Mysterious

She approached him. And unexpectedly for him, she touched his face. Her small palm was cool and all five fingers touching his cheek made him shiver and want to cry. For him, it was the most tender moment. A feeling akin to coming home after a wander. Now, she was different again. No longer the girl who was afraid of feelings, who didn't believe in love. She finally noticed the beauty of the man who stood before her. With the understanding that is inherent only in elders, with the tenderness that is available only to those who are sincerely in love, she brought his face close to hers and, as if on purpose, to completely capture Adelard's soul, she kissed him on the lips. At first, it was a light kiss. A simple touch. But when Adelard realized what he lacked for complete happiness, he kissed her back. But even with the kiss, they were not standing close to each other and there was not even a hint of a gentle embrace. Rather, it was an eager kiss. Once they stopped, they both quickly moved away from each other and then, Adelard quickly ran out of the apartment. What was it? But somehow, in the kiss, he didn't feel the love that had been there during their conversation.

"His condition is getting worse and we can't do anything to help him. Last night, he wouldn't stop coughing. Yes, we called a doctor. But alas, the medicine didn't help him." Standing opposite the door to the room that had already become a refuge for the boy named Gaspard, Adelard and Nicholas could hear his heavy breathing. And with each passing second, Gaspard was closer to death.

"Do you think he's dying?" Adelard asked. And then Mathilde came out of the room and they both took a step forward to look in and see the sick man. But Mathilde closed the room too quickly and stared fearfully at the floor. As if she had seen death itself, she could not raise her eyes for fear of seeing something dreadful. But Adelard's question made her speak.

"What is it?"

"Monsieur, look," she whispered, trying to hold back her tears. Holding the basin with the towel, which had drops of blood on it, she let out a few drops of tears. "He's coughing up blood. Monsieur, he's dying." And then, she just couldn't be still. "He's dying." Hugging Adelard, she trembled as if she had just learned that people in this world are not immortal. Though, this was the first time she had seen anything like it. Adelard looked back at Nicholas and hugged her back.

"What do we do now? We can't let him go, can we? Maybe put him in the hospital?" Nicholas asked quietly. His slightly tired eyes, surrounded by fine wrinkles, expressed anxiety and intense sadness. After all, he, too, had always had a habit of compassion for those who suffered, who complained about life and never smiled.

Still hugging the frightened woman, Adelard could say nothing. His attention was on the towel with the drops of blood.

"Adelard, what are we going to do?"

"I have to cure him. Nicholas, we can't leave him alone with death, can we? We will do everything. I took responsibility for him after all. Maybe you're right. We need to put him in the hospital. Today."

Nicholas only shook his head. On the one hand, he was against Adelard helping a complete stranger. After all, he remembered perfectly well all the times when Adelard had helped people like Gaspard. In the end, they either ran away from home with valuable items or went to journalists to tell them what Adelard was really like. Specifically, tales about his women and his interests in men.

"Nicholas tell me what you're thinking."

"You're right. He is very ill. But if he heals, you must let him go. Do you understand me?"

Just now Mathilde stepped aside and wiping the rest of the tears from her eyes, she said, "I'm sorry. I was just scared. In that room, next to him, I could feel the presence of death itself."

"Mathilde, go get some rest. Have some tea and go for a walk. The weather is nice today. It smells like rain and you can feel the warm breeze. Go ahead. Thank you," Adelard said fondly and tried to smile to conquer her fear. After all, his mother always said that a smile overcomes fear.

"Thank you Monsieur."

"I must see him. I'll tell him he'll be all right."

"Maybe you shouldn't. What if you might get infected?"

"But Mathilde took a chance. Why can't I?"

"Adelard!"

But it was too late. The door opened and quickly closed.

