Sergey Dyachenko - Vita Nostra

First years crowded the dining hall. Their first winter exams were coming up, but the queue was animated by their laughter and lively conversations; first year girls flirted with the boys, the boys exchanged witticisms. Sasha thought that any first year student at any dining hall of any given institute would behave in the same manner.

Second years sat hunched over their plates—some wearing gloves, some wearing glasses, some with a nervous tic. Even in the dining hall most of them couldn’t part with their books, printouts and headphones. These students had already lived through the destruction and recreation, and now they faced their first exam in Introduction to Applied Science. Sasha mentally wished them luck.

Yegor was not there. Sasha took another good look around, but it was in vain.

Out of the entire lunch menu she chose fruit compote, pale pink, with a slice of apple on the bottom of the glass. She sat in the corner of the dining hall facing the entrance—to make it easier to observe the room.

Here they are, eating and drinking. They are still almost entirely human; they have human psyches and human bodies. With time, during the learning process, they will come out of their human skin and become Words, tools of Speech, the bones and tendons of a highly complex text that is called reality. Words know no fear, and no death. Words are free and conform only to Speech. And Speech—Sasha knew this!—is the core of harmony.

“Dear third years, I’m so used to the individual sessions with each of you that it feels a bit strange—and all the more pleasant— to see the entire group in one room. I’m glad this small Auditorium number 14 fits every one of us. Am I right—is everyone here? Do we need a roll call?”

“Everyone is here,” Kostya said with a quick glance around the room. The third years of Group A sat behind the desks, chilly air wafted through the open window, and the heat from the radiators made the air above them tremble.

Sterkh was smiling. His sharp chin nearly touched his speckled tie, arranged in a soft romantic knot. His black suit puckered on his back. Sasha always wondered why Sterkh insisted on wearing his wings even while in his human appearance.

Unlike Portnov, Sterkh used to be human, but it was a very long time ago. Now he represented a combination of two concepts; two poles, two energy flows intertwined under the direction of one will. Perhaps the wings were a nod toward his dual nature; perhaps it was too dangerous to require such a complex organism go through an additional metamorphosis. It could be Sterkh’s personal whim. Or maybe it was something else, something way beyond Sasha’s comprehension.

That thing that Portnov called “emotional memory” flatly refused to weaken. For some reason, Sasha was pleased to know that Sterkh used to be human. Even though whatever he was now was just as far from human nature as an electronic microscope from a tortoiseshell comb.

“Why did I want to gather you today? Today is December thirteenth, and that means that exactly one month remains until the placement examination. This month will require all your strength. Unfortunately, there is no makeup date for this exam: you have exactly one chance.”

Sasha sat by the window, looking askance at the snow-covered street. With the arrival of the cold weather Sterkh forbade her to fly at night; in response to her pleading that she’s not at all afraid of the cold, he shrugged his shoulders in surprise: “What does it have to do with the cold, Sasha? You have so much work now, such a heavy load! Not to mention that footprints of bare feet on the snow are so esthetically displeasing!”

Large snowflakes fell onto Sacco and Vanzetti.

“Today I will tell you in detail what it is like to take the placement examination. It will help you to keep it together and be prepared for the challenge at the defining moment. On January thirteenth, at noon sharp, both groups, A and B, will enter the assembly hall and take their seats. You will be introduced to the examination committee. You will not be nervous, will not feel anxious, you will not have anything with you—under no circumstances you are to have any paper or pens. Nothing! The head of the committee will read out the names, and those called will go up to the stage, choose an examination sheet and sign for it in the ledger. You will have three assignments: the first two are standard; the third one is individual, selected for each one of you according to your future specialization. In the process of completing this assignment you will cease being a human being and commence as Word; for the first time you will reverberate, my dears, and this is quite fundamental.”

Sterkh surveyed the audience as if searching for the expression of rapture on the faces turned toward him. No one was smiling: everyone looked at him intently and attentively, fans watching a penalty kick going toward the favorite team’s goal.

“You should not pay any attention to the drastic changes in your condition, time, space, and internal state. This is going to be quite a shock, it is supposed to be a shock, and you should prepare yourself for a shock. The subjective time of the examination may stretch from one minute to several hours. Don’t worry if things happen fast. Don’t be afraid if the examination seems too long. Remember: the goal of the examination committee is to help you, not to fail you. Remember also that you only get one chance.”

Wind beat into the glass. Snowflakes rustled. It was getting dark pretty fast; Sterkh clicked the switch. The overhead light exposed a small dusty auditorium and nineteen third years silently watching their professor.

“So,” Sterkh moved his shoulders settling the wings in a more comfortable position on his back. “Any questions?”

“Mommy? It’s me! Can you hear me?”

A very distant voice. As if through a blizzard; something rustles and howls thinly in the receiver. As if from a distant galaxy, as if through a thick layer of water, as if through cotton wool.

“Mom! I’m doing great! How are you?”

“Depends on the day, Sasha, but we’re hanging in, bit by bit… The baby has a cold. I have to take more time off. It’s because I did not nurse him, and his immune system is not as strong as it should be…”

“Stop it, it’s just superstition! It is not your fault! Don’t worry, he’ll be fine!”

“Of course,” Mom sounded anxious and tired.

“Mom, I’m not coming home for the winter break this year…”

That’s it. It was out. It just slipped out.

A pause.

“That’s a shame. Such a shame. But what can you do…”

The phone line filtered emotions like blotting paper absorbs tea leaves.

“Mom, don’t be sad. Everything will be fine. The baby will feel better soon. And I will call you soon.”

“That’s good. Call me, Sasha. Call me.”

“I will. Goodbye!”

She placed the receiver on the “horned” cradle. Sasha stood still for a while staring at the wall.

Portnov called it “emotional memory.”

One month remained until the placement exam.

On the morning of December thirtieth drunken first years danced in the fresh snow singing “A fir tree born in the forest.” Nearly hysterical with glee, the third years joined them in groups and one at a time. The second years wandered around, thin and quiet like shadows.

A poster decorated with gouache paints and tinsel invited everyone to the holiday roast. The assembly hall was filled to its capacity. Vika and Lena, Sasha’s former roommates, sang racy ditties, a bit stupid, a bit vulgar, but still funny.

Sasha sat in the assembly hall, in the very midst of a laughing audience, and closer to the end of the show she suddenly thought of Zakhar. She recalled how two years ago he, a second year back then, stood at the edge of the stage wearing Portnov’s glasses spouting complete nonsense, but so courageously and confidently that Sasha, who always cringed in the presence of bad actors did not feel any discomfort, only fear—what if Portnov mistook the quick parody for ridicule…