Silence in the Shadow of Lilacs

"​I just wonder," Akemi thought, "what's the point of all this?" She covered another cutting with soil and straightened up. "​No, really — what for? To delay the inevitable? To breathe a little more before the end?"​

Sometimes she envied Thomas. He was extremely straightforward — sometimes to the point of irritation, sometimes his uncompromising bluntness bordered on boorishness. Yet, despite everything, at times Akemi admired his steadfastness.​

"​See the goal — ignore the obstacles" — ​perhaps that phrase described him perfectly.​

At that moment, Thomas was doing the same as she was— carefully planting lilac seedlings into the flowerbed where the "Dead Grove" used to be.​

"​Won't they be too cramped there?" Akemi inquired.​

"​No, I think it'll be just right," he replied without straightening his back.​

Solid and self-assured — like an older brother one could always rely on. Like an experienced mentor who would always guide and direct. Like... like...​

Tears glistened in her eyes; Akemi quickly turned away, lifted her head, and looked at the blazing sun overhead.​

"​Well, looks like we're done here," Thomas stood up, took a cylinder from the box, and took a drag. "​How many more are left?"​

Akemi shook her head, dispelling troubling thoughts, and checked the map:​

"​Twenty more saplings — ten there and ten over here."​

***

Ivan sat in a kind of oppressive stupor. Thoughts of his father wouldn't leave his mind — cold, detached, always occupied with his own affairs, rarely home — to the point that, in the end, their communication dwindled to rare conversations about nothing and money transfers — and yet, loved. Now he understood this more vividly than ever before.​

Ivan clearly felt that he hadn't said so much, and this feeling gnawed at his chest. And how much had his father managed to say? Had he managed at all? Or had he taken unspoken feelings with him to the grave, leaving them as his final exhale from the freezing lips of the deceased?​

He had no answers to all these questions. He could have easily canceled today's consultation — the reason was more than valid — but sitting and enduring within four walls was even more unbearable.​

Ivan looked at the gauge—14%.​

"​No way—gotta go to Molder," he decided, staring lifelessly at the wall opposite.​

***

I'll come to you from yellow dusks afar,
Where souls dissolve beneath the skyline's veil —
Return from there, with sorrow as my scar,
No words, no fears, no hopes, no dreams to tell.

Reinhardt muttered the memorized lines under his breath. His wife was a poetess but never took her hobby seriously. "​Just scribble some verses now and then," she would jokingly dismiss every time the conversation turned to her work. These lines were the last she managed to write before cancer took her. She never finished the poem, and now its lines surfaced in Reinhardt's mind every time he remembered her.​

12% remained. Reinhardt shook his head sadly. He'd had enough. He'd already received a call from Heidelberg — as Reifenberg promised. He had handed over two full boxes of lilac cuttings. He couldn't do more. He was utterly exhausted. It seemed he'd already distributed lilacs to all the neighbors he could reach and call. Now he just wanted to be left in peace — but even that was denied by a phone call.​

***

Ivan came for another consultation. The university had become quite deserted lately — more and more students were switching to home-based learning. Several boxes of oxygen cylinders had piled up at the entrance to the main building — it seemed they were now being given out for free. Ivan took one and put it in his backpack: "​If they're giving it — take it!"​

He climbed to the top floor and knocked on the door as usual. It seemed there was no queue.​

"Yes," responded a tired voice from behind the door.​

Professor Moldor was sitting at the desk, her head resting on her hands, but upon seeing Ivan, she tried to appear ready to listen. It didn't work well — her long blonde hair was disheveled, and the huge bags under her eyes revealed that she probably hadn't slept much lately.​

"​Am I interrupting?" Ivan paused at the threshold.​

"​We had an appointment — it's fine, just close the door."​

Ivan nodded. The professor took the remote and turned the hyperventilation to full. A stream of fresh air poured into the office.​

"​Derrida?" she asked.​

"Yes," Ivan nodded, sitting down at the table.​

***

Theo was almost dozing behind the bar counter. Lately, hardly anyone had been coming into "EL PINTOR" —everyone was hiding at home, waiting out the final days.​

The door opened, an incongruous bell jingled, and a big guy in a black mask entered the bar.​

"​What'll you have?" Theo detached himself from the counter and nodded to the guest.​

"​Give me a light beer," the big guy leaned on the counter.​

"​Coming right up," Theo nodded, took a clean glass from the shelf, and went to the taps.​

"​€3.50," he said, handing over a glass of cold light beer with a frothy head on top.​

The big guy nodded, reached with one hand into his pants pocket for his wallet, and with the other — into his jacket pocket, pulled out a pistol, and aimed it at Theo.​

"​And all the oxygen cylinders too!" he shouted, turning to the entrance — "​Come on in, guys!"​

Five thugs burst into the bar from all sides, breaking down doors.​

Theo instantly reacted, splashed the beer into the big guy's face, smashed the glass over his head, and grabbed the antique rifle in a wooden frame hanging above the bar counter.​

"​Your time has come," he grinned and cocked the rifle.​

"​Get him, guys!" the big guy bent over, trying to wipe the beer from his eyes and wincing in pain.​

"​Police! Face down, hands behind your head!" the sound of breaking glass came from outside.​

For every thug, there's someone bigger. A dozen more police officers stormed into the bar. They quickly subdued the hapless robbers.​

"​Damn, I knew it — we shouldn't have come here!" one of the thugs croaked — "​I sensed a setup."​

"​Shut up, enough!" the leader, pressed to the floor, turned his head as much as he could — "​We knew there were loads of cylinders here — well, it didn't work out, tough luck..."​

"​And we knew that you knew," Theo grinned, placing the rifle on his shoulder.​

"​You might as well have told everyone your brilliant plan, Moriarty wannabe," one of the police officers chuckled, recording the scene on video.​

***

"Listen, Reinhardt, my dear friend..." — Tai Ming lay on the floor of the back room, coughing as he stared at the ceiling, the phone still in his hand. "Forgive me for taking matters into my own hands..."

"You know," Reinhardt said from the shade of the lilacs, "I honestly couldn’t care less anymore — you wouldn’t even believe how much."

"You always had a sharp tongue," Tai Ming chuckled one last time — so warmly that Reinhardt could almost feel it through the phone.

"Just… drop by Yun and Zhao sometimes, okay? Have some noodles at least..."

The phone slipped from Tai Ming’s hand. On the other end, there was only the sound of short, repeated beeps.

Twenty minutes earlier, Tai Ming had entered the storage room carrying a small gas stove. He locked the door behind him, lit the flame briefly, then turned it off, opened the valve all the way, and lay down on the floor, peacefully closing his eyes.