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– I decided everything! Jerk! I won’t be with you. You’ve always been so cruel. You…
– Who will ask you! If not with me, then you will not be with anyone! Whore! How could you exchange me, a Candidate of Masters in boxing, for this skinny guy with glasses. Look at him.
– But I love him. Understand? Do you hear me?
We talked for a long time with my void father. He is always as logical as I once was.
«Yes, dad, she loves someone else, so I shouldn’t interfere. Yes, dad, you can find a peaceful solution. Yes, dad, I won’t fix anything with my fists, I’ll only make it worse. Yes, dad, I need to finish school and spend time applying.»
I nodded my head, lowering my eyes to the floor, although everything was boiling inside. But no, dad, she doesn’t love anyone else. All this time she loved me. And if I don’t work with my fists, then we will never be together.
Did we fight for a few seconds, hours or minutes? At this time I even forgot about Vic. Only my opponent remained. But he really is good in a fight. Why, I wonder, did Vika choose me – and not him? He’s stronger than me. When we both sat down on the asphalt, exhausted, covered in drops of blood, Vika put her hand on my shoulder. Yura looked in our direction. And then he silently shook my hand and walked away, forgetting even about his car.
And yet I loved Vika. No, I needed her not only for procreation, as when I was a voidman. I needed not only her body, like when I was a dem. I looked at my right shoulder: there was no characteristic tattoo on it. I was a man.
The next day I eagerly looked at the paintings that Violetta Semyonovna showed. I could hardly restrain the feelings that suddenly surged: how could this genius artist, with a stroke of his brush, pour out his soul, which remained immortal for four hundred years? Why didn’t I notice this before? Seventeen years of life are wasted. But the rest of my life, which I have only now begun to appreciate, I will not spend on trifles.
Matryoshka effect
I entered my room, although this time everything did not seem so familiar and familiar. Where does this smell of sweat come from, mixed with too much deodorant? Socks are scattered on the floor. The bed is unmade, and she is wearing multi-colored clothes, crumpled into a heap. He walked to the window, disgustedly stepping onto the long-unwashed floor. He pulled back the curtain to dispel the prevailing twilight. I saw posters on the walls: rock bands, scantily clad girls. As soon as the handle was pulled up, the room was filled with moist, cold October air, mixed with the choice swear words of the local «gentlemen» who were constantly sitting at the tables, as well as with the endless hum of cars. But it became fresher, at least you can breathe. A corner of a precariously hidden erotic magazine peeked out from under the bed: what can you take from a teenager? And next to it lay an equally unsuccessfully hidden white book. I wanted to leave everything in place, but curiosity got the better of me.
«Diary of Nikita Sivtsov, 8th grade student» Flipped through. «Behavior – 2, interferes with the lesson», «No homework! 2», «Had a fight with a classmate», «Smokes on school grounds. Parents should urgently approach the school principal for a conversation.» Mathematics test – and then a bad mark. Has he even stopped learning his favorite math? By the way, there were more notes in red ink than shades of blue ballpoint pen. Of course, there is almost no diary kept, so teachers even have to write down subjects in red pen.
The door creaked.
«I asked: never come into my room without asking.» This is my personal space, and you are violating it.
The voice has barely begun to become rough, sometimes breaking into falsetto. The first fluff is above the lip. On the black T-shirt is the inscription «Down with the State.» When I go out, I sometimes take a hat with me, but he still wears a T-shirt. But the main distinguishing feature: a black eye on half the face.
He handed the diary forward. Nikita immediately lowered his head.
– Even a D in math? Last year you only got an A. Remember how you idolized Vera Fedorovna!
– I… I just didn’t understand this topic. It seems like he taught. And then all the rules flew out of my head. And Vera Fedorovna was so unhappy – she sobbed, or did it seem to me? – She is good. The only good person in our… school.
He pretended not to pay attention to his obscene expression.
– Nikit, you’re a smart guy. You can become, for example, a programmer or an engineer. Or you can become like me. that’s fair. I would give anything to go back to school and correct all my math grades and achieve what is now out of reach.
The boy shyly wanted to hide his hands in his pocket, but then another trouble awaited him: a pack of cigarettes treacherously fell out onto the floor.
– You’re already smoking! How many times have you been told – it’s harmful! At your age I also became addicted. And I still can’t quit. Although I tried five times. And then again any trouble, and the hand again treacherously reaches for a cigarette.
A challenge flashed in Nikita’s eyes, and the shyness disappeared as if by hand.
«If I want to, I’ll quit at any moment.» I’m strong, I’m a man! And now I decide for myself: I like it, so I smoke. I’m already an adult.
– An adult, yes. I see you’ve decided to give up on studying and you’re smoking. Did you go to the rally again, wearing that T-shirt of yours? If you are caught, your father will be punished.
«And you’re not my father to give me orders,» he clenched his fists. And some kind of irreconcilable rage appeared in the slitted eyes. His mood changes… just like, in fact, any teenager.
