Peter turned to Jennings, his fingers tightening slightly and his voice suddenly firm.
"You really don't understand?" he asked, trying to hide his anger. "That girl... she wasn't just a model, Jennings. She was a real person. I can see how you don't understand, how you're taking this. And I... I can't just brush off the fact that she was there, that she's gone.
Jennings chuckled, not looking up from his camera. There was a hint of displeasure in his eyes, but he didn't answer right away.
"Peter, you take this way too seriously," he finally said, lowering his voice. "We photographers see the world through our lenses. We don't get attached. We work, and that's it. She's just another model for a photo shoot. Dead? Well, that happens. That's life. We all have our own paths. As for her name... I don't know why you're so keen to know it. I don't care what her name was, Asia or America. It doesn't concern me at all, a simple photographer."
Peter stood there, unable to take his eyes off Jennings, his eyes full of doubt and pain. He didn't know how to respond to these words, because something inside him was seething with indignation. How could you be so impartial? How could you look at people as objects to be simply photographed and forgotten? This girl, this model, she was more than just another frame to Peter.
"But she was a person, Jennings," Peter said, barely audible. His voice broke, but he went on. "You can't just say she was 'just a model.' She was alive, she had a life, she had a story. And you... you don't even care? You just take a picture and move on?"
Jennings glanced at him, and something like annoyance flickered in his eyes. He pursed his lips, then turned sharply back to the camera, concentrating again on his settings.
"Peter," he said, as if explaining the obvious to a child, "I'm a photographer. I take pictures of what I'm told. And yes, to me she was just a model. What you don't understand is that we need to think about the work, not about who's in front of the lens. We need to catch the light, adjust the angle, watch the composition. That's it. We don't get attached.
Peter was silent, feeling his anger slowly turn to confusion. He couldn't understand why Jennings was talking about it so calmly, as if it didn't matter. It didn't seem strange to him that such a tragedy - the death of this girl - left him indifferent. Peter tried to find the slightest sign of sympathy in his words, but he couldn't. It all seemed empty and cold to him.
"You said she died..." Peter said, suddenly realizing that the girl's death had become something important to him, something he couldn't just forget. "Why don't you want to talk about it? Why doesn't her fate matter to you?"
Jennings, without looking away from the camera, chuckled slightly.
"Because it doesn't matter, Peter," he replied, as if it were the simplest of truths. "I'm not going to worry about the model dying. It happens. We're all going to die one day, and that's just part of life. I'm not going to dwell on it."
Peter felt his chest tighten. He couldn't accept it. This girl was more than just a model to him. She was a person, and her death left a void. But Jennings couldn't understand that. He was so absorbed in his work that he was ready to forget everyone he photographed once he had taken a picture. It was all just part of the routine.
"So you never thought that maybe this girl had a life of her own?" Peter continued, unable to let go. "That she had people who loved her? That her death meant something to someone? To her family, her friends?"
Jennings put the camera down and turned to Peter, his face now serious, but not with the understanding the boy had hoped to achieve.
"Peter," he said, his voice low and tired. "You take this way too seriously. She was a model, she played a part, she was in a movie, and that was it. What if I worried about everyone I photographed dying every time? We wouldn't get a single picture. That's life, man. No one is immune to tragedy. We just keep working."
Peter stood there, trying to collect his thoughts. His words sounded strange, but they were true. He couldn't shake the feeling that something in this girl's eyes was different from all the other models. He saw it in every photograph, in the way she looked, as if she wasn't quite aware of what was happening around her. It was more than just a facial expression. It was a look full of innuendo, mystery, and fear. Peter felt like that look was watching him even now, even though the girl was dead.
"You see, Jennings," he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "I... I see something in that girl's eyes. Like she doesn't understand what's happened to her. Like she... doesn't realize that her life was just a game in someone else's hands. And now she's gone, and no one can tell her why it all happened. I can't just forget her."
Jennings, who had been standing behind the camera the entire time, turned his head, his irritation evident. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he took hold of the lens again.
"Are you crazy, Peter?" Jennings spoke quietly, but there was a stern tolerance in his voice, like an adult patiently trying to convince a younger child that he is wrong. He put the camera down, rubbed his temples, and continued, his words already beginning to sound tired. "It's just a picture, just a job. Do you really think that look in her eyes meant anything? You made up a whole story and now you want me to believe it? Me, who took the pictures myself and kept asking if the lights were too bright for her?"
