Sergey Dyachenko - Vita Nostra

The cover had an abstract pattern of colored blocks. Black letters folded into two words: “Textual Module.” Underneath was a large number “1.”

“Do not open the books,” said Portnov quietly, before one of the first years curiously lifted the cover.

Hands jerked back. Again, silence prevailed. Sasha placed the last two books on the desk she shared with Kostya and sat down.

“Attention, students,” continued Portnov just as softly. “You are at the beginning of a journey, during which all of your strength will be required. Physical and mental. What we will be studying is not for everyone. Not everyone can handle what this does to a person. You have been carefully selected, and you all have what it takes to make that journey successfully. Our science does not tolerate weakness and takes cruel revenge on laziness, on cowardice, and on the most infinitesimal attempt to avoid learning the entire curriculum. Is that understood?”

The fly threw itself at the glass for the last time and fell limply on the windowsill.

“To everyone who puts their best effort into the process of learning and does his or her absolute best, I will guarantee: by the time the process is completed, these students will be alive and well. However, negligence and indifference bring students to a sorry end. An extremely sorry end. Understood?”

A hand flew up to the left of Sasha.

“Yes, Pavlenko,” said Portnov without looking.

Lisa got up, convulsively tugging on her skirt.

“You see, no one asked our opinion when we were sent here,” her voice trembled.

“And?” Portnov looked at her with interest.

“But can you expect of us… Request that we study so hard…if we don’t want to?” Lisa tried hard not to allow her voice to squeal.

“Yes, we can,” Portnov stated lightly. “When a toddler is potty-trained, no one asks his or her opinion, right?”

Lisa remained standing for a moment, and then sat down. Portnov’s answer took her aback. Sasha and Kostya exchanged glances.

“Let us continue,” went on Portnov, as if he’d never been interrupted. “You are Group A of the first year. I will be your Specialty professor, responsible for lectures on theory and individual studies. With each new semester, your work will get more complex, and other special subjects will be added. I want you to understand that physical education is considered one of the primary subjects in your curriculum. Do remember that. Aside from that, during the first semester you will be studying philosophy, history, English and mathematics. Most of you were good students, so it will be enough to simply do your homework in those subjects. The situation with Specialty is different. It will be difficult. Especially in the beginning.”

“You have already put the fear of god into us,” someone said from the back row.

“Hand, Kovtun, first get your hand up, then share your thought. For the future, a breach of discipline results in an extra Specialty assignment.”

Silence.

“Good. We have gotten through the introduction. Let’s begin. Kozhennikov, do me a favor, take the chalk and draw a horizontal line on the black board.”

“In the middle?” Kostya specified.

Portnov threw him an askance glance over the glasses. Kostya looked down, picked up the chalk and carefully drew a straight line from one edge of the black to the other.

“Thank you, you may sit down. Class, look at the board. What is it?”

“Horizon,” said Sasha.

“Perhaps. What else?”

“A stretched rope,” Lisa suggested.

“A dead worm, view from the top!” Igor Kovtun quipped.

Portnov smirked. He picked up the chalk and drew a butterfly in the top part of the black board. Underneath, below the horizontal line, he drew another butterfly, just like the first one, but in a dashed line.

“What is that?”

“A butterfly.”

“A swallowtail.”

“A Cabbage White!”

“Projection,” Sasha said after a short pause.

Portnov glanced at her with interest.

“Uh-huh. Samokhina, what is projection?”

“It’s an image of an object on a flat surface. Reflection. Shadow.”

“Come here.”

Sasha disentangled herself from her desk clumsily. Rather unceremoniously, Portnov grabbed her by the shoulders and turned to face the group. Sasha glimpsed a surprised look on Yulia Goldman’s face, a slightly contemptuous on Lisa’s, a curious on Andrey Korotkov’s; in the next second, a black scarf descended upon her face, and darkness came.

Somebody gave a nervous giggle.

“Samokhina, what do you see?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing at all?”

Sasha paused, afraid of making a mistake.

“Nothing. Darkness.”

“Does it mean you are blind?”

“No,” Sasha was offended. “It’s just if you cover a person’s eyes, the person won’t be able to see.”

The audience was by now laughing openly.

“Attention, students,” Portnov said dryly. “In reality, each one of you is in the same situation as Samokhina. You are blind. You stare into the darkness.”

The giggling subsided.

“The world, as you see it, is not real. And the way you imagine it—it does not even come close. Certain things seem obvious to you, but they simply do not exist.”

“And you, do you not exist?” Sasha couldn’t help herself. “Are you not real?”

Portnov removed the scarf from her face. Under his gaze, she blinked confusedly.

“I exist,” he said seriously. “But I am not at all what you think.”

And, leaving Sasha standing there in a state of complete shock, he crumpled the scarf into a little ball and threw it carelessly on his desk.

“Samokhina, you may sit down. Let’s continue.”

Sasha held up her hand. The hand trembled, but Sasha continued to hold it stubbornly. Portnov half-closed his eyes:

“What now?”

“I wanted to ask. What are you going to teach us? What specialty? And who are we going to be when we graduate?”

An approving whisper fluttered through the audience.

“I am going to give you the notion of how the world is structured,” Portnov explained, with a huge emphasis on his alleged leniency. “And, what is even more crucial, the notion of your—every one of you—place in this world. I cannot tell you more at this point, you will not understand. Any other questions?”

The girl with the braids, Zhenya Toporko, held up her hand.

“Excuse me…”

“Yes?” Irritation could be easily discerned in Portnov’s voice. Zhenya quivered, but made herself go on:

“If I don’t want to study here., and I want to cancel my enrollment… May I do it today?”

It became very quiet. Kostya gave Sasha a significant look. Lisa Pavlenko’s eyes lit up.

“It is very important to dot all the ‘i’s,’’ Portnov stated unemotionally. “You have passed a very difficult and competitive selection process. You have been accepted into a well-established learning institution that does not tolerate doubt, uncertainty, and other forms of idiocy. You may NOT cancel your enrollment. You will study here; otherwise, you will be dismissed and simultaneously buried. Your advisors, Liliya Popova and Farit Kozhennikov, will remain in that role until your fifth year. Their responsibilities include stimulating your excellent academic performance. I hope all of you have had a good chance to meet your advisors.”

A minute before Sasha thought the auditorium was quiet, but now silence was absolute. It was deadly.

“Open your books to page three,” Portnov continued nonchalantly. “Read Section 1, slowly, carefully, paying attention to each letter. You may begin.” He sat down and gave the students one more piercing look.

Sasha opened the book. The inside cover was clear of text, no author’s name, no publishing data. “Textual Module 1, Section 1.” The yellowing pages were worn at the corners; the font was absolutely typical, just like any normal textbook…