesh, but separated by prejudices. Another race, they say! One person decided that you can determine by your blood whether you are worthy of a better life or not!

Everyone around began to warm up. Like a flock of bees, people hummed and trembled.

— But what is this blood if the skin from which everyone is made sweats the same? — Simon stepped forward next to his father, raising his hands to the sky. — If the bones from which they are all made break in the same way? If the hearts that are all made of beat the same?

And he put one hand on his heart.

His voice, thin as a fly compared to his father’s, scattered in all directions, and the crowd greedily grabbed, swaying. Richter had to move with them, but it didn't matter. He listened, spellbound, with his eyes wide open.

— Listen! Look around and tell me, are there monsters near you, or the same people?! — The blond stood up on his toes, leaning forward.

People began to quite assent.

— Some people choose to dominate other people, depriving others of the opportunity to flourish for the sake of their own enrichment. — Frederick picks up.

— Enought with governement! — Someone from the crowd shouted, but his voice was weaker than an orator’s.

— For two and a half generations, some people lived in the dirt, while others flourished on feather beds, thinking that this was how it was supposed to be! But where is justice? If everyone is equal at birth, why in their youth is honey waiting for some, and tar for others?

The man punched himself in the chest, and Simon repeated after him.

Some listeners began to raise their fists in the air, while others were already taking out pre-prepared posters.

— Stop bowing your heads and turning a blind eye to crimes against humanity! — Simon baptized from the stage, as his voice was already beginning to be lost in the roar of people.

— Are you willing to do justice with your hands? — Frederick shouted.

A hundred voices thundered their “Yes,” and the seething living stream began to stir. Simon and his father jumped off the stage – the man hurried to lead the procession, and the boy was reunited with Richter.

— Simon, this is incredible! — He was choking on his own words.

— I know, right? My dad was preparing from the very beginning. Well, come on, now it’ll be really cool!

The crowd began to move out into the courtyard, and Richter didn’t even need to move much. It felt like people picked him up with their living mass, like a river current, and carried him where he needed to go. He didn't mind and smiled like a fool the whole time.

They went out into the street, and the protesting crowd carried their slogans: for freedom, equality, and justice. Simon picked up dozens of voices, and Richter repeated after him. There was something inexplicable about this that awakened in him the desire to no longer obey.

The protesters walked several more streets – people looked from the windows with fear or boredom, while the military threw irritated glances at them. When changing course, people often mixed up, and Richter had the opportunity to visit a half-blind old man who, it seems, did not even hear what they were shouting but simply made similar sounds. Then he found himself with a young girl who had painted her face and was spitting saliva in all directions. He was screaming so hard. Then Richter met with Simon again - the tie had slipped from his neck, and his shirt was wrinkled from often jumping in one place and cheering the crowd, but even in this form the crazy sparkle did not leave his eyes. Even later, he got mixed up again, found himself at the very edge of the procession, when suddenly a pop sounded in the air. It was so loud and clear that even it began to ring in the ears.

The crowd suddenly stopped, a scream was heard somewhere in front, and panic began.

Everything happened so quickly. People ran away in all directions, and a crush began. Richter was elbowed several times and pushed so hard that he risked falling to the ground and being trampled. He would have been trampled if someone had not torn him out of this mess.

— What are you doing here? — An old man shouted irritably, shaking him by the shoulders.

— I was with a friend, — he answered slurringly. — He performed so well that I...

— You will never do this again, do you understand? You could have been trampled!

Already at home, he was split up about where he was and what he was doing, and a detailed lecture from his mother and father awaited him. Then everybody twisted his ears for this foolishness: both his parents, Victoria, and even Sally, although she did not fully understand why he was scolded. But he understood the message like a clear day – he was now not allowed to attend such events.

At least he was not forbidden to see Simon, although everyone doubted the usefulness of this friendship. Richter did not listen since Simon remained almost his only friend.

As the blond recounted later, the police came to his father several times and constantly checked him, sometimes even taking him to the police station.

— But he is not afraid. He said that he would fight for their rights until his last breath! — Simon spoke enthusiastically, articulating with his hands. He also said that he himself was taken to the police station but was not detained for long – after all, he was not yet sixteen. And he told everything with such an air as if this way of life inspired him.

Around this incident with the rally, another wave of discontent swept through the city. Some had the courage to join the march, while others, on the contrary, left due to persecution by the police or military. As Richter understood, they did not like the opposition at all. What he heard from the windows of the house or from the yard were exclamations at first, then several claps, as it turned out later, there were shots, screams, and after that silence. Everyone went home and gave up this activity for several days until they had the courage to perform again. And so it was repeated.

Richter saw Simon less and less, or perhaps not at all. And if they did see each other, it was not for long.

— I need to be home early, — he kept trying to get out of it, turning around. — Otherwise dad will worry.

Although Simon tried to make amends by bringing all sorts of delicious buns whenever possible. The boys could not sit by the fountain, so they wandered through the streets and ate a tartlet between them, most often in silence, since every week there were fewer and fewer topics for conversation. Simon was involved in his father's business, Richter helped his mother more: she had such bags under her eyes that it became scary. The blond man did not talk about the successes of his speeches on the street; he kept looking around all the time, and Richter could not talk all day long about washing dishes and playing in the sand. Further, such meetings simply burdened.

One day, Richter forgot to give Simon money for all the cakes he brought. Having reached the house, he slapped himself on the forehead and ran back, hoping to catch up with his friend before sunset, and he almost succeeded. Simon stood with his back to him, rummaging in his pockets in front of the door. The boy was only about fifty meters away from his friend. Six men appeared out of nowhere, all of them dressed in black, with their faces covered with masks. One of them ran into Simon from behind and pushed him as hard as he could against the wall.