The Mysterious Smile

The more I try to read, the more fascinating it becomes. I saw a glimpse of smile in the spring, in the winter, and in the autumn, but maybe the sun is too bright that I couldn't see anything in the summer.

My Dear Husband

And he smiles at me, gleefully, like a cute little kitten that just bidding his prey.
Sometimes he's like that. Sometimes I see a kid, so joyful, the whole of the oceans plays with him.
He commands the shark and he is gentle with the dolphins.
He is a Poseidon, he is a Triton, he is a Sebastian.

Maybe all we have is just Peterpan, and Kla, and Padi.
I never even know that I could love the former.
They're not comparable with Oasis or even Coldplay, let alone the whole ensemble of The Beatles.

But he loves them.
And so they're grown on me, too.

But then I heard Lonely Sally.
What a song!

Black Pearl From Prince

Boston, Spring 85.

The neighborhood of Prince Street, Boston, is no friendly to anybody from higher bourgeoisie class than there was there. She just hoped that one day she could strike the fact right on the noses of those bragging lads in her office. She did not mean it to be racist.

People called her Maple around here. Everyday she woke up early at about 5, facing the feature of Friday Foster, her--although imaginary--true, idol. Everyday since she was four, she always dreamt of becoming like her... smart and determined no matter how people prejudice her appearence,still be able to humming happily about what today would bring her, and each new day was an opportunity before her. Carpe diem, she was always going to seize the day!

Now that she was 24, she actually could have her her own place somewhere cozier, somewhere with more prestige... with her current salary. But she just couldn't do it. Aunt Kelly was so stiff she could not let her face each day alone, just like the way she once allocate her time and love to adopt her from the orphanage.

She could have already her master degree in computer science, making her the first and only person, woman, and the Afro-American to handle and use the internet among colleagues from different races in her office. But no matter how busy she was, in the morning, as usual, since she was in the fourth grade, she would prepare Aunt Kelly breakfast with their routine favourites: sunny-side egg and coffee on Monday and Tuesday, waffle and mapple syrup and orange juice in Thursday, fried potatoes and sausages on Friday. On Saturday and Sunday Aunt Kelly loved to cook her sweet porridge or tomato soup.

All in all, life so far was perfect for both of them. Especially for Maple, who had been really pleased with herself for being able to give back to Aunt Kelly, her saviour for at least the last ten years.

***

Maple, you get going now? Aunt Kelly stiffly stepped down the stairs with some little cough. Maple deftly gave her a hand and had her seated. She poured her a cup of her de-caff coffee while biting her first toast. Alan will fetch you again, no?

Maple smiled. Aunt Kelly had always been supportive no matter who she went out with. As this was her first time to be engaged in a relationship with another grown-up, Aunt Kelly seemed fine even though Alan was rarely being mentioned by her in front of Aunt Kelly. The only encounter that Alan would meet her was the brief 15 minutes when she was getting her make-up ready in her bedroom while Alan waited in the lounge. Aunt Kelly would always friendly started a conversation with him. And she thanked God that no matter how sometimes Alan was such a bragging lad either, he seemed to respect Aunt Kelly as she wished.

But today she had been ready earlier and Alan would not have to wait, as she would be attending the welcoming of Spring apprentices in her office in Tremmont Street.

The door bell rang. That's Alan, Aunt Kell... I'd better get going! She kissed the white old lady on the cheek.

She grabbed her beret and put on her shoes. Outside, a tall, shaven dark-skinned man had waited in his car. Many other guys around the neighborhood had actually envied the man. He had been the one who was able to go out with The Black Pearl from Prince.

The Kiss

Lady Yelena Agnessa Fedorova had for so many years fallen in love with her distant cousin, Dmitri Mikhailov. She was captured by his calm, poise manner and thin smile, his cold blue eyes, his dialectic proficiency, his beautiful violin playing, his waltz dancing, his horse riding... his everything. The fragile princess was actually the one true heir of her Father's weavery business around Kudryashovskiy. If only she had not been that fragile, his father would be really pleased to introduce her to the whole detail of the job... but he just couldn't.

