The first of March has never been a day of spring. Formally, according to the calendar, winter has gone away, spring has come into its own. but every time it snowed that day, the wind howled, and you froze your bare neck peeking out from under the collar of your coat. On a dark morning, snowflakes, like small dust particles, swirled around the lantern, making its rounded glow more noticeable. it was cold and dark, but not sleepy, as it happened in winter.

You didn't want to see the Schellers, nor Hilda, nor Gunther. They haven't actually done anything wrong, but you'd still like to spend time with anyone but them. But he was supposed to come today. It was supposed to be a friendly meeting on a typical Sunday afternoon.

It was cold and dark, but not sleepy. The dream left you instantly after waking up, and you wouldn't want to go back there, to that damn gate. to keep yourself busy, you arrange the cups in the kitchen — preparing for an imminent meeting.

How nice it would be if he got sick. or... No, that would be even worse. It would be best if he just canceled the meeting, said he was too lazy. Yes, that would be great. he would have gone back to the image of the careless Gunther Scheller, who got up at two o'clock in the afternoon after an evening of drinking and gave Hilda more than enough money to buy him a beer (and she would have enough left over that she could eat at the Moka Efti). the carefree aristocrat Gunther Scheller, not what you saw in your dream.

Everything had been ready for a long time. The cups are set up to the millimeter, as are plates, spoons, forks, salad bowls, and a pre-prepared plain cake. The meeting is still a few hours away. It all looks sharp, like totalitarian control, fake, like a theater prop, soulless, like a deer on a bad tapestry.

deer. an animal with such innocent eyes, on trembling legs, with clacking hooves, thin, graceful. and always under the gun of a ruthless poacher.

The darkness and the cold make you sleepy, but you won't let sleep get to you. you don't want to see deer eyes and shaking legs. it is not true. He's never been like this, it's the stuff of a sick mind. He's a brainless jerk who likes to indulge in his father's gun and spend money anywhere, not... deer.

A knock on the door. It's him. all those hours flew by trying to banish the memories, but it was all in vain. It was light outside, but the snowflakes were still visible. at least the utopian silence was broken by the movement of the city. horns, people, factories, bells. and that knock on the door.

Scheller is standing in the doorway. His hat is dusted with snow, as are the shoulders of his gray coat — but he's never cold. He never gets sick, even though he'll eat a handful of snow on a bet. Gunther is only nineteen years old, and he's still fooling around like a kid, but you know things about him that you'd rather not know. he opens his mouth to speak, but you gesture for silence — you don't want to hear the same thing as in a dream.

— do you know that this love was killing me? — his trembling lips muttered, while he held his hand to this cold, soulless gate in the same winter darkness of your dream, and the deer eyes left no chance to be unseen. — do you know how many times my heart trembled when I went to bed, wept and could not thank those who gave me this love?

Who gave you this love, Gunther? Hans? He slapped you in the face, and you were convinced that you were happy. Are you standing in front of me, looking at me with your stupid deer eyes, and only now are you saying that you're ashamed? Bastard, you're such a bastard. Do you dare to talk about yourself like that when that vile bastard has to kneel in front of you and beg for forgiveness? Open your eyes, Gunther, you're delusional—

— I wanted to congratulate you on the first day of spring, — he broke the silence, still with a strained lopsided smile. — but, apparently, you still have snow in your head. and the tea got cold. you shouldn't greet the guests like that. You'd better get some sleep.