Dream Seller

 

It was one of those gray November evenings, when the world wept bitter tears, mourning a lost summer. Rosemary sat by the fireplace, where logs were cheerfully burning. However, her mood was far from cheerful. With each sharp whistle of the wind or the louder sound of falling raindrops, the girl shuddered slightly and, drawing her cashmere shawl tighter around her, snuggled into a plush armchair. The room was dim, with dusk slowly falling. Despite this, the firelight revealed a large living room, which also housed a bookcase. Glass-fronted shelves lined the walls, holding a multitude of books, and paintings in gilded frames. In front of the fireplace stood a large mahogany table and a comfortable sofa decorated with pink roses. On the chests of drawers stood strange objects, the fruits of the expeditions of Thomas Gordon, the naturalist. One could thus notice a collection of multicolored butterflies, a whole array of small ivory figurines, a huge globe with unknown inscriptions, a magnificent plume, and many other unusual objects. The room seemed both cozy and mysterious, so it was no wonder it attracted everyone in the household. Today, a girl with long auburn hair and strikingly blue eyes, framed by black lashes, was seeking solace in her sadness here. She sat quietly and still, so that the room seemed empty.

A moment later, there was a knock on the door, and a maid entered, rustling her freshly starched dress, scented with verbena.

"Miss Rosemary, dinner is already served, and the family is impatient," said the apprehensive maid. "Lucy, tell them I'll eat later. Just bring me some tea.

" "Yes, sir," the girl replied, curtsiing quickly from the living room. After a short while, she returned, pushing a small table with a pot of tea on it. Rosemary seemed oblivious, staring at the bare branches of the trees, bending in all directions in the gusty wind. Only when the slam of the door closing announced the maid's departure did she pick up the steaming cup and take a small sip. She closed her eyes, feeling the hot liquid slowly spread through her body, giving her a warm sensation. She opened her eyes and stared again at the darkness slowly descending outside the window. Rosemary was lost in memories. Her gaze was fixed on a single point, and her eyes seemed to see something that must have been visible only to herself

.

It happened last summer, which had been exceptionally hot this year. The people of Yorkshire, a small, picturesque town in southern England, were well aware of this and made the most of the good weather. Balls, banquets, picnics, joy rides—the fun was endless. And it was during these joyful, warm days that Rosemary noticed that James had suddenly become very close to her. Their long-standing friendship had transformed into something deeper, a huge surprise for both of them.

Rosemary closed her eyes and a girl in a white muslin dress, dancing with a handsome, tall, brunette man, appeared in her mind's eye. She and James were waltzing in the beautifully decorated Grand Hall. Crystal chandeliers and silver candelabra cast a shimmering golden glow on the faces of the dancers. Oh, she could have danced like that all night long; her tiny feet in satin slippers never tired of dancing. Rosemary smiled at the images that passed before her eyes like a kaleidoscope. How many joyful horseback rides had she taken, racing with James through meadows and violet moors. They always ended with her losing her blue hat in a vain attempt to catch up with him, and he would bring it back, trying, often unsuccessfully, to maintain a serious expression. She especially loved walks along the seashore, when they shared their dreams and life plans. How happy were those moments when they lounged on the green hills, and he sang to her in his deep, melodious voice or recited poetry. She often accompanied him on expeditions to charming corners of the old country, when he painted landscapes, his true passion. Rosemary secretly believed he had a true talent and would soon be known to the world. She didn't voice her suspicions aloud, knowing what might happen next...

"Oh, there were so many wonderful moments spent together," she sighed, adjusting the shawl that had slipped unnoticed from her shoulders.

She couldn't really remember when things had started to go wrong. Suddenly, James had started avoiding her. During their chance meetings, they'd chatted about trivial matters, and he usually avoided her gaze. Their warm intimacy had vanished irrevocably, replaced by casual politeness and cool indifference. Although they never directly discussed their future together, it was obvious. After all, she'd dreamed so many times of what it would be like to be Mrs. Jimmo Connors; she'd even started planning a trip, planning a honeymoon, perhaps in Spain? Even though she was suffering, she didn't let it show; it was unseemly for a young lady from a good family to impose herself on anyone. After all, what was the Gordons' famous pride for?

