Таня Д Дэвис - Полёт фантазии, фантазии в полёте

Стихотворение используется в книге автора, написанной на английском, «Russian-English Romance. Homage to John Fowles» (Москва, изд-во «Книжный дом Университет», 2017), два рассказа из которой приводятся ниже.

«Free! Free at last!» — Julia’s heart was beating with joy though she realised it was not quite the kind of emotion she should have experienced immediately after seeing her beloved husband’s body put into the grave.

When the funeral ceremony was over Julia threw away the mask of mourning and her face acquired the radiant expression of some one entering a bright new world full of happy opportunities. Everything around her pleased her, as she walked home through Westhill park on that bright October morning. The air was transparent, red and golden leaves covered the green grass, pretty children played with dogs, all passers-by seemed to her beautiful.

Julia set on a bench and as her fingers touched the inscription «To our beloved David», she thought dead it would be wonderful to order such a bench in memory of her husband. She looked at the golden leaves lit up by the sun, inhaled the tasty autumn air and sighed with relief.

The feeling of relief did not come from the fact that John Evans, whom she had been married to for twenty-five years, was an awful man or a bad husband. No, on the contrary: John loved her very much, but like all men when they become husbands, had never given much thought to her emotions, kept treating her like an indispensable part of his life. Home, husband, children — how tired she had been! Besides, there was one thing which had really spoiled her married life: she adored travelling and John hated it. It had always been torture for him to go further than Brighton or to stay at a hotel. He was a leave-me-alone-and-let-me-read-my-newspaper man. On the second day of their marriage Julia realised that instead of a movable feast she had acquired an immovable bore.

There was one more thing which made her suffer, and that was her talent, which she could never realise while living with John, the talent to discern and guide talented people. By some inborn instinct she could easily tell genuine from false, identify a talented man in a mass of ordinary people.

Alas! Her husband John was not talented. Once many years before she had met a man with real talent, a young nobody in whom she could clearly see a promising writer, but that’s another story…

Julia looked at golden leaves made transparent by the sun and smiled: «Tomorrow I will start an absolutely new life and it will be as fascinating as the glossy pages of coloureful travel brochures. At long last I will fulfil my passionate desire — I will travel as much as I want; I will go to Russia in winter to see its white snows, I will visit India, Brasil, Australia and the dream of my dreams, China».

Once in a museum she had seen a Chinese character made of white nephrite — the ancient symbol of prosperity, happiness and wisdom. Since then everything Chinese enchanted her — silk, watercolours, porcelain. She often went to Chinese shops in London, but London China has as little to do with real China as the jungle tiger with the painted tiger.

Once Julia had even dared to ask her husband to organise a tour to Peking. John smiled, took her in his arms, kissed her gently and said: «What’s the use of going there? Life is the same everywhere — people work and sleep, quarrel and love. The secret of happiness is inside us, and not outside, as one of your ancient Chinese said. So what’s the use of changing places?»

Of course it would be unfair to say that her John had been just a bore. He was a prosperous businessman and a perfect family man: their children adored him. «What an excellent grandfather he could have become!» — thought Julia. Alas! Fate always had her own ways and Julia was realistic. Being realistic and taking things easy was her life motto, and it helped her to achieve that secure and independent position which she could boast even after her husband’s death.

The next morning Julia started her search for travel opportunities. She visited three travel agencies and was dazzled by the variety of choice: all the tours were so exciting: «Have a good time in Hawaii, enjoy holidays in Australia, don’t miss a chance to see Russia in winter» — urged the advertisement. But Julia’s enthusiasm faded the moment she looked at the prices. «Pretty costly, life is getting dearer» — her common sense told her, and as Julia’s common sense was impeccable she could always safely rely on it. «Just think», — it said to her — «the price they are charging is not for the beautiful sights, but for the comforts of modern civilisation: hotels, meals, services. Do you really need all that? Wouldn’t it be better to look for cheaper tours?»

«It sounds reasonable» — thought Julia and continued her search till at last she found a very special advertisement which said: Human Soul Travellers Club offers you a wide choice of tours. You can visit any part of the world for 100».

«What a curious name for a travel agency and the price is incredibly low! I should try this» — said Julia to herself and the next morning went to the given address.

The weather was awful: the rain poured down and Julia almost gave up all hope of identifying the enigmatic travel agency in a row of bleak grey houses when suddenly she found herself in front of a massive wooden door with a bright inscription in gold letters: «Welcome to Human Soul Travellers Club!»

