Dmitry Glukhovsky - Metro 2033

‘Hottabych was a djinn, not a magician.’ Artyom carefully corrected him, but Zhenya ignored his comment and continued:

‘The guy is an occultist. He’d spent half his life studying all kinds of mystical literature. He told Lekha mostly about this Castaneda chap… So the guy, basically, reads a lot, and looks into the future, finds missing things, and knows about future dangers. He says that he sees spirits. Can you imagine, he even…’ Zhenya paused dramatically. ‘He even goes through the metro without a weapon! I mean completely unarmed. He only has a penknife – to cut up food, and he has a plastic staff too. See? So, he says that everyone who takes weed and the people who drink it too – they’re all madmen. Because it is not what we think it is at all. It’s not any kind of real weed, and those mushrooms, they aren’t mushrooms either. Such toadstools have never grown in the central region before. Basically, one day I looked in a mushroom book, and it’s true, there’s not a word about the kinds of mushroom we have here. And there’s nothing even remotely like them… Those that eat it thinking that it is just a hallucinogen and they can watch cartoons on it, are totally mistaken, says this magician. And if you cook these toadstools in a slightly different way then you can enter a state where it is possible to regulate events in the real world.’

‘That’s quite a magician you have there – more like a drug addict!’ Artyom declared with conviction. ‘A lot of people here play around with weed to relax but, as you know, no one has ever taken it to that degree. The guy is addicted, one hundred percent. And he hasn’t got long, I’d say. Listen, Uncle Sasha told me this story… There’s some station – I don’t remember which – where this old man he didn’t know came up to him, and starts telling him that he has a powerful extra-sense and that he is waging an ongoing war with similar powerful psychics and aliens, only they are malicious. And they are almost defeating him, and he might not be able to fight them any longer, and all his strength was going into the fight. And the station – it was like Sukharevskaya, a kind of half-station where people sit around campfires in the centre of the platform, a ways off from the tunnel mouth, so they can get some sleep before they move on. And there, let’s say, there were three guys that walked past my stepfather and the old man, and the old man said to him in horror: “You see, there, that one, in the middle, that is one of the main evil psychics, a disciple of darkness. And on either side of him are aliens. They’re helping him. And their leader lives at the deepest point in the metro. And he says, basically, that they don’t want to come up to me because you’re sitting with me. They don’t want regular people to know about our fight. But they’re attacking me with their energy right now and I’m putting up a shield. And he says, “I will continue to fight!” You think it’s funny, but my stepfather didn’t think it was so funny at the time. Imagine: in some godforsaken corner of the metro, who knows what might happen… It sounds like rubbish, I know, but all the same. And there’s Uncle Sasha telling himself that this old man is crazy, but then the guy who is walking with the two aliens on either side, is looking at him meanly, and there’s something flashing in his eyes…’

‘What crap,’ Zhenya said, disbelievingly.

‘Crap it may be, but you well know that you should be prepared for anything at the distant stations. And the old man says to him that soon he (the old man, that is) will face the final battle with the evil psychics. And if he loses – and his forces are less than theirs – then it’s the end for everyone. Before, he says, there were more positive psychics, and the battleground was even, but now the negatives had started to conquer and this old man was one of the last standing. Maybe even THE last one standing. And if he is killed then the evil ones will win, and that will be it. Checkmate!’

‘We’re already at checkmate in my opinion,’ Zhenya observed.

‘Well, let’s say not total checkmate. There’s still possibilities,’ Artyom replied. ‘So, in parting, the old man says to him: “My son! Give me something to eat please. I have little strength left. And the final battle is coming nearer… And everyone’s future depends on its outcome. Yours too!” You get it? The old man was begging for food. That’s your magician, I’d say. Also, lost some marbles, I’d say. But for another reason.’

‘You’re a total fool! You didn’t even listen to the ending… and anyway, who told you that the old guy was lying? What was his name, by the way? Did your stepfather tell you?’

‘He told me, but I don’t remember it exactly. Some kind of funny name. Starts with a “ Chu.” Could it be Chum – or Chump?… Bums often have some kind of funny nickname instead of a real name. And what – what was the name of your magician?’

‘He told Lekha that they call him Carlos now. Because of the similarity. I don’t know what he meant but that’s how he explained it. But you should listen to the end of the story. At the end of their conversation, he told Lekha that it’s best not to go through the northern tunnel – though Lekha was preparing to go back the next day. Lekha listened to him and didn’t go. And he was right. That day some thugs attacked a caravan in the tunnel between Sukharevskaya and Prospect Mir even though it had been considered safe. Half of the traders were killed. The rest barely managed to fight them off. So there!’

Artyom went quiet and sank into thought.

‘Well, generally speaking, it’s impossible to know. Anything can happen. Things like that used to happen, that’s what my stepfather said. And he also said that at the most distant stations, where people have gone wild and have become primitive, they’ve forgotten that man is a rational being, and the strangest things happen – things that our logical minds wouldn’t be able to explain. He didn’t go into it, though. And he wasn’t even telling it to me – I just overheard by accident.’

‘Ha! I’m telling you: sometimes they describe things that normal people just wouldn’t believe. Last time, Lekha shared another story with me… Want to hear it? You won’t have heard this one from your stepfather, I tell you. A trader from the Serpukhovskaya line told it to Lekha… So, do you believe in ghosts?’

‘Well… every time I talk to you I start to wonder if I believe in them or not. But then when I’m on my own or with other people I come back to my senses,’ Artyom replied, barely managing to hold back a smile.

‘Are you serious?’

‘Well, I’ve read some things, of course. And Uncle Sasha has told me a lot of stories. But, if I’m honest, then I don’t really believe in all these stories. In general, Zhenya, I don’t really understand you. Here at the station, we’re living an unending nightmare with these dark ones – something you don’t find in any other part of the metro, I bet. Somewhere in the centre of the metro system there are kids talking about our life here, telling scary stories and asking each other: “Do you believe the tales about the dark ones or not?” And to you that means nothing. You want to scare yourself with yet more things?’

‘Yeah but don’t tell me that you’re only interested in things you can see and feel? You don’t really think that the world is organized into things you can see and hear? Take a mole, for example. It doesn’t see. It’s blind from birth. But that doesn’t mean that all the things that the mole doesn’t see don’t actually exist. That’s what you’re saying…’>

‘OK, so what’s the story you wanted to tell me? About the trader up at the Serpukhovskaya line?’