She remembered the last evening of September well, too well, in fact, she thought sadly. She had been sitting on the hill, in their favorite spot, under a wild plum tree, watching the sunset. The red ball slowly disappeared below the horizon, bathing the world in a golden-pink glow. She was watching the last rays of sunlight dance across the grass when she saw him. Surprised, she realized she couldn't remember the last time they had met here. Rosemary shook her head, as if to rid herself of the unpleasant memories. But events flashed before her eyes. Jimmy, avoiding her gaze, apologizing for everything, saying it was irresponsible and dishonorable of him, giving her any hope. The pain and anguish on his face as he announced he was leaving for France the next day to study with a famous painter and marry a distant cousin. She remembered the icy contraction in her heart as she understood what those words meant. She vaguely heard him say something about her parents' wishes, a suitable match, a better future. She knew she'd told him she must mean something to him. She'd forced him to look her in the eye and deny it. They were silent for a long time, gazing into each other's eyes, but the change in his face was striking. I was right, she thought with a strange, aching satisfaction. She knew there was nothing left to talk about. She nodded weakly and said,

"I understand."

Tears clouded her vision, but she still saw a flicker of pain flicker across his face. James placed his hand to his heart, looked meaningfully into her eyes, and then, bowing deeply, left. He never looked back.

She stayed on the hill until dusk, gazing at the pale stars that had begun to appear in the early evening sky. Then she got up and went home as if nothing had happened. From then on, she led a normal life, but somewhere in her heart, an open wound remained, still aching. The worst was at night, when she woke up at 3 a.m. That's when memories came back, and the good ones hurt more than the bad ones.

***

"I'm so tired, so tired of feelings and memories, like I want to drink from the Spring of Lethe..." she thought wearily. At that moment, thunder cracked nearby, and a strong wind blew open the window, knocking a vase of flowers off the dresser. Rosemary rushed to the shutters, trying to catch the fluttering curtain and close it quickly. She didn't even notice when the storm broke and darkness fell. She was kneeling on the floor, picking up the pieces of a broken vase, when lightning illuminated the room. She was surprised to see a scrap of paper lying on the floor. She was about to throw it away when she saw something written on it. She stared at the faded letters, trying to decipher it. Only after a moment did she realize what was written there.

"I must be dreaming," she thought, reading it aloud. It was something like an advertisement.

"Have you had enough of your life? Are you tormented by memories and feelings you'd like to forget? Or perhaps you dream of your own life plan? Come to the lottery. The dream merchant awaits." Underneath was the address. "

This must be some kind of joke," the girl thought.

Then the shutters opened again, banging dully against the wall.

"I closed them," she said, frowning as she tried to close them. Rosemary's parents entered the parlor, apparently drawn by the noise.

"Dear child, what happened?" her mother asked, ordering the maid to light the lamps.

"Nothing, Mother, a storm just broke out, and a strong wind blew the shutters open.

" "Rosemary, you didn't come down for dinner tonight. Is everything all right?" her father said, looking at her with concern.

The girl looked at her father's kind face, and under the influence of his crystal-clear blue eyes, she felt guilty that she couldn't tell him what was troubling her.

She knew that if he found out about James, there would be a heated argument between him and his parents. And she couldn't let that happen. She didn't want to force James into anything. She wanted him to be happy, choosing the path he wanted and the path his parents wanted for him. Even if it hurt, as it hurt now.

"It's okay, Dad," she said, kissing his tanned cheek.

"I'm going to eat," she said as she left the room.

Thomas Gordon sat down heavily in the armchair and watched his daughter leave the living room.

"I smell trouble approaching," he thought anxiously.

Rosemary

woke at dawn. She pushed aside the brocade curtains that flowed from the canopy and gazed out at the Gulf of St. Lawrence, shimmering silver in the early sunlight. She remembered the strange event of the previous day.

"So it really happened after all," she said firmly.

Not wanting to waste time waiting for the maid to arrive, she dressed herself in a purple organza gown and went to the drawing room. However, she couldn't find the dream seller's ad anywhere.

"Maybe the maid threw it away?" she thought, calling Arnie the butler to light the fire.