The bright golden letters emerged so unexpectedly out of the rain (for she could swear there had been no inscription on the door the moment before) that she was startled. Should she really open this door, which smelled positively Dickensian? Her impeccable intuition whispered in a thin frightened voice: «Run away! This place is dangerous!» But her insatiable curiosity murmured in a sweet persuasive tone: «Go in, why not?» Julia couldn’t resist the temptation and pushed the door open.

She was surprised to find behind that nineteenth century door an absolutely modern office, furnished in the latest fashion: the walls were plastered with glossy travelling ads, a dark-haired, black-eyed girl, unmistakably Chinese, was working at a personal computer. As she saw Julia, she greeted her with a smile on her porcelain face.

«What a special kind of a smile» — reflected Julia — «as if she is smiling not at me, but to herself».

— «Excuse me, can I book a tour round China here?»

— «Yes, madam. But you should speak to Mr. Toffiles, our manager. Will you wait a minute, please? I’ll tell him». And the Chinese — looking girl disappeared leaving her porcelain smile behind.

«What a special kind of a girl» — thought Julia — «just like a Cheshire cat». But that peculiarity didn’t especially worry her as she immediately started to study travelling ads: they were colourful, tempting, promising heaven on earth, they pleased and teased. Suddenly her attention was attracted by one leaflet which dirty and sullen did it look. And it wasn’t in English:

«What does it say», — wondered Julia and stared at unfamiliar letters as if trying to extract the message from them.

— «Tempting, isn’t it, madam?» — a sweat husky voice addressed her from behind. Julia started and turned round quickly as a soldier on hearing the command.

— «The director of Human Soul Travellers Club, Mr. Toffiles» — the man introduced himself.

— «Mephistopheles?» — Julia gasped in surprise, struck by the unmistakable resemblance of that olive-skinned black-bearded man to the well-known literary character.

— «Oh, no!» — laughed the owner of the black beard, «Mr. Toffiles. T, O, F, F, I, L, E, S», — the man spelled the name with a charming smile which however couldn’t conceal a sinister light burning in his black eyes.

— «What can I do for you, Mrs. Evans? Our agency offers the best tours at the lowest prices».

— «That’s why I’m here, Mr. Toffiles. I’d like to go to China. How much would I pay for, say, a two-week tour?»

— «It will cost you only one hundred pounds».

— «One hundred pounds — travel and hotel expenses included?» — Julia couldn’t believe her ears.

— «Yes», — Mr. Toffiles’ eyes beamed with pride. — «Our agency can boast the best services at the lowest prices». (When will he stop talking as if he is a living ad?» — thought Julia to herself). «Our clients are always satisfied with the tours we offer, because they themselves can choose the mode of travel, so to speak».

— «Impossible to offer anything decent just for one hundred pounds», — interrupted Julia in an icy tone.

— «You are right, but the fact of the matter is that our agency offers an absolutely new mode of travelling, i, e, human soul travelling» — Mr. Toffiles paused to enjoy the effect his words produced. Julia’s eyes opened wide and she whispered: «What do you mean?»

— «I mean that you travel spiritually, not bodily», — Mr. Toffiles stressed the word «bodily’ by lightly touching Julia’s shoulder. — «The mechanism of soul travelling is very simple: the client clicks his fingers and with a special signal from our control board, his soul parts from the body and joins the body of the so-called soul-bearer. Our agency offers a wide choice of soul-bearers, travelling all over the world. Human soul travelling is the tourism of the future».

— «I’m afraid it’s not exactly what I want», — said Julia and made for the door. It seemed to her that Mr. Toffiles wasn’t very disappointed at the loss of a potential client.

— «Good bye, Mrs. Evans, see you tomorrow», — he said cordially.

Julia turned back to say that she wouldn’t be coming either tomorrow or any other day but there was nobody behind her.

On the way home Julia was thinking over the details of her visit to that strange agency: «How did he learn my name? I had never mentioned it to him. Extremely curious». — «Hello, Julia», — a sweet voice, which she immediately recognised interrupted the flow of her thoughts. Oh, Helen, sweet Helen, that wretched lover-snatcher Helen — Julia could never forgive her that affairs with Jim Carrol. She looked at her old university friend. Helen was as charming as ever: exquisitely dressed, perfectly made up, dazzling beauty with self-reliant smile.

— «Hello, Helen, how are you?» — asked Julia, but it wasn’t really the question she wanted to ask, for she didn’t care about Helen. The one she really cared about was Helen’s husband, James Carrol, or her first love Jim, for whom she had once forecast a great literary career and who, after that 25-year-old bestseller, had failed to produce anything of genuine value. «What has happened to his talent, I wonder», — thought Julia and said, — «and how is Jim?»