Mr. and Mrs. Mouse

Mr. Mouse was born into an aristocratic family. He was the only child and sole heir to a fortune. Mr. Mouse's father was the head of the Mouse Railway Company, and his mother wrote books. They amassed an extraordinary fortune. Mr. Mouse's father educated his son as a merchant at the best Mouse trade school. The young Mr. Mouse was considered an important figure in society. The idyll, however, did not last forever. The Titanic disaster robbed Mr. Mouse of his parents. He was left absolutely alone in the world. It would seem, however, that this was all he had been waiting for. He immediately cashed in all his movable, real estate, and stocks. He gave himself over to debauchery, became an alcoholic, and began gambling in casinos. He lost his position as a high-ranking figure in the Mouse aristocracy. He slowly sank to the bottom. He often ended up in Mouse sobering-up rooms, shelters, and spent nights in Mouse brothels. He became a mouse wreck. For some unknown reason, one night, when he was sober and lying in bed, he longed for peace. He realized he had never dreamed, that he lived only day by day, quickly, as quickly as possible. He imagined a blue sky with clouds, mountains, a forest adorned with spring, a calm mountain lake, and a wooden log cabin. This became his first dream. He longed to live in such a cabin alone and never see another mouse again. The next day, he packed his essentials and set off. In search of his dream cabin in the mountains. And the journey was long. He traveled north, south, east, west, sailed across oceans... he wandered for ten years. He ate roots, caught flies. But he never lost faith. The sight that flashed through his mind every morning gave him strength for a whole day of wandering. And finally, one day, Mr. Mouse reached the mountains. Spring was all around, beautiful. He trudged along the rocky path until, from behind a hill, the sight he'd dreamed of emerged. Sky, a pond, a log cabin. Mr. Mouse couldn't believe he was already here, that his dream had come true. What if someone already lived there? It would turn out the whole journey was for nothing, because Mr. Mouse knew there was only one such cabin in the whole world, and he'd just found it. His heart pounding, he set off down the path. He knocked on the cottage door, but it seemed there was no one inside, because if he'd found someone inside, they would surely have opened the door and invited him in. He pushed open the door, expecting it to be locked. Surprisingly, it opened, and Mr. Mouse saw a neatly furnished hallway. The walls were paneled with ash, and a red rug lay on the floor. Mr. Mouse stepped inside without hesitation. The cottage contained a small kitchen, a living room, a bedroom upstairs, and another room full of books. What struck Mr. Mouse was the interior design. Every detail betrayed a woman's touch. Each room was a separate planet, governed by its own rules. Everything had its place. If he had carelessly knocked over, for example, an umbrella stand, the spell would have been shattered.Interiors decorated with a woman's touch have that special quality. Mr. Mouse decided not to touch anything. Not that he was afraid the owner might become angry with him in the future. Simply out of respect for beauty. Mr. Mouse couldn't remember the last time he'd seen such beauty. Perhaps in his family home. He decided to stay in the cottage until its owner was found. He settled in. He gathered firewood, lit a fire in the fireplace, and once a week went hunting. He stockpiled supplies for the winter and stored them in the pantry. Days passed. Summer came. Mr. Mouse was happy. He spent his days on the balcony, rejoicing in his fulfilled dream. He was so happy. As for the cottage, he no longer feared its owner's return. If he hadn't returned by now, it meant it didn't exist, and the cottage belonged to its rightful finder, Mr. Mouse. That's how he reasoned.

One day, however, in autumn, after returning from a hunt, he noticed a light burning in his bedroom window. At first, he thought he'd left a candle on when he went out hunting, but no, it would have burned out by now. In the hallway, next to his sheepskin coat, which he'd made for himself for the winter, he noticed a purple cape, and on the floor, similarly purple velvet shoes. With a pounding heart, he ran upstairs and opened the door a crack. Mrs. Mouse was sitting on the bed, knitting something. When Mr. Mouse burst into the room, she looked up at him with frightened, black eyes. Her paws were trembling with fear, yet she didn't even squeak or move. Mr. Mouse was also frightened beyond measure. First, it dawned on him that if Mrs. Mouse owned the cottage, he would have to leave; second, it was the first time in many, many years that he had seen Mrs. Mouse. He had forgotten how sweet the sight of women had once brought him, how they fascinated him. He stood in the doorway for a long moment, gazing, speechless. Mrs. Mouse carried beauty within her. He understood in that moment the source of this subtle interior design... it all flowed from her. He felt like crying and immediately left the bedroom. He didn't want Mrs. Mouse to notice his tears. He went downstairs and lay down on the sofa in the living room. He decided he would live in the cottage until Mrs. Mouse asked him to leave. From that evening on, they lived together. Mr. Mouse went hunting, gathered firewood, and did the heavier chores around the house. Mrs. Mouse cooked, did the laundry, and patched his clothes. They lived side by side. Mr. Mouse, of course, slept in the living