Вадим Бабенко - The Place of Quarantine

“About the finale, the point of culmination!” I chuckled angrily. “About starting at the end and moving back toward the beginning, as you once suggested… Well, the news is: Elsa and I did find what was expected of us. Our memories intersected – with Brevich and Tina, no matter how surprising it is that all our lives are connected together. And, nevertheless, the connection is undoubtful!”

Then I briefly recounted to him Elsa’s dream. Nestor pondered, bowing his head, and said, “Yes, it’s hard not to be surprised. But on the other hand, this testifies in favor of our roommate-selection algorithms… In any case…” He thrust out his chest and adopted an official tone. “In any case, now everything is simplified, is it not? I can put on my task list the tick everyone has deserved – you, me, your Elsa…” He paused, looked at me intently and asked, “This intersection you’ve found, it doesn’t change anything as far the main thing is concerned, right? By the way, have you made your mind up in that regard? What have you decided?”

I ignored the question and said, “I have a request. Would you be able to make an inquiry – given my special status? Or even without my status: Can you try to find Tina – here, in Quarantine, or somewhere in your world – using my descriptions; I can systematize and clarify them for you? I will gather all the details together – there will be a multifaceted, detailed portrait.”

“Like a police report…” Nestor quipped and snapped, “No. New bearers of B Objects cannot be identified using the features of the former ones – all the more so by private request. The inviolable secret of the past, you know, the right to a completely independent future. Maybe some of the newcomers do not want to be found in this way – no matter who is looking for them, even the close ones. Former close ones – are you sure that the women from your first life are so unreservedly striving to meet you again? Including your Tina.”

“So that’s how it is,” I said thoughtfully. “Well… I understand the logic – and I don’t have any more questions.” The words “naive, naive” spun in my head again. And behind every naivety I sensed an impenetrable wall.

“If you don’t have any questions of your own, maybe you can answer mine?” Nestor asked softly but persistently. “Have you decided anything – with regards to my recent proposal?”

“Oh, the proposal…” I muttered with deliberate indifference. “I need to think more, read the articles.”

Nestor threw me a sharp look, pursed his lips and nodded, “Read, read.” And then added, “Well, allow me to express to you my official – and personally sincere – condolences for Tina, who was evidently very precious to you. I regret that her first life was cut so short; you probably wanted it to have been different. Although now you understand: one never knows. Whether this would have been good or bad, I mean…”

“Thank you for your sympathy,” I grunted and closed my eyes. Nestor was guilty of nothing, but continuing talking with him was unbearable.

When I looked at the screen again, it was already empty. “The proposal…” spun in my head. “ Mierda !” For some reason, my irritation with Nestor would not pass. I had to pull myself together – no, Nestor was not my enemy. I knew the enemy; there was no confusing him with anyone.

“What do you want yourself?” I repeated Elsa’s words aloud. And fell silent, not letting the answer rise to the surface. My thoughts were in disarray; most of the day still lay ahead; it was going to stretch out far too long. I did not know how to spend it, what to do with myself. The main thing had already happened – so now what? Never in my life had I had that much free time. On the contrary, there had never been enough of it…

I took a few of the articles from the table, placed them in a neat pile, meticulously aligning the edges. I looked at the pile for a minute or two, then, surprising even myself, hurled the lot into the far corner of the room. They scattered like leaves in the wind. “ Mierda ,” I muttered quietly, and struck the table with my hand, hitting the touchpad. The black shutters slid over the window, the lights went out and the bedroom plunged into darkness. I began to jab randomly at the buttons, cursing under my breath. Then I jumped up, collected the photocopies from the floor and walked to the door, leaving the room in a purple half darkness, with gothic ciphers on the wallpaper.

Elsa was sitting on the couch with a book. I nodded to her, looked away and, without uttering a word, walked to the elevator. It was wrong; I should at least have said something – my roommate was certainly not my foe. But I didn’t want to talk at all.

It was windy outside but warm. I wandered along the seafront for a while, speeding up suddenly, then slowing down again. I walked without noticing anyone, almost like in Bangkok, in my past life, after my argument with Tina. But no, this was not Bangkok with its wild mix of smells, colors and vices. I wasn’t sweating; my clothes weren’t sticking to my body. My body itself didn’t really exist. And, most importantly, there was no Tina.

Then my surroundings gradually began to penetrate my consciousness. I looked around, peered at the oncoming pedestrians, tried to read their faces. I was probably looking too persistently – they turned away from me, some of the men frowning threateningly in response. I just grinned grimly to myself – maybe the fact of me being here, with them, was a caprice of the Cloud, a consequence of our Objects being in the same cluster? Maybe even later, during the new life, my fate will somehow depend on those who are now idly walking along the seafront? Maybe their whims and intentions will mix in with mine, will be getting in my way, or else pushing me somewhere? Or maybe not at all – I had no idea how and why the Quarantiners ended up here together. In any case, no matter what lay ahead, I did not care about them now. Their phantom entities didn’t interest me in the slightest – and most probably none of them would want to know about the field of the conscions and its vortices. For them, like Elsa, just the result was important – and even then only to those who were capable of thinking about such matters as future lives. About the preservation of their memories, their unique personalities; about the journey of consciousness from one world to another…

I went down to the water and wandered among the rocks and scattered remains of seaweed. Then I sat down on a smooth boulder, warmed by the sun, and for a long time looked at the waves, trying to contemplate the cypher of their chaos, which is not chaos. I sat without moving, immersed in a trance, feeling something ripening within me – an urge, a desire? The cumulative vector of a multitude of destinies interlinked with mine? Or the fruit of my own free will, ha-ha?

I was brought out of my stupor by the sound – the chimes of a clock. Then the loudspeakers, set up along the beach, came to life – announcing there was little time left until the evening counseling sessions. I didn’t move – I just did not need another meeting with Nestor now. He might not be my enemy, but I still had nothing to discuss with him; it wouldn’t make any sense.

The waves, however, were no longer fascinating me; their fragile magic had collapsed. After sitting for another half an hour, I got up and walked up the steps to the deserted promenade. Deserted, but not empty: a strange-looking car moved slowly along the seafront. Observing it, I realized it was an automated refuse vehicle collecting the bins standing by the rail and replacing them with empty ones. I caught up with it and glanced inside – there was no driver; only the lights under the windshield blinked.