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to try and get there soon," she decided quickly. "I haven't been out much lately; a little walk would be good.

"

The biggest problem turned out to be losing Becky, Rosemary's personal maid and caretaker.

"I'll think about that when I get there," she thought over breakfast, focusing on what was happening around the table.

As is typical over a meal, everyone was chatting about everything, so there was a gentle buzz of conversation. Rosemary was talking to her mother about her desperate need for a new lace dress and umbrella, as her old one was no longer fashionable. Gabriella listened while simultaneously scolding her son, Eric, who was hanging on his father's arm. The poor child wanted to express his love for his father, who had been rarely home lately. As an accomplished naturalist, he traveled extensively conducting scientific research. Now he was showing the boy a new butterfly specimen he had found on the Galapagos Islands, where he had recently traveled.

"Daddy, it's so beautiful, it's as colorful as a rainbow!" cried the delighted boy, who was fascinated by insects, and whose seven-year-old soul especially loved butterflies.

"Thomas, I asked you not to bring your 'specimens' to the table during the meal," Gabriella gently admonished her husband, trying to hide a smile.

Rosemary smiled and exchanged a knowing look with Belinda, her older sister. She hadn't been much use lately, really, because ever since she'd gotten engaged to Edward, she'd been unable to talk about anything else. Now she sat, flushed, gazing dreamily into the distance. Although she loved her family dearly, Rosemary felt useless, a stranger. She realized with sadness that they lived a different life than she did. Her problems were completely different, and they couldn't understand them.

"They're so simple, their lives revolve around everyday matters like clothing, dinner parties, parties, the household. They never think about the future, and I can't live in the moment. I long to get away from here, to experience real life." A battle raged within her soul between the traditions and life she'd led so far, which had brought her contentment, and the changes and dreams she longed for.

"I'll go to the dream merchant today," she thought firmly. I don't believe in this nonsense, but maybe something will finally change. I can't, I don't want to live like this anymore. She shook her head, as if to confirm her words. She was convinced that the decision she had made was the right one. "It's time, "

she whispered quietly, rising unnoticed from the table. The square near St. Anne's Church, commonly known as the Flower Square, was bustling with activity and noise, as always at this hour. Rosemary and her inseparable Becky were absorbing every detail of the Saturday market. What wasn't there? Thousands of flowers in every imaginable color, spreading an intoxicating fragrance (which was why it was called the Flower Square), colorful fabrics, and exotic items sold by dark Hindus in white turbans. Animals from every corner of the world gazed at passersby, touted by black vendors. Becky gazed at the multicolored bird of paradise in its silver cage. "Miss Rosemary, isn't it beautiful?" she squealed with delight.

"Probably Becky," Rosemary replied, laughing, looking appreciatively at the colorful creature. But then her gaze was drawn to a stall selling trinkets. As she touched and tried on necklaces, pendants, gold brooches, and diamond chokers, she saw the servants' eyes widen. A moment later, they were running toward the next stall. Walking along the sun-drenched square, Rosemary felt she probably shouldn't have brought the satin dress after all. There was no trace of yesterday's storm. From somewhere off to the side, the sounds of an old, forgotten melody drifted in. Out of the corner of her eye, Rosemary noticed a bearded gypsy cranking a barrel organ, and a funny-dressed monkey, dancing gracefully to the music. The organ grinder bowed low, looking solemnly at Rosemary, but she no longer noticed, observing the street spectacle, reminiscent of Guy Fawkes's act. Laughing along with the crowd at the caricatured character, she thought with a start that this was the perfect moment to slip away, which she did immediately. Crossing Flower Square, leaving behind the bustle of the fair, the melody of the organ grinder, and the song of the nightingale, she realized she hadn't taken the lace umbrella from Becky's hands. "Oh well, maybe my rosy complexion won't suffer for a moment," she thought quickly. After a moment, the cacophony of sounds and the cascade of thorns disappeared, leaving behind a depressing silence and grayness. Rosemary found herself on 60th Avenue for the first time, a street with a rather infamous reputation. It was known for the shady characters who inhabited it and the mysterious dealings that accompanied them. She quickened her pace, glancing around, mentally cursing the dream merchant for not being able to find another place to live. But it was too late to turn back. Besides, Rosemary wasn't one to back down from a decision she'd made. "There's really nothing to be afraid of," she said to herself. "At this time of day, the avenue is deserted and completely safe," she said, shivering with cold. "Strange, just a short while ago I was hot in the scorching sun," she said, surprised. "You can never be sure of the weather in November," she tried to reassure herself.

