In the falling shades of evening, the city lit its lights. And the silent houses followed me with its glowing eyes of window frames. Passers-by were wrapped in coats and scarves as fine crumbs of the early snow were falling from the sky. I did not feel the cold. Actually I didn't feel anything at all - neither legs, although the pavement deliberately swam beneath me, nor hands, although I tried to make them out extending them in front of me, and only the strange confidence that it is not in vain that I found myself here now, as a spark of hope and joyful anticipation burned in my ghostly body. I paused in front of a three-storey building with carved balconies, illuminating the old courtyard with squares of electric light. The window next to the balcony on the upper floor also radiated a soft light, inviting. This was what I needed, beyond any doubt. I went up, floating past the windows, mundane lives and other people's beating hearts, to meet the rhythm of the only one young woman's heart and.... Yes, it was her, sitting at the dinner table in the center of a bright living room with a blank look, her thin fingers rolling the napkin ring on the white tablecloth. She didn't raise her eyes, giving me the precious moments of the sweet expectation, and the ability to watch every strand of her soft hair done up, each wave of a flowing fabrics, embracing her slender stature, shades of her skin on pink cheeks, creamy shoulders and pale wrists.
'Oh, my God!' cried a woman, and rushed to shut the balcony doors thrown open behind me.
My angel looked up, starting at the noise, and unleashed the full force of her eyes on me. But the next moment she turned away, not having found any entertainment in a sudden storm.
'It seems, I have a pretty nice way back home ahead of me, the wind increases,' with a smile in his voice, said a man next to her.
Until now I didn't realize that she was not alone in that room.
'It's just the wind,' beamed the woman latching the door, and hastily returned to her place at the table. 'Some more wine, Sergei Ivanovich?' she asked with the same friendly smile on her lips. 'Please help yourself and be sure to try the meat pie. My Katerina is such a good hand at cooking. Everything you see on the table she made herself.' She praised the girl who looked indifferently out of the window, as if this conversation did not concern her at all and she wanted to be anywhere else in this very moment but here.
'Everything is really tasty,' said Sergei Ivanovich, chewing another masterpiece of culinary art the attentive hostess added to his plate.
'And how she sings! You just have to hear her. Knits and loves children so much. She is always ready to spend the whole day long with them romping about. Isn't it so, Katusha?[3]
'Yes, mother,' the girl nodded obediently, took a good sip of her wine and turned away again.
'I'll bring dessert,' hastily added the woman, trying to smooth out the awkwardness, and disappeared into the kitchen, 'You must ask her to play something for you!' she cried from the kitchen breaking the complete silence in the living room, 'She plays violin marvelously'.
'Is that so?' Sergei Ivanovich smiled politely stroking his moustache and trying to catch the girl's gaze at last.
My angel reluctantly turns away from the window, gives her companion a long look, and utters in a velvet voice: 'It is. Would you like to examine the teeth?'
'I beg your pardon?' he asks, choking on his pie.
'Isn't it customary to check the teeth, when buying a brood mare?' she wondered in the same sweet tone.
Coughing Sergei Ivanovich rises awkwardly to his feet, mutters apologies and hastily leaves the room.
I can't hold back the laughter. My fallen angel, my unattainable dream, my immortal beloved!
So familiar this stubborn chin is to me, as the open look from under the arches of the eyebrows and the thoughtful tilt of the head. What wouldn't I give for the opportunity to touch her hand that lay on the table by the stem of the wine glass! What wouldn't I give for the opportunity to call her by her name, just for her one glance! But even this trifle is not given to us. She will not hear me, won't know that I'm here, won't be able to look into my eyes, and understand who I am. Cruel world will hide her from me as soon as we collide in one of the realities. And no one can predict how many precious seconds of the long-awaited meeting, we will be able to steal before we find ourselves in different worlds once again, lost, disoriented, devastated. And we will search for the meaning again and roam amongst people, will watch the world changing over time with new eyes. And only the eyes of each other will be able to tell us who we are, only in the eyes of each other will we be able to make out our meaning, our place in the universe, our beacon that beckons with light, so close but always out of reach.
I was so close, my cheek touched her hair, but the rhythm of her heart was steady, unchanged, she was breathing soundless, with sightless gaze fixed somewhere into vacancy. She didn't remember that somewhere on earth, in the grip of another reality, far away or very close, in the air, in someone else's body or just in memories, but always for her there was I.
'What happened? What did you say to him?' her mother broke the silence returning to the living room.
'Nothing,' wearily answers the girl, collecting the plates from the table.
The woman collapses in a chair, rumpling a kitchen towel in her hands.
'Oh my god, don't you understand? It's time for you to get married, have family, kids, and all you do is choose! Don't you remember how old are you? Sergei Ivanovich is such a nice and handsome man, a widower, well-to-do, has a flat and a car. What exactly doesn't serve you? Such a good man! I was only gone for two minutes, what you could possibly tell him that he plunged out of here as if scalded!'
My angel shrugs, and I am the only one who sees her gaze at the twilight sky outside the window...
'Andrew! Hey, wake up.'
