The Wedding of Mephistopheles

II

I immediately collected my things, put on my coat and hat, closed the shop, and went outside.

A cold gust of wind slapped my face, almost causing a curse to escape. And I never cursed. Luckily, my apartment was only a few blocks away.

Lanterns in this part of the city - modern, electric - could not disperse the autumn gloom and warm up the ossified metropolis of Paris. An automobile occasionally passed along the street, but most of the time all I could hear was the heels of my shoes on the pavement and the distant hum of somewhere downtown. It was noisy there no matter what time it was. 

Finally, I stood in front of my door, and with some difficulty, because my fingers were still from the cold, I slipped the key into the lock. Do you know what is it like to live in modern times? I know - as a modern citizen, I had no servants, only one housekeeper, Henriette, who cleaned, did my laundry and made me breakfast. But now I had to make myself something to eat.

I set the turntable. From the golden tube, after a evanescent sound of empty hum, came the muffled melody of the piano. I never liked it when it was too loud. 

I lived alone. Who would I live with?

I found a plate in a white cabinet with square windows. It will definitely be useful. There was bread in the cupboard next to it. Well. I guess I will have to reheat the lunch.

After the not quite warm chicken, I noticed a piece of nut cake under a glass lid. Henriette must have baked it.

I sat in the armchair and covered myself with a blanket. I put on my glasses and with a volume of Wilde's fantastic stories (yes, I know it's not proper for an adult to read fantasy, but I deserved something from life) in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, I sat for half an hour until I finished half of 'The Canterville Ghost', and I became somnolent.

So then I went to the bedroom, which no longer represented the order of the living room. One of the walls was almost completely covered with drawings pinned to it (and the landlord will charge me interest for the tiny holes). Against this wall, on a small oak desk, was a sewing machine (Singer Model 27). I just remembered that I have so many projects to finish...

I sat down at the machine. I leaned back in my chair and looked at the wall. It was not ordinary dresses with voluminous, puffed sleeves that attracted attention, but those cards that depicted useless, fantastic, probably uncomfortable, but interesting clothes. Most of them were covered up by these more real projects anyway. I sighed and got up. 

Do not get it wrong - I loved sewing. It was my passion, almost like the essence of my life. But this job in the shop put me off to the point that at home I only did it when there was no other way. 

I had deprived myself of the only pleasure in life, but I could not change my job - it was the only thing I could do. As I sat on the bed, the thought occurred to me that this was a shamefully bourgeois attitude - people in the countryside did not think about any pleasures at all. I know because I knew many of them. Maybe I should not think of it either. 

I undressed and lay down. But even though I was falling off my feet, the last client crept into my thoughts. Now I remembered that meeting. It was strange. She looked terribly nervous, anxious, which was understandable - I assumed she was getting ready for the funeral. But at the same time, she was so... over-excited.

I'll get to know her better tomorrow.

There was breakfast on the table when I got up at five o'clock, and a pressed frock coat, waistcoat, and shirt on the couch in the living room.

Henriette was bustling around the kitchen, saying something about the neighbor at number 34. I just nodded my head. I only knew my neighbors by appearance. I quickly got dressed and did my hair. The mustache was in order. Looking at myself in the mirror, with some uneasiness I discovered that I was starting to look like my father as I approached my thirties. I didn't like it in any way. I said good-bye to Henriette, grabbed my briefcase, and raced to the store. I wanted to be first before any of the helpers came. 

Right at the entrance I met Albert. He was an elderly man who knew his trade, though he was taciturn and a little shy around customers. Just like me, with the difference that I overcame my shyness a long time ago, and I had to talk, even about whatever, "for a good atmosphere". Albert was one of the few people I really liked.

Ninth o'clock. Opening of the store.

Victor showed up at one o'clock. I did not expect anything else from him, but he still annoyed me. I would have fired him from that job a long, long time ago if it wasn't for his father who paid me for his apprenticeship. And I, as you already know, am not good at saying no.

"Victor, go to..."

"Uhm," he murmured reluctantly, but didn't moveAlbert looked at me meaningfully. Then at Victor paying no attention to anyone, then at me again and raised an eyebrow.

I stood behind the boy. He sat in such a way that the back of his neck begged for me to hit him with a broomstick.

"Vi..."

"Marcelle invited me to the theater." He glared at me. "So I have to write her back as soon as possible. You will never get invited, so you won't understand me."

"To what?" I asked absently, too numb to think of anything else.

"To the 'Wedding of Mephistopheles'!" He waved the letter in front of my face. I smelled a faint scent of perfume.

"Besides, how do you know no one will invite me?" I asked as I realized what he had said.

He just burst out laughing.

As if by chance, I wandered into the place where Albert was dressing the dummy.

"He won't stay here for long" I whispered, taking the black velvet from the shelf.

The old man nodded his approval.

Three o'clock, four, and five have passed. Yesterday's client was gone. Quite dissatisfied, I went home. She must have forgotten.

And I thought she cared.