Peter stood by the window, his gaze neither anxious nor doubtful, only intense, almost hypnotic, focused on the photograph on the wall. He continued to look at the girl, her face in the brown dress, her long black hair that seemed almost alive against the misty, dark room. There was something in the girl's eyes that Peter couldn't place, but he felt it was something important. Not just a photograph, not just a model. This was a story, this was something alive.
Jennings, busy with his work, continued to speak, but his words seemed not to reach Peter. He was absorbed in what he was seeing and could not stop. Jennings' fingers were flicking the switches on the camera when he spoke again, cutting off Peter's thoughts:
"You're taking this way too seriously, Peter. You're seeing something that's not there. The fact that you think she doesn't understand what happened to her is just the result of the lights being too bright. Yes, they blinded her, yes, it was uncomfortable, but you don't understand, it's all part of the job. If it weren't for the bright lights, she wouldn't be visible in the photograph. And you've created a whole tragedy for yourself."
Peter stood in front of the photograph, barely noticing the passage of time. The image of that girl kept playing in his head – she was real and mysterious at the same time. She looked straight into the lens, her eyes full of something that could not be explained in words. For Peter, it was not just an image, but a question he wanted to find an answer to. But Jennings, with his ease and businesslike approach, continued to destroy his feelings.
"The film, Peter, is just a little cover scene," Jennings said, his eyes on the camera, "on a low budget, made with minimal expense. We shot in a dark room, and the idea was for the scene to be mysterious, like the darkness of night. That's why I used lights to create a dramatic shot of a girl in a room at night.
Peter did not respond at once. He was still looking at the image of the girl, her face in shadow, her pose as if she had been captured in a moment of misty uncertainty. He heard Jennings's words, but they did not reach him. They sounded like empty noise, like an attempt to explain the inexplicable.
"But she looks like she doesn't understand something," Peter finally said, his voice quiet, almost distracted. "Why are her eyes so... strange? Like she doesn't know what's happening to her."
Jennings glanced quickly at the boy and sighed, putting the camera down.
"You're making things more complicated, Peter," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I explained it. The lights were on full blast. The girl was blinking, and I was swearing she'd ruin the shot."
Peter stood staring at the photograph, his thoughts spinning in circles as he tried to find an explanation for what he was seeing. Jennings, noticing his continued silence, finally broke down and spoke up in an irritated voice.
"Are you still hysterical, Peter?" he said, lowering the camera and rubbing his face wearily with his hand. "Okay, listen. I'll tell you what it was like if you keep clinging to every picture as if it were some kind of mystical sign."
Peter looked at him but didn't answer, continuing to stare at the photograph. Jennings sighed heavily and continued.
"We were invited to the set," he began, his voice growing increasingly weary. "There was a staircase, the necessary scenery - everything you would expect from a cheap horror film. We placed a girl behind the staircase, and by the way, she was not just a model, but also the lead actress in the film. A difficult role, a lot of work, all that, and what's more, she was naughty, like all child actors. I told her not to blink, but she continued. I scolded her so that she wouldn't ruin the shot.
He said all this as if he were describing an ordinary day at work. He was not surprised by the girl, or her behavior, or the strange lighting. It was all part of the job, part of the process.
"Then, of course, I had to adjust the lights again," Jennings went on. "You think I sat there and looked into her eyes? No, Peter, I worked. I set the lights to highlight the right details, and she, the girl, blinked and came into the frame with blurry eyes. But that's not important. What matters is that the picture comes out. That's all."
Peter still stared at the photograph, trying to calm the growing sense of unease. There was something more to the girl's eyes than just the moment the photo was taken, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was.
"So?" Peter asked, ignoring Jennings's displeasure. "It's all that simple to you? Just a photo, just a frame? And what about her look? You yourself said that she blinked from the bright light. But I see something in her eyes... different.
Jennings winced, clearly irritated.
"You're complicating things, Peter! I explained it to you. The lights were on full blast to create the effect of darkness in the room, everything as planned. We were filming her, she played her part as best she could. At first she blinked, I told her that she would ruin the shot. I scolded her, as always. The girl is an actress, everything is fine."