room; what's more, they never exchanged a word with Mrs. Mouse. They passed each other by. They often sat in the library or on the terrace, pretending to be together, but they were almost as strangers as they had been at the beginning. Mr. Mouse perfectly recognized the sound of the Mass Lady's footsteps, knew the scent of her hair, the way the sunlight fell on her neck when she sat by the window, things like that... nothing more. Mrs. Mouse did the same. She knew when Mr. Mouse woke up, what he looked like, when something was troubling him... but nothing more. Nothing. However, as they lived together, Mr. Mouse became increasingly sad. He locked himself in the library and stayed there late. He spent increasingly longer hunting. Mrs. Mouse didn't know what was happening to him. She often wanted to ask him about it, but he wouldn't give her the opportunity. Even though she felt he cared for her, he sometimes seemed incredibly selfish. For example, he never offered to sit with her, never hugged her when she felt sad. Never. Mr. Mouse, however, loved Mrs. Mouse. He had lost the slightest doubt about it. He thought about her constantly, memorized her every move, wanted her to feel as good as possible. That's why one day he almost lost his life chasing an ermine. He wanted Mrs. Mouse to sew herself a jacket from his precious fur. In winter, he conjured fresh berries and strawberries for her. He beamed,He saw the smile on her face. But he couldn't stand the fact that Mrs. Mouse wouldn't let him have any contact with her. On one hunt, he decided to break down, go to Mrs. Mouse, and tell her everything he felt. He arrived at the cottage in the evening. A light was burning in the bedroom window. Mrs. Mouse always waited for Mr. Mouse until he returned from the hunt. He placed his catch in the kitchen and ran upstairs. He opened the bedroom door. Mrs. Mouse was sitting, knitting. He walked over to her bed and sat down on a stool beside her. She looked up at him. Mr. Mouse, on the other hand, couldn't bring himself to say a word. "I love Mrs. Mouse!" It was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He sat there. He felt a cold sweat break out on his back. Mrs. Mouse was lying propped up against a pillow. His body began to shake; he felt he was losing everything, that it wasn't right, that he should have thought this step through. He jumped up as if scalded and rushed down the stairs. He threw on his sheepskin coat, hastily packed the essentials, and set off into the world. Just like before. At first, he ran, just to get further, but his legs were no longer accustomed to long journeys. But he felt he had to go. He returned to places he had seen before. He ventured into the tropics, where he almost fell victim to savage tribes of mouse-eaters. In the Soviet Union, he was imprisoned, then imprisoned, then escaped. He wandered the United States, working in a car factory. He ran from the police, slept in sewers, or in ventilation shafts. He said goodbye to memories and his old life. He stopped dreaming about his mountain hut, about Mrs. Mouse. He felt defeated. He only wanted to get to the end, and then... who knows what would come next. From the States, he moved to the Amazon jungle. He didn't seek death, yet he was close to it. She brushed against him at almost every step, but she never took him with her. He lived this wandering for almost a quarter of a century. He aged. His face was covered with wrinkles, his mustache had turned completely gray. But he still wandered. He resolved to die on the road, just as he had lived. So he continued walking. One day, however, he noticed a familiar sky and a hill. His heart began to pound in his chest like mad. Beyond the hill stood his wooden cottage, smoke billowing from the chimney. Mr. Mouse felt a youthful glow creeping into him. He abandoned his old resolutions. He now desired only one thing—to find Mrs. Mouse knitting in her bedroom. He ran down the rocky path. He opened the door. The same purple cape hung on the coat rack, and the same purple shoes as before stood on the floor. Without stopping, he ran upstairs. In the bedroom, he found Mrs. Mouse knitting. She looked up at him and gave him the same look she always gave him. He no longer knew what was happening to him. He felt himself floating above the ground. He walked over to the bed and sat down on the stool beside him. He buried his face in his hands and began to cry. After a moment, he felt Mrs. Mouse touch his forehead with her hand. How beautiful and warm that touch was. It was now or never. "I love Mrs. Mouse..."I love you, Mrs. Mouse..." his thoughts whispered, but he suddenly realized his tongue was no longer capable of words. After all, he had spent almost his entire life speaking to no one. "I love you, Mrs. Mouse..." he looked at her and cried. "I love you, Mrs. Mouse..." he clutched her hand tightly. "I love you, Mrs. Mouse..." Mrs. Mouse hugged him. "I missed you, Mr. Mouse," she thought, because she couldn't say it anymore either. "I beg you, don't go away, don't ever leave me again." And Mr. Mouse thought, "Never again, never again, I swear, I swear..." Mr. Mouse took off his shoes and lay down next to Mrs. Mouse on the bed. He was still crying, but a little calmer now. Mrs. Mouse embraced him tightly. "I love you, Mr. Mouse..." she thought. They fell asleep, and fell asleep like that for an eternity. Mr. Mouse went hunting, and Mrs. Mouse waited for him late. They often sat by the fireplace all night, rejoicing in the fulfillment of their dream, and when death came, they followed it hand in hand.