Chapter II.VIII

Written: July 28, 2023
Translated: September 13, 2023
While Jo & Delia sat on the floor in his office, the girl's mother finished setting the table in the kitchen. Having washed her hands and leaning half a step into the office.
- And on that lovely note, y'all, welcome to the table! - she shouted.
Two voices mixed in response to her invitation:
- Thank you, missis Ivette! - Jo replied. 
- Thank you, mommy! - Delia did not remain in debt.
Of all three who were now within the walls of this house, it was its owner who wanted to eat the most. Therefore, he did not hesitate and, getting to his feet, went to the kitchen, where the table was already set, the richness of which struck the imagination of mister Thurlow, who, due to some stinginess, usually ate scrambled eggs and store-bought sandwiches. But what is good for a grown man, for a child... No, not better, rather just the opposite. Perhaps such a definition should not be applied to all children, but as for the young heiress of the Yonce family... While Jo happily devoured what was on the table, the little girl fidgeted in her chair and looked bored, picking at her plate with a fork. Only when it was time to drink tea did she perk up a little and, not depriving herself of sweets, took a couple of eclairs.
- Dearie, you can't eat nothing and indulge in sweets! - missis Yonce took on an educational tone.
- Mom, come on, I'm just... - embarrassed child.
He decided not to interfere in this exchange of words. It seemed to Jo that neighbour would begin to reproach him for the fact that her daughter did not really eat anything. Like, considering how quickly you eat everything, she thought it was better not to snatch the last piece from you and leave everything as it is...
- Mister Thurlow, - a woman turned to him. - Will you walk us to the gate? Otherwise...
- What, that is all? - her daughter interrupted with a hint of obvious irritation.
- Delia! Don't offend the mother! - missis Yonce said with about the same intonation
Jo decided that if the fire of discontent begins to flare up between women, then it is better not to loom under their noses and retreat. He wiped the crumbs stuck to the corners of his mouth and stood up from his chair.
- Oh, finally! - the woman was happy. - Let's go, mister Thurlow, Delia are already complete.
The owner of the house nodded to his adult guest and was about to go out onto the porch, when she suddenly let out a loud "Ah!" and asked where Jo's dirty clothes were. He remembered the telephone conversation that took place this morning between him and his neighbour, after which, slamming the front door, he went to help her pack that very flour-covered suit. The little girl, delighted at the fact that she could stay in this new place for at least a couple of extra minutes, ran to his office.
When the adults finally finished their deeds - just fold the clothes and put them in the previously emptied picnic basket - Delia hasn't left the room yet. Her mother's telling her that it was time for them to leave had no effect on her daughter. Jo, signaling to missis Yonce to wait a little, quietly, as if a hunter, afraid of spooking his prey, entered his own office. There he witnessed Delia, standing at the window, vigorously gesticulating to someone. Mister Thurlow coughed ingratiatingly. Baby girl turned her head towards him - there was no feeling of surprise on her face, rather some kind of businesslike. Jo became curious about what interested her and also stood at the window, which overlooked the back side of his property. Of course there was no one there. Mister Thurlow touched the shoulder of Delia standing in front of him with his index finger. She reluctantly turned away from the window and, lowering her head, went to her mother, who was nervously moving from foot to foot, holding a basket in her hands.
- Can I carry... - Jo decided to show gallantry.
- We'll only get to the wicket, to our house, on our own, - missis Yonce interrupted him
He took the basket from woman's hands and the three of them went out into the yard. Clouds began to creep in on the sun again. Mister Thurlow looked at his dog - he sat quietly at the post, not making a sound. "The girl intimidated him", Jo thought. As they approached the fence, a loud and dissatisfied sniffling reached Jo's ears from the street. Opening the wicket, he almost came face to face with mister Yonce, who, with his hands on his hips, looked at his neighbour with some hatred. However, the sight of his wife and daughter leaving the yard slightly reduced the degree of his displeasure and he, taking the basket from his spouse, walked ahead of his family, giving mister Thurlow a parting look full of suspicion.
Jo, having shouted after the Yonce family the duty "Till we meet again", closed the gate and headed to the post to untie Buffalo. Oddly enough, as soon as the women left the territory, the dog immediately began barking and rushing in all directions. His owner had to make a lot of effort to hold the dog and remove the collar from his neck. As soon as Buffalo felt free, he ran up to the fence and began jumping on it again. Jo, still perplexed by such a dramatic change in his pet's mood, stifled a yawn and, hanging the leash on a nail, walked into the house.