He sighed, throwing down the lens and continuing to work with the equipment as if nothing important had happened.
"You seem fixated on her gaze. I know you saw something there, but maybe you're just exaggerating. It's just a job, Peter. We were making a low-budget film with simple sets and we didn't expect it to be a masterpiece. I don't even remember her name, it doesn't matter. "Asia" or "America", who knows, it doesn't change the essence."
Peter felt his hands begin to shake a little. There was still something frightening in the girl's eyes in the picture. He turned to Jennings.
"You say it's just a job. But her gaze... it was like she was full of confusion. Like she didn't understand what was happening to her. Tell me, Jennings, did you really not see it? Didn't you feel it in her gaze?"
Jennings paused, his gaze darting around the room, briefly catching a photograph on the wall. Peter stood still, clasping his hands together, trying to keep himself from crying out in anger. Jennings seemed increasingly irritated.
"If you continue to look for meaning in every photograph for the covers of cheap movies even as an adult, you'll end up in a mental hospital," he said sharply, looking away from his equipment and meeting Peter's gaze with an irritated expression.
The words hung in the air, heavy and cold, like the feeling that what was happening in this studio didn't matter. Peter felt something inside him snap. The pain he had been trying to suppress suddenly burst forth.
"So you don't understand at all?" He clenched his teeth, trying to hold back his emotions. "You don't see at all that there is something... something wrong with this picture! You say it's just a photograph, just a model, just a job... But it seems to me that there is something more to it all! Do you see her face, Jennings? Do you see the way she looks at me? This is not just a "model", this is a person! And what happened to her, do you know?!"
Jennings, who had lost all patience, turned around. He sighed, as if he had been prepared for such a question, and shrugged.
"Are you completely crazy?" His voice was quiet, but there was a noticeable hint of fatigue. "She's not looking at you, idiot, she's looking at the camera so the audience can see her face. That's all it takes. She's an actress, Peter. Everything you see in this photo is just the result of her work. She's not looking into your soul, idiot."
The words struck Peter like lightning. He clenched his teeth and felt his inner tension begin to be drowned out by a desperate emptiness. Everything that was in front of him - the photograph of the girl, her eyes, the light that caught her face, all of it suddenly lost its meaning, dissolving into some kind of painful emptiness. He felt something dark and disturbing boiling inside him again, something that had been bothering him from the very beginning.
He stood still, unable to tear his gaze away from hers. She was looking into the camera, as Jennings had said, but something was wrong. Peter was sure of it. Her eyes weren't just empty; they were full of something-horror, incomprehension, perhaps. He felt like she was asking him something, even through the picture, as if she were asking him for help.
"You don't understand, Jennings," Peter said at last, his voice almost quiet, but with a desperation that seemed to permeate every word. "This isn't just a photograph. Look at her eyes! This isn't just an actress on a movie cover. This is... this is a girl, and she's asking me – me! – what's happening to her! And I can't tell her, because, as you say, she died two weeks ago!"
Peter felt his heart begin to beat faster again, his anxiety growing. He took a step back, his eyes still on the photo. He tried to understand what exactly was going on in her gaze. What was she trying to say?
Jennings didn't answer right away. He stood there for a few seconds, arms folded across his chest, and then exhaled slowly.
"You're overcomplicating things," he said finally, and his voice no longer held the confidence it had once held. There was weariness in it now. "What you see in her eyes isn't a question, it's just work, Peter. I told you, we were shooting a scene for a movie. We had to convey a certain mood, that's all. And yes, she's dead, but that doesn't give you the right to hang your own interpretations on her."
Peter clutched his head. He was having trouble thinking clearly, he felt his thoughts colliding, his mind unable to focus. He found it hard to imagine that Jennings was right. How could this girl just be an actress on the set of a cheap movie? How could it be that simple when he felt there was something so much more important going on with her?
"But you know what you're saying," Peter whispered, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "She was a model for a cheap movie, but she... she was alive, Jennings. She was real, and now that she's dead, you're telling me that her look doesn't matter. Can't you see that there's something to this, something more than just lights and a camera?!"
