Igor Eliseev - One-Two

I heard the sound of footsteps on a concrete staircase…

You slept so peacefully and quietly that I didn’t dare to awaken you. You’re going to wake up by yourself, I decided. The footsteps ended and a long wiggling shadow appeared in the doorway of the attic. This is not Yura. The expectation lasts forever. Meanwhile, the silhouette determinedly looked around and quickly moved to us. I was enormously overwhelmed with fear and curiosity. The shadow came nearer, entering a better-lit area. Mixed feelings filled me – disappointment, annoyance, fear, hatred, helplessness – when I recognized Compass Legs’s face. I always knew that he would come… and that very instant you opened your eyes.

“Peekaboo!” he hemmed. “Have you been waiting for me?”

“Yeah, right, all our thoughts were about you,” you answered impudently.

“Well, perfectly well. And now, pick your asses up,” he ordered brusquely, sending abundant spit onto the floor, “and march to work.”

Not letting us come round, he shook us out of the blanket and towed us behind him to the exit.

“Don’t touch her! She’s feeling unwell,” I begged for mercy. Perhaps we could put everything right between us and him, come to terms by mutual agreement, but…

“Fuck off, asshole! I’m not going anywhere!” you shrieked aloud. With rage, you thrust your nails into his neck.

Not expecting to encounter such a reaction, he was taken aback and got confused for an instant. Well, those magical instants are worth gold for a director, whoever he may be ,and also for the public, who we truly are. Nonetheless, no moment lasts forever. Quite predictably, after regaining self-possession, Compass Legs slapped you in the face with all his might.

Absolute hatred permeated every fiber of my soul, and it seemed like someone else, not me, whipped out the screwdriver from your pocket. What was that person motivated by? Was it fear or loathing I harbored for that man? Is it possible to explain and justify everything with fear and loathing? Maybe explain, but not justify. It’s too late now to say sorry. A screwdriver is already in my hands. Killing someone is so easy and, along with that, so revolting! At a loss, I pause for a fraction of a second or less, but alas, the difference between losers and winners is often thinner than a hair, and Compass Legs doesn’t hesitate and acts at lightning-speed. He jerks the screwdriver out of my hand and lifts it above his head.

You know, Hope, I’ve got used to the feeling that death is always somewhere near, but who is going to be the first – you or me?

I close my eyes… hear a bump from inside and then nothing unexpected, just a screwdriver sticking out of your chest in the place where a heart should be. I feel strange relief, strange surprise: there is no pain, no fear, and no remorse. You’re slowly going down: first your knees bend and only then you slump sideways, tugging at my sleeve and my hip.

“It is all her freaking fault, not mine. And you,” Compass Legs grumbles apprehensively, pointing his finger at me, “you’d better not open your mouth, or else you’ll follow your sister in a moment.” And he vanishes into the dark as if that element were his life-companion.

I try to get up and look at you. You don’t move, and, apparently, don’t even breathe. I call your name, try to slap you in the face, and shout like an insane person so that everybody can hear: “It was me who provoked fate, attacking Compass Legs on purpose. For all my life I’ve been dreaming of getting rid of you, of my ballast, of escaping from the prison of our bodies.” And now, when you are dying, I have the long-desired power to speak and act for both of us, live up to the hilt, but at the same time I can do nothing. If you don’t live for me, I will die because of you. It is never going to end. Never! I am doomed to live with you forever and you are going to live and suffer with me. I will drag us to the staircase; don’t you dare die on me. Don’t you dare!”

I grasped your elbow and, thrusting my feet against the floor, tried to pull us up to the door. Like a worm in the sun, I coiled next to your body, striving to move forward at least a little bit, but in vain. Summoning the last remnants of my strength, I jerked you by the hand with all the might I had, but you seemed to be glued to the floor. You’re so heavy, Hope, so fucking heavy! Realizing my weakness, I yelled even harder, as hard as our mother must have yelled coughing us out into this world, putting into that yell everything I have ever experienced in my life: hatred, love, despair and hope. And then… How long did we lie on the floor?

When I regained consciousness, feeling deep pain in my cheek, I saw a thin face hovering in front of me. It was Yura’s, and he was giving me another slap in the face. This morning everyone seemed to be conspiring to beat us without permission.

“Do you hear me?” he shouts.

Yes, I hear his voice, but somewhere far away from here. He applies his sweater to your chest, feels your pulse.

“What happened?”

“It was me…” I pause, not able to continue. Yura frowns, but abstains from further inquiries. “Is she dead?”

“No, she’s still breathing,” he answers. “It is a miracle that she is still alive. I called an ambulance; they are going to be here in a minute.”

“It’s my fault,” I say almost inaudibly. “I always wanted to live without her.”

“Keep quiet, you’ll tell everything later,” he smiles understandingly. “Now you’re wasting her strength.”

And he took me by the hand and kept holding it in the ambulance car and in the hospital.

They’re rolling us somewhere on the gurney. There is a narrow, endless corridor, shabby walls and a row of lamps floating along the ceiling. You might probably know, this hospital corridor reminds me of human life – no one can see where it ends, no one can remember where it begins, no one can be told what it is. In the operating theater doctors are hanging over us like flat, white shadows, dividing us with a screen, so that I can no longer see you with my eyes. I know as soon as I fall asleep I will never wake up again. I fight to keep my eyes wide open with all the feeble strength that remains in us, seeking to stay in this world a little longer, but the desire to sleep is so excessive and so abnormal.

I’m slowly waking up after anesthesia. A small hospital room with a clean window; it is snowing outside. I am very happy to see the light of the day.

“Do you feel nauseous?” a hospital attendant asks.

I shake my head and then ask him faintly, “Is my sister okay?”

“Everything is all right,” a familiar voice says, and Yura appears before the window.

“I’ll see about telling her everything, so please leave us alone,” he addresses the hospital attendant who places his palms one against the other, in front of his chest, takes a deep breath and immediately goes out.

“Your sister… she is recovering after the surgery. The screwdriver pierced her lung, and she lost a lot of blood. But don’t worry, her heart was not affected… for it is located on the right side of her body,” he speaks as if to himself.

I nod silently in response. Where did all those nice, sweet words, the integral part of his repertoire, go? He is so serious – frighteningly serious!

“I have good news for you,” he starts almost whispering. “I found a doctor who is capable of performing separation surgery. A big dream of yours is coming true, finally. But I don’t think we should wake Hope up. She needs a rest; you will tell her later.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded with shock, deafened by internal roaring. Can it be that we shall be hived off, split up in two halves, so that each one will become an independent person? I am so scared, Hope. Now when I am so close to the goal, I am so terribly scared!