Sergey Dyachenko - Vita Nostra

“I am kidding,” Sterkh’s voice was a little softer. “Get some paper. Concentrate. If a sum of realities is expressed through a subjunctive mood, then, in order to come out of the loop, we must first of all define the actual reality, the current one, then express it through the narrative and lock it in with a command. Go ahead! If you make a mistake, I’ll write a report to your advisor.”

Next day, on January twelfth, Sasha carried the fir tree outside and fixed it in a snow pile across from the stone lions. The tree looked alive; the wind stirred its gold tinsel.

Portnov and Sterkh held a consultation from noon to two in the afternoon. Sasha returned from the Institute, lay down over her comforter and, surprising herself, fell asleep.

She dreamt of Zakhar. He was sitting in an underground vault filled with gold coins with a round symbol on their faces. In her dream he seemed very happy to see Sasha: “Are you here as well? That’s cool. I’m bored here all by myself. I have been sitting here for a thousand years, cleaning sticky dirt off of these words. Help me.”

And Sasha sat down—in her dream—next to Zakhar, picked up a small moistened rag and began to clean the dull coins, one after another. Her efforts would alter the zero on the face of the coins—change it into fives, tens, eights, and when the figure eights fell down on their sides, Sasha would detect the sign of infinity…

“Have you been here long?” she asked Zakhar. And he answered, “There is no such thing as the fourth dimension here. And no third dimension, either.” And then Sasha realized that the coins, and Zakhar, and she herself were drawn on a flat surface, and the time in the picture was not moving…

She woke up when it was already dark. Snow fell outside her windows. Somewhere on Sacco and Vanzetti a street cleaner’s shovel made scraping sounds.

Less than twenty-four hours remained until the placement exam.

That night Sasha said good bye to her landlady and called Mom. Baby Valentin was sick again, and Valentin senior had left for a business trip and not returned yet. Mom’s voice sounded tinny, detached, as if from another planet. “Everything will be fine,” Sasha said, knowing perfectly well that Mom did not believe her.

The suitcase was half-packed. Sasha thought that she had no clue where she would unpack it, and whether she would have to do it at all. With pleasure she realized that this thought did not frighten her in the least.

She gathered the trash—old drafts, notes, slips of paper—and made a fire in her fireplace for the last time. Paper covered with ink did not burn well.

Someone rang the doorbell. Sasha saw Farit Kozhennikov in the window—and for the first time in her life she felt no fear.

He walked in and looked around. Straddled the chair. Sasha had not finished cleaning up; plastic bags lay around, in the corner stood a broom, a dust pan and a mop.

“Ready for departure?”

“Farit,” Sasha said dryly. “I’m very busy. If you have something important to say—say it. If not… As you can see for yourself, I’m not exactly relaxing right now.”

He swayed back and forth:

“Important… yes, I guess you can say that. What do you think… How many of your classmates would decline taking the exam if they had the option?”

“All of them.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Of course, we can cheer each other up, we are sure of our success… We are words, we must reverberate, must fulfill our destiny… But if somebody could slip out, scamper, do a vanishing act with impunity—he would flee so fast only a clean pair of heels would show.

“And how about you?”

“What about me?”

Kozhennikov adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose:

“As your advisor, I am officially offering to release you from the placement exam. To release you from your tenure at the Institute. Officially. According to the “It was only a dream” method.

The fire burned in the fireplace. Old notes, papers and drafts were dying down. Sasha sat at the table—her back very straight.

A minute passed.

“Were you joking?”

He took off his glasses. Sasha met his ordinary, average brown eyes.

“No.”

“Farit, are you making fun of me?!”

“No. I will tell you right away: none of your classmates has received such an offer, and none of them will.”

“Why me…”

“Because.”

Sasha squeezed her hands. A second ago she was sure of herself, calm, even detached. A second ago she was a grown-up, devoid of fear and looked straight into her destiny’s face…

“Once again you will be sixteen years old. Everything that happened later would turn out to be a dream and shall be forgotten.”

“That’s impossible.”

He sniggered.

Sasha stared at him. His face was hazy before her eyes. Sasha hadn’t cried in a long time. She had forgotten how to cry. She did not believe something could shake her so violently before the placement exam.

“Think about it. ‘It was a dream.’ Say it—and you will wake up. Back there. And nothing will happen again. There will be no me. There will be no Institute. You will be accepted at the school of philology—if you don’t fail the entrance exams. Well, have you decided?”

Sasha bit on her fingers.

Mom… Valentin… and the baby. They won’t be there… and what will be… possibly… completely different. Absolutely different. Will Mom be happy? Of course she will, she has Sasha… even without Valentin, without the baby. Mom will have Sasha! She will do everything to…

Word. A verb. Harmony of Speech. A crystal termite nest of meanings. Inhuman beauty. Infinite cognition. Page after page, and the book does not end, the most fascinating book, is it possible that Sasha would not know what happens next?

Minus three and a half years, difficult, terrifying… it was a dream, how simple, it is only a dream…

Kostya. He won’t be a part of her life, that is for the best. Yegor… they have no choice, they will never have to choose…

HOW LUCKY THEY ARE!

“Farit, why?! What have I done to you? Why do you constantly… pick on me… Why?”

“Sasha?”

“Why do I get to choose? I can’t…”

By then she was sitting on the floor, hunched over, pressing her palms to her cheeks. Kozhennikov lowered himself next to her.

“I pick on you? On you?! Not a hair fell off your head! All your relatives are alive, more or less healthy, happy…”

“I cannot choose! I can’t—like this—I can’t choose, do you understand that?! Why…”

“Cut it out. Any of your classmates… any of the third years who had ever existed would give their right hand for such an opportunity.”

“Why? Why like this?” she lifted her tear-filled eyes up to him. “Why through fear? Why not… Why wouldn’t you explain things? I would study… I would work hard if you were nice to me!”

He shook his head:

“You wouldn’t have, Sasha. Only a strong incentive takes you over the edge. Only motivation.”

“But there are… other stimuli. Love… ambition…”

“There are none equal to fear,” he said almost with regret. “It is the consequence of objective, unyielding laws. To live is to be vulnerable. To love is to fear. And the one who is not afraid— is calm like a boa constrictor and cannot love.” He hugged her shoulders. “Well, have you decided?”

She pushed his hands aside and got up. She bit her lip. Tears streamed down her face—but it did not matter. What mattered was her jagged breath that made her voice sound so piteous.

“I have decided. I want to finish the Institute. Become a part of Speech. To reverberate. Be admitted to graduate school… That’s why tomorrow I am going to take the placement exam,” she staggered but stayed on her feet.