Jennings turned away, slapping his hands on the table as if trying to push away the intrusive thoughts. He paused, then said,
"Peter, do you think I don't understand how you feel? I can see that you're trying to find something more in this, but you're too wrapped up in it. Everything I told you is what really happened. We shot the cover shots, the girl posed, and that's it. You can't look for meaning in every photo. You can't judge her life or her death based on one picture. Do you understand that?"
Peter felt his chest tighten. He looked at Jennings, and there was something in his eyes that Peter couldn't quite place-was it irritation? Or something more? It felt like Jennings was hiding something, like he knew something, too, but didn't want Peter to delve into it.
But Peter couldn't just let go of the picture. He looked at the girl's eyes again, and such a searing pain came over him that he almost screamed. It was something so unbearable, so unimaginable. His eyes couldn't tear themselves away from hers. She was looking right at him, at him, a living person, standing in this dark room, and her eyes were full of questions, pain, and despair. She wasn't just posing. It was as if she was waiting for someone to see her, for someone to understand.
"I can't..." Peter whispered, his voice barely audible, as if he was afraid his words could destroy everything around him. "I can't just ignore the silent question in her eyes. I see how her soul is searching for answers, and I want to help her. But...
He fell silent, unable to express what exactly was tormenting him. How to respond to the dead girl's gaze, which seemed to be directed at him right now? How to help her if she could no longer speak? How to help if death took her too early, leaving no chance for answers?
Jennings stood there, his face as impassive as ever, but there was a hint of irritation in his eyes that was slowly turning into weariness. He sighed quietly, but decided to say something anyway.
"Peter, stop. This is all you've ever imagined. You're looking for meaning in something that doesn't exist. You think that look is a cry for help? But you're just trying to find something more in the void. You think you can help a girl who's already passed away?"
Peter felt the tension building inside him. Jennings' words cut him like a knife, but he couldn't believe they were true. How could he just push away those eyes, that look that seemed to beg for something? How could he just close his eyes to what was happening in that photo? Thoughts were spinning in his head, but they couldn't find a way out.
"You don't understand!" Peter cried, his voice full of desperate grief. "You think this is just another shoot? Just another frame? But I see something more! I see how she... how she doesn't understand what's happening to her. I see it in her eyes. Can't you see it? Can't you feel it?"
Jennings winced in annoyance. He took a step forward, but stopped when he saw Peter still staring at the photograph.
"You don't feel anything, Peter. All you see is your own pain. You're trying to find meaning where there is none. It was just a shot for the cover of a cheap movie. She was an actress, a model, nothing more. You can't put her life and her death on the same page, just because you lack the confidence that it's all just... unimportant."
Peter wanted to say something, but the words were stuck in his throat. He didn't know what to say. He felt his entire world crumbling, his belief that there was something more to him than the image in the photograph beginning to crack. He stood in front of Jennings, looking into his cold, distant eyes, and suddenly he realized: this man would never see what he saw. This world was just another work routine for Jennings, another film set, but for Peter it was something much more.
He took a deep breath, clenched his teeth, and lowered his head.
"I can't let this go, Jennings," he said quietly, but with clear determination. "I can't look at her as just another model on a movie cover. No! I feel guilty about her!"
Jennings stood there, still cool and distant, but his face was a little harder now. He looked at Peter and paused before speaking. His hands, not very dexterous or used to work, were crossed over his chest. There was no longer the indifference in his eyes that Peter was used to seeing. There was something different there now-something Peter couldn't quite place.
"Are you crazy?" Jennings finally spoke, his voice a little rougher than usual. "Guilt towards her? Do you really think you had anything to do with her death? That you can change anything?"
Peter shook his head, not taking his eyes off the photograph.
"I don't know how to explain it," he said, pausing. His voice trembled, and he looked at the girl's image again. "But when I look at her, I see... I see that she's looking at me and seeing right through me. She sees all my thoughts, as if they were the palm of her hand. And it's no secret to her what I'm thinking. And I'm afraid of her. I'm ashamed! I'm ashamed of this girl, Jennings!"
The words fell from his lips, and his chest tightened with the weight of the confession. He stood there, unable to look away from her eyes. It seemed as if she understood everything that had been happening to him lately-all his doubts, his worries, his fears. It was as if she could see his world crumbling, and how he, lost, could not find a way out.
