“Yes,” Nik nodded, “that’s exactly what he thinks.”
“And how does he imagine it? Does he think I'm completely finished?! That I made my own son a slave and fuck him?! Is he nuts in his fantasies?”
“He thinks that your wife Iness was your white slave, and an incomplete half-blood child from a white slave – he is like trash, not important for a true black, he believes that you don’t hold me for a man. Usually, such children are simply drowned, like kittens, after birth. And that’s why you treat me this way, even though I'm your son.”
“Tell him that you are a Demon!”
“I can’t. Zagpeace hates everything Leonardo does, all these rituals, witchcraft and appeal to Demons. He hates Demons. He won’t help us, but on the contrary will interfere. It will get worse!”
“Much worse! Oh-oh-oh, fuck! What to do?”
“Nothing!”
“It’s good for you to say so, you are poor and unfortunate, you are my victim. And I am a monster, a filthy pervert! He'll put me in jail for rituals with Leonardo, for Kamiel Varah and for incest!”
Kors walked around the room from corner to corner:
“And you were silent! You didn’t tell me anything!”
“I knew that you would start to get nervous from scratch.”
“From scratch?!”
“Nothing will happen, Zagpeace won’t do anything to you and won’t put you anywhere!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. And now he has no time for us at all, he is looking for those reds who held him captive.”
Kors shook his head.
“If I ask you not to communicate with black people, not to talk to Zagpeace anymore, if I ask you not to approach people and not talk to them, will you do it for me?”
“Yes. I promised you this even earlier.”
“And you haven’t forgotten your promise?”
“No, Vitor, I haven’t forgotten.”
“Are you with me? Tell me? Are you with me?!”
“Yes.”
“Say: “Yes, father. I promise you not to get close to people.”
“Yes, father, I promise.”
“I promise you…”
“I promise you.”
“Not to get close to people.”
“Not to get close to people.”
And Kors, in a joyful fit, hugged him:
“Just you and me, without unnecessary people, right?”
“Yes.”
Kors gently kissed him on the cheek, on his own letter, then pulled back:
“It’s almost worn out,” there was some regret in his voice, and Nikto noticed it. He took a pencil from his jacket pocket and handed it to Kors:
“Here it is. Do as you want.”
Kors took a pencil, he heard that Nik in his thoughts quickly thought: “Or do you want to cut your letter with a knife on the back of my head?” Kors froze for a moment, but decided to pretend he didn’t understand.