Igor Eliseev - One-Two

Very strong, obnoxious feelings come into our lives through sudden insight. You might unexpectedly feel something splitting off from your heart and wandering all over your body, like a tiny stone in a boot. There’s nothing you can do about it: neither get used to it nor shake it out. I clearly saw us from the outside, like in a picture. We are not really human beings. We are a road-side sign warning people to stop and thank their lucky stars that such a fate as ours didn’t befall them, and only then keep going their way. All right, but who is going to be a benchmark for us? What road sign is going to guide our voyage? It is so good that you’re still asleep, and I can speak out and put into words every single thing on my mind.

I often think that, deep within, people agree to humiliation which steers them back on to the right path, but self-humiliation is more effective and sweeter. It just so happens that we represent the brightest example of it. With our appearance, we endlessly abase ourselves, thereby exalting people around us. Like snakes, we whisper in people’s ears with forked tongues: “Look at us, worse things happen. Look at us.” I think getting used to hard luck makes us even greater losers. A streak of troubles and mischiefs is infinite because it ruins our desire, will and aspiration to do something bigger and better. All that is left for us is boredom, a lack of faith and hopefulness.

Having realized that our shared illness is ourselves and not a mysterious force above us, I came across an even more amazing and odd thing that was actually forever present, forever obvious. Of the many great ways that exist to get cured of oneself, the most effective is to obliterate one’s mind; and there is no greater help than alcohol. I even had my own idiotic theory: we get drunk to unlock our hidden secrets to the world, and every bad thing in life comes to a natural end eventually. However, this idea isn’t a new one. But once we sober up, reality suddenly acquires its former outlines, forcing us to muffle up in a blanket again to resemble normal people, at least a little.

Vodka is a repulsive substance. The only good thing about it is the final feeling of booziness but, speaking frankly, even that can’t and shouldn’t be enjoyable! Anyway, we were drinking, dishonestly deceived and alienated from ourselves, imprisoned in a bottle like fairy tale djinns. The former synchrony of our acts completely disappeared. Sometimes simple movements, such as walking, getting up or sitting down took a great deal of time and effort as if we had to make summersaults or perform fanciful tricks. Having lost a sense of reality, we never hurried anywhere. We didn’t know how long our intoxicated oblivion would last.

I remember one night I was woken up by an urgent physical need and tried to rattle you up, but in vain; so I had nothing left to do but relieve myself while lying on the floor. It felt wet and immensely loathsome all night long. Once again, we descended into hell but lived even worse than sinners.

Compass Legs knew about our drinking habit, but didn’t see any tragedy in it. Most likely, we collected more alms in that condition , but I don’t remember for sure. And one day, perhaps being overwhelmed with “gratitude” for our work, he invited us for a drink with his friends at a lousy boozer. You were certainly on cloud nine that day. All day long you hummed something that ended with “I wish I was alone” in a low tone, jigging up and down in excitement, and what angered me the most was your total lack of remorse. Again, I saw what you really were and greatly disliked it. It just so happened that you were the reason for so much more pain and suffering than people deserve, taken out on me, hurt by misfortune. And yet I still loved you. Former Hope, strong, stout hearted, self-giving, capable of honorable actions, and present Hope, pathetic, embittered and rude. I loved “both” of you so much that I could have easily died for you if only I’d had the chance.

You kept silent. Why am I actually recounting all this? Whether it is a final attempt to talk my fears away, to muffle my cries of pain! Only the devil knows. In this smelly, rotten-through world I still crave to love without being loved back; it is the best antidote for pain and indifference. Love is what heals all wounds, not vodka. I believe – in love.

“Tell me, Faith, am I beautiful?” you asked, slowing down in front of an already closed store window. “Tell me the truth.”

And suddenly something childish and naive appeared through your veil of ignorance and rudeness. So, this is where your intimate, purely woman’s dream to be an object of admiration and desire has been hiding! With bated breath, I lovingly peered at the reflection in the window where a thin, small girl with long hair, an exact replica of myself, was snuggling to me. Suddenly my eyes got wet… because so many times I have looked at you and never realized how attractive you are. I was surprised that nobody could say it. Maybe people just can’t stand beautiful freaks – or we might be beautiful only for each other.

“Sometimes you look at me so weirdly as if you’re much older,” giving a sigh, you commented on my thoughtful expression. “So, am I beautiful?”

Instead of answering, I rummaged in our pockets and took our mom’s lipstick, then colored your lips and smoothed down your hair. Fastidiously examining your face from all sides, you applied one more layer of lipstick, just to make sure, and dropped carelessly:

“I think we should make you up too.”

“No need to. Today I’m staying at home. You will go by yourself.”

As you are well aware, we have been doing everything together for our entire life. Of course, I was extremely tired of it. And so many nights I just dreamt of staying alone with myself for a while but the worst thing you could do at that moment was to support me in this desire.

Having decided to drink myself insensible, I suggested finishing the bottle standing in the attic. My head instantly started buzzing and throbbing, and all of a sudden I became deadly sleepy, as if we were taking sleeping pills instead of vodka. I can only remember brief snippets of what happened next. Somehow I found us in a boozer sitting opposite Compass Legs and strenuously pretending that whatever was going on had no relevance to me. However, I was drinking beer along with everybody, and when I tried to get up – obviously, to go to the bathroom – the chair nearly seized you, holding me back. I was heavy, dizzy, and reality looked hostile. Objects were losing their usual shape, blurring and vanishing. I felt like I was going mad, slowly sinking into a deep abyss, until I fell into a dead faint, and darkness surrounded us, or just me.

People who have undergone a leg or an arm-amputation are said to feel their limbs as if they remained in place, but I am wondering whether they feel them just a moment before they lose them forever. As for me, I felt neither my arms, nor my legs, nor your bodily presence. Instead, I had a dream of being a little girl again, and you were holding me in your arms. You gave me a bright, good-natured smile, stroked my hair, touched my neck and then started strangling me, still smiling. Caught up in a frenzy of horror, I felt myself dying, suffocating in my sleep, then I started groaning and tossing and finally woke up.

My pulse was throbbing in my temples, my hands were trembling, but two bitter hearts were still beating in agreement. Turning to the right, I felt – sometimes it’s more than seeing – you strangling yourself with a piece of old wire. By some miracle I twisted and slapped you in the face several times, not even realizing that all this time I was shrieking. You almost did it but ended up just gasping convulsively.

“Whyyyy?” I croaked. “Stop doing it! Drop it!”