He put away the cigarettes. Sat down and motioned for her to do the same. Sasha gingerly lowered herself on the edge of the chair.
“Kostya’s… Kozhennikov grandmother died because of you.”
“Because of me?”
“Because you wouldn’t pass him the first time.”
“I didn’t pass him because he was not ready. The rest is Farit’s business.”
“And Farit is what? A machine that executes the sentence? A guillotine?”
“Ask him yourself.” Portnov gave her a weak smile. “Why did you hit that lazy bum?”
Sasha looked down.
‘He didn’t want to… could not concentrate.”
“Farit does the same thing. On his level.”
Sasha clenched her fists in her lap.
“Why do you do this to us? What for? Are we somehow different, did we do something wrong?”
Portnov clicked his lighter.
“No. You did not do anything wrong. But you must study, must work hard, and you do not want to.”
“Because you never explained to us what we are being taught, and why.”
“You would not be able to understand it. It’s too early.”
Sasha watched his lighter release a tongue of fire and pull it back in.
“When a child is taught to draw circles, does he understand what fine motor skills are? When a village boy is accepted to an academy—does he understand a lot about what’s going on?”
“A lot! He understands the main idea! A good teacher can elicit interest… can explain…”
Portnov nodded.
“What is verification, Samokhina?”
“Verification: using empirical data or experiment to confirm the truth of theoretical scientific hypothesis by ‘returning’ to the visual level of knowledge, when the ideal nature of abstract entities is ignored, and they are ‘identified’ with the objects observed.” Sasha said, caught off-guard.
Portnov nodded.
“Your learning process is an observed object. More precisely, it is an observed process. What is happening to you in reality—you are not yet capable of comprehending in your current state of development. It is as if we caught a bunch of young chimpanzees in the jungle, collected them in one place and, using a certain process, kicked off their transformation into… no, not into humans. Into models of world-wide systems and actions of all levels. Inflation, globalization, xenophobia… Do you know how to turn a chimpanzee into a model of stock market crisis?”
Sasha was silent.
“And here’s your verification,” Portnov smirked. “You are a good girl, Sasha, and you are balancing right on the edge. On the very border. I don’t want to lose you.”
Sasha stared into his immobile eyes with narrow pupils.
“Listen to me carefully. Tomorrow you are going home. I don’t know how the ticket situation is going to work out, but let’s hope you will get lucky. During your vacation—until February fourteenth—I forbid you to touch any books on Specialty. Do you understand?”
Sasha nodded, still staring at him.
“Watch yourself very carefully. Stifle your aggravation. Watch your aggression. I know, you are not used to it, but you are very dangerous to others right now. Especially for those who knew you before and who remembers you as a calm, compliant girl.”
“I cannot be dangerous to others,” Sasha said.
“Close your mouth when I am talking. Avoid large crowds. Avoid stressful situations. Make sure to get your return ticket in advance. I want to see you here on the fourteenth, do not be late. And here’s something else: no heart-to-heart talks with your mother. I am telling you this because I wish you well.”
“I noticed,” Sasha said hoarsely.
Portnov smiled.
“You are dismissed. Free to go.”
***
Kostya met her in the dark hallway and hugged, nearly breaking her ribs.
She waited politely for a minute, then detached herself.
“Sasha…”
“Congratulations,” she said officially, “I wish you further success in your studies. Sorry, I have to pack, I’m going home.”
Leaving him behind, she went back to the dorm. Oddly enough, her heart felt light and calm.
Oksana had left the day before. Lisa was not in the room. Sasha threw all her stuff in the suitcase, could not close the lid, and put half of her things back in the dresser. It was quickly getting dark. Sasha glanced at the clock: half past six. The train was coming at eleven twenty-three, but she had no ticket and no idea what she should do.
Should she go to the train station? Or try the ticket office first?
