Sergey Dyachenko - Vita Nostra

Kostya took the book out of her hands, glanced at the page, and gave the book back to her.

“How is your head?”

This question, with its precision and its double meaning, made her laugh despite her exhaustion:

“My head does not hurt. Yeah. If that’s what you meant.”

It was raining. Water sputtered in the drain pipes. Sasha went through her entire suitcase, realizing that she arrived at school in the summer, wearing jeans and a tee-shirt. The pile of clothes that Mom stuffed into her suitcase despite her loud protests, the pile that seemed so bulky and so unnecessary, was now not only essential, but almost too flimsy in the face of the approaching winter.

A jacket. One thick woolen sweater, and one a bit lighter. A pair of woolen socks. A pair of tights to go over pantyhose. Despite the winterized windows, it was chilly and raw at the dorm: the hot water was turned off again. They washed themselves using basins and water heated up in a large pot in the kitchen. Laundry hung over cold radiator remained wet overnight and even longer.

“Imagine two spheres, one with a larger diameter, the other smaller. Mentally place the first sphere inside the second ensuring that the diameters of both spheres do not change.”

Doing these exercises was even worse that reading nonsensical paragraphs and memorizing gibberish. Portnov distributed the exercise books to Group A, then, a day later, to Group B. Besides that, each first year received a new textual module with a number “2” on its cover, and every day they had to read and memorize paragraphs. English, History, Philosophy—everything went down the tubes, and students were constantly running out of time. Only the gym class, where sweet Dima Dimych offered the first years basketball, volleyball and elements of dance aerobics instead of long distance races and qualifying standards, served as a ray of light shining through the granite wall of never-ending cramming.

Sasha’s deadline, Saturday, was approaching without pity, and out of five exercises she’d barely managed two. Closing her eyes in the dark at nighttime, she watched all those spheres, spirals and tubes that refused to slip through the other ones, with a smaller diameter; the exercises made her eyes itchy and her throat sore.

“Sasha, we’re sending the boys on a vodka run,” Oksana informed her on her way back from the kitchen. “Give me some money, and you can join us. You’re growing mossy here.”

“I don’t drink vodka.”

“Mix it with Pepsi then.”

“Listen, I have five exercises due tomorrow, and I…”

“All work and no play… You can pull an all-nighter. Come with us, at least you’ll get warm!”

Sasha wavered.

“Can I bring Kozhennikov?”

“Sure! Just tell him to bring something to eat or drink. We’re going to be in the second floor kitchen, come on over!”

Lisa sat at the desk in front of an open textbook, without blinking, staring at a point in space. Perhaps at this very moment she was turning imaginary spheres inside out.

Or, perhaps, she was remembering something from the past. Sasha did not have the guts to speak with her since she’d regained her gift of speech.

Kostya, exhausted and slightly under the weather, did not resist. His roommates, second years, left for a party of their own. In one of their side tables Kostya found a cheap can of anchovies in tomato sauce.

“I’ll pay Zakhar back later,” Kostya promised, either to Sasha or to himself. “Let’s go.”

The kitchen was smoky and even hot.

“Group A has arrived!” Oksana shrieked, handing them two clean plastic cups. “Here’s to the eternal friendship between our groups, the first two letters of the alphabet!”

Kostya drank half a glass of vodka and got so smashed that he requested more right away. The can of anchovies was immediately dissected with a rusty can opener and passed around: with an aluminum cafeteria spoon, students grabbed hold of the tiny lifeless fish in the depth of blood-red tomato sauce and plopped them onto thick slices of rye bread. The sauce spread in a bloody puddle; the can was passed further. Sasha and Kostya made themselves a couple of sandwiches and perched on a lukewarm radiator. Sasha found a bottle of Pepsi-Cola on the counter and added it to the vodka in her cup; the result was sweet and reasonably alcoholic.

“ I’m not sorry for my chance encounters, I just know that on one of these perfect days …” A guy from Group B was singing, his voice beautiful and poignant. Sasha remembered only his first name, Anton.

She was tipsy.

In the warm kitchen, with an anchovy in her teeth, in a cloud of cigarette smoke, she felt free. And therefore, happy.

Kostya’s hand landed on her shoulder.

“ And all will return! “ A tuneless choir of female voices filled the room, “ Everything will certainly return! And this world, and fine weather, and the circle of my friends! “

Sasha hugged Kostya with all her might. Right now he was the most precious to her. More so than Mom. Because she was too old to hug Mom like that, and Kostya had strong arms and large hands, and his ribs could be felt through his sweater. Sasha thought of how only a year ago she’d dreamed of sitting like this, with a group of friends, next to a boy, and hugging him, and drinking out of a plastic cup, and singing, and laughing…

“Guys!” somebody yelled bursting into the kitchen. “Hot water is back on in the showers!”

The “guys” roared happily in response, like a crowd of fans at the stadium. Kostya leaned toward Sasha and kissed her on the lips. Sasha tried to elude him—at first, she thought it was unpleasant—but then gave in.

And a minute later, she realized that she liked it.

“Haven’t you ever kissed anyone before?!”

Sasha wanted to say that she was an ogre among normal girls, that she spent the golden years of her youth behind a writing desk, but couldn’t quite manage. Kostya knew how to kiss, he was perfectly normal, and even good-looking, not a loser like her…

They stepped out of the kitchen. Kostya had the foresight to pour some vodka into the half-empty bottle of Pepsi, and now they could drink the sweet liquid straight out of the bottle.

“ And the crimson chimes of sunrise …” The song continued in the kitchen.

Sasha had not noticed how they’d ended up in Kostya’s room. Zakhar and Lenny, their third roommate, were still out. Kostya lowered Sasha onto his bed, took a gulp from the bottle, sat down next to her and pulled off his sweater.

“Let’s… I’ll lock the door from the outside. I mean, the inside. Come on!”

They fell on the bed in a tight embrace. The bed springs groaned piteously.

“Have you ever…?”

Kostya was trying to undo Sasha’s bra, but the rotten little hooks clung to their loops.

“What the…”

Giving up, Kostya slid his hand underneath the elastic. Sasha arched her back, instinctively following a well-known scheme. Back in high school, her girlfriends convinced each other that in bed a woman was supposed to be passionate, and that meant to arch your back just like this…

Kostya was unzipping Sasha’s jeans. It was terrifying and spellbinding. It was beautiful and appalling. A cold wind flew into the half-opened window. Kostya tugged on Sasha’s panties; abruptly, she twisted away and sat up.

“Come on… Sasha…”

She slid from under his skinny sweaty body. The enchantment of the evening was melting fast, the lightheadedness was now replaced with nausea. Kostya’s hands, suddenly very aggressive, pulled the white cotton panties off of her, and at that moment Sasha leaned over the side of the bed and vomited a handful of gold coins.