Finally, she reached the end of the avenue, where the dream seller's house was, or at least should be. Rosemary stopped, eyeing the shabby buildings with disgust. They looked repulsive—windows usually broken, or at best, stuffed with rags, drab walls, crumbling stairs and fences. It was the first time in her young life she'd seen anything so ugly and...sad. She remembered the address: 60th Avenue, No. 7. Looking at the house numbers, she realized there was no such number. There was a number 6, but right behind it was an 8. She turned around, trying to find the number 8 on the other side of the alley. She couldn't. She looked at the number 6 again and was surprised to see a building with the number 7 next to it.

"I must have been nervous, I didn't notice it before," she thought, surprised. Before mounting the stairs with the creaking banister, she examined the building carefully: it was small and wooden, but completely different from the neighboring houses. Small, old-fashioned windows were covered with thick curtains, and the building itself had small turrets. At the top of one of them was a piece of metal, something like a bird. It was now rotating, even though there was no wind. Rosemary shuddered involuntarily and, taking the brass knocker, which was a lion's open mouth, knocked twice. The hollow sound echoed through the empty street. A moment later, the door swung open, and she found herself in a long, narrow hallway, lit only by candles in brass candlesticks. These cast a flickering glow on the silver-framed paintings hanging on the walls. They showed people of all ages, sometimes in a meadow, sometimes eating, sometimes with friends. They were very realistic, but their outlines were blurred. Rosemary searched for the right word to describe them, but she couldn't find it. Stepping quietly across the thick, plush carpet, she reached a small, semicircular door, on which hung a metal plaque announcing that the Dream Merchant resided. Without hesitation, she pushed it open gently and stepped inside.

* * *

A sweet scent enveloped her. Descending the stairs, she began to look around. She no longer felt fear, but curiosity. When she reached the bottom, a vast room appeared, filled with shelves and shelves reaching all the way to the high vaulted ceiling. It was filled with countless bottles and vials, various sizes, shapes, and colors. She went to one of the shelves and picked up the first vial that came to hand. It was filled with a golden liquid. The label bore a multi-digit number, and on the back, the ingredients. Rosemary read it, but understood nothing: a castle in medieval Europe, two knights, one king, three loves, one death. She put it back and was about to reach for another bottle when someone nearby said,

"Greetings, Miss Rosemary." Suddenly, a small, inconspicuous man appeared beside her like a drop of earth, bowing deeply in respect.

"Good morning," she replied, a little intimidated.

Only when he turned his face toward her did she notice something that contradicted her initial impression of inconspicuousness. They were his eyes, large and black, as if burning in his too-small, pale face. An insatiable hunger lurked there. A cold shiver ran through Rosemary.

"How can I be of service to you, miss?" the mysterious salesman asked, and the terrifying look vanished from his eyes. The girl breathed a sigh of relief.

"I... wanted to change my life." She hesitated for a moment, then continued, "I want to buy a dream."

- I understand - he replied shortly - Do you wish to sleep for one night, for a month, or for the rest of your life?

"I think it's for life.

" "Excellent," he said, and with a nod, he walked toward the end of the room, Rosemary following him.

"Before you, miss, are bottles, each containing a different potion." His long-fingered, white hand traced a circle in the air.

"Each contains a different dream, and at the same time, a life. At the back is its script. Please choose the one you like; I'm happy to advise you." With that, he stepped aside and stood there, watching Rosemary as she approached. She picked up various bottles one by one: a small, squat one telling the story of life in 16th-century France at the court of Versailles, another, a tall, metallic one containing the story of a brave astronaut from the distant future. She persistently, feverishly searched for her dream life. Her face flushed, she wandered through the rows of shelves until she finally spotted a small, square bottle filled with a liquid that changed color. She began to read—it was the story of a world-famous actress who had a brilliant career, traveled extensively, and had a happy family. Rosemary felt a shiver of excitement as she handed it to the salesperson.

