Vladimir Savchenko - Self-discovery

Overshadowed by the glowing glory of the avenue, the moon wandered behind the translucent clouds. But nobody had time to look at it.

“And when they were young they dreamed about living exciting, interesting, meaningful lives, about discovering new worlds. Who didn’t have that dream? And they probably still dream about it, passionately and impotently. What’s wrong? They didn’t have the spirit to follow their dreams? And what for? Why give free rein to your dreams and deepest feelings — who knows where it might lead! — when you can buy ready — made dreams and feelings, when you can safely party at a feast for invented heroes? And so they partied themselves sick, wasted their spiritual strength on trifles, and what they have left is enough power to muster a walk down the avenue.”

Hilobok walked past him with a young girl. “So Harry has a new one!” the arrival thought.

He watched him walk on. Should he catch up with him and inquire about Krivoshein? “Nah, in any case it’s best to stay away from Hilobok.” The arrival and Kravets stepped onto the same block.

“At one time the humanoid apes diverged: some picked up rocks and sticks and began working, thinking; and others stayed to swing in the trees. And now on earth another transition is beginning, more powerful and driving than the ancient ice age: the world is about to leap into a new qualitative state. But what do they care? They are willing to stay safe in front of the TV — it’s easy to satisfy their simple demands through technology!” the angry Victor Kravets muttered to himself. “What do they care about all the new vistas opened up by science, technology, industry? What’s our work to them? You can increase intelligence, cleverness, and work capabilities — so what? They’ll learn something not for the pleasure of mastery and satisfying intellectual curiosity, but in order to earn more, to have easy work, and to get ahead of others. They will buy and hoard so that people will notice their success, to fill their empty lives with worries about their possessions. And about a rainy day. It might never come but because of it, all their other days are cloudy. boring! I’m going to go to Vladivostok, on my own, before I’m sent there officially. The project will die off naturally. It won’t help them in any way: in order to take advantage of an opportunity like that you have to have high goals, spiritual strength, and a dissatisfaction with yourself. And they are only dissatisfied with their surroundings: the situation, their friends, life, the government — you name it, as long as it’s not themselves. Well, let them walk around. As they say, science is helpless here….” They were separated only by the post office building. The angry thoughts ebbed away. There was only an inexplicable uneasiness before the people who walked past Kravets.

“Someone said: no one despises the crowd more than the mediocrity who manages to climb above it. Who?” he frowned as he thought. “Wait a minute, I said that myself about someone else. Of course, about someone else, I wouldn’t have said it about me….” He was disgusted. “In trampling them, I trample myself. I haven’t come so far; I used to be just like them. Wait up! Does this mean that I simply want to disappear? And to keep from being terribly embarrassed and not to lose my self — respect, I’m trying to give this flight a philosophical basis? I haven’t sold out anyone: everything is true; science is helpless, and that’s how it should be. My God, an intellectual’s mind is wondrously base and self — serving! (By the way, I’ve thought or said that about someone else, too; all of life’s verities are nicer when applied to others.) And that intelligent one is me. All my gears are going full blast, contempt for the crowd, theoretical discursiveness…. Hmmmm!” He blushed and felt hot. “So this is where disaster can lead. Well, all right, let’s see what else there is for me to do.”

Suddenly his legs were rooted to the pavement! Walking toward him with an easy stride was a young man with a backpack and a raincoat over his arm. “Adam!” Kravets felt a chill and his heart sank. It wasn’t a man but a living pang of his conscience coming toward him on that street. Adam’s eyes were thoughtful and angry, and the corners of his mouth drooped forbiddingly. “He’s going to see me, recognize me….” Victor looked away so as not to give himself away, but curiosity won out: he stared at him. No, Adam didn’t look like a “slave” now — that was a confident, strong, and decisive man. A memory floated up of a disheveled head against a background of dusky wallpaper, eyes wide with hatred, and a ten — pound iron dumbbell raised over his face.

The arrival walked on past him. “Of course, how could he recognize me?” Kravets sighed in relief. “But why is he back? What does he want?”

He watched the man disappear into the crowd. “Maybe I should catch up with him and tell him what happened? All the help that… No. Who knows why he’s here.” He was overwhelmed with despair again. “This is where all outwork and experiments have led. Damn it! We’re afraid of each other. Wait… that is the other variant! But will it help?” Victor bit his lip, thinking hard.

Adam had disappeared.

“Well, enough self — torture!” Kravets said, shaking his head. “This isn’t my work alone. And I can’t escape — the work must be saved.”

He pulled out the change from his pocket, counted it, swallowed a hungry gulp, and went into the post office.

He just had enough to pay for a short telegram: MOSCOW, MOSCOW STATE U., BIOLOGY DEPT. TO KRIVOSHEIN. FLY OUT IMMEDIATELY. VALENTIN.

He sent the telegram and went out on the street. He turned down a street that led to the Institute of Systemology. After a few steps he turned to see if anyone was following him. The street was empty, and the only person watching was the pretty woman with the bankbook in the brightly lit ad on the department store that said, “Save your money at the bank” in foot — high letters. Her eyes promised to love anyone who saved.

The sign over the administrator’s window in the House of the Collective Farmer read:

Room for a man — 60 kopeks.

Room for a horse — 1 ruble 20 kopeks.

The man who had arrived from Vladivostok sighed and handed his passport through the window. “Give me a sixty — kopek room, please.”

The next morning the officer on duty in the city department handed Investigator Onisimov the report of the policeman on guard at the sealed laboratory. It stated that during the night, approximately between 1:00 and 2:00 A.M., an unknown man in a white shirt attempted to enter the lab through a window. The policeman’s shout scared him off into the park.

“I see!” Matvei Apollonovich rubbed his hands in satisfaction. “Returning to the scene of the crime….”

Yesterday he had sent notice to citizen Azarov and to citizen Kolomiets. Matvei Apollonovich wasn’t really counting on the academician’s showing up in his office — but the stub of the notice would be handy to have around. Elena Ivanovna Kolomiets, an engineer at a construction design bureau near the Systemology Institute, showed up promptly at ten.

When she entered his office, Hilobok’s wavy hand gestures came to mind; she was a beautiful woman. “Isn’t she just fine?” thought Onisimov. Any single feature of Elena Ivanovna’s, taken out of context, was ordinary — her dark hair was like any hair, and her nose was only a nose (perhaps even too upturned), and the oval of her face was just an oval — but together they created such a harmonious picture, a picture that needed no analysis but simply called to be enjoyed and remarked upon as an example of nature’s great sense of proportion.