Rubbing his sleepy eyes with the fist, Andrew straightened up in a passenger seat of the police car and looked around bewildered. They rode through the back yard, illuminated by electric light, and stopped at the entrance of the Department.
'Let's go,' Mikhalich clapped him on the shoulder, and got out of the car.
Still struggling with his sleep, Andrew awkwardly climbed out after him. What a strange dream, he thought. As long as he could remember, nothing like this has ever happened to him before. His dreams were always just fragments of images and phrases, often unrelated logically absurd even. But this was different. It was too realistic. As if he really had just been there, in another city, in another time zone, in another century.
As far as he could judge by the decor and the people's clothes he just saw in his strange dream, they were the thirties of the last century. And it was definitely winter. Andrew glanced at the neatly shaved lawns, already gleaming with an early-dew. So it was just a freak of the imagination, of which, as he always believed, he was completely devoid. But he still remembered every detail: the colors, the objects, as if he has watched a piece of a movie, with one difference that he took part in it himself.... He was there...
A sweat stood on his forehead, despite the fresh windless night. Slowly he held out his hands with open palms in front of him, as he did just a few minutes ago in his strange dream.
His hands as a proof that he was back in reality, were in their proper place. But the loud beat of the agitated heart deafened him by a wave of déjà vu, and the echo of the immense thirst of touch still burned in his fingers, and before him there was a face of a girl who opened her eyes so carelessly towards him. But perhaps the strangest thing in all of this was that he could not remember their color, or their shape, as if to be blinded coming out of a dark basement into the bright sunlight.
Everything around disappeared the moment he saw those eyes. She was his sun. She was the entire universe; she was a whole galaxy...
'What's wrong?' Mikhalich turned around. 'You look kind of woozy. You need a good night's sleep. I'll have someone to drive you home; you don't seem like driving yourself.'
'No, it's okay. I'm fine, really', shaking off the stupor and silly thoughts along with the remnants of drowse, Andrew went after his partner into the office.
Even the strangest things one can often explain very simply - he may in fact once saw something similar in a movie and his brain overloaded with information played a silly joke on him, which is not at all surprising after a long day and sleepless nights in chase of the escaped criminals.
He got home only in the morning. At the gate there was the dog waiting for him, as his permanent guardian.
'Hello, beauty! How are you?' Patting her head, Andrew made an inviting gesture to the house.
'Won't you come inside? I'll look for something in the fridge for you. No? Oh, well, I'm not in the mood today to persuade you. I'm dog tired. I mean... Oh, well, do not take it personally. No offense meant, okay?'
Pausing on the threshold, again he opened the door wider, but the visitor stayed put and continued watching his every move with her smart eyes.
'Well, as you wish. But I will definitely come in. It would not hurt to sleep for a couple hours. These jail breakers are starting to get on my nerves.'
At the bedroom door he paused, spotting the unfinished letter on the coffee table in the living room next to the untouched yesterday's coffee. The old sheets enticed with the solution that one finds only on the last page of a detective novel. Andrew made himself a new cup of strong coffee.
"...Our provincial town, that looked more like a village sprawled at the foot of the hill, could not give me the freedom of thought, flight of soul, and certainly could not conceal those mirages, which I've been chasing my whole life. My bags were packed and waiting for their turn to take their place in a boot of the brand new neighbor's "seven",[4] which was supposed to take me to the nearest train station. I was ready to leave this town forever, without looking back. And I would probably have done it if it were not for you.
The speed was low, given the condition of the country roads. The home has long disappeared over the hill, and I watched with interest a large bird that saw me off. It practically chased our car, hovering high over us or flew by my window, as if to look inside, and cut the air right in front of us with a smooth motion of the wings, almost touching the windshield. Some five kilometers remained until the highway, and the iron beast eagerly roared in anticipation of a long-awaited opportunity to finally "stretch its legs", when suddenly the bird froze in the sky above. I could clearly see its dark brown feathers with black edging, a wide wingspan and beady black eyes. The next moment, head down, wings folded, it threw itself on the windshield like a blur, sprouting a white web of a broken glass on its surface.
I did not remember how the car stopped, did not hear the curses of the driver inspecting the damage, I rushed to the wounded one with a desperate desire to help, although somewhere deep down I knew that I could not, for a human cannot outrun death.
I was never afraid of death, because it is just a natural part of life. But when I touched the broken body that was filled with the vital energy only a moment ago, and now was just an empty frame still warm under my fingers, I couldn't hold back the tears.
I was shocked to witness this voluntarily act of souls release. Maybe I took it as a sign or just devastated could not find the strength to make a decision, or even to go further, but at some point I realized that I must return. Now I know it was you. You looked after me, you guided me, you spoke to me.
That is how I finally made a decision on the place of my residence, and it was already something, taking into account the distressful uncertainty in any other aspect of my life, that is my financial position and of course a peace of mind.
