That night the city was different.
It was no longer silent.
Somewhere far off, metal was ringing.
Muffled.
Rhythmic.
As if someone were slowly striking a hammer against an anvil.
Lina followed the sound.
It led her through narrow lanes.
Past houses without doors.
Past windows where no one lived.
Until finally she reached a small square.
A forge stood in the middle of it.
The chimney wasn’t smoking.
But a fire burned inside.
She pushed the door open.
Heat wrapped around her face.
The room held no swords.
No horseshoes.
Faces hung on the walls.
Hundreds of them.
A young man’s.
An old woman’s.
A child’s.
A teacher’s.
A priest’s.
An artist’s.
A businessman’s.
All of them were made of metal.
Some gleamed.
Others were cracked.
Still others – patched.
Lina came closer.
One mask was smiling.
Its eyes were completely empty.
Another looked stern.
A third – its gaze lowered submissively.
Suddenly she heard a voice.
– Don’t touch it.
A woman stood by the anvil.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Her hands were black with soot.
Her hair tied into a thick braid.
She held a hammer.
She didn’t look old.
She didn’t look young.
She looked as though she had always existed.
She set a glowing mask on the anvil.
Struck it once with the hammer.
The metal rang out.
The mask smiled.
– Do you make them?
Lina asked.
The woman shook her head.
– No.
– Then who does?
– People.
She struck it again with the hammer.
– I only repair them.
Lina didn’t understand.
– Why would masks need repairing?
– Because they wear down.
– From what?
– From life.
The Smith picked up another one.
There was a deep crack along its edge.
– This one was worn by a man who spent thirty years pretending to be brave.
She stroked the crack.
– One day he got tired.
The mask couldn’t hold.
Another one lay further on.
Very beautiful.
Almost perfect.
– And this one?
– The perfect woman’s.
– What happened to her?
– She never once got angry.
So the mask rusted from the inside.
Lina walked slowly along the wall.
Every mask was different.
On one, in small letters, was engraved:
CONVENIENT.
On another:
NEVER WRONG.
Further on:
SPIRITUAL.
SUCCESSFUL.
GOOD DAUGHTER.
GOOD SON.
STRONG.
She stopped.
– This is…
The woman nodded.
– Yes.
People usually don’t come here for a new life.
They come to fix up an old face.
– And if they no longer want it?
The Smith looked straight at Lina for the first time.
– Then they simply stop coming here.
– Why?
– Because living without a mask is much harder.
She walked over to a wooden cabinet.
Opened it.
Inside lay hundreds of unfinished masks.
Some were barely begun.
Others – without eyes.
Others still – without a mouth.
– What are these?
– Children.
– Children?
– They’re born without masks.
Then people come.
And start hammering.
“Be good.”
“Be strong.”
“Don’t cry.”
“Don’t argue.”
“Don’t disappoint.”
“Be like your brother.”
“Be like your father.”
“Be normal.”
With every sentence…
The Smith touched one of the masks with a finger.
…the metal grows thicker.
– But everyone adapts, don’t they?
– Yes.
– Otherwise you wouldn’t survive.
– I agree.
The Smith picked up one mask.
Handed it to Lina.
– Put it on.
It was light.
She barely felt any weight.
– What do you feel?
– Nothing.
– Really?
Lina thought about it.
Strange.
She suddenly felt calm.
No more need to think.
No more need to choose.
No more need to be afraid.
– It protects.
Lina said quietly.
The Smith nodded.
– Yes.
At first the mask protects.
Only later…
It becomes a prison.
Lina took it off.
For a moment the room seemed to grow colder.
– So why don’t people take them off?
– Because after many years…
The Smith picked up a mirror.
Held it up in front of Lina.
– They no longer remember…
Where the face ends.
And where the mask begins.
Lina looked at her reflection.
It was her in the mirror.
But behind her.
Barely visible.
Another face hung.
Like a transparent mask.
It almost lined up perfectly with the real one.
Almost.
– Is that…
– Yours.
Lina stepped back.
– I don’t want it.
– Everyone says that.
– Then why is it there?
The Smith smiled.
– Because it never asks.
People put it on themselves.
Little by little.
Every day.
One small decision after another.
Lina stayed silent for a long time.
– And what happens to those…
Who take it off after all?
The Smith set down the hammer.
The fire in the forge crackled quietly.
– At first…
They lose almost everything.
– Why?
– Because people loved their mask.
Not them.
A long silence filled the forge.
Lina looked at the hundreds of metal faces.
Suddenly she understood.
Not a single mask was bad.
Every one of them had once saved someone.
A child.
A teenager.
An adult.
The only trouble was…
That none of them wanted to be taken off.
– And you?
Lina asked.
– Do you have a mask?
The Smith laughed.
For the first time.
– I did.
– Where is it now?
She gestured toward the furnace.
Molten metal flowed slowly inside it.
– One day I understood…
That a person can’t find themselves…
While they’re still fixing up something that was never really them.
The fire suddenly flared.
The whole forge began to fade.
The walls.
The anvil.
The masks.
Everything dissolved like smoke.
Only the Smith’s voice remained.
Calm.
Firm.
– Remember, Lina.
Masks don’t hide the person.
They hide him from himself.
She woke before dawn.
From the heat.
As if she were still standing by the furnace.
She sat up in bed.
Walked over to the mirror.
Looked at her reflection for a long time.
For the first time, she wasn’t judging it.
Wasn’t looking for flaws.
Wasn’t looking for beauty.
Only observing.
As though she weren’t looking at a face.
But at a question.
She sat down at the desk.
Opened the black notebook.
Held the pen in her hand for a long time.
Finally she wrote.
My greatest fear isn’t being myself.
She stopped.
Slowly crossed out the last word.
And wrote it again.
My greatest fear is that no one will love the person who’s left once the mask comes off.