"ZE? - Bertha started, finally waking up from the fons show. - It definitely means Northern Express.
Is there such a thing? - Herold widened his eyes.
I think I've heard something about it. - Bridgeton began - That route was probably just recently opened. And if I'm not mistaken, completely new and even more powerful trains are being used on this route.
That's right, brother. - Bertha looked in her brother's direction - this experimental train is called Northern Express, not the route.
I said that too.
You didn't!
Could you please stop this sibling squabbling? - Herold intervened.
After Herold's firm statement, both friends quickly rushed inside to grab their belongings. When they came back outside, they noticed Bertha standing sadly at the gates of the Land of Dwarfs with her robotic neighbor. As they passed by the fountain in the entrance, Charles glanced back at the mighty mansion and reflected on all the sweet moments spent there. When he turned his head back toward the gates, he had already arrived.
Well then. - Bertha began, after her and Charles's hug - I'm glad you could stop by here. And I wish you good luck on all your future journeys, brother.
Me too, I'm sure we'll meet again soon. - Charles added.
The magnificent gates of the Land of Dwarfs were opened, and Charles with Herold stepped through them. Behind, Bertha and the neighbor were calling all sorts of good wishes and manifesting happiness. When Charles's gaze turned forward, they had already arrived at the wall with summer lilacs on the other side.
The day was bright and hopeful - like a new beginning. Both scientists turned into Zagreb station, where they had previously arrived. Tickets for the Northern Express were purchased, and they were quite impressive. The tickets listed two route names - the short and the full. The short one was "Zagreb-St. Petersburg," while the full name was simply outrageous - "Zagreb - Budapest - Košice - Warsaw - Kaunas - Jēkabpils - Tartu - St. Petersburg."
Soon the Northern Express itself (which had previously been stationary) also arrived at the station. Immediately, throngs of people rushed to find good seats in the train, even though the seats were already indicated on the tickets.
After scanning their tickets at the charismatic ticket girl, the two friends boarded the experimental train, which could reach speeds of up to 200 km/h! (It was at least twice as fast as a regular locomotive). They would have to get off before the last station. The fons spoke of their very beginnings, which definitely lay in their homeland.
The train started moving and gaining speed. The friends settled even more comfortably in the soft and super comfortable seats. Through the window, they could see the landscape simply flying by. Charles was pulled from his thoughts by a woman serving food and drinks at every meal (it was currently breakfast time).
This woman spoke so many languages that one would have to be crazy not to understand at least one of them. The friends, of course, communicated with her in English. They soon realized that everything being offered was free, as the Northern Express ticket was already expensive.
Since it was still relatively morning, the scientists took some steaming coffee from Northern Express. They truly enjoyed it. Herold thought the coffee also had honey added, which was a rare expensive treat."
The next meal was after Budapest. It was, of course, lunch. They were served steaming potatoes, drenched in fat sauce, fried fish, probably carp, sea salad, and to wash it all down, there was a choice of cucumber juice or yellow wine. Overall, so far, both friends' first impressions of the Northern Express were very positive.
After a while, the train passed through Košice, picking up and dropping off several dozen passengers. The train then sped towards Poland's gem - Warsaw. Since this was the midpoint of the long journey, the train made a much longer stop to refuel and to perform some technical checks. Passengers could finally stretch their legs.
Overall, this stop lasted for two hours. In the meantime, there was also a snack - boggy soup, bear ribs, and fresh carrot salad, with only sparkling water offered to drink.
Charles and Harold decided not to waste energy wandering around some foreign town, so they stayed seated. They couldn't quite remember when they dozed off, but after nearly two hours, they were awakened by bells warning of the next station.
Bridgton blinked sleepily and squinted at the smart display in the carriage at the end, realizing that the Northern Express had just arrived in the capital of Lithuania - Kaunas.
"Hey, wake up, Harold, we need to get off at the next station." - Charles shook his best friend until he woke up.
***
The scholars were already holding all their belongings in their hands and on their shoulders. The overall journey from Kaunas to Jakobstadt was about just under an hour, and Charles could swear that for at least 10, if not 20 minutes of that time, they were driving through a single city. In his memory, Jakobstadt hadn't been THAT big.