The fragile lady did not excel at school; Master Fedorov just reckoned it as another misfortune of his, that the only child he got from his beloved late wife inherited the 'slow brain gene' (he called it) of the whole family. She could not play good piano but one two songs, her body was quite weak she could move no gracefully nor merrily in the kitchen. The Father has run out his wit; he was even fullheartedly willing to 'sell' his daughter's body, the only possession he thought the lady has left, to any gentleman he thought would be prominent enough to be his son-in-law. No, he doesn't have to be really rich, just steady job would do just fine. He has to be caring enough or else, pity his daughter enough to take care of Yelena at least Mr. Fedorov would not feel really guilty towards his wife.

(Being an Orthodox Catholics, quite a pious man, but not really into the church, he did not remarry and concentrate some of his time to manage some private schools for disabled children)

However so, he never let his daughter knew what he really thought about her. For Lady Yelena, their relationship remained just fine... and she really wished she could make her father proud. In her opinion, she could not excel at academic life because she was sick so often she could not catch up with the materials. She did not really like to play music, just to listen to anybody else playing it would be enough for her.

But however hard it was for her memory to keep up wih her biology recitation, sequences of mathematics formula and algorithm she must cope up with, she memorized it so well all the details of her first encounter with cousin Dmitri.

It was March 9, 1884. A spring celebration was held among the Braunsimovas(family from her Mother side)in the family Grand Citadel in Novosibirsk's country side. And she saw the cold blue eyes as innocent as Siberian cat... at that moment she knew why The Braunsimovs were called The Russian Sky Blue. His mother, Lady Antonina, introduced him to her. She smelled the fragrance of masculine lavender the time the boy kissed her hand.

She was about 4, and the boy was about 9. But until the next 23 years, never did the fragile lady stop dreaming to be his bride.

During those times, Dmitri Mikhailov maintained such a cordial cousinship between them. He was, as usual, loving and caring for his families, of course including her. But however there exist already many tease and gossips towards both the Lady and the Gentleman to be wedded, since many other family member noticed how Dmitri concerned a lot about Yelena...

Dmitri married another lady. Who bore him a son, Ricardovich.

Yelena was sad. She locked herself in her room for so many nights as she managed to keep nobody noticed.

She maintained good relationship with Duscha, Ricardovich's mother, and became one of the persons the boy loved most. She did not marry anybody else. She just could not stop praising Dmitri.

Until one night, that very night that gave Lady Yelena a chill to the history of her heart. She was in Dmitri's citadel for her usual visit.

She usually wandered around at the northern tower to observe the sky with her little telescope. When her step died suddenly as she passed Dmitri by. He was sweating, and his eyes looked so sad. Yelena knew something has strucked him so bad. Only once did she ever observe his eyes looking as such...

And suddenly, tenderly.. Dmitri held her tight in his chest. And kissed her.

That night would never be forgotten by Yelena. It was the night when Dmitri Mikhailov proposed her, made her Madame Yelena Agnessa Braunsimova.

Meanwhile, Mr. Fedorov could not believe the fact. Yelena gained such a strong position before him. He became to love his daughter very much for obtaining such a fine husband. And he could no longer stare towards Dmitri's eyes. He inherited his business to Dmitri who then manage it on behalf of Yelena.

And so the kiss... became such a local legend the society around loved to speak about. About a girl who finally reached her desired love after a long wait. After a long submission.

Due To Raden Saleh

Dmitri Mikhailov was a fine gentleman in his early 35. Young but barely felt, his wealth expands from the heart of middle land in West Siberian Plain to Nanjing, Shanghai, Hongkong, Erdenet, and Irkutsk in the East, Toolonlahti, Amsterdam, Den Haag, and Braunschweig in the West, which then would he use all of them as his milestones to conquer the Lands of the South.

A prominent noble man from Russian Empire himself, as one true Heir of The Great Braunsimov dynasty, he was of course served with the best in almost every western country he stepped on that Russia has good relationship with. One of the most progressive lobby towards him came from the Netherlands' dynasty of Van Rijkmaar.