It was easier to believe that my difference of others was that famous uniqueness of a person and thus beauty. With just one problem - I did not consider myself as such. And growing up, gaining experience, I wanted to be like everyone else, just because I was tired of my own agony and ordeal. I wanted to try everything. And it wouldn't be too far from the truth if I say that I've tried almost everything in this world. I did any job I could, hoping that it would eventually strike me with inspiration and a strange light of insight would tell me that I have finally found what I needed. Ironically, or maybe in my case quite logically, I took a job as a secretary in a small foreign company, handing over the reins of my destiny to other people. I really felt relieved for a while as if to take a vacation after so many years of painful prolonged and endless decision-making in some sunny resort, where there is an entertainment program ready for guests, where friendly employees will carefully watch your schedule and point the right way for you when you're lost in an unknown territory and will bring you your coffee or fresh juice, anticipating your wishes. Except of course it was I who did all that in the performance of my duty. But doing the bidding of others, following someone's clear instructions, I was grateful for this respite, for this unexpected rescue.
I did not know then, I could not know that somewhere close by in this world there was you - the only one who could replace me the world.
Thus, my useless empty life began. I guess I would be right to say that many who did not have what I had, called me a hypocrite. By and large I had everything. I had a roof over my head, a good job, a sufficient income, a car. I lived for myself and could afford myself to spend the money on some bright bauble, without thinking of how much it cost.
I eagerly surrounded myself with expensive things in an unconscious attempt to buy everything that I lacked. But all that one can buy will never replace the soul - your soul.
Without you, I was devoid of feelings. You may find that hard to believe, but looking at the male population around I felt nothing.
Of course, there were men in my life. But it wasn't my choice. They always choose me. And I just watched with interest the development of my own feelings, when a man's hand touched me. But any relationship has evolved according to the same scenario: cautious interest from my part, self-awareness, then denial and finally disgust. I guess I didn't want to believe in my own abnormality and still waiting for the fire in the blood so praised by artists and poets, sometimes I allowed them to love me. But that was more like jealousy. I envied them, all those who looked at me with love or desire in their eyes. Because I wanted to love too, I wanted to feel.
I remember one conversation that still makes me think about the meaning of this stupid life.
'You are a strange girl, Olga. Do you know this?' I was asked once. And that question only confirmed my doubts in my own sanity.
Oh, I knew! I have long wondered myself, who I was. What was I doing in this world? And was it possible that all this is just someone's idea of a joke. As if someone created me like a doll and placed me in a dollhouse in some doll's country to watch me from above. What would I do, if I was able to survive, surrounded by the same strange creatures who call themselves humans. But of course I didn't say it all out loud.
'What makes you think that?' I blinked my eyelashes innocently instead.
My companion smiled to the road through the windshield of his car speeding us to the nearest district town for dinner. He shrugged his shoulders.
'The majority of single girls of your age are either frantically looking for a husband, thinking that they already have lost too much time, or build a career as hardened feminists.'
'Are there no other options?' I grinned.
'No, there aren't. At first, I thought you belong to the first category, but you persistently claim that you do not want to get married.'
'I do not,' I confirmed.
He furrowed his brow.
'Or maybe it's just one of the women tricks. Well, you know women are very cunning. You can be all for sex without commitment, but way before a man can say knife it is time to buy rings.'
'Then why am I still single?'
'Still searching.'
'But according to your own theory, a searching girl isn't very scrupulous choosing, since time is running out.'
'So you don't want to?'
'No, I don't.'
'Why?' he persisted.
'Look, who's asking... A married man who takes a girl for dinner in another town, so God forbid to run into any acquaintance in the restaurant, who can give a report on your affairs to your wife,' I grinned. 'Maybe that's why.'
'But this...'
'Anyway, you're unlikely to change my mind, whatever you say,' I interrupted impatiently, staring out the window.
'But I am happy,' he smiled at me like a wise teacher to a silly pupil, 'I have a daughter...'
'Exactly my point,' I nodded, 'you are happy because you have a daughter, and not because you have a wife.'
'Okay, marriage you don't want. But you are not interested in a career either.'
'Why?' I stared at him stupidly with my eyes wide.
'Well, for one, with a good education and two languages you work as a secretary.'
'But why can't it be the beginning of something really huge?'
'No,' he shook his head, 'You're definitely not interested.'
I merely raised a questioning eyebrow.
'Won't you contradict?' he wanted to know.
'No,' I responded after a pause.
'We came to the beginning,' he smiled again, 'who are you? From what world? From what far away country?' He asked lightly but I couldn't answer him. Because I didn't know the answers to these simple questions myself.
I looked at his inviting hand upon my knee, waiting for the rush of feelings, the flash of the finally awakened tenderness, but... didn't feel anything except the heat of his palm on my cold skin. Meeting neither delight nor protest on my part, he squeezed my hand in his, and looked attentively at the road.
'Would you like me to teach you how to shoot?' he asked suddenly.
'Yes.'
We drove into a field, hidden from the main road by the thick line of trees. He pulled out a gun from the pocket behind the driver's seat and loaded it with six bullets. With a satisfied smile, noticing a spark of interest in my eyes, he took me by the hand and led into the field..."
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[3] Katusha - an affectionate form of the name.
[4] Nickname of the car VAZ 2107, built by Russian car manufacturer AvtoVAZ in 1982