He walked into the kitchen and glanced at the table, on which only dirty plates remained from its former splendour. In any case, he was no longer hungry, so he collected all the dishes and started to wash them in the sink, began to wonder what he should do now. Having finished washing the dishes, he carefully put them in their places and looked at his wristwatch. "Yes, the shops will be closing soon", Jo thought. In order not to meet tomorrow like this (i.e. without food), he went to the store. When mister Thurlow was already returning back with the packages, the sun was already setting. Passing near the neighbours' gate, he again noticed mister Yonce's car near them, which he had last seen yesterday morning. Without trying to make any sense of it, mister Thurlow went into his home and unpacked his groceries. Looking around at the full shelves of the refrigerator, Jo slammed the door and remembered that he had forgotten to put the books and records that had fallen out back.
He entered the office. When his gaze fell on the books and envelopes scattered on the floor, he suddenly felt sad. Jo felt something like loss for the first time in years. In no hurry to start cleaning, he went over the events of the past day in his head. Here he and his young guest come into his office, so he begins to pull books out of the closet, and she opens the nightstand without asking... Here he is in a hurry to the sound of records falling to the floor... And then he allows the little girl to take away a music album that is of no interest to him... Jo ran out of the office - "No, I can't remove the consequences of this, I can't...", he thought in despair.
He ran into the bedroom and buried his face in the pillows. Twenty-four-year-old Jordan Thurlow cried like a child whose strict parents forbade him to communicate with the friend he was interested in. When Jo went to the bathroom, wiping away his tears, he muttered under his breath something like "Delia was right, you, Jo, is big crybaby and you're worthless!". Already standing at the mirror and looking at his reddened eyes, it seemed to him for a second that the outlines of his own face had something in common with the face of his little neighbor. But when he, having washed himself properly, looked at his reflection again, this strange feeling disappeared, as if it had never been there.
Feeling the need for fresh air, mister Thurlow went out into the yard. It was already getting dark. His faithful Buffalo lay quietly in his place, getting ready for the sleep. Jo looked at the home of Yonce family. Despite the late hour, only one window on the first floor was light. Mister Thurlow couldn't know how the neighbours arranged their rooms, but he remembered that when old man Harris Sherwind lived in this house, the chants of his drunken drinking companions were constantly heard from that window. "So this was the living or dining room", Jo thought. Perhaps the new owners saved electricity and in the evenings turned on the lights only where three of them could gather, and in their personal rooms they made do with small lamps...
Mister Thurlow couldn't be sure - after all, this is never the ultimate truth, just his guesses... He suddenly remembered his very first meeting with Delia, when he stood on the other side of the fence and she looked at him from the second floor window. No, Jo thought, his guess about saving light was complete nonsense, because at that moment (when according to the clock it was no later than now) the light was definitely on in the nursery... At the same time, he dismissed the idea that Delia was probably now outside the walls of her home. There is, of course, a possibility that she was taken to some relatives who lived in the center, but he had some doubts about this.
The next morning, Jo opened his eyes and stared at the chandelier hanging from the bedroom ceiling. The glass saucer had a pattern painted in blue, the details of which seemed to depict some kind of birds. For some reason, contemplating this pattern made mister Thurlow fall into a state close to a trance. Looking steadily at this creation of an unknown decorator, he recalled that the sky was in similar colours on the cover of the record that Delia took yesterday. Shaking the disease, Jo started getting dressed. Remembering that the girl was going to give that record to her classmate for his birthday, he thought that, after all, the fate of things can sometimes be very funny - at first, the envelope with this album came from the factory to some music store in Lisbon, then he moved to the living room of parents of Hamish McIntosh - his own classmate. And even in Portland the cycle hasn't ended, because first, after lying at that guy’s house, the record fell into his, Jo’s, hands. Now it is in the power of a girl living in a neighboring house, and then the album will travel again, only now to the house of a certain Jerry, who, as mister Thurlow realized, lives somewhere in the center...
When his brain has already digested this stream of thoughts, Jo was already standing in the kitchen, washed and dressed. Opening the refrigerator, he thanked himself for not forgetting to go grocery shopping in advance yesterday. Looking at how the eggs were placed in the cardboard, for some reason he could not help but notice how ingeniously but simply the packaging was designed. Having stopped turning them over in his hands, he suddenly remembered the cookies that Japhet had treated him to not so long ago... After placing the eggs on the table, mister Thurlow began to look for a mixer. Alas, he was in terrible condition - where the wire connected to the device itself, the insulation seemed to be charred. Jo decided not to plug it in, fearing that he might get an electric shock, and, putting the mixer back in the cabinet, began to think about how he could beat the eggs - after all, he cannot make shortbread dough without breaking eggs...
