Eight in the morning.
Cord sat on the steps in front of the hospital entrance, smoking his third cigarette in a row.
This was not how things were supposed to have happened.
Going over the accident in his mind, Cord knew he had acted on instinct. He had avoided a head-on collision, and the impact had been absorbed along the side of the car, but the streetlight had been too close. The Swan had not been traveling at high speed, but it had driven straight into it. The main impact was on the right side of the car where Dia had been sitting. Cord had only banged his head on the steering wheel and cut his forehead, but she...
...The doctor, leaving the ward, said that nothing was threatening her life right then, but she needed to rest...
...Dia had sat motionless, with her eyes closed. The first thing he did was check the pulse on her wrist. After doing so, Cord realized that the worst-case scenario had been avoided. It was necessary to get out of the car, but the driver's door was jammed. It was lucky that the windshield had popped out from the collision, and Cord managed to crawl out of the passenger compartment. Trying to get off the twisted hood, he suddenly felt that his arms and legs had ceased to obey him. Be it from the shock or the concussion, he could not maintain control and fell from the hood onto the asphalt. A man ran up to him, shouting something, but his voice sounded as if it was coming from very far away...
...Cord woke up in an ambulance, and the first thing he asked, according to the doctors, was: "How is Dia?" The doctor had begun to answer, but Cord lost consciousness again...
...The last time he had awoken in the hospital bed was at six-fifteen. A nurse immediately asked him how he felt and ordered him to lie down, but Cord stood up and asked the same question. He was told that an operation was underway and that he should wait in bed until it was over, resting and recovering. However, Cord, ignoring the advice, demanded that his clothes be returned to him, and then went in search of Dia.
He was stopped by two strong orderlies and the head doctor, who told him the news.
***
Cord finished his third cigarette and, without thinking, took out the fourth.
"Got a smoke?" someone asked politely.
Cord looked up. A little to the left of him stood what looked like a
The leshy repeated its question.
Cord shoved the cigarette he had just taken out back and handed him the entire pack.
"Take them all. Otherwise, I won't stop."
The leshy accepted the opened pack, turned it over in his hands, then carefully put it in the pocket of a well-worn red-checked shirt.
"Mind if I sit here?" it asked.
Cord nodded. The leshy crouched down.
"Who are you?" asked Cord.
"They call me Fiddler."
The leshy extended its hand in an offer of a handshake. Cord accepted it and introduced himself. Fiddler pointed to Cord's bruised forehead and asked:
"Who did that to you?"
"A steering wheel."
"An accident?"
"A car accident," Cord answered apathetically.
"Sorry about that."
"How are you doing?" Cord removed his hands from his face and circled his index finger somewhere near the area of the Fiddler's beard.
"Life is a cruel thing," he said.
"Are you a philosopher or something?" Cord chuckled.
"Something like that," Fiddler raised his index finger and said sadly, "Bachelor of Philosophy. I graduated from the university three years ago, now I am in the process of finding myself."
"Maybe finding work," Cord chuckled suddenly.
Oddly enough, communicating with this type of person made him feel better.
"Do not mix the material with the spiritual!"
"Hey, you're a philosopher, not a priest."
Fiddler sighed and smiled good-naturedly.
"But you are right and I am hurt."
"Then why did you choose that specialty?"
Fiddler shrugged.
"It was a kind of revolt. At worst, I thought of becoming a university professor. And in the end, I became a street musician."
"The begging type?"
"Is this your hobby, to offend people with the truth?"
"Sort of," Cord smiled. "However, I'm sorry."
"I'm kidding, don't worry."
"But you don't have a home?"
"You are correct. However, I have a place of residence."
"Not bad then."
Fiddler frowned, but then smiled again, kindly.
"Where do you live if it's not a secret?"
Cord gave him the address. Fiddler was suddenly embarrassed and asked:
"Listen... Do you have a hot shower there?"
Cord nodded.
"Listen... Can I use it?"
Cord considered it. On the one hand, allowing a homeless man to use your shower is unhygienic. On the other hand, that worried Cord least of all at this point.
"Yes, sure, no problem."
"Thank you very much." Fiddler got up from the step and even bowed slightly.
Along the way, they stopped by a store where Cord purchased half a kilo of sausages and two bottles of beer, one of which Fiddler actually refused. When they got home and he had given instructions to Fiddler, Cord took up cooking. By the time the cleaned-up Bachelor of Philosophy came into the room, there were two servings of bachelor food sitting on the table. Buckwheat with sausages! Fiddler thanked Cord sincerely for the cordiality he had shown him. Cord dismissed it: he did not do it out of politeness, but out of gratitude, for having distracted him from bad thoughts.
As he left, Fiddler noticed something in the hallway.
"Listen," he asked, "what books do you have in this bag?"
"Ones I've read," came the voice from the kitchen, "but I either didn't like them or I didn't have a desire to reread them. When I fill the bag, I take it to the library."
A thought flashed through Fiddler's head:
"I hate to ask you for something again, but could you give these books to me if you really don't need them?"
"Take them."
After thinking a little, Cord also gave the Bachelor of Philosophy money to pay for a hairdresser.