Suddenly, the arrival bell system rang out, and the friends rushed to the nearest exit before a crowd of passengers gathered. Once they stepped out, they noticed how luxurious the disembarkation platform was - there was a large canopy supported by dozens of finely decorated pillars, and above the station's dome-shaped roof proudly waved the mighty Jakobstadt flag.
Bridgton realized that Harold was not next to him. But then he spotted him standing by a rectangular information stand. His friend approached him. He was quietly reading to himself:
"Dear city guests! You are invited to the capital of Latvia (and also the Baltics) - Jakobstadt! We hope you will enjoy all the historical and cultural gems this city has to offer. We hope you will be captivated by the city's countless entertainment venues. We hope your time spent here will be so unforgettable that you will decide to stay!"
"Yes, a lot has changed here." - both Harold and Charles concluded.
Not far away, there was also a map. Then the friends really understood that they had arrived in a metropolis. The city had grown considerably since the last time they had been here, not counting the dozens of suburbs that made this agglomeration even more powerful.
Charles was so bewildered by all the changes that he forgot what exactly they were looking for here. But when Harold diligently pointed towards the city center, Bridgton realized. They needed to get to the center, where in some long-forgotten neighborhood stood their former home.
"Well, well, well." - Charles hummed to himself, studying the street spiders that adorned the luxurious map. - "Alright, let's go!"
Having left the Kreicburgas (the part of the town where the station was located) station, the friends started an orientation game. First, they walked along Madonas Street, then turned onto Pils Street, past Kreicburgas Castle and the Catholic Church. Then, walking along the Daugava promenade, they reached one of the six mighty bridges. After enjoying a photogenic and relaxing stroll across the relatively quiet bridge, watching the sun set behind the island, they were already in the center.
In the center, the Latvians had built their own Arc de Triomphe, with Latvian cannons. Everywhere, to the right and left, stood grand and charming buildings - shops, smokehouses, artisan workshops, taverns, and more. Ancient oaks, colorful birches, graceful linden trees, and fragrant lilacs lined the streets. It also seemed that a yearly market was nearing its end - from the market square all the way along the street to the clock tower, there was a splendid sea of stalls, but here and there, people were already beginning to make their way home.
The two friends turned every which way, not understanding how their small childhood town had grown into what might be the largest city in Europe. They almost passed by the Old Town Square - the center of the center, where a proud and luxurious clock tower rose 30 meters high. The time showed half-past seven in the evening.
Since it was already quite late, there were relatively few people around. It was also quiet, if not for the distant rattling of some cart coming from a farther corner of the town.
Bridgeton and Herolds entered between two buildings through black gates. Then left, and then right. They had arrived. Before the friends stood an old, overgrown, but soul-imbued countryside house. It was the Bridžton family home, as evidenced by the inscription engraved in oak wood at the entrance.
I had already forgotten how secret this neighborhood is. - Herolds concluded, looking around at the other houses squatting on the street.
Yes, this place is the ultimate countryside. - Bridgeton remarked. - And right in the heart of the city.
Charles was pulled from his thoughts by the evening birdsong echoing in this quiet corner of the town. He instantly remembered where the house key was located. Entering through the entrance gate, the sage lifted a stone under which there was a small key.
Charles very seriously, contemplating each movement, inserted the key into the door lock and turned it. The historic house door creaked open with the sound of another world. A flood of memories and the smell of stale air overwhelmed the friends.
It's good to be back. - Herolds muttered meaningfully, and his friend nodded in agreement.
Once inside, they immediately felt the cold draft of the house, which was probably there because the house hadn't been heated for years. The friends first entered the kitchen, which was to the left of the corridor, and then they entered the living room, which was to the right of the corridor. A tear welled up in Charles's eye as he recalled all the beautiful and unique moments spent within those four walls.
This is all great, but what about my room? - Herolds impatiently remarked.
Your room? - Bridgeton had to think for a while to remember what was in the sock there (as one does in old age). - Oh, your room!
The friends came back into the corridor. At the very end of the corridor stood a corner staircase leading down - to the basement. They had to light a candle to see anything in the dark basement.
Having gotten downstairs, they tried to open the workshop doors, but they were sagging. Charles really had to gather all his strength and fully strain all his muscles to push the old workshop door open. As the door slammed against the room's wall, a heavy air filled with the scent of old wood and resin enveloped the scientists. Ancient and mighty cabinets lined the walls of the room, piled high with books and other clutter. Right in the center of the room, on a table, stood a miniature wooden castle - Harold's childhood home.
