The Winter Coat

The warden spit as he spoke, waving the keys before him.

Pilya loved the warden. Some would say the man had filled Pilya's life with abuse, but Pilya knew the warden saved his life. Not all madmen could boast of being healed by violence.

Pilya knew the warden cared, despite his eternal drunkenness and constant placing of his fists into Pilya's face. He had healed Pilya, though it was the offspring of hateful abuse. It must be difficult, Pilya had mused, to care about lunatics but be powerless to heal. To one who loves deeply, the objects of care become the source of pain when nothing can be done to help them. Pilya only wished he had not become a madman, if only to spare the warden more sorrow.

"Come here, bastard," the warden repeated. He stepped close and began knocking on Pilya's head. The ward keys bumped into Pilya's crooked nose and cracked mouth as the warden's hand moved up and down. The warden stopped, taking a step back. He ran his free hand on Pilya's shaved head.

"You are leaving today, bastard. The physician thinks you are healed. I know it is some kind of trick. You bastards are devious. Either way, don't you ever come back here."

Pilya felt a wave of numbness wash over his eyes. He waited until the warden glanced down the hall before he swallowed.

"You know you want a nice winter coat," the warden said, looking back to Pilya. He came closer, licking his lips. "Let me give you one right now."

Footsteps and voices came from the outer hall. The warden stepped back, and pushed Pilya toward the door, becoming rougher when Pilya moved too slow.

The other lunatics watched, stopping the normal moaning, shrieks and drooling. Something new was happening. One of them was leaving.

Goaded with harsh shoves through the outer hall and out the main door, Pilya stood outside in the snow. He felt the cold wind against his arms, against his face, and his damaged lips were stung by it.

There was no home for him to go to, no loving arms to embrace him, no future beyond what his eyes beheld and what danger and hardship needed to be avoided. But he was free. Freedom was the sum of all that had meaning in his life now.

"There's a cart waiting for you, bastard," the warden said. Pilya had almost forgotten the warden was there.

"Winter coat?" the warden asked.

Pilya was silent. Chaos had momentarily affected his mind.

The warden spit and turned, closing the main door behind him. Pilya was without his best friend.

The ride to the nearest village was long. Pilya's driver was silent, never saying a word, his fur coat and wide brimmed winter hat wrapping him into silence. Pilya liked the way the driver rolled the leaf weed in a paper with one hand, and sparked the flint to light it without losing control of the horse. The smell of the leaf weed was pleasant, bringing back memories of sitting with his grandfather as the old man smoked his pipe.

The driver also ate greedily as he drove, never offering Pilya any part of the warm soup or the full, soft bread loaf. Pilya was hungry, but knew better than to say so. A nice winter coat waited for any madman who was not satisfied with dry crusts of bread and spoiled vegetables, the daily meal of the asylum.

When the driver dropped Pilya off in front of the village inn, the sun was beginning to set. He took a well worn leather coin purse from off his side.

"This is your money," he said. He reached in and took out four coins.

"This is payment for the ride. If I was you, I'd use the rest for a nice winter coat."

Pilya tried to control his shaking hands as the driver headed out of the village. It had to be a coincidence when the driver mentioned a winter coat.

He walked into the inn, glad to be out of the cold. A warm fire burned in a large hearth, and the smells of roasted meat and fresh bread filled Pilya with a sense of consolation. Now, finally, he could get back to a normal life, with normal pleasures.

"Can I help you?" a barmaid asked. She was pretty, a nice country accent to go with her blonde hair and pushed up bosom. Once again, Pilya felt better, knowing one day he could find someone just as pretty for a normal relationship.

"I'd like a room for the night, if it's not too expensive."

"Where are you from?" she asked.

Pilya did not know how to answer, and felt stupid as he stood silent thinking of what to say. He could not tell her of the asylum, but he would not lie.

"Well, it's none of my business," the pretty barmaid said, cleaning the inside of a mug with an apron, "but if you ask me, you shouldn't have come all this way without a nice winter coat."

Pilya's heart beat wildly, and breathing became difficult.

"Are you ok?" she asked. "Here, I think there is a perfect winter coat waiting for you out back. I'll go fetch it."

"No thanks," Pilya said. Controlling the emotion in his voice was difficult.

"Well, suit yourself," she said.

Pilya paid for the room, and settled in the bed, the soft feather bed with a real quilt that kept him warm, and fell asleep.

He dreamed of his parents, of his dad wearing his clothes of nobility, coming to him and embracing him. His dad shouted to call all his friends for a celebration on the return of his son. In his dream, his dad cried, and asked him why he ran away with his winter coat. Pilya woke up, choking a scream.

The floor creaked outside the door. Someone moved in the hallway outside his room, and a conversation began. Pilya could only make out muffled curses. The voices began to grow louder.

"Fine, I'll give you a winter coat," someone yelled.

Pilya could not move. There were too many coincidences of winter coats, three so far. Had the world changed so much that winter coats were commonplace? Pilya stayed awake until morning, afraid to fall asleep.

He left the inn quickly, skipping breakfast.

"That man needs a winter coat," someone said as Pilya walked out the door.

He sped down the street, hoping to make it out of the village and on to the city without hindrance.

He passed by rows of two story houses, roofs covered in snow.

"Hey, you look like you could use a nice winter coat," a plump grandma said from her balcony. Pilya walked faster.

He saw a sign in front of a shop. Nice winter coats for cheap, it read. Pilya increased his pace. He used to get winter coats for free, and these sick bastards expect money for them.

"This place is evil," Pilya muttered to himself. He could not stay here any longer.

"Hey, mister," a voice called. Pilya turned.

"I can give you a winter coat if you want."

Pilya ran. He made it out of the village, and stopped to catch his breath. He was free from the sick perverts who wanted to give him a winter coat.

"Hello there, stranger," a voice called out. "You really should have a winter coat if you are going to be outdoors this time of year."

Pilya fell to the ground, crying and tearing at his hair. There was no escape. Everyone, everywhere, wanted to give him a winter coat. The world since he became a madman had become full of insidious and wicked desires. There was no hope anymore for a normal life. Evil was everywhere.

Pilya lay there, sobbing, curled up into a ball. The constable was called, a physician brought in, and soon Pilya was on his way back up the mountain to the asylum. He knew a winter coat waited for him there, for the warden had promised it if Pilya returned. That did not matter, for everyone wanted to give him a winter coat. Pilya would not take it from strangers, only from the man he knew cared for him.

When he checked back into his cell, he waited for the warden's steps to come slowly up the hallway. They came, and the cell door opened.

"You stupid bastard," the warden said, "Now I have to make good on my promise and give you a winter coat. I know you missed it."

Pilya walked on his own, not having to be pushed or pulled out back. Without the warden saying anything, Pilya took off his clothes, and stood naked and barefoot in the snow.

The warden, with a nice winter coat on, took his time throwing buckets of ice water on Pilya. He had not finished, and Pilya was already shaking from the cold.

The warden flicked Pilya's erect nipples. The sharp pain was nothing to the stinging of the near frozen water.

Pilya was glad when the warden began to fondle him, before the bad stuff happened. It always made him feel warm. The voices coming back when he was given a winter coat was the only downside.

So true are the sayings of that village: Kindness is torture for those who never knew love, and The outward life scorns, the inner life weeps.

The End.