"What exactly will happen when I drink the contents of this bottle?" she asked curiously. The salesperson took a step toward her, stepping out of the shadows.

"You will fall asleep and sleep for 12 hours, during which you will live your entire life, according to the scenario you have chosen. Then you will wake up, and you will not remember much of what you have experienced. It will be hazy and distant, like... just like a dream. Are you determined to take this bottle?" he asked, looking into her eyes. Rosemary felt his fiery gaze penetrate her soul, reading her mind.

"Yes," she replied quickly, eager to get it over with. "

I am very pleased with that," he replied. "Then please follow me." With that, he walked in the opposite direction from where Rosemary had come. She found herself in front of an oak bureau. The strange man pulled a yellowed piece of paper and a pen from one of the drawers and handed them to Rosemary, saying,

"Will you be so kind as to sign this?"

"I'm afraid I forgot to bring any money," she said, frantically searching for her poulares.

"Don't bother, I won't need any money."

"No?" she asked, surprised. "So what do you want from me in exchange for sleep?" she asked anxiously.

"I assure you, nothing important. I'll just take something you don't need, and besides, you renounced it when you came to me," he said soothingly, but a sickly glint flickered in his eyes again, only to disappear a moment later.

"Very well," Rosemary replied uncertainly. This man frightened her so much that she didn't dare ask for details. She quickly signed the document and set off, eager to leave this place, clutching the rainbow potion in her hand and feeling the chill of the crystal vial.

At the top of the stairs, she turned to look back at the strange and mysterious room. She spotted the salesman, still standing where he had bid her farewell. He was staring, motionless and greedy, at the yellowed document clutched tightly in his hands.

Rosemary

sat on her bed, the bottle in her hand. She hesitated to drink the contents. She knew she wanted to, but at the last moment, doubts gripped her.

"I think I'm afraid," she thought with amazement. "Why? I'm tired of the gray existence I've led since Jimmy left, constantly thinking about him and dwelling on what happened. I want to be free from these memories once and for all," she said with a sudden pain in her heart, and drank the contents of the bottle. The potion had a sweet, cloying scent, but strangely, it was tasteless.

Rosemary relaxed and felt her eyelids grow heavy. She felt as if she were falling into a bottomless black abyss, flying at dizzying speed, while everything around her swirled faster and faster...

After a moment, she felt nothing.

* * *

When she woke up the next day, she couldn't remember where she was for a long time. She remembered having a pleasant dream, perhaps of being a famous actress. Only after a moment did she realize it had been only a dream, and she was probably home now.

"Miss Rosemary?" a maid knocked on the door.

"Is that you, Katy?" she asked uncertainly.

"It's me, Becky, your maid and your housemaid," the surprised girl replied.

"Becky or Katy, what difference does it make? I must have mixed it up.

" "Yes, miss. Breakfast is served, Mr. Gordon asks you to hurry up.

" "Yes, I'm coming. Dress me quickly," she impatiently threw her clothes at the maid.

A moment later, they were in the spacious dining room. Rosemary sat down at the table and looked at the family, her breath catching in her throat. She didn't know who they were! She knew her mother was Gabrielle and her father was Thomas, but these were unfamiliar names; they meant nothing to her.

"Excuse me for a moment," she said, running from the dining room and heading for her room. With mounting panic, she realized she couldn't remember anything, had no memories! She found some letters, but they meant nothing. Only after the third letter did she realize they were from someone she must have loved in return. James...that was his name. Fragments of memories slowly came back to her, but they weren't enough.

"I must be dreaming," she thought despairingly. "A dream...a dream merchant!" As she said these words, the events of the previous day flashed before her eyes. She jumped to her feet.

"I have to find him.

"

She ran down 60th Avenue, trying to recognize the dream seller's house. Strangely, this time she spotted him easily. She quickly traversed the long hallway and found herself in a room lined with shelves of vials. The seller flinched at the sight of her, looking very surprised.

"What a pleasure to see you," he said politely. "Amazing! I was convinced you wouldn't remember me. You must have had many good and beautiful memories to have found your way here."