"Ah." - was the only thing the sock could say before it ran off to explore the castle.
While Harold was having fun, Bridgton examined his old books and scrolls. On the writing desk lay an unfinished manuscript, next to it was a pen dipped in ink. Charles read to himself:
June 21, 1???.
This is my first and last journal entry. I truly love this house with all my heart! Unfortunately, today I must leave. I doubt it will be any better in Germany, for this house will always be my home. THIS is my true homeland. Hopefully, I will read this entry again someday... That would mean I have found my way back.
Alright, I need to go... Farewell, home!
~ Charles Bridgton E. 15
He was still trying to comprehend what he had just read when, out of nowhere, a heavy book fell from the shelf, landing directly on the writing desk and almost hitting the scholar. He gazed at the strangely looking book with intrigue. It was a magical violet color, adorned with golden edges. On the cover, it read "Resurgence ~ Violet Magic," and below it was some text in a different alphabet. And Charles immediately realized that this was the book that had helped him revive Harold, as socks simply don't come to life on their own.
However, another question lingered in Charles's mind - where had it come from? The scholar could only remember that a stranger, possibly a very odd stranger, had given it to him. Yet, the memory was too hazy, and all that was in Bridgton's mind was an empty image.
"Hey, look what I found!" - Harold interrupted his friend's train of thought.
"Good job!"
The wise sock had, in the meantime, managed to find the next puzzle piece - the fone.
"Just turn it on!" - Charles urged.
The fone lit up this time with a cheerful note, indicating that the recording would be something very positive:
"I'll say it right away, there's no need to rush. For now, enjoy the warm summer sun... Wait for me to give you the signal that you should go home... But for now... That's all, you did well. What would I have done without you? Until we meet again..."
The fone ended as abruptly as it started. And the friends were left with more questions than answers.
"It looks like we'll be here for a while." - Bridgton concluded.
"Yay!" - Harold rejoiced.
After the fone show, the friends decided to go to sleep. Although the workshop had a nice and cozy atmosphere, they chose to sleep where it was safer - in the living room. Perhaps it was the pleasant memories that lulled the friends into such a sweet sleep. It was a kind of euphoric enchantment that lingered from this ancient home, flowing into the friends' hearts. They slept so well and for so long, as they never had in their lives.
Morning came, and the scholars, yawning and stretching, pulled themselves out of the deep sofa. They were so eager to work that they completely forgot that they usually had something to drink and eat in the mornings. Herold and Charles had committed to getting the entire house in order, possibly even in a style reminiscent of earlier times.
The first task was mowing the lawn. Stepping out into the yard through the back door of the house, both scholars immediately understood that it wouldn't be as easy as they thought. The grass didn't resemble the usual, short city grass at all - here it had become elephant grass! Charles let out a heavy sigh - hands alone wouldn't be enough for this.
"Can't we just use a scythe?" Herold asked, bewildered.
"No, there isn't one here," Charles sat down and pondered. "But you could go around the city looking for some gardening equipment store; there must be one nearby."
"And what for?"
"For a scythe! You silly!"
After a sharp exchange of words, Charles rummaged through various foreign coins, handed them to his friend, and told him to go to the bank to exchange them, and then to get the scythe.
When the old sock was gone, Charles decided to look through the old painting album. There were paintings from Charles's childhood, as well as those of his parents, grandparents, and a few dozen other relatives. The album didn't take long to find, as it was already sitting in a quite important and noticeable place - on the coffee table.
The scholar took the heavy, colorless book with stone-hard covers in his hands and, with a deep breath, blew off the thick layer of dust that had managed to accumulate there.
Now sitting on the old comfy sofa, he began to thoughtfully flip through each page with intrigue. It was interesting to see how he had changed over the years. There was one portrait for each year, starting from his birth up until the age of 15 when the Bridgtons left this town.
Of course, it was also amusing to see how wild Charles's parents looked when they were four times younger. The album continued on and on with an endless number of paintings, all of which were masterpieces by Charles's father, Ben Bridgton. Ben used to be quite a famous artist. Charles, however, had none of his father's artistic abilities. They say "Like father, like son," but for Charles, it could be said the opposite - he hardly resembled his wise and lively dad at all.