It was a warm summer morning on the bank of the River of Ob, where he could see a pair of naughty fox beneath his favourite hawthorns grown near the transparent white door of his study. Seeing those foxes together disturbing the little squirrel before they both chase and savour it, again, he knew, together-- reminded him of how he once struggled to establish such a dream family of his own. A family where... the wife and child would be so close to him. Yet so obligant.

Master, a knock on the door across the hall sounded, and Dmitri sipped his tea. He pressed the button beside his left hand, ringing the little toller above the knocked door suggesting he was ready to receive whoever coming. It was Bogdan, his 54 years old Head of Household.

There is a present for you, said Bogdan, with a chuckle. From Lord Van Rijkmaar in Netherlands. Apparently he still tries to offer you Lady Marianne Wilhelmina...

An African-European man entered in, bringing a vast rectangle wrapped in brownish paper. He opened it in front of Dmitri before then dismissed himself out of the room.

It was a portrayal of two beautiful young ladies, daughters of Lord Van Rijkmaar himself. The Dutch left a note saying that it was painted by the notable Raden Saleh, the great artist from the Land of The South where Dmitri planned to invest. Marianne Wilhelmina, was of course, the prettier. And the prettiest among the two. The Lord had repeatedly asked him to marry her. What made him still so reluctant to deal was that he knew the history of the old Lord. His family had long he knew to have strangling debt resulting from his speculative deals in the wars for the ownership around East-Indies. Thus to marry the daughter meant that he had such a morale obligation to help the old Dutch with his debts.

However, my master... doesn't she grow all this time? Bogdan said while preparing to hang the portrait in the gallery. The Braunsimovs have long been known as Russia's most notable collector.

Dmitri remained silent. Indeed that he planned to travel to Netherlands imminently, to observe his tobacco business there... but the present was as though adding him more obligation to visit Van Rijkmaar family.

The face of the more beautiful than before Marianne Wilhelmina lingered over his mind.

He could just make her his concubine, he had more than enough power to do it. He doubted that the old Dutch would mind it, but he had not too much idea of this girl Marianne. Once they met five years ago, she was this timid 13 years old little blonde girl, she barely even dared to steal a glance towards him.

He thought about his son, Ricardovich, from his legitimate betraying wife, Duscha. Those little blue eyes were each day being more and more overcasted than ever, one could hardly believe that it belonged to the young face of the Heir of the mighty Braunsimova dynasty. Ricardovich was only five but he never smiled, or laughed, as other five years old did. Dmitri knew that the child missed his parents.

But Dmitri could not look up to the little boy's face. It reminded him too much of Duscha, those bright blue eyes... of the love they once shared, of the betrayal she did, with that bastard. It reminded Dmitri too much of how sick his heart was to love Duscha so much to receive her betrayal in return.

So Dmitri made up his mind that indeed, Ricardovich would never be his successor. That boy would only grow as lame, coward man just like his mother, and, ha ha ha... Dmitri chuckled bitterly alone, it was indeed, maybe his unconscious mind driving him to create such a disadvantageous, uncomfortable circumstances that Ricardovich grew up in.

So The Readers saw the aftermath, unfortunate condition could a boy like Ricardovich endure because of the decision the mother once made.

The Father was at present prepared his journey to the Netherlands to find himself a new wife, to provide him a new son, a new Heir for what supposed to be Ricardovich's throne.

A Fall Break in Frost Street 13

Two weeks before the Fall Semester started, the Faboulous Five (they called themselves)stayed together in Charlotte's residence. Miranda slept in the same room as Anthony, Carrie stayed together in the guest room across the stairs with Samantha, and Charlotte stayed in her own bedroom. The Mashburns have owned the house since 1974 and since they befriend each other, it has become one of their favourite place to spend semester breaks. While it actually less in size compared to Samantha's or Anthony's(the richest two among them), there was something so homy there Miranda tried to rationalize it at present.

'Well, so... Carrie, now it's your turn...' as she measured one by one of her friend's temperature body and 'state of mind'(don't really know how she determine it)to survey the girls' responses of coming again to the house.

Oh come on, Miranda... you can't quantize something so peculiar like this... for example, protested Carrie, I just broke up with Ashton, so how could you take the conclusion that everybody is happy when they come here? Not to mention that this is our first day here!Of course, I'm happy to be here, Charlotte...