Breathing heavily, she hauled the suitcase out of the room and managed to drag it down the stairs. A memory flashed in her mind: she and Kostya, new kids stepping over the threshold of the dormitory for the first time, the stairs, the suitcase…
As usual, the concierge’s desk was deserted. Sasha put the room key on the hook number 21.
It was snowing again. Sasha walked along the narrow alley to Sacco and Vanzetti and looked for a cab.
There were no cabs. Never had been any. Sasha would have to walk along the snowy streets, hauling the suitcase behind her, until she reached the town’s center, and then she’d have to wait for the bus. Oh well, she had enough time.
“Alexandra!”
She recognized the voice and froze on the spot.
“Sasha, I’ve been waiting for you.”
She refused to turn around. She simply stood clutching the handle of her suitcase. Then the suitcase was taken out of her hands.
“I’m waiting to give you a ride to the train station in my car. Shall we?”
“I won’t go in your car,” Sasha said, feeling how her eyes that had been dry for so long again filled with tears. “Please go away.”
Snow fell slowly. The streetlight glowed.
“You and I need to settle a bit of a debt,” Kozhennikov said, his voice completely different, business-like. “Coins.”
Sasha remembered leaving the bag of coins in the dorm, in her room, under the mattress.
“It’s… there.”
“Go get it.”
She finally looked at him. Snowflakes reflected in his dark glasses.
“One minute.”
She ran back to the dorm, tore the key off the hook, went upstairs, found the bag of coins, and locked the room. She went back outside; Kozhennikov was waiting for her, her suitcase placed on the ground.
“Here.”
He weighted the bag in his hand:
“Thirty-seven… Your inner life is quite in turmoil, Alexandra.”
She held her tongue and did not respond.
“Sasha, I can get you a ticket, even if there are none at the ticket office. And I will bring you right to the train station.”
“I don’t need your help. Good-bye.”
She walked down the street, not looking back, pulling the suitcase behind her. It was getting heavier and heavier, struggling to turn over, its wheels catching on the pavement. A car followed Sasha, not falling behind and not getting ahead; she did not know which car it was. She only heard the soft sound of an automobile crawling over the snow.
Breathing heavily, she finally detected the lights of the central square ahead of her. The bus was coming in half an hour, and a pretty large crowd assembled at the stop. Kozhennikov’s car, a milky-white Nissan, stopped nearby.
Sasha purchased a bus ticket and took her place in the queue. The snow stopped. The wind chased away the clouds and pulled the remaining heat from under Sasha’s jacket.
The bus was running late. When it finally arrived, small and slow, it became obvious that not everyone was going to get on. Bickering followed. The driver promised to return quickly and do one more round trip.
Sasha was chilled to the bone. It was the Old New Year’s Eve. Stars broke out in the sky. Kozhennikov stood next to his car. He did not leave. He waited, his hands stuck in his pockets, and stared up into t
he sky.
The second time the bus arrived shortly after ten. Gasping for breath, Sasha managed to drag her suitcase into the narrow entrance and placed it next to someone’s bundle; this time, she got yelled at—apparently, she’d stepped on someone’s foot. Trying not to pay any attention, she folded herself into a space next to her suitcase and sighed with relief once the lights of Torpa started creeping backwards. She had over an hour until the arrival of the train, she was going to be fine. It was unthinkable that the ticket office would not have one single lousy ticket….
The bus skidded and got stuck in the snow. All the passengers, except for the frailest old ladies, had to come out and push it; the engine roared, dense smoke poured out of the exhaust pipe, snow flew from under the wheels. Sasha’s toes felt frostbitten; at first she was anxious, then angry, then she stopped caring.
The bus reached the station four minutes before the train was scheduled to arrive. Those with tickets sprinted to the platform. Sasha dashed to the ticket office; the window was closed, a sign indicated: “No tickets.”
Sasha sat down on wooden bench. Again she thought of the morning she spent there with Kostya, the sandwiches, the note “Leave now…”
Kozhennikov walked into the station. He stopped at the locked ticket window. Sasha did not look up.