Rosemary stood silently at first, staring into the seller's face as if trying to force him to surrender his memories. But now she found her voice.

"My memories—what did you do with them?" she asked angrily.

"So we don't know what happened to them? That was my payment. I feed on people's memories, I feed on them." As he spoke, his thin lips stretched into a wide, ghastly smile.

"How dare you...by what right..." Anger choked the words she wanted to say.

"I don't take them without the owners' consent. They choose to do so by coming to me, and in return I give them a fictional reality and a false sense of happiness and control over their fate," the salesman said, narrowing his eyes ironically and looking slightly amused. "You should wake up happy, young lady, without remembering me or what happened here. But since that didn't happen, we must say goodbye. It's time for me to go," he said casually, turning his back on her.

"Please stop!" the desperate girl shouted. "I demand the return of my memories, and I demand it right now," she said furiously through her teeth.

"I'm sorry, but that's impossible. Go away, there's nothing left for you here." As he spoke, his evil eyes flashed menacingly.

"Should I let you go, so that other people can be robbed of their most precious possessions and become empty, without a past or feelings?

" "I assure you, young lady, there's no other option." Unless, miss, you want me to get angry and unpleasant," he said, a sinister grimace crossing his face.

"This is it," she thought despairingly. Without a word, she turned and headed for the stairs. The salesman nodded approvingly, then twisted his lips mockingly and disappeared among the shelves.

Rosemary

walked slowly down the long corridor, trying to cry to let out the pain, but she couldn't. Instead, she lifted her head proudly and stared at the paintings hanging on the wall. She stared at a painting depicting a slender girl in a white dress dancing with a tall, brunette man in formal attire. She stopped and took a closer look at the scene.

"But...it's me!" she thought with surprise. "Who could this handsome man be? Maybe it's James?" In that moment, she understood everything. She knew what had to be done now, but she didn't know how. For a moment, she stood still, looking around the corridor, then grabbed a brass chandelier and began destroying the paintings with it. When her painting was destroyed, all her memories came back to her. She quickly moved on to the next ones. A silver mist rose from each destroyed painting, rising into the air and then vanishing.

"What are you doing...stop this instant!" she heard a hoarse scream. It was the dream slayer rushing towards her and...was it possible? He seemed almost transparent. She gave him a contemptuous, triumphant look and with even greater energy began destroying the last paintings.

"You'll pay for this," came a sharp whisper, piercing the silence that followed the tearing of the last canvas like a sword. For a moment they stood facing each other, sizing each other up. He saw bitter triumph in her eyes, and the salesman, with a grimace of disbelief and panic, vanished into thin air.

"I've already paid," Rosemary whispered sadly, more to herself than to him, and glanced down the hall one last time. Lifting her dress and maneuvering among the ruined works, she quickly left the place. Just in time, because a moment later the mysterious house vanished, along with its owner, to vanish into nothingness.

***

Walking slowly down the street, she realized how naive she had been in wanting to drink from the Spring of Lethe. Sometimes memories hurt, but they are precious pearls in the ocean of life. When she realized what she might have unwittingly allowed, she shuddered and hurried into the house. Strangely, the household was only just finishing breakfast.

"Rosemary, where have you been for so long?" Eric asked.

"Honey, Rosemary must have gone to the kitchen to give some orders to the servants," Gabriella replied for her daughter. Only Eric seemed to know how long Rosemary had been gone.

"I'm here, Eric, I really had to go to the kitchen.

" The boy stared at her intensely with his chocolate eyes before finally saying, "Good thing you're here."

Rosemary was confused, feeling as if Eric knew everything and was about to say something, but Eric, as if nothing had happened, went back to training his grasshoppers.

Her mother pretended not to notice, rolling her eyes and smiling at Thomas. Blinda began cheerfully recounting her adventures during her last stay in town, and every now and then everyone burst out laughing. This included Rosemary, who, for the first time in so long, felt comfortable among her family. The feeling of unnatural alienation finally vanished.

"I could have lost it all, and all because of my own stupidity," she suddenly realized. She thought of Jimmy. She no longer felt the pain; the bitterness that laced even the good memories had given way to sweetness. Happy times spent together flashed before her eyes, and she smiled at her own, oh-so-precious memories.