Father… I concentrated, trying to remember the features of his face. But at one time I was taken into Krylov’s gang for my good memory. I was especially good at remembering faces. But I can’t remember the face. And the name… Did I even have a father? «The matryoshka effect,» I think Professor Belgorodsky called this phenomenon that way. And also recursion.
I took Nikita by the elbow and led him to the mirror.
– Look at you. And then at me.
– Well?
– Don’t you see anything strange? – I ask
– Well, you look a little like me, so what? Brother or what? Or uncle?
– Nikit, do you know how many mistakes of my youth I would like to correct if possible? I am you.
Nikita pulled out his elbow and ran back a few steps.
– What? Are you drunk or stoned? Show your pupils.
«I’m sober, I haven’t drunk for five years now.» I repeat once again: I am you, only twenty-five years older.
– Came back from the future to save Sarah Connor?
– No, to save myself, that is, you.
– You don’t look like me. That is, it is a little similar, but so boring, you read the notations. I will never be like that. So, I went.
He didn’t say another word. A couple of seconds later the front door slammed.
I waited until late at night, but fell asleep to the sound of the TV on. And in the morning, as soon as I opened my eyes, I saw Nikita in the news bulletin. More precisely, the guy’s face was blurred, but I recognized a T-shirt with a characteristic inscription: «An eighth-grader, under the influence of drugs, stole a policeman’s service weapon and shot him during an unauthorized rally.»
I burst into tears. It seemed so simple: press the button in Belgorodsky’s invention, and you can correct any mistake of the past.
«It is impossible to correct the past,» Professor Belgorodsky said at our last meeting. «It’s very difficult to fix someone else’s, but you can’t fix your own.» It is advisable not to date yourself, this can lead to the «matryoshka effect». You will lock yourself into a looped period of time. You will meet yourself, trying to talk you out of your actions, then after a certain time you will return to me again to return to the past again, and so on ad infinitum.
– But why can’t the past be corrected?
– There, in the distant past, it’s not you, but a completely different Nikita Sivtsov. And his future is already determined by your past actions.
– But I’ll try.
I tried – so what? I know the future that awaits Nikita. Jail. Then Krylov’s gang. Drugs, prison again. It took me twenty-five years to understand that things couldn’t go on like this. But now nothing can be fixed: they won’t hire me for any job. Steal again?
When the tears dried up, I decided to try pressing the button: what if the recursion breaks and I can return to my time?
Belgorodsky sat in front of me, drinking red wine in small sips.
– Well, are you convinced? «There was sympathy in his intonation, but he really wanted to hit the professor in the face.
– Have you also tried to correct the past?
– I tried it. My nesting doll has been disassembled ten times. Until I realized that the past cannot be corrected. Each time there was a teenager waiting for me. Driven by youthful maximalism and rejection of the older generation. But the future is in our hands. Do you know what good future awaits you?
– So you looked into my future too?
Belgorodsky smiled conspiratorially.
– You will become a great scientist, make a breakthrough in mathematics and physics. During your school years, you really liked studying mathematics.
– Which one is it? After prison, I wasn’t even hired as a loader everywhere.
– Change your last name.
The professor pulled me by the elbow and led me to the mirror.
– I forgot to introduce myself at our first meeting. My name is Nikita. Twenty-five years ago I changed my last name. Becoming Belgorodsky. And before that he bore the surname Sivtsov.
I peered into the old man’s facial features. But the scar on his cheek is exactly the same as mine! There is a scar on his arm: apparently, he once had a tattoo in this place. This can’t be true.
– The past cannot be changed, the «matryoshka effect» will not give it. But the future is in your hands, Sivtsov-Belgorodsky. Don’t let the nesting doll close your future too.
The alarm clock rang. I woke up. Under my feet lay a bottle of vodka I had drunk yesterday, but my head didn’t hurt. And for some reason the mood was high: I knew. That this is the last bottle of vodka. Alcohol is a thing of the past. And the future is in my hands.
Entanglement of Souls
Have you noticed the invisible connection that arises between close people? You reach for the phone to dial her, and at the same second the call rings: it’s her. This connection is not weakened by thousands of kilometers. Sometimes you can’t find a place for yourself: anxiety leading to panic. You make a call and she breaks her leg. But I once encountered a stranger manifestation of such quantum entanglement of souls.
The sun is a thermonuclear reactor. Usually it gives warmth and life, but on this day the withered grass drooped its «head» stems in the hope of hiding from its overprotection. It smelled… what does it usually smell like in cities? Exhaust fumes, asphalt melting under the summer heat. Dust. The smells coming from the cafes contrast, but at fifty degrees in the sun this smell does not seem pleasant.
When entering the subway, I put on a medical mask, hoping to protect myself from an invisible enemy. There’s no crowding of people; they make noise, hurry somewhere, as if at this pace of life they will have time to see more than they are destined to see. Ants are too small to see the whole world; their life is only enough for an anthill. But on this day I did not see any malice on the faces of those I met: even under the masks one could read a slight smile. Everyone is tired of hiding from the virus in concrete prisons; they want to see their colleagues and take a break from the gaze of the web camera. A person quickly gets used to new conditions, so many, when a policeman is not watching them, strive to pull the mask down to their chin: they are tired of living in fear. How many epidemics have we survived! Will we survive today in stuffiness and a mask?
