Sergey Dyachenko - Vita Nostra

“Listen, it’s dated last June. Where did you get it?”

“It was mailed to me.”

“When?”

Sasha held her breath. Lying to her mother’s face was difficult, not something she was used to.

“A couple of days ago.”

“Sasha, you’re lying.”

‘Mom, it’s a real document! I was accepted! To the Institute of Special Technologies! And I will be a student there!” Sasha’s voice trembled. “I need this, do you understand?”

“I understand.” Mom leaned onto the table. ‘I understand. You’re jealous. You—a grown woman—behaving like… like a nasty, spoiled child. Since I… You can’t forgive me, can you? You can’t forgive me and you are being demonstrative about it.”

“No!” Sasha choked on her tears. “This has nothing to do with him! It’s just that, well… It just happened that I was accepted. I am going to Torpa, and…”

“You are not going anywhere,” Mom’s voice was packed with February ice. “You will be a normal student, under normal conditions, at a normal college. I’m very sorry that I raised such a selfish creature, but I will not allow any more extreme behavior. Thank you for a pleasant chat.”

And she turned back to face the mirror.

After two days of a cold, tense communication, Mom came home unusually cheerful, pink-cheeked and happy. It turned out that the university had opened a part-time evening option, and Sasha could be accepted there.

“And you can work in our office,” Mom chattered, setting the table, doling out the stew. “I’ve already made the arrangements. You can work during the day, then go to your evening classes. And then you can transfer to the regular department. I’m sure you can. Your sophomore year, or maybe junior.”

Sasha was silent.

“Tomorrow morning you need to go talk to the admissions office. Room 32. Are you listening?”

“I’m going to Torpa,” Sasha’s voice was barely audible. Dead silence hung over the dinner table.

“Sasha,” Valentin said with reproach. “Why are you doing this?”

Escaping, Sasha got up. She left her food untouched, went to her room, crawled under the blanket and pretended to be asleep. Mom and Valentin spoke loudly, and snippets of their conversation carried over to Sasha through the walls and blankets.

“Calm down,” Valentin was saying. “Just calm down. Independence…”

“She’s underage!”

“They get older… They want… It’s not the end of the earth…”

The voices grew softer, the intensity subsided. Sasha closed her eyes. Everything was coming together beautifully. Mom and Valentin would enjoy being alone in the apartment. Right now they are going to talk it over, and then they will agree to let Sasha go to the unknown Torpa, where who knows what was expecting her…

She felt torn in half. If Mom agrees easily, Sasha will be mortally offended. If Mom puts up a fight… And that’s what it sounds like…

No. She will not. They are already laughing softly in the kitchen. Now they are having tea. They must have decided: the girl has her own destiny, she’s independent, let her go wherever the hell she wants. They are pleased. Look at us, we’re so modern. What’s wrong with this? Tons of high school graduates move out after the first summer, looking for grown-up life… In the dormitory…

Sasha pulled the blanket off her face. Outside her window with its tightly drawn curtains, it was still light. It was eight o’clock. Half past eight. August. Three weeks before school starts.

Sasha heard a soft knock on her door.

“It’s me,” said Valentin. “Could we talk?”

They found the town of Torpa in the road atlas. A transparent circle lay right where the faded paper folded in half.

“Town of Torpa,” Valentin chuckled. “I’d say it’s more of a village. What kind of an institute are they supposed to have there?”

Sasha handed him the yellow sheet. He studied it for a while, flipped it over, then frowned.

“Did you apply there?”

“No. I mean, yes, I did.”

“But your documents were submitted to the University!”

“They accept copies. Plus, I didn’t get into the University anyway.”

“Torpa Institute of Special Technologies,” Valentin repeated. “What sort of technologies? And who are you supposed to be when you graduate?”

“An expert in special technologies,” Sasha said.

Valentin glared at her.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No.” Sasha squirmed. “You don’t have to declare your major until junior year. Or senior. I don’t know for sure.”

“You don’t know for sure, yet you insist on going?”

“If I don’t like it, I’ll come back,” Sasha almost whispered. “Honestly. If it turns out to be a bad place, I’ll come back. Just tell Mom not to worry. I need to go there. I really do. It’s not about… Not at all. I just need to.”

She kept repeating the same thing in different words, and Valentin sat in front of her, confused, disoriented, and for the first time Sasha thought of him as no longer a stranger.

“Get up, Miss. We get to Torpa in half an hour.”

“Wha…?” Sasha jumped up and hit her head on the luggage shelf.

She spent the entire night in a twilight zone between sleeping and waking, and only just recently managed to fall asleep. The train was old and shaky, and somewhere a teaspoon jingled in an empty glass.

Shadows and lights swam by, transfusing the open-plan carriage, where half-naked bodies dripped with sweat. Bed sheet corners hung from the cots. Somebody snored, somebody rustled a piece of cellophane, and Sasha lay on the top berth and tried to convince herself: I’ll be back in one week. The condition was: be there when classes start. No one said anything about staying in Torpa for the entire year.

Valentin wanted to come with her. He insisted, and even bought two tickets at the railroad office, one for him, one for Sasha. He intended to check the accreditation of the Torpa Institute, conditions at the dormitory, make sure everything was normal; deep inside, Sasha felt grateful. The dark man who called himself Farit Kozhennikov did not specify that Sasha must show up alone.

The day before their departure Valentin received a call from Moscow: his son from the first marriage was run over by a car, and while he did not suffer any serious injuries, Valentin’s presence with his connections in the medical field was required. Valentin, having forgotten about Sasha’s issues, dashed away to Moscow. Sasha ended up returning his ticket before the train departure, plus she had to convince Mom that she would be perfectly fine.

Mom saw her off. She stood by the train window for a long time, looking through the glass pane, waving, and dispensing last-minute advice. Sasha wished fervently for the train to start moving. But when the locomotive gave the initial tug, she felt her heart drop down into her knees, and she nearly jumped out of the moving train, into Mom’s arms.

This was her first time traveling alone by train. She kept glancing over at the luggage shelf, where her suitcase was stowed. She palpated the little bag full of coins on the bottom of her purse and checked the documents in the inside pocket— passport, high school diploma, medical records, letter of acceptance, and some other papers, all neatly folded into a plastic envelope. She felt unbearable loneliness; she kept thinking how a while back she and Mom traveled to the seaside in a train just like this one, and poppies blossomed outside their windows, and she was happy, peaceful and safe.

She cried, hiding her tears from her fellow travelers, and placed a tremendous blame upon herself for giving in to the man in the dark glasses that very first time. Even if she were forever subjected to the eternal nightmare, even if she had to wake up on the folding cot in the rented room every morning for the rest of her life, Mom would always be there with her. And there would always be the sea. If one’s life is forever to consist of a half of a summer day of July twenty-fourth, it would still be a pretty good life. At least, it would be a life without gold coins, or Valentin, or a long road to Torpa.