by Pavel Kostin
It’s…
I smile, I want to turn round. But nothing happens. How come, I don’t get it… I try with all my might, but my whole body is tied down, fixed, pinned by strange bonds.
She’s laughing behind me.
I look at myself. I’m covered in sand. So covered that I can’t move. I try with all my might but nothing happens. How come? How come?
The sun touches the sea.
At that moment the whole sky burns red. The sunset blazes above the endless horizon. The clouds flow by, constantly changing, gleaming with streaks of crimson. The sun is huge. It’s swallowing the sea. The world is going wrong. The world is turning hostile. Out in the distance, at the very edge, something big is moving towards the seashore.
“What is that? What is it, Max?” I hear her voice.
I want to say that everything’s fine, everything’s going to sort itself out, but I’ve got no voice. I can see that a huge scarlet wave is building above the sea.
It’s moving towards us. Fast. Unstoppable. Run, we’ve got to run. I need to say something to her, to warn her, but I can’t say even a single word. Get up, move. Not a flicker of movement. I have to move, but I can’t. I can’t even waggle a finger, and even the attempt makes my muscles burn with pain. Move. Move, that’s what I need to do now more than anything. But I can’t. I can’t!
The wave gets closer all the time. It is fire, the crimson fire of the sun, but an icy wind is blowing from it. I start to get covered in ice. I turn to stone. I want to scream, but my throat is filled with cold sand.
I wake up.
I have tears in my eyes. Cold. I’m lying on the roof. It’s night already. I need to get going, I need to move, or I’ll freeze and get ill. I tell myself this again and again, but for a long time, a very long time, I lie there on the deserted rooftop, shivering from the cold and looking up at the huge starry sky.
• • •
Morning again. All night I wandered through the city. I was looking at graffiti. Sometimes I think I see something really familiar. Then I stop and take a long look at the painting. But it doesn’t help me remember where I’ve seen it. Cold. I hope I haven’t got ill. It’s overcast today. The scurrying clouds are reflected in the black glass. It seems as if the clouds are scurrying over from the other side, as if every window is a huge TV transmitting static from another world.
I’ve come to a familiar place. My legs just brought me here. I’ve been here before, haven’t I? I look up.
I’m at my job. Why? Of course. Because I’ve got a shift today. