Unwanted child - стр. 8

For the last few days, Inessa had been almost completely immobilised from the illness and the large amount of chemical drugs. She had become so skinny that the outlines of bones and veins were visible through the stretched skin. Her head resembled the skull of a living dead person who had not yet had time to decompose, with deep pits and hollows. Her uncombed hair had already begun to peel away from her head, and whole strands of it were sliding down her pillow, falling to the floor. In place of the torn hair, her head was a patch of dark maroon-coloured, inflamed patches, some of them even showing pus. Her hands trembled frequently, the nails on them beginning to flake and fall off. It was not a sight for the faint of heart. And Lars, every time he saw his wife, doomed to death, so helpless and defenceless, could not hold back his tears. They poured from his eyes every time he sat down next to her hospital bed.

Every day, he came to the room with the baby and fruit. When Lars came inside, he lit a scented candle, put it on the bedside table, and put her favourite sweets in a saucer. She was tied to the bunk and there was no way she could eat them. It was part of some inalienable personal ritual for the man, carried out for the health of his wife. He knew how dear Theodore was to Inessa and how she felt about him, so Lars had hoped to the last moment to awaken in her new strength to fight the incurable disease by bringing a child with him. However, these attempts, as well as many others, proved futile. In May 743, Inessa died of the Hyena disease, making Lars a single father. Although, in fact, he had been such a long time ago, and now, it was only officially registered in the city registry.

The year is 744. It's been exactly one year since Inessa's death. Theodore was three years old. The family business had gone under. Lars practically stopped coming to his restaurant. More and more often he went to the bar to forget himself with a few beers or something stronger. The grief-stricken father of a young child tried to cope with the loss of his wife through alcohol, sinking deeper and deeper into an abyss of misery and frustration. Caring for the boy continued to be a mere formality without any feelings of love and care. Lars couldn't wait until the month of August to dump the burden in the Children's Educational Centre (or CEC for short) far away from himself.

This was the name given to all existing educational centres for children aged three to six. There were many such urban and rural institutions in the world. The main task of which was to identify talents in the kids. On the basis of appropriate recommendations from the teachers, parents would send their children to schools where they would be trained for their future professions. Lars was not the kind of parent who cared about the welfare of his child. He never dreamed of finding out what talent lay in his son. For him, the CEC was just a place where he could send his child for a long period of time. The classes were held on weekdays, from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. If it had been up to Lars, he would have left Theodore there forever and would not have regretted it.