Very bad English / Очень плохой English

That's all!

I swallowed the bait, as if hypnotized. And since at the end of the letter there wasn't any «I am waiting for your reply…», I could not calm down until this situation cleared up.

I spent the rest of the weekend reading an old book, constantly distracting and thinking about the letter. Suddenly an unexpected thought literally pierced me: В«Is that old newspaper put into the envelope just for weight?В» I expanded it, and stumbled upon an article dedicated to the Oscar award, which Leonardo DiCaprio had never received again as the leading actor in В«The Great GatsbyВ».

The interview was circled in red marker…

I looked at the sofa. The open book of Francis Scott Fitzgerald in red hardcover was waiting for me. What can I say?

It was «The Great Gatsby»…

I felt helpless. It was like someone was studying me under a microscope, just like me recently, trying to read the return address on an envelope with a magnifying glass. Someone knew more about me and my addictions than I knew… And now, he was gloating!

Unless…

Unless he was trying to say something, but carefully dosed the information.

I was completely confused. I turned off the light and cried. And when I fell asleep, I persuaded myself in a dream that all this was an absurd, a stupid dream. The next morning, waking up, I would not find any letter.

Such a naive.

The letter did not go away in the morning. It lay on a windowsill on top of an open novel.

I defiantly pushed back the curtains, warmed the kettle and had my breakfast.

I tuned in on Monday, dressed, fed a starving flock behind the aquarium glass as it chatted about the weather, and rushed outside.

Indeed, it was drizzling in the morning, adding colors, or rather, depths to the surrounding landscape. Trees and flowers, washed and elegant, could be depicted on a canvas… I was again agitated by the thoughts of my abandoned painting and saved from other thoughts of an unknown author.

Opening the laboratory doors, I finally calmed down. Strangely enough, I didn't remember about the damn letter until the evening…

Eva's diary:

August 23, 1998.

Sunday.

It can be very difficult to start a conversation, even with the closest.

It seems like the words are stuck in the tongue, clinging to its papillae, and the only thing left is to swallow them.

Mom, I hope you never read these lines.