Wind in the Hands Read Online Free Page B

stare and crushed his will. At first, the hypnotist made up the image of a small dog. Fixing it in his head, he conveyed the dog image to the Prosecutor as if placing it image with a mouse click to the head and said firmly and clearly, “You are a dog.”
    The Prosecutor’s eyes became meaningless and glazed. A respectful man went limp, became drawn, went down on his knees, stood on all fours and started to sniff something. His wife opened her mouth amazed and stared at the stage with horrified eyes. The Seer took a pen out of his pocket, threw it down, and ordered,
    “Take it and bring it to me.”
    Even when he was young and was in the service or military courses, the Prosecutor did not fulfill commanders’ orders so high-spiritedly as that one. On all fours, leaning on his knees and palms, he ran up to the pen lying on the floor, carefully fetched it with his teeth and brought to the Seer in the same manner.
    “Good dog. Good dog,” he took the pen out of the Prosecutor’s mouth, wiped it fastidiously with his handkerchief and tenderly tousled a new dog at the back of his neck. The Prosecutor had never been happier in all his life as at that time. His eyes were shining and he even tried to lick the Seer’s hand, but the Seer removed it just on time.
    The Prosecutor’s wife rushed to the stage.
    “Stop this immediately!” she cried out. “I beg you! What are you doing?”
    “Lady,” the Seer looked at her wanly, “it is a lesson for your husband.”
    The performance was on live and the entire country was laughing at that respected man playing a dog. The prosecutor did not remember anything, but he saw the recording of his shame and could not live with that. It was especially hard after his court claim for harm to his honor and dignity was dismissed. He had many friends and no one dared take legal action against the Seer. The prosecutor was a burnt card; he shrank into himself, retired. His kids were bullied at school and asked to bark. His wife was looked at scornfully or with sympathy which made the proud woman suffer. Soon the former prosecutor shot himself in his study.
    The widow, having wept over her deceased husband, came to the Seer and he met her in cold blood. She jumped up to the host, bunching her fists, but did not dare strike her enemy,
    “You have killed my husband! Broken the life of my family! He did not believe in your power! What of it? You have stomped him! And it is not only he who suffered, but our kids who are left without their good and caring father and breadwinner. Has the God bestowed power on you to take your bodily imperfections on successful and beautiful people? No! You do not act from the God! Priests are right in saying that you are a demon and spiteful sorcerer. What right have you had to destroy our world? Oh, if only I could destroy you!”
    “The waiting list is too long, I’m afraid, you will have to wait long,” the Seer answered indifferently. “Do you want to hear a reason or have you come to shed your pain?”
    “A reason? Can there be a reason?” the widow was indignant.
    “There is always a reason, but we sometimes cannot see it. But you haven’t come to learn why; you have come to learn how you are going to live on. Death of your husband is a motive to approach me. Your spouse was a good father but he has never been faithful and do not raise your eyebrows, do not play with me. You must have heard about many broken lives of the people, whom your husband has sent to jail. And do not tell me that they are all criminals; some of them were absolutely innocent. Your husband made severe sentences disproportionate with crimes. Just hear the last one: a young man who was foolish enough to get into the house of a politician, stole some paper in the form of banknotes and several gold trinkets was sentenced to eight years of prison. Eight years!”
    The Seer’s eyes flashed. He was silent for some time, then calmed down and spoke on, “your husband, an excellent