The patient's room was cool, even cold. And if, before, it had been peaceful and comfortable, now the empty room had become something of a refuge for the disease itself. The wooden walls turned pale, as if they had been set on fire and then covered with ice. The wooden floors suddenly began to creak, as if the invisible feet of death were walking on them, quietly playing the violin. And this constant feeling of unbearable hopelessness could drive you insane. And finally, the very face of the sick man, which was slowly turning to stone. This was not the same Gaspard who looked gratefully at the cup of soup on the first day. This was another man, forgotten by all, forsaken by fate and the future. This was a man who had been abandoned by all the possibilities for a better life.

Trying not to cough, Gaspard looked at Adelard and smiled. But that smile immediately disappeared, leaving an unpleasant trace of hope on his face. Adelard behaved calmly and confidently. As if he was the best doctor who could cure him in seconds.

"Gaspard, you're going to be fine. I'm going to take you to the best hospital. There, you'll get help. You'll get back on your feet and enjoy life. I promise you."

Even though he had no strength, he still managed to laugh through a cough and say, "You make me a promise. It's so strange. I'm still nobody to you. But why are you so kind to me? Why? Is it possible to be such a person? Can a man still be kind?"

With the naiveté of a child and a perpetually surprised expression on his face, Adelard stepped closer to him and put his hand on his shoulder and said, "I'm just the way I want to be. I just do what I think is right."

The young man wanted to say something else, but a cough took his breath away and he clutched Adelard's hand so he wouldn't see his future.

What does it take for a person to be happy? And that is to be busy. As it should be, people are always busy. They do things: they talk, they listen, they read, and they call it life. People are working, doing things for their dreams, and that's fine. After all, that's what life is. The question about nature of happiness was always the main one. But in fact, the answer to this question has always been with people. For happiness, a person needs to be busy. And look, that's not even love! Everyone could immerse themselves in their lives differently. And even now, after lunch, everyone was going somewhere. Even if it was raining. But this weather only gave them something to complain about.

Every time it rained, everyone made such a face as if they had seen rain for the first time in their lives. Or when it was very hot, they were also surprised by the fact that there was such a season as summer on planet Earth. The weather never ceased to amaze them. But perhaps that amazement was just another way to occupy their lives.

Running past the trees, past the stores, some were hiding from the rain, but some kept walking with a slight smile on their faces. And only Adelard sat in his carriage, surrounded by flowers that lay directly on the seats. He was completely preoccupied with thoughts of Gaspard. He was experiencing and feeling the pain of this young man. And his too kind heart just couldn't exist like that any longer. It was vital to him to heal this unfortunate man. But to drop everything and head toward the hospital was not wise. After all, today was the day Suzanne was leaving back for New York. And all those flowers were for her. After all, that's why his snow-white horses flew so fast forward. After all, everyone knew that Susanne didn't like people being late for a farewell meeting.

"What happened?" Adelard asked almost shouting as the carriage came to an abrupt halt.

The coachman replied, "Excuse me." And in the next second, Adelard could hear his best friend's loud voice. Opening the door, Jean sat across from Adelard and wrapping his arms around a bouquet of flowers, he carelessly brushed his hat off his head and then tapped his umbrella on the door for the coachman to continue on his way.

"What's the matter? You don't look well," Jean said, looking at his reflection in the small mirror. And yet he had always had a habit of looking at himself every time he got into a carriage. Thoughts of being the most handsome man in the world were always in his mind. Even when he was asleep. But maybe he had something to be proud of.

"Are you asking me? Or yourself?" Adelard asked a little nervously.

"You, of course. You don't look well. You still haven't seen a doctor?"

"No. I'm fine."

"I don't doubt that. You just look like you haven't slept in years. Do you still have insomnia?"

"Yes. But that's not the point."

"You still can't get over that girl? Why torture yourself like this? There are so many people in the world. And all you can think about is her. Look what she's done to you. She's turned you into a scary, tired person. My advice to you, stop thinking about her and you'll be fine. But if you're downright lonely, you always know you have me," Jean said and winked his right eye.

"What do you mean?"

"You know."