Charles also looked at the paintings of other long-deceased relatives. Beneath each drawing, there was also the birth and death date written, as well as the place of birth and death.
His family members had regularly circulated from Germany to Latvia, forming almost a peculiar German-Latvian heritage. Bridgton's father, Ben, was currently the oldest representative of the Bridgton family. The youngest were Charles's children and Bertha's children, perhaps even their grandchildren; Charles didn't really know. He hadn't seen his son since the tragedy, but according to official documents, he was still considered alive.
Speaking of Bertha's daughter, she had gone to study in India in her youth when it was still under British control. But now, after the collapse of the colony, it was hard to know how she was doing there, even though Bertha and her daughter regularly sent each other letters. According to the letters, Bertha's daughter was doing well.
Bridgton, nearly dozing off from delving into the family history, decided to set the album aside. He got to his feet and walked over to the front window. There was still no sign of Herold. I wonder how he was doing?
Herald, having emerged into the Old Town Square, began to scan the surroundings with his eyes. He did not notice the bank on the rocky plaza. Then, he tried to imagine where the bank would be located.
He decided to look for the bank in the Power Square (the city's political park).
And it just so happened to be located right across from the luxurious town hall building. After entering the bank, the money exchange process was quick, and soon he was outside again.
As he walked past the golden fountain in the center of Power Square, Rimnijs barely remembered that he still needed to find the garden equipment store. And so he began to wonder again - where now?
Trying to orient himself regarding the location of the damned store, Herald accidentally bumped into an acquaintance, an old friend. It was Jenkins (a plain old man known throughout his life, responsible for the upkeep of the Bridgton residence).
Hey, old man! - Jenkins was the first to call out.
Good morning, Mr. Jenkins! - Herald replied as he approached.
What brings you around? - the old man looked at his longtime friend with a scrutinizing gaze.
We came here recently with Charles. Just wanted to check how everything is going in our old family home.
Ah, I see, I see. Listen, sorry if the grass is a bit too high for you; I simply don't have anyone to mow it. Got it? That's why I was going to get a new scythe before I bumped into you.
What a coincidence! I was just on my way to get a scythe too!
Really? Well, you're definitely going in the wrong direction, buddy. The Garden Equipment Center is that way! - Jenkins pointed in the direction Herald had come from.
Wait, did you say GARDEN EQUIPMENT CENTER?
Oh, oh, oh. You're in for a surprise!
And so Herald decided to follow the familiar stranger. It turned out the center wasn't far at all; they just had to turn onto another street right before Power Square. And there, in the middle of the street, sat the garden equipment center.
The building consisted of three huge greenhouse-type domes lined up next to each other. The entrance was in the middle dome, adorned with a flashing sign that read "Jakobštates Green Center." And the rocky street leading to the entrance transformed into a cobblestone area that wound around a plaza, branching into two streets, each on its side.
The Green Center looked quite busy today - people were regularly circulating in and out. After admiring the marvelous greenhouse for a while, the old acquaintances decided to finally go inside. After climbing up the cracked steps, they were inside.
The interiors were all overgrown with vines, lichens, and various mosses. Right in the center of the room was a massive tree. Herald had thought he had seen something poking out from the greenhouse roof earlier; now he finally understood what it was.
Amazing. - Herald sighed next to Jenkins, who was inspecting the goods with an indifferent gaze.
Look! There are discounts on scythes right now. - the old man directed Herald toward one of the shopping stations.
How can I help you on this fine day? - a rustic saleswoman greeted both customers.
Uh, one scythe, please. - Herald stammered his response.
"What kind exactly? We have wooden, stone, iron, bronze, copper, glass, and even golden scythes. What does your heart desire the most?" - the cashier with charmingly kind eyes fixed her gaze on Herold.
"The cheapest option, please." - Herold chose the wooden scythe.
"That will be ten lats, please." - the cashier noticed the wise-looking sock's cash stuffing.
"No, wait, I'll pay." - unexpectedly spoke Mr. Jenkins.
"No, there's no need, I can pay myself." - Herold protested.
"NO! Ugh, put that money away, I'll pay right now!" - Jenkins insisted.
