Вадим Бабенко - The Place of Quarantine

“You’ve got a point,” I agreed, and asked him right there, “Doesn’t it seem strange that human beings – the size of our bodies, the lifetime of our bodies – are located exactly in the middle?”

“Well, whether it seems so or not, it means at least that human beings shouldn’t complain about their own smallness,” Nestor grinned. And he added, “Don’t think, of course, that I have in mind you personally. Considering the extent of your pride…”

Or I told him once, “In your world, Nestor, God is replaced by the fundamental ellipsoid, but there is almost no difference. All the consequences are basically the same – and you don’t know much more about it than we knew about God. And you rush about in life just like us, even though you were telling me fairy tales about stability – of perception, of understanding – as one of the goals of Quarantine. At least, judging by you.”

Nestor was not offended; he saw that I was deliberately exaggerating, that I was a bit uncomfortable. “You are quite right,” he nodded, “this discussion – about the divine in the laws of chaos – perhaps will never end. Because, you know – a convenient euphemism for the crowd will always be in demand. And we have preachers too – a whole caste of them… The essence, of course, has changed slightly – some of the veils have disappeared. Your religions represent God as some kind of animate figure – one that can think, compare, juxtapose, exhibit emotions, distinguish good from evil, formulate in clear terms certain rules and canons… We here know for sure: the highest power is none other than a specific universal order, which has neither a soul nor morality. In your world, God is feared and exalted, as a boss or lord, whom you can cajole or soften, whom you can beg for something, maybe even playacting shamelessly – well, we don’t have any such dramas here. A so-called God can only be understood, calculated, brought into the framework of mathematical formulas. Yet at the same time, the universal order has more surprises and miracles up its sleeve than any invented deity does. And where there are miracles, there come preachers, only with a different bible. As well as all sorts of chicken-and-egg dilemmas…”

Thus we entertain ourselves, sort of joking around, but now and then we do venture into the jungle of overgrown seriousness. Especially me – the last time it happened was quite recent: two or three intervals back. I remembered Brevich’s words and mulled them over – and I quoted them to Nestor during his next, as always unexpected, visit.

“Death is not so frightening; what’s really scary is getting lost,” I said. Nestor, of course, did not understand me. It was difficult to explain, but I tried, mumbling something about all of us resembling children wandering in a maze – regardless of what picture of the world we have in our minds. Us remaining like children, always being like children – with no discovery ever forcing us to grow up. Because we don’t want to believe in the true cruelty of reality; it is too much for us. And if we acquire something – call it what you want, even if you are afraid of the word – if we find someone, we have only one desire, one dream: to preserve what we have found forever. We live, cherishing and nursing this dream, not wanting to know that it is impossible to achieve. We do not dare to part with it even in our next lives. Or maybe – especially in our next ones…”

“Here you are not being original,” Nestor said to me, disgruntled. “You are breaking down an open door. Or a too-tightly boarded-up one… Basically, you are no philosopher!”

And I felt embarrassed. Later, justifying myself, I related the tediousness of my reasoning to my phantom old age, to the fading of my entity. And indeed, the fading is becoming more and more noticeable. It seems I have grown totally decrepit. My thoughts are slow; my fake body increasingly refuses to function…

Now I’m thinking about this, lying in my chair. Then I get up with difficulty, shuffle to the window, look blindly into the static outline of the world, and suddenly realize that it is no longer frozen. There, beyond the glass, everything is changing – slowly but distinctly, in the most persistent manner. It’s difficult to explain what is happening: the horizon seems to be curving upward; space is collapsing into a multidimensional cocoon. I feel a momentary shock – sensing its unimaginable scale and, at the same time, the simultaneous displacement of all its points, their movements toward each other. I’m not able to see it; I can’t even imagine it properly, but I do sense it – because the string is now ringing in my head.

Barely moving my legs, I go back, fall into my chair and notice the screen has changed too. The word SOON has vanished; in its place, even larger, the more expressive NOW has appeared. And I realize: I no longer have the strength to get up. I am chained to this chair to the end – until the end of my stay in Quarantine.

I am overwhelmed with a long-familiar feeling of boundless solitude – alone, face to face with the universe. The feeling of absurd incomparability – of its power and my infinitesimal weakness. Probably everyone goes through this from time to time. Maybe it proves that all of us – and the universe – are really connected by something. By some kind of invisible but incredibly strong thread.

The words of the old song play in my head: “ Ground control to Major Tom… ” I whisper them out loud, knowing that in my case there is no ground control whatsoever. There is neither a tower with an advanced radar nor a huge radio telescope dish – no one, not a single soul is observing my “takeoff.” There is only the implacable, impersonal, deterministic but unpredictable, noncomputable but inevitable – who? Chaos? Kaosa ? Fowdo ? Huru-hara ? Well, let’s just call it that. What does it have up its sleeve for me? Is there really nothing more?

This thought once again frightens me for the millionth time. I frantically search for something to hold on to – like everyone, like we all do. We humans are clever at inventing fake hopes and clinging to them to save ourselves from despair… But it’s easier for me; I have a theory. A theory, affirmed by mathematics. And I have my B Object.

“Now it is experiencing some changes,” I whisper to myself. “Maybe going through another phase jump. And creating new perturbations in the global field of the conscions…”

I can’t know for sure if this is the case – I just very much want it to be. So that all I’ve done hasn’t been in vain. I almost pray: please, let things not be in vain! I have no gods; I pray to the metabrane.

Then my mind fades away. Before my eyes – something blurry, painfully dull. I blink once, twice, feverishly rub my eyelids, and, all of a sudden, I imagine clearly, almost see Tina – with the bright streak in her hair, with her childish grace – in all her fragility and helplessness, in all her strength, coming out of nowhere. And I try to yell – even if just a rattle escapes my feeble lips. I beg: give me a sign, call me, direct me. You are my wisdom and you are purity, clarity of thought, utmost innocence. I’m dependent on you again, as before. Do not abandon me – in space, all alone. We always believed that we were united by something more than life – more than one life…

And then all the sounds – and my hoarse whisper – are drowned out by the sound of the string. It grows, fills the room – and the world behind it. And on the screen, after more flickering lines, inscriptions appear, one replacing the other:

The goal of your quarantine has been reached

All its objectives achieved

You know what is expected of you

You know what you yourself want