Chapter 20

                                    

                                          
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Ethelstan sat at the table, absentmindedly tracing winding patterns in his mashed potatoes with a fork. The room was quiet. Lenard had left for dinner a few minutes ago, leaving Ethel alone with the unappetizing food and his wretched thoughts.
It had been several weeks since his first meeting with Rikald. Normally, Ethelstan quickly forgot about his fleeting acquaintances. But things were different with Rika.
Ethelstan couldn't quite understand why the image of the young man had lodged itself so firmly in his mind. Yes, Rika was pretty and incredibly charming, but Ethel had met beautiful and charming people before, and none of them had ever left such a strong impression on him.
Moreover, during their first meeting, the guy had looked entirely different. Clumsy, drunk, with a swollen nose and split lips—he had seemed pitiful and far from attractive. Yet somehow, he still managed to leave an indelible mark and a deep impression on Ethel's heart.
Ethelstan often thought of him: at home, on trips, during meals, before sleep, and while on walks. Even when he was with Lenard, the image of Rikald would resurface in his mind, causing his heart to tighten with a strange and utterly inexplicable tenderness.
Ethel hoped that, in time, these feelings would pass. That the memories of the lonely, unhappy guy would fade from his mind and no longer wound his soul with a piercing ache. But the days flew by, and he continued to think of Rika. And their latest meeting had only robbed him of his peace entirely.
Ethelstan sighed heavily and pushed the dinner plate away from him. On the yellowish mound of mashed potatoes, an elegant letter "R" had been traced, and the young man quickly covered it with a piece of partially eaten bread.
No matter how much Ethel tried to distract himself, his thoughts inevitably returned to the guy, to those eyes filled with a sorrow as vast as the universe, and to that trembling voice, desperately repeating, "You're alive!"
His heart was gripped once more by an invisible hand of sorrow. Ethel, resolutely rising from the table, headed for the door. But as he wrapped his fingers around the cool handle, he froze, staring blankly ahead.
He didn't know what to do, and so he hesitated, weighing the pros and cons. His mind was in complete disarray, his thoughts tangled into a knot of questions that had no answers. His heart raged within his chest, overwhelmed by inexplicable desires and fears.
After lingering by the door for a while, Ethelstan sighed, released the handle, and returned to his bed. He shrugged off his jacket, tossed it onto a chair, and collapsed onto the mattress.
Ethel didn't understand himself. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he couldn't make sense of his own desires and feelings, and this confusion tormented him, muddling his thoughts and driving him into fruitless self-criticism.
However, he couldn't endure these inner torments for long. Exhausted by the long journey, the emotional upheaval, and Lenard's fiery "greeting," he soon fell asleep, slipping into a chaotic and restless dream.
He dreamt of roads. Many different paths: broad avenues, shaded alleys, trails trodden through impassable forests, and wide asphalt highways. He stood on a low hill, unable to decide which direction to take. He turned, twisted, peered into the distance, trying to see what lay at the end of each road, but a thick fog creeping from the horizon concealed the answer from him.
Ethel awoke long past midnight. The full moon brazenly peered through the window of the room he shared with Lenard, filling the space with a silvery glow that made everything seem unnatural, as if drawn, and therefore somewhat frightening.