And then mister Thurlow, inspired by yesterday's show of concern on the part of missis Yonce, let out a joyful exclamation - what if he asked them for their mixer for an hour or two?! If she agreed to wash his things, then what’s wrong with not lending her neighbour a cooking appliance? Hastily, as if trying not to fly into heaven with happiness, Jo dialed their phone number and, pressing the receiver to his ear, waited patiently for the person on the other end to come to the machine. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long for an answer - a minute later he heard the slightly sleepy voice of missis Yonce:
- Hi, I'm listening.
- Hello, did I bother you, missis Ivette? - Jo said a little too cheerfully.
- It's okay, we're already up. What do you want, mister Thurlow?
- I decided to start baking, - he said.
- Oh, this is just wonderful! - unexpectedly his interlocutor let out a joyful exclamation. - What are you going to cook for us?
- For us? - he was taken aback by her question.
- Well, aren’t you going to give Delia and me a treat?
- No, of course, - mister Thurlow answered politely, who was already beginning to regret that he had decided to call them.
- That is great. So what will you bake?
- Shortbread. But the thing is...
- Wow, we love shortbread!
- Missis Ivette, you didn't listen to me. I wanted to ask you one thing
- Don't have a recipe? If you want, I can right now...
- I need a mixer, - Jo is already tired of talking to her.
- Okay, mister Thurlow, I'll send Delia to you. She was going to go for a walk anyway, so let her help you, give you...
- Thank you, miss Ivette, - he interrupted her. - When should I go outside?
- In ten minutes. We'll wash and get dressed, - said the woman, as if I was coddling a baby.
- Well, Goodbye.
He heard that Portuguese interjection again and hung up. Sitting down in a chair to catch his breath, he imagined himself as some kind of six-year-old blockhead, whose mother, without delving into the feelings of her son, is trying to force him to be a friend of a boy with "good and exemplary behavior". Jo felt like fate was playing a cruel joke on him - why didn’t he suffer a little and go to town for a new mixer, who dared him to call these obsessive Yonces? Mister Thurlow wanted to punch that invisible and powerful being who was pulling his strings in the face, but common sense told him that this was in no way possible to realize, because the fate of a human is decided by the human himself...
Jo went out into the yard in advance so that when the little girl came to the wicket, he would not make her wait several minutes (as happened yesterday). He called Buffalo and wanted to put the collar on him again, but, remembering that Delia would not come to him, he limited himself to patting the dog on the back. Then mister Thurlow sat down on the cold stone steps of the porch. Maybe it wasn't a very smart decision - he remembered how his mother told him as a child that he should not sit on a rock - but he wanted to quickly finish with this task imposed by himself.
When he heard quick footsteps on the other side of the fence, Jo immediately rose from his seat and walked to the wicket. Buffalo did not move from his place, continuing to sit at the post. Mister Thurlow opened the wicket and saw his young neighbour. In her right hand she was holding a package containing a cardboard box. Jo wanted to just take the mixer from her hands, but Delia, without saying a word, decisively stepped over the threshold. He looked after baby girl in bewilderment and followed her. They went into the kitchen, where the young lady put a bag on the table and asked the owner of the house if she could wash her hands. Jo said that since she came into his house as if it were her own, then let her do everything as she sees fit. She thanked him with a smile and went to the bathroom. Mister Thurlow decided not to embarrass the child and went out into the yard, mentally trying to understand her behavior.
He stood and looked at the dog. After a couple of minutes, he suddenly shuddered and turned around - it turns out that Delia had quietly crept up behind him and lightly shoved him in the back. He watched as she laughed at her prank and did not scold her.
- Well, apparently they've been waiting for you at home... - he said with a sigh.
- They let me go for a walk, you heard what mom said, - the girl answered, blinking twice.
- But my home is not a place for walking, - mister Thurlow rightly noted.
- So let's go outside, ajussi Jo! - the baby said cheerfully.
And she, bursting into laughter, ran to the wicket. Jo, not fully understanding her intentions, followed her. 
- Gotta go fast! - Delia shouted as she walked.
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