Dionysius went, shaking his wicker basket with the delicacies, which one, oddly enough, may not deem like that. From the sky that was still sunny and clear, as the skin of some not yet ripe orange, fell now, seems, freshly squeezed juice. And that was understandable: the summer in Latin America was often tropical, and as a little boy in Russia would go out to buy some bread and naturally would catch the snowflakes with his tongue, so here the local children ran out once they heard rhythmic strains of rain, coming down like the freshly pressed in a lemon-squeezer juice of a five-star hotel. A fellow who was a butterfly smuggler passed him by and noticed how to take back his basket. The smuggler twigged that the person whom he gave the basket was right at the moment was making the crime not less, maybe more than he himself did (since coconuts were the property of the town whilst butterflies were not), he grabbed the basket from the robber effortlessly as it was when he first gave it to him. Seeing this, Dionysius was not upset. He was not an easily upset person, although he seemed opposite at first glance. Under no circumstances must you believe initial impression. If for no other reason that most interesting people, trying it as the sort of checking your strength for no purpose, never act to show their real potential. The rain started, and even the thread of our speculations could not stop it, nor could they prevent a little boy first came to help his father and earned much money at one go from running into a rack with coconut milk, so scrupulously stored on its shelves. He did it startlingly right in front of Dionysius’s eyes. Dionysius did not expect that turn of events which were just as ones in a film created by a short-sighted director, who did not want them to live up to any expectations, but be estimated by the impulse they brought, by their very existence. Sometimes life, not cinema, is predictable, which means that everyone will reap what they sow, and no one will be afflicted with justice. Dionysius felt unduly pleasant gladness, as after the languor, which appears when you do something complicated and at the same time useful for a long time, immerse yourself entirely at the work and became so exhausted that you want to interrupt it, yet, finally, do not give up and keep working. It happens when you are not aware of how many more seconds or minutes you will endure to beat your record, and when you do not how gradually you may probably improve the situation. This can be compared with the path you stand on to beat the world record. Dionysius felt intuitively that he had to go to a father and a son and put some coconuts, which he could not place into that now stolen basket, so that he found a nook for them in his pockets, next to the family, since a child should not be sad and bothered on the account of the ruined rack. His legs guided him forward with somewhat jet or alien force. Yet it was fate’s will that he caught the look of the father and a boy and no flow of mutual attention in it, which could have lead them to the further coherent action. In other words, there was no collaboration between them that usually happens with you and that wonderful greeter in a perfume shop or at the travel agency. At that very moment the fate seemed to encourage Dionysius to make his own choice. And he made his decision, following one trait of character which he got when the tax inspectorate came to him at his farm. He approached to the family and gave them the coconuts he had in his pockets and which were not theirs. That happened accurately as he wished. He left them as soon as his pockets where empty. The rain was coming down in buckets as everlasting film and touched the numb from the pleasure of the finished deed Dionysius’s face.
Obviously, Dionysius bore in mind that the ticket he bought was left in inspector’s hands—the reason is that Costa Rica is a hospitable country, and here a seller and an inspector is one and the same woman, but as there was no paper to feed into the printer, she promised Dionysius from behind the window to let him board on the plane without the ticket. He being a credulous person who believed in fairness agreed on it beyond a shadow of a doubt. Dionysius could still not be on the plane if it was not that café, the chef of which ordered him a cup of coffee with a bun at no charge. This is the morality of the sixth chapter, my friends. Never have good doings left with no equal ones in return. He was looking through the mad and dust specked silvery window and suddenly he felt that something covered his heart and now was sitting in his heart: it was the dust. While a flight attendant was handing around refreshing beverages, Dionysius thought that it was weird that people who had seats in business class still had not realized that the true power is in humility. Dionysius was in such high spirits now that he asked the nearby passenger, who was a young man with a laptop dressed smart and with that rejection of beauty and fashion which only programmers have, about it. “What is the real might?” Dionysius was not ideal, so he forgot at times about the idiosyncrasy of people. He did not remember that everyone has his own opinion on what the truth is, and no one knows who is certainly right if the truth itself exists. Taking this into consideration, all the people are initially mistaken. In this case, the phrase from the poem “Silentium” by Tyutchev “A thought once uttered is untrue” is absolutely suitable. The young man with a laptop did not answer Dionysius not on the account of misunderstanding or being impolite, but since he was deaf. Then it occurred to our wanderer that he was a right dimwit. After all, the universe is not eternal and imperishable, yet we believe it to be so. Meanwhile people with disabilities have totally their notions about the world and see this world in a different way, hence their own meaning of life opens in front of them. It is hard to get. Flocks of birds flew behind the window.
Chapter 7
It was nearly the first time when Earlyborn got up late, seemingly because she became exhausted at night. Nothing unusual. The young lady was so enthusiastic about making up stories about teeny-weeny people shuttling around that she was doing it till her brother woke up. She wanted to make breakfast—succeeded, straight away brewed an alarm clock and soon dozed off with no mighty under her consciousness. The alarm clock set off but no one listened for it, since it was impossible to hear the alarm clock when it was placed into an electric kettle. Earlyborn was particularly creative about various breakages: out of thousands of places to put the alarm clock in she, sleepy or after some poor sleep, preferred that very container. It was very good that there was no short circuit or something of that kind. As Zhenka was a great prankster too, he took a series of shots depicting his sister from different angles while her snooze; some young ladies would even feel jealous looking at those photos as they did not think of them at their autumn photo sessions. Those pictures were: Earlyborn with the electric kettle, and with her left eye half-open, and with her right one covered with a frying pan – he was satisfied. Zhenka decided to develop the joke and made a quest for his sister to find her phone earlier than he would manage to delete any photo from it, but he put them all into self-deleting. Obviously, Zhenka did not arrive here just to ruffle Earlyborn, but to perk her up slightly, since he saw there was something wrong. He wanted to do that next way. He saw his sister as a sack of potatoes, in which there is probably somehow little tea unmixed with sugar, so that such a state of affairs does not gladden you. However, if you pick the suck for a while, mix tea with sugar and potatoes, potatoes will happen to be middle-sized, and the tea—a little too sugary. So it was roughly that what Zhenka planned to do with Earlyborn. What could he do instead? He was not supposed to be Earlyborn’s personal psychologist, was he not? All the same she would not say a word, but notice that everything is visible, and would withdrew into her shell, back into a lair of affliction and fear, from which she was beckoned by the way of bluff, pressure and the huge surprise effect. Now Zhenka was not to keep something which was already beckoned. Zhenka somehow learned about his sister’s dream to travel following the map of stars (she drew the Ursa Major for this reason) and sketched maybe a dozen of diverse routes, when she was sleeping and the alarm clock was boiling. One of them led through the whole Russia; others, conversely, did not lead across any country—they got round islands and continents. This all lay in one place, and Zhenka expected Earlyborn to be extremely happy, so that it would rejuvenate her. She found her phone and those drawn routes and did not offend—she brightened up and felt so for the rest of the day. Zhenka saw the sparkle in her eyes and thought his efforts were not in vain. She again went away abruptly to continue sleeping, and he had nothing but to accept that that sparkle was simply the reflection of his own sparkle. Her own sparkle was still napping… Earlyborn another time headed for the balcony, seemingly till the dawn.