Charlotte and Anthony giggled, Samantha said nothing as she was busy with her eye lashes. Ann helped Charlotte served the tea, and she admired the order of Charlotte's kitchen, the choice of cookies in the pantry, and the classic Julia Child's cookbook laid inside the first row of the buffet.

Mr. and Mrs. Mashburn were shopping downtown, and she promised to welcome them with the family's secret recipes of stuffed luncheon and tre leche. The agenda at present as Miranda planned was tea and schedule planning. Samantha had to fulfill her promise to bath in the lake nearby as she lost her bet to Carrie, Carrie needed to be accompanied to buy some consolation shawl to forget her break up with Ashton temporarily, and all of them wanted to go around Syracuse University to meet some cool guys. They were all needed to be scheduled carefully.

I bet it's the family, Samantha sipped her tea. You know... the house is full of your parents' love, Charl... something barely I get backhome.

All four of her friends went asilenced. They knew that Sam's parents divorced when she was eleven and that she had faced it roughly. Sam was once rehabilitated for using light-level metamphetamine for her frustration and more on that, maybe later.

Ha ha ha... I know you'll be speechless! she laughed so hard that Charlotte, Carrie, and Miranda giggled awkwardly.

Nope... I just knew it that it was your silly tactics, Ann responded casually, once again establishing her reputation as the cold-blooded one in the clowder. Samantha jumped at her and randomized her hair. You cold blooded twat! She giggled.

Well, if only her friends knew that indeed, Ann did not really interested in being sympathetic towards any of such feeling of Sam, or Carrie, or Miranda, or Charlotte's about their personal problems. At this level, when she was only 16, all that she cared about of maintaining the friendship was so that she could observe how did her fellow teenagers cope up, interact with their environment and problems. She wanted to become a neurobiologist someday... she thought she needed to train herself from now on to get used to social problems.

So Anthony... how is Dave doing? Charlotte shyly asked. Carrie and Miranda booed and Samantha hugged her. Yes, if there was any, then the only reason that Charlotte would befriend someone so weird as Anthony was because she had such a lovveeely brother! And Charlotte meant it; no matter how Anny told her that he was one of the greatest playboy on Earth Ann knew, Charlotte had been ready to endure all the consequences. She got to be the last one for David!

Anthony laughed. She glanced a bit towards the window, at the reddening maple leaves across the street in front of the house.

She thanked God once more, before starting to spill her report out to Charlotte about her brother, Davidovich. As these two weeks would be another fun Summer Break...

Eye of The Golden Horses

The Readers might always find the happy frames of Brownsimov's daily lives.

But not The Clan of The Hidden Horses. What they usually observe are blood, plot, and big pictures. They shadow the every step of Anthony's. Every move Davidovich made. Every place Joshev be.

Once there said that Fritz Novozybirsk Braunsimov, one of the Great Great ancestor of the current Brownsimova who lived circa 1500's made his journey to the Land of The Vast Desert in the Far East... where there said that there lived The Ancient Wise who mastered the art of conserving talent. Yes however weird and cheap it must be, he sold talents in shape of children, or baby, to whoever desired them.

Fritz bought this Eurasian little boy who had so much traits of the mighty Genghis Khan himself inside his blood. That time, rarely anybody could understand the method of Fritz' extrapolating one's potential. The Eurasian boy was seen to be this lame guy by his surrounding.

Until, Fritz bought him and cure him, but more on that, maybe later.

He was called Khaka. He became Fritz' personal bodyguard, was shared some of his stocks in global market in East Japan, and was asked to make his own dynasty.

Khaka married two descendants of the oldest Viking family, and paid his debt of being raised by Braunsimovs by being their paternal bodyguard, which was continued on by his descendants. They called themselves The Hidden Horses before The Brownsimova. Because they operated like the hidden horses inside some puzzling pictures.

So be careful when you wanted to mess with the Brownsimovs... the time you had your weapon ahead of them would be the time some of the Hidden Horses snipers had theirs ahead of you.

La Claire de La Lune

Ricardovich Alexandrov Braunsimov was rather a jittery man at heart when he was younger. Some psychologist might conclude that he suffered a deficit-attention disorder made him insecure all the time, even rarely dare to look straight in his talking partner's eye. His mother died when he was two, and somehow his father, Dmitri Mikhailov, was trembled so bad he kind of forgot who he really was. He never looked straight into his son's eyes. Up until Ricardovich turned 12, his father rarely spoke to him... and Ricardovich could not understand but to swallow it uneasily to his throat to believe that his father remained an arrogant man in front of him.

Ricardovich was tutored privately at home. He was never too brilliant at anything; no matter that how Petrov, his mathematics tutor was one of the best algebraists in Russian history, something just blocked Ricardovich's mind to comprehend the materials he learnt. And it just did not happen in math; he could not excel in everything from Russian literature, geography, history, government... he just hated academic lives so much. The only thing he could bear was music. He had been good in it, being able to master the Hungarian Rhapsody when he was 12.

He always had been happy to play with piano. Every maid and Kruschev the old gardener praised him a lot and seldom did they continue their work when the Young Master played his fingers down the grand piano in the Main Hall inside the manor. For a moment could Ricardovich smiled at himself to listen to his own playing and felt that he worthed something.

Music is the only thing made him dare to stand before his father about his capability.

No matter how his father ignored him, as usual, of him and his talent and his everything.

One day when he was nine, the Grand Piano in the manor's Main Hall broke one of its strings. The bored little Young Master Ricardovich was waiting and waiting for the repairer to fix it so he could continue playing, but it took some time... so he strolled along the alley of the third floor where it was deserted because the maids were busy cleaning in the lower storeys.

He leaned himself before the small window balcony at the end of the alley, quietly humming Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. It always felt night at heart, and the light only came from the generosity of the moon... the music, the only thing he excelled of. He missed his father. He never knew his mother, but Father would never disignore him no matter how good he played the piano.

He casted his gaze around the scenery of the alley behind him. Something looked really strange... but what did? The tapestry on the wall on his right side was silently glued as usual, as well as the reddish empty brick wall on his left side. The empty brick wall, strangely, was different in colours... he just realized it now. Well, he did rarely observe this floor, though...

There were five rows of milder red colour along the left wall.

And inside the rows, there were even subtler periodic pattern of colours... our Little Young Master became quite intrigued to figure it out. His head was only full of pattern of music, if there were any, so he didn't really expect to be able to see some meaning behind the pattern. Gosh, he could barely able to see pattern in simple maths... how could he expect to derive something special of some subtle pattern on the wall he barely see?

So funny how five rows reminded him of five rows in alphabetic music notes(he was quite fluent at it, too)... na na na na na... he could remembered the sequence of the first verses of moonlight sonata... it should be here, here, here... as his hand traced down the rows of different colours

... to be surprised that every finger-tap he made on the different-coloured rows touched his hand upon the subtler colours of the pattern! His heart chilled... how could this happen?

But he started to feel excited. I found something here! The pattern sings Moonlight Sonata the first verses in alphabetical music notes! He anxiously tapped on every following sequences until the end of the wall...

and the wall slid opened!

Anxious but excited, the Young Master stepped inside the medium sized, high-ceiled room where he saw a painting of a very beautiful, strong young lady with a balalaika in her hand. He was strucked at heart by her beauty... it was as though he met his long-lost first love.

But what distracted him from the painting was a gigantic black, Grand Piano slightly covered by dust at the bottom of the painting. He was really happy. Not only was he able to find this secret room all by himself, he also acquires his new friend! Gosh... and this piano is the Boesendorfer Concerto Grand Piano, one that he always wanted! Doesn't any maid and servant here know about this room whatsoever?

He opened the grid and started playing Moonlight Sonata...

Suddenly, his Father appeared behind him with a loud noise.

Ricardovich turned his head around, so anxious that for the first time their eyes met, what the little boy saw was an outraged, furious man he hardly believed it was his Father. The man who should have been loving him all this time...

You tedious prick! the grown up man roared, and slapped Ricardovich so hard on his face.

The maids and servants hurrily ran along to the thunderstrucked Young Master, who sadly wailed before Dmitri Mikhailov.

The Father who should have loved his son.