Jennings, standing next to him, was silent, his gaze cold and indifferent, but Peter suddenly felt how this silent silence intensified his feelings. Jennings did not know what it was like to be absorbed by this gaze. He did not understand what Peter felt.
"Are you crazy?" Jennings finally broke through the silence, but his voice wasn't as hard as it had been. There was something tired about it, as if he didn't know how to respond to all of this. "Do you really think she sees you? Are you serious? It's just a picture, Peter! You're just fixated. She's just an actress in a picture, that's all."
But Peter, overcome by this unbearable weight, could not stop. He shrank, as if trying to push away all doubts and fears, but they returned again and again.
"No, Jennings, you don't understand!" Peter said, his voice desperate. His breathing became ragged. "I feel like she knows everything about me. As if she saw all my weaknesses, all my mistakes. I've never seen her before, but now, when I looked into her eyes, I felt that as soon as I saw her, everything, my soul became an open book for her!"
He turned to the photographer, his gaze full of despair. How could he explain to Jennings what was in his soul? He himself could hardly understand it. It was not just guilt, but something more complex – as if the girl in the photograph had become his reflection, and her silent gaze an echo of all his fears.
Jennings stood with his arms still crossed and shook his head slightly, as if Peter was lost in his thoughts again.
"You're going off on another wild goose chase, Peter," his voice was firm, but Peter could tell there was a hint of disappointment in it, not just weariness. "Do you think she's sending you something through that picture? It's just the girl we shot for the cover of the movie. Are you in love with her or something?"
"No!" Peter jumped up, and his words sounded almost like a breakdown. "I'm not in love with her, Jennings! That's not how I feel! You don't understand what it's like to look into those eyes and feel like your life, all your darkest thoughts, become her property. As if she knew you completely and could do nothing about it, as if her gaze pierced you through and through!"
Jennings exhaled, and his face became impassive again. He knew Peter had gone too far, but he found it hard to accept that the boy actually believed in his tragedy. In his eyes, Peter was no longer just an enraptured teenager trying to figure out what was happening to him. He was a man consumed by something more important than his interest in photography.
"Peter," he said finally, lowering his voice, "you're making life difficult for yourself. This is all your imagination. That girl in the photo, she's just an actress. She doesn't know how you feel. She doesn't see your weaknesses, your mistakes. All she did was play a role. Everything you're going through right now is your worries, your problems, not hers.
But Peter couldn't accept those words. He looked at the photograph again, staring into those dark eyes that seemed to follow him, that reflected not just the room but something more. He knew it wasn't just a fantasy. He couldn't forget those eyes.
"You don't understand," he repeated, barely audible. "I can't tear myself away from that look. I don't have the words to explain it, but when I look at her, I understand that... that she's looking for answers, like she doesn't understand what happened to her, but she feels like I should know. And I can't help her! I can't explain what I see! I can't ignore her gaze like you want me to!"
Jennings looked at him with the same tiredness, but now his eyes were softer. He didn't know how to help this boy. No matter how much Peter tried to explain, Jennings couldn't enter his world. He simply wasn't ready to perceive anything more than a job, than a profession.
"Peter..." Jennings said, lowering his voice a little. "I already realized that you were madly in love with this girl. But understand, she's dead, and you don't have a chance anyway.
The words hit Peter like lightning, piercing him from the inside. He felt something inside him break, an emptiness spreading through his veins, filling everything. He couldn't find the words to respond. He just stood there, staring at the photo, as if trying to find some clue in her eyes, something that would help him believe that all of this wasn't just an empty figment of his imagination.
"You... don't understand," he finally said, his voice shaking with emotion. "This isn't just falling in love. It's something more. I can't explain it. When I look at her, I feel like she's telling me something. That she's looking for answers. And her gaze... It haunts me. I... can't just forget her!"
Jennings narrowed his eyes and stepped closer, looking at Peter with an expression on his face as if he had finally realized something.
"Stop lying, Peter," he said firmly but calmly, pausing. "You're in love, don't fool me."
Peter flinched as if he had been struck. He made no attempt to hide the embarrassment that instantly filled his chest. His fingers nervously slid along the edge of the photograph, but his gaze remained fixed on Jennings.
"What?" His voice trembled with surprise, and his gaze darted from the photo to his interlocutor. "In love? Are you crazy?"
