Sergey Dyachenko - Vita Nostra

“Alexandra,” croaked Sasha. “Samokhina, Sasha.”

“Looks like we’re classmates,” Lisa kept her blue appraising eyes on Sasha.

“Looks like it.”

“All this dust,” grumbled Oksana, sliding her plump finger over the desks and the windowsill. “And where are we supposed to get the bed linen, does anyone know? Has anyone seen the superintendent? Easy to get along with?”

Lisa took her eyes off Sasha. She walked around the room, touched the door of the dresser, the door emitted a hoarse squeak.

“We should celebrate,” Oksana suggested. Immediately, not waiting for anyone’s consent, she began to take out jars, containers and packages. She took out paper plates and peeled three white paper cups off of the accordion-pleated snake, then filled each with some liquid from a murky plastic bottle.

“Here, girls. We’re roommates now. Help yourself: the sausage is homemade, and here are some pickles. And the bread, well, whatever is left.”

“Drink – this early in the morning?” Lisa specified.

“We’ll have just a drop,” Oksana picked up a thick slice of the sausage. “To good grades, to easy living. Cheers!”

Sasha held the cup; whitish liquid splashed on the bottom. It smelled of yeast.

“What is it?”

“Moonshine,” Oksana gave her a cheerful grin. “Come on, bottoms up!”

She bumped her glass with Lisa’s, then with Sasha’s, drank, widened her eyes, and bit into the sausage. Lisa took a small sip. Sasha wanted to refuse, but then thought, Why shouldn’t she? She held her breath and swallowed the murky liquid like medicine.

She’s never tasted anything worse. All the alcohol beverages she’d tasted before—champagne on New Year’s Eve and her birthday, the occasional dry red wine—had had a pleasant taste and a nice smell. The moonshine remained stuck in her throat, preventing her from breathing.

“Eat!” Oksana yelled at her. “Have a pickle.”

Letting tears stream down her face, Sasha bit into a pickle and then into a fatty sausage, and black bread with caraway seeds. Now she was thirsty, but no one had any water. Efficient Oksana assured them that there should be a kitchen, and the kitchen should have a teakettle, and she was going to find everything out. The door closed behind her.

Sasha took a deep breath. The room swam in front of her eyes, and she felt not exactly happy, but a little easier, and now she wanted to talk.

She wanted to ask Lisa how she ended up at the Institute of Special Technologies. And whether Farit Kozhennikov was part of her life as well. And what she was thinking of doing next. She wanted to tell Lisa about her terror, and the coins, about Valentin with his pre-coronary, and Mom, and about the note found by accident in the storage compartment at the train station. Sasha opened her mouth, but then stopped.

She imagined: what if Lisa, unlike Sasha herself, is not mad? What if she applied to the Institute like a normal student; who knows what she wants? Or maybe she ran away from an odious family situation? Or maybe she’s hiding from a scandal? Or something else, normal, human, and here was Sasha with her fairy tales?

On the other hand, the coins…

“Did anyone… Money… Did you have to pay anyone?” Sasha asked curtly.

“No one accepts bribes here,” said Lisa distractedly. “And if you mean those coins… I gave them to my advisor earlier. If that’s what you are talking about.”

The door opened, Oksana burst in with a boiling teakettle in one hand and a package of tea in the other.

“Girls, there is a decent kitchen there, even pots and pans! Do you want to have tea here, or in the kitchen?”

“I don’t want any tea,” Lisa got up. “I’m going for a walk. Don’t forget, lunch is at two. Bring your lunch tickets.”

Lisa returned when Sasha and Oksana were almost done with the clean-up; all they had left to do was take out the trash and wash the floor. At first, Sasha, drowsy with the after-effect of the moonshine, flatly refused to participate, but Oksana turned out to be quite pushy: they weren’t expecting to live in a pigsty, were they, and really, the thing to do was to clean up, and then they could relax. She poked and prodded; Sasha discovered a rag in her hand, and then found herself standing in line for bed linen in front of the superintendent’s office. The first years flowed in, some nervous and frightened, some cheerful and noisy. Sasha met tons of new classmates, and their names immediately flew out of her head. Pale and disheveled, Kostya showed up and disappeared again, looking punch-drunk. Sasha carried three sets of grayish sheets, smelling of detergent to the second floor; meanwhile, Oksana managed to dust the insides of the dresser, the tables, windowsill and even the legs of the three beds.

Lisa came back, stepped over the mound of trash in the doorway, sighed and proceeded toward her bed with the stack of sheets set on the mattress.

“Nice walk?” Oksana inquired cheerfully.

Silently, Lisa lay down on the striped mattress and turned her face to the wall.

The dining hall was located in the basement. Before September first, the official start of school, only the self-service station was open, but even there one could get clear soup with round meatballs in shining enamel bowls, and chicken with vermicelli. One was even allowed an unlimited amount of fruit compote, three or four glasses, if one wanted.

“Good grub,” Oksana stated.

Sasha noticed Kostya at a nearby table. Her traveling companion hunched over his plate, crumbling a piece of bread into tiny pieces and looking through the other diners without seeing them.

Sasha came over with a firm conviction: if he wasn’t happy to see her, she would leave immediately.

Kostya was happy. A lot happier than Sasha had anticipated. He moved out a chair for her to sit down and offered her his portion of compote. Sasha did not refuse.

“So, you settled in?” and immediately, without any transition: “Listen, they are crazy.”

“Who?”

‘Those guys they put me in with. The second years. One stutters so much his eyes pop out, and giggles constantly. And the other one gets stuck.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he stretches his hand to get a book off the shelf, and then he…he gets stuck, like he’s rusted all over. He stands in this really stupid pose, and he pulls, and twitches…and he even sort of squeaks. And then it lets him go. He gets the book and starts reading, as though nothing happened. And they keep looking at each other behind my back, winking… Freaks. What am I supposed to do, sleep in the same room with them?!”

Kostya stopped short. He suddenly realized that he was spilling his guts—complaining!—to the girl he had only just met that morning. Evidently, according to Kostya’s internal code of honor, this behavior could not be considered masculine. Embarrassed and upset, he lowered his eyes onto his plate.

“My roommates are first years,” Sasha said. “They seem normal. Relatively.”

Kostya looked up.

“Just have a look around. The entire second year, and third, they are all crippled. Just look!”

Sasha turned around. A group of third years maneuvered between the rows of tables, one-eyed Victor in the lead. Tall, gangly and lopsided, Victor’s left leg was lame, and the dishes on his tray jumped and jiggled, threatening to fall off. Behind Victor, a square-shouldered guy in a bright red t-shirt and faded jeans directed himself to the empty tables in the back, smiling and constantly bumping into chairs. The chairs rattled, some fell on the floor, but the guy paid no attention and kept moving. Next to him, a girl wearing incredibly high heels took tentative steps. She gazed at the floor, seeing something completely inaccessible to others. Every now and then she aimed her heel at the floor, as if hammering in a nail, froze for a second, lifted her foot with visible effort (her heel seemingly piercing through the floor), and kept walking, swaying slightly.