"Stop it, Jenkins! I took out the money first; I NEED that scythe, not you!"
"No, no, no, no. Wait, it's not worth spending money unnecessarily; it's better to save, better to take this opportunity when I can pay for you."
"You are completely foolish! That's it, I'm buying."
"Oh, fine." - Jenkins conceded, and Herold successfully bought himself a scythe.
Thus, the two patrons departed from the garden center and headed directly toward the Bridgton family home. Jenkins still felt a bit awkward after that argument. After a brief conversation, they both agreed that the dispute wasn't worth it. They also agreed that next time Jenkins could pay. In any case, they had unknowingly shuffled their way to the Bridgton residence, where Charles was already waiting, staring silently out the window.
***
Charles noticed that Herold was coming with some unfamiliar man. Although he seemed somewhat familiar. Could it be… or could it be? It was the ancient family friend - Jenkins!
The two silhouettes began to approach the cottage closer and closer, so Charles, feeling impatient, immediately set to unlocking the door.
"Jenkins! Long time no see!" - Charles exclaimed as he opened the front door.
"Oh, hello there, Charlie!" - the old man warmly shook his longtime friend's hand.
"As I see, you've brought a scythe." - Charles interjected.
"Yep, finally the grass can be mowed." - Herold smiled at such an opportunity.
"Well, it looks like lunchtime has come." - Jenkins glanced through the still-open door at the sun, which had just reached its highest point. "Could I stay with you for a meal?"
"But we hardly have anything here." - Bridgton spread his heavy arms.
"Well, you are mistaken there." - Herold nodded towards the mesh bag that old Jenkins firmly held in his bony grip.
The guests went to the kitchen, unloading the heavy net, while Charles closed the door behind them. Upon arriving at the old-fashioned kitchen, he saw before his eyes a full, piled feast table. The old sage could not understand what kind of holiday it was today.
"Herold and I decided that you both haven't properly celebrated Midsummer in quite a while." - Jenkins pointed to the feast with a broad gesture. "So I decided to do something about it."
"Wow." - Charles suddenly recalled the existence of this midsummer holiday. "But isn't Midsummer celebrated at the end of June? It's already July!"
"Well, heh heh, better late than never." - the old man smiled.
These words truly convinced Bridgton that it was holiday time, so he began to examine the vast feast. There, on the cracked wooden table, were piled steaming baked potatoes, beet salad, greasy fish patties, cheese, and kvass. Jenkins had bought it from the cafeteria in the city center, which was one of the few places where food could be taken away.
As the solstice celebration had officially begun, all three immediately found a stool and sat down at the festive table. Each one tried to fill their plate to the brim, ensuring nothing was left over. Cups were filled with kvass, and everyone eagerly ate and drank.
Each of them also shared a little story from their lives. Jenkins, for example, told about that one time he lost a game of chess to a sandwich in a bar. And that wasn't even his wildest story. Each subsequent tale the old Jenkins recounted was stranger and more enchanting than the previous one. He kept chatting away until Charles and Harold had to hush him.
Now, the entire afternoon had been chattered away - sunset was approaching. The friends decided to still manage to mow the lawn before total nightfall. Charles was the one determined to mow his ancestral lawn. He hadn't mowed it himself in a long time, so he had to shake his brain a bit to remember how it was done. But in the end, everything went smoothly.
Now the feast had been consumed, the kvass drunk, and the lawn mowed. All that remained was to pile up the dried and freshly mown grass into one large, neat heap. This was, of course, done, albeit with some effort. Both Charles and, especially, Jenkins were old men - they no longer had the strength they once did, but slowly everything could be accomplished.
Now a two-meter-high pile had been stacked, and it was time to set it ablaze. Harold was given the privilege of striking a match and tossing it onto the green mound of grass. The dried grass ignited instantly, creating a substantial Jāņugrils bonfire. The friends had also piled stones around the heap to prevent the flames from spreading where they shouldn't.
Now Charles, Harold, and Jenkins, with shining eyes, admired their work. On this magical festive evening, each of them inadvertently skimmed over the pages of their lives. As if in sync, they reflected on how they had come to this moment and what awaited them next. Charles wasn't sure, but he thought he saw the ghost of Berot reflected in the red flames within the blue smoke...