Jennings inclined his head slightly, his eyes never leaving Peter's. His face was patiently concerned, like a man who had long ago realized that the conversation could not proceed without acknowledging what was really going on. He took another step forward, and there was no contempt or condemnation in his eyes. Only a quiet, almost sympathetic understanding.
"Yes, Peter, I am. You're fixated on that picture. And I'm not saying that's bad, but you just can't admit it," Jennings said, placing his hand on the table next to Peter. "You see something in her eyes that's more than just a model in a photograph. You see what you want to see."
Peter stood there, unable to respond. His chest tightened as if a storm were brewing inside him. A voice inside him kept screaming that this wasn't just a crush. But the longer he stayed silent, the more desperately he tried to justify his feelings. Jennings' words cut him, and maybe he was right. Maybe this was all just a figment of his imagination, but... something was wrong.
"I... I can't just forget her," Peter finally said, his voice muffled, as if he were trying to hold something important inside that couldn't get out. "She's... she's not just a model. I see her through my eyes, Jennings. I can't look at her like she's just a stranger, just an actress. She looks at me, and I feel like something's wrong. She asks me what's wrong with her. And I can't tell her."
Jennings, now standing very close, did not take his eyes off Peter. There was no condemnation in his eyes, only weariness and some regret.
"Peter," he said, stepping forward and looking the boy over. "You look at her because you want to be close to her. It's like that with all humans. We become attached to those we can't have. But right now, your instinct is running on empty. Do you understand that? She's dead. She's gone. And your pain... your attachment, it's all just dust."
Peter flinched as if he had been struck. He clenched his fists, feeling a lump in his throat. He tried to resist Jennings's words, but there was a bitter truth in their simplicity. He continued to stare at the photograph, but it was gone-now there was only Jennings and his words.
"You don't understand!" Peter blurted out, almost in a whisper, unable to hide his pain. "I can't just forget her, Jennings! I can't! It's not just affection, it's... something more! Something I can't explain."
Jennings stood silently by, studying Peter with a look that was not only tolerant but also gentle urgency. He was clearly worried about the boy, and Peter felt him beginning to doubt his own perception of the situation.
"It's not affection, Peter," Jennings said, his voice calm but with a note of sympathy. "You're just in love with a photo of a girl you like. You like the image of her, that's all. You perceive her as an ideal, but that has nothing to do with reality. You've fallen in love with an illusion, an image, not a person."
Peter kept his head down, his hands clenched into fists. His knuckles turned white as he tried to control the wave of anger and disappointment. It was hard to take that from someone who didn't seem to feel the same way he did. To Jennings, it was all so simple. He was older, more experienced, and saw the world differently.
"You're wrong, Jennings," his voice was controlled, but with a palpable heaviness. "You don't understand, you haven't seen her look. This isn't just a photo, not just 'a girl to my taste'. It's more than that. I... I feel like she's there, in this photo. Like she wants to say something, ask something. And I can't answer her, I can't understand what she's going through."
Jennings frowned as he listened to Peter, but did not interrupt. He knew that the conversation would not be easy, but he still decided to continue.
"I understand how you feel," he said, coming closer, but his gaze was still practical. "But you must understand: this is just an image. A model. Her gaze is not a question, it is just part of the work. You see something more in it because that is how humans are made. We often attribute meanings to things that do not have any. We see what we want to see.
Peter felt his soul shrink at those words. They were true, but not the truth he was prepared to believe. He licked his lips and looked at the photograph again, as if the answers to all his questions could be found there.
"But I can't just forget about her," he finally said, his voice quieter, almost a whisper. "I can't just brush it off. I have to understand what happened to her. I have to know.
Jennings frowned, his face becoming serious again. He stopped next to Peter and looked at him as if trying to understand what was behind the desperation.
"You don't have to know anything. You want to find answers because it's easier to dwell on the past than to look to the future. You don't have to find meaning in every look, Peter. Not all pain has meaning. Sometimes it's just pain, and it needs to be endured."
Peter looked at the photograph again. He felt his heart ache. All those thoughts of death, of the girl gone, of her never being able to say anything more, all of it was pressing on him like an invisible hand squeezing his chest.
"I can't forget her," Peter said, his voice shaking with emotion. "I can't forget her eyes. I can't forget her... like she knew something. Something I don't understand. And I want to understand.