Got on the escalator. There is a wall of people in front and behind, so there is no choice: move forward and only there. SHE was rushing towards me in the same cage of human bodies. Our gazes met for a moment, and then the river carried her upward, to freedom. I tried to turn around to extend this visual acquaintance, but those behind me began to shout something unpleasant. The metro is a cemetery of feelings; everyone wants to bury a piece of their negativity here. The lower you go underground, the angrier people are.
The day passed as usual: routine, many calls, reports. Plants absorb viviparous sunlight and moisture, people make paper from plants, such is the bureaucratic cycle. But that day I couldn’t concentrate on anything: her eyes were in front of my eyes. If I were a world-famous writer, I would not be able to describe her face: her features either clearly emerged in my head or were hidden in the fog. If I were a policeman, I would have prepared an identikit long ago and posted a search notice throughout the city.
My colleagues and I went to a nearby cafe for lunch. Daily empty conversations: yesterday a beauty spent the night with Semyon again, Ilya caught a ten-kilogram (according to him) ide over the weekend, Dimon and Slava discussed the next mission in «Tanks». I said some nonsense myself. Sometimes it seems to me that people practice blowing soap bubbles: the larger the ball, the higher your status, but inside it is empty. At that moment everything was nonsense to me except her eyes. I stopped blinking so as not to scare me away: there she was, sitting at the next table. She smiled at me mysteriously and waved her hand. Now I had time to see the black raven hair and the small dimple on the chin. The boys turned around to follow the direction of my gaze.
– Hey, Sanya, did you see a ghost there?
I came out of my stupor. He blinked – and the next table was empty, there was no sign of her.
– Yes, I was thinking about my own things. Never mind.
«You’re kind of thoughtful today.» Who is she? – Semyon winked at me conspiratorially.
– Later, guys. I’ll tell you everything.
These are the stars who have affairs with fake kisses on camera. That’s why they are stars, to shine for everyone. For the common man, love hides behind the curtains: the fewer witnesses, the stronger the connection.
That night she came in a dream for the first time. This time I managed to see not only the diamonds of her bottomless blue eyes and the unnatural blackness of her hair, but also every curve of her body. A sculptor creates a masterpiece from some detail, and then fills in the missing parts. I slowly reached out to her, afraid to wake up from any sudden movement and frighten away my dream. She hit me on the arm and pouted playfully.
– Impudent. Not on the first date. Otherwise I will never come to you again.
– What is your name?
«Try to come up with a name for me yourself,» she glanced briefly from under her lowered eyelashes.
– The name must be unusual. Secret. Yes, I would call you Mystery.
«You can call me Mystery if you want.»
– And my name is…
– Sorry, not today. Let’s agree tomorrow.
An alarm clock is a guardian of time. Every morning he reminds you how fleeting the nights are. You’ll sleep an extra minute, then another one the next day, and you won’t notice. How life goes by. But that morning I didn’t want to wake up at all. Maybe a dream is reality, and what we consider reality is just a simulation? Get crazy. It would soon be night again.
Mint flavor of toothpaste. Two eggs on a hot frying pan. The bitter taste of invigorating coffee and the poisonous smoke filling the lungs – there is no way to wake up without them. The Ministry of Health warns, but what in city life does not harm our health? Maybe stress at work is good, or the crush on the subway?
All in all, an ordinary morning. Only this time I eagerly peered into their faces, hoping to see the one and only thing. During the break, I went to the same cafe and sat at the same table, but she was no longer there. The only time in my life that I appreciated my introversion. I also often spent an entire shift in silence, so even today no one noticed anything unusual in my behavior. I didn’t want to explain anything to anyone. I really wanted to fall asleep quickly.
As soon as I closed my eyelids, she was there again, only this time naked.
– I told you that nothing would happen on the first date, but today is the second.
She pressed her lips to mine.
***
Cold and dark. There seemed to be no beginning or end to them. A man’s silhouette shone like a bright spot, like a lighthouse in an endless ocean. Wait, it’s me! My face, my appendix scar, my angel tattoo. But why am I there, on the bed, and here, in the dark? So cold! Just yesterday I was ready to take off my shorts and go to work, just to escape the heat, but now I’m shaking like I’m in the cold.
A man who looked so much like me opened his eyes. There was darkness all around, but the glow of his (my?) body made it possible to see the room a few centimeters away from him. I swam after him. For some reason I didn’t need to lift my legs. To move. No-I went to the kitchen and took the salt shaker. Not-I surrounded myself with a circle of salt. No-I smiled… where did I see that smile? That’s her smile! Having examined not-myself more closely, I recognized her features.
– Secret! It’s you! I am so glad to see you! What’s happening? Why is it so cold?
– Sorry.
«I have nothing to forgive you for.» I love you. But I don’t understand what’s happening.
«I almost fell in love with you too, but do I have a choice?»
– What are you talking about?
«I’m sorry…» she whispered. I feel like I’m almost crying.
– Explain to me what the hell is happening here!
– Okay, you deserve it.
