“You are two minutes late, Samokhina.”
“I… I couldn’t find number 38. I thought it was on the third floor.
“I am not interested in that.”
Sasha lingered by the door, not knowing where to go and what to do. Portnov beckoned her with a bent finger. She approached; Portnov, in the same striped sweater, sat behind the office desk, watching her intently. His gaze—over the glasses—made Sasha even more uncomfortable.
“Just look how bogged down we are,” said Portnov, perhaps to Sasha, perhaps to himself. “Up to our ears. Pure jelly. Why don’t you come here.”
He got up, his chair squeaked lightly, and in the next moment he was right next to her. Very close. She smelled his cologne—and had a split second to wonder. For some reason, she didn’t think someone like Portnov would use cosmetics.
Above, almost over her head, the bare light bulb burned brightly. Round black shadows lay on the linoleum floor. Projections. Shadows…
“I am listening. Tell me what you have learned.”
Sasha began, losing her way, stumbling, absolutely sure that she would never get close even to the end of the first paragraph. And further—after the first ten lines—it was hard to imagine, there existed a black hole, and the gibberish melted into a solid gray hum…
“Look in here.”
He lifted a hand to her face; she saw a ring on his finger, a ring that was not there before. A large pink stone diffracted the light of the bulb, became bright blue, then green; Sasha held her breath. She felt dizzy, took a step, trying to maintain equilibrium…
“Hold it.”
She blinked. The ring was no longer there. Portnov stood beside her, holding her shoulders.
“Good job,” he said with unexpected kindness. “I can see you worked hard. But it is only a miniscule step. You must work like this every single day. For your next practice, read Section 2. Everything that is underlined in red must be memorized.”
“But what about..?”
“Good bye, Samokhina, you are cutting into somebody else’s time already. Go.”
Sasha stepped into the hallway, where Andrey Korotkov waited, leaning over the wall.
“So?” he asked impatiently. “Did he yell a lot? What happened, anyway?”
“Korotkov, I am waiting,” said Portnov’s voice.
The door closed behind Andrey. Sasha shook her head, completely bewildered. She lifted her watch to her nose.
Fifteen minutes had passed since she entered Auditorium number 38.
“I told you, I did not see him for many years. He showed up in August. I failed the law school entrance exams… And in September I was turning eighteen. My mother was in shock. And then he shows up! Sort of a savior. Made everything work out… Do you think I wanted to come here? I wanted to enlist! Well, not so much wanted to, but…”
Sasha and Kostya were walking down Sacco and Vanzetti Street, and then down Peace Street, and one other street, further and further from the town center, not really knowing the destination. At first, Sasha told him about the morning swimming sessions, about the gold coins, running in the park and the trip to Torpa. Then Kostya spoke. His story was much simpler.
“…He literally made me. Had I known what it was like here… I’d definitely have enlisted.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Sasha said.
Kostya threw her a surprised glance.
“My father left when I was a little girl,” Sasha said. “He had another family. And he never showed up again. My entire life it was just Mom and me. Always, just the two of us. And… My biggest fear—do you know what it is? That something will happen to her. I remember now what Farit did and said to me… He never threatened me openly. He allowed my fear, all by itself, to break loose and spread all over me. All of me. And my fear brought me here—and is holding me down. And will continue holding me.”
The street suddenly ended. Sasha and Kostya went by the last two deserted-looking houses, and unexpectedly found themselves on the bank of a narrow but relatively clean river. Grass crept close to the stream. A fisherman in a roomy jacket with a hood stood on the wooden dock.
“Would you look at that,” Kostya mused. “Think we can even swim here?”
Sasha followed him down to the water. Grass clung to their feet. Cattails swayed gently, and frogs croaked on the opposite bank. Kostya sat down on a fallen tree trunk, old, bark-less, mossy in places. Sasha lowered herself next to him.
“I wonder if there are any fish here,” Kostya lowered his voice. “I used to love this stuff. I even went fishing in the winter once…”
The fisherman gave his line a strong pull. A silver fish the size of a man’s palm flew up over the water, escaped the hook and fell at Sasha’s feet, then hopped on the grass. The fisherman turned to face them.
This time he was not wearing glasses. The brown eyes of Farit Kozhennikov were perfectly friendly.
“Good evening, Alexandra. Good evening, Kostya. Sasha, please hand me the fish.”
Sasha bent down. The fish trembled in her hand; taking a wide swing, Sasha threw it into the water. Circles stayed on the surface for a few seconds. A few scales stuck to Sasha’s palm.
“Have fun catching it,” Sasha’s voice rang out. “Just keep your feet dry.”
Kozhennikov smirked. He placed his fishing rod on the grass, unbuttoned his jacket and sat down on the tree trunk next to his son. Sasha remained standing. Kostya tensed up, but did not get up.
“How’s everything? Classmates, professors? Are you settling down?”
“I hate you,” Sasha said. “And I will find a way to make you pay for it. Not now. Later.”
Kozhennikov nodded abstractedly.
“I understand. We shall come back to that conversation… in a little while. Kostya, do you also hate me?”
“What I want to know,” Kostya said, anxiously rubbing his knee. “Do you really… Can you really turn reality into a dream? Or is it hypnosis? Or some other trick?”
Still smiling, Kozhennikov spread his hands wide, as if saying—well, that’s just how it works.
“And do you have power over accidents?” Kostya continued. “People get sick, die, get run over by cars…”
“If one directs the sail, does he direct the wind?”
“Cheap sophistry,” Sasha interjected.
“The question is,” Kozhennikov glanced at her, “the question is what should be considered a tragic accident, and what should be considered a happy occurrence. And this, my friends, you cannot possibly know.”
“But you keep this knowledge for us,” Sasha cut in again.
“What exactly are these coins?” Kostya asked.
Kozhennikov absentmindedly stuck his hand into his pocket. He took out a gold disk, and Sasha saw a familiar rounded three-dimensional symbol.
“Look. This is a word that has never been pronounced. And it never will be.” Kozhennikov flipped the coin, it flew up and landed back on his palm. “Do you understand?”
Sasha and Kostya were silent.
“You will understand,” Kozhennikov nodded reassuringly. “Are you interested in fishing? Kostya?”
“No,” said Kozhennikov-junior with disdain. “We have a lot of work for tomorrow. See you.”
Without a backward glance, he walked away from the river.
She could deal with the mornings and afternoons. She was busy, she had lectures, classes, all sorts of worries. But in the evenings, and especially during the nights, she cried. Every night. Turning her face to the wall.
She missed her home, longed terribly for Mom. Dozing off, she would see Mom enter the room, stand right next to her bed… Sasha would wake up—and cry again.