She heard the train arrive, but did not even attempt to get up. People scurried around. The breaks screeched; then screeched again, the train started gaining speed, whistled—and was gone.
Kozhennikov came over and sat down next to her.
“Listen, I respect your choice… but in half an hour, the train stops at Galcy, fifteen minutes away by car. May I take you there?”
Sasha turned her head.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want to help you. I am responsible for you.”
“And are you responsible for Kostya? For… all this? Who do you answer to?”
“I surely will answer to someone,” he said seriously. “Let’s go.”
He picked up her suitcase.
She was too tired and too chilly to resist. He put her suitcase in the back of the white car, opened the door. Sasha walked into the warmth; the door shut with a smacking sound.
Kozhennikov sat next to her, removed his gloves and took out a thermos.
“Here, drink this. It’s tea with cognac.”
A freight train roared by. Sasha took a sip and burned her lips. She caught her breath and took another sip.
“Take my business card. Just in case.”
He placed a business card in her lap, a white rectangle with a telephone number, but no name.
“Use your seatbelt.”
The car got onto the highway and immediately gained speed: Sasha threw a sideways glance and saw the speedometer arrow vacillate at eighty miles per hour. Kozhennikov stared at the road; forest trees sped along both sides of the highway. Long rays of his headlights jumped, dove and flew up on uneven road.
She pocketed his business card.
“Are you human?”
“Let’s agree on the terminology. What is a human? A two-legged creature without feathers…”
“I’m serious.”
“I’m not joking.”
Sasha fell silent.
“Listen, Sasha. I’m very thankful to you for what you have done for my son. You pulled him out by his ears… Saved him… from some very unpleasant things. You are a brave soul, my girl.”
“You are telling me this? You?”
He kept his eyes on the road. Ten minutes later they reached a tiny station, flanked by woods on all three sides. Fifteen minutes later, the train arrived; Kozhennikov had a short exchange with the train attendant, slipped something into her palm and nodded to Sasha:
“Have a good trip.”
He lifted her suitcase onto the train.
***
The train carriage turned out to be split into compartments. Silently, the attendant showed Sasha the top berth in the staff compartment. Sasha hopped in there as she was, in jeans and a sweater, and when she woke up, snow sparkled outside in the sun, and it was almost eleven in the morning.
The train arrived on time. On the platform Sasha saw Mom and Valentin who searched for her looking nervous. A few moments later, Mom clutched her, held her tight, then stepped back a little:
“Wow! What happened to you?”
“What?” Sasha was startled.
“You seem taller… You’ve grown, couple of inches at least!”
They grabbed a cab and drove their student home in style. Mom chatted and laughed, and everyone around her was told that Sasha got straight ‘A’s in all her winter finals. The cab driver learned about it, and the neighbors they saw in the elevator learned about it, and all Mom’s girlfriends who called that day were given that information immediately. Sasha thought that Mom had changed as well: she seemed more cheerful, more relaxed, happier… less intelligent? She chased away that thought.
Mom’s hand healed, and the cast was removed. The apartment smelled differently—the smell of Valentin, who’d settled in a while ago, now mixed with the familiar atmosphere. Now it’s his apartment, too, thought Sasha with a hint of sadness.
Her room did not change. Same rugs, same books on the shelves. A new calendar on the wall, its pictures showing snow falling on forest trees, January.... Sasha had a tough time convincing herself that it was actually her room, her apartment, her bathroom, and there was no need to wait in line for the shower, and no need to bring toilet paper: there was plenty of it in the bathroom, lemon-colored, the embodiment of comfort…
Was it truly just yesterday that they stood in the empty hall under the belly of a bronze stallion, she, Kostya, Lisa, Denis?
Was it truly Farit who gave her a ride to the train last night? “I am very thankful to you…”
Was all that happened to her… for real?
Sasha lay down on her couch. That sensation—of a familiar hard couch rather than an orphanage-style steel-mesh bed—assured her that she was truly home.
***
That night they had a big party. A custom-made cake was delivered from a bakery. Mom’s friends congratulated her; Valentin, who gained a bit of weight in six months of his new family life, labored in the kitchen, eliciting praises from the gathered women.
Sasha smiled, nodded, spoke occasionally. The guests glanced at her, at first curious, then surprised, and finally uneasy. For some reason, Mom looked nervous. Sasha apologized and went into her room, lay down, fell asleep and did not hear the guests depart.
“Sasha, do you feel well?” Mom asked the next morning.
“Sure. Why?”
“You’ve got this stupid new habit—you freeze mid-word and stare into space. What’s all this about?”
“I don’t know,” Sasha said sincerely. “Maybe I just pause to think of something?”
Mom sighed.
***
She really did grow two inches in the last four months. The notches on the door frame did not allow for mistake: Sasha stopped growing in ninth grade at a normal human height, five feet five inches. And now she was five feet seven inches. Mom was surprised and happy about it.
“Do you have some special physical education classes there?”
“Oh yes, we have such a cool gym teacher!”
Mom wanted to know everything about the Institute, living conditions in the dorm, about all the teachers. Sasha stuck to the truth, carefully filtering everything Mom was better off not knowing. Dima Dimych presented some excellent topics for discussion: his kindness, his youth, and his dancing skills.
“I suppose all the girls have a crush on him?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Sasha blushed, remaining perfectly calm inside. Her intuition suggested that at this moment blushing would be appropriate.
Another excellent conversation topic was provided by the history and philosophy professors. Sasha boasted about the homemaking skills of her roommate, talked about winterizing the windows and making their ro
om nice and warm. Central heat? There were some interruptions, but only short ones. Alcohol?! Are you kidding, Mom, they watch us like crazy in that dorm, the superintendent checks all the rooms all the time…
“So what about the transfer?” Valentin interrupted her at some point.
“What transfer?”
“You wanted to transfer out of Torpa. Remember?”
“Yeah.” Sasha was caught off guard. “But frankly speaking… It’s a good school, the teachers are excellent, and the kids are great… Maybe I should just stay.”
Mom and Valentin exchanged glances.
“Sasha, just think for a minute,” Mom said carefully. “Imagine you are trying to get a job. You will immediately be asked: what school did you graduate from? And you will have to tell them that you have a diploma from a completely unknown provincial school
in a teeny town no one has ever heard of…”
“I’ll think about it,” Sasha said quickly. “But if I transfer, I shouldn’t do it right after the first semester, don’t you think?”
“But we should start planning in advance,” Valentin stated with a great deal of authority.
Sasha nodded, trying to wrap up that conversation as soon as possible.
***
A few days later she realized she missed the Institute.
It was impossible, nevertheless it was true. Sasha missed the dorm and her classmates. Individual sessions on Specialty, paragraphs and Exercises, the familiar strain and tiny achievements, the ordinary labor of anyone who desires to learn—all this turned out to be the point of Sasha’s existence. Here, at home, in warm comfort, life had no meaning. Whether you woke up at ten in the morning or at noon, whether you watched television, went for a walk in the park, or went to the theatre or attended a concert—none of it mattered; there was no point, a day was lived in vain, and one more day, and then a week. Sasha felt blue, stared at the ceiling, slowly but surely sinking into a real depression.
“Sasha, what are you doing stuck at home? Go for a walk. Call somebody. What are your former classmates doing? Who is studying where? Don’t you care?!”
A week before the end of her vacation Sasha went to the park. The very same park she measured with her steps so many times, dotted with familiar overgrown bushes. This winter the park underwent a metamorphosis: a skating rink was built, the trees were decorated with lights and garlands, and skates could now be rented at a shack that stood nearby, unused, for many years.