24

02:38

Melquiades was fully aware that Gemma was at that exact moment with Jacob. He couldn't sleep for days in a row. He was waking up, sweating, worrying, dreaming a nightmare after a nightmare and was terrified. He remembered times when Jacob was fucking those girls from his neighborhood, he gorged on their breasts and buttocks, he fulfilled his wild desires in a sickly youthful way. People rarely change. They cannot be shaded by the years of events, their true nature might sooner or later see the light of day. But what was Jacob's true nature?

Melquiades had doubts. He vaguely remembered times he spent with Jacob. Jacob was always outside, always occupied by his mates, while Melquiades had none of them and would rather spend time alone, reading. When they talked there was no communication between them as lives that they were leading were completely separate. Their conversations were disconnected as a talk about agricultural machinery and a tale of love.

And now Jacob was having his girl. A woman that he was sheltering, bringing up and educating for years. It wasn't jealousy on the part of Melquiades. It was once and again the feeling of being defeated.

When he went outside and saw the crowds of men who couldn't properly count, who talked only about food and their wild, unexplained customs and didn't want to change a bit, he had doubts. He felt hopeless when he saw how his schools failed since fewer and fewer were willing to attend classes, and fewer and fewer were able to teach. People saw no profits in knowing more than they did as there were more interesting things to do and the knowledge didn't make them any happier; quite the reverse. He observed as the elderly saw that the profits of the old ways were far better for them and they stopped visiting him altogether. They needed no changes, they supported no reforms. All they wanted were young women ready for everything just to taste a bit of their wealth. There were no meetings, no discussions and he saw that his scheme slowly deteriorated.
The young man from N. also stopped coming to sleep in his house and Melquiades stayed there completely alone. Failed. Everything he knew failed him and every effort he made seemed to be futile.

Why did he come here in the first place? Why did he start this hopeless activity of saving the unsaved instead of staying where he had spent the major part of his life? Life had no problems there. Going gray might be easy and pleasant. And peaceful. Death might be a slow passage into the tunnel of unknown.

And now the only woman he cared about was in the mouth of a predator whom he hadn't seen for years. And while his back was getting rounder, his legs - thinner, his joints - less flexible, his face - wrinkled and his hair - whiter, he still hated one thing the most. His one youthful trace was in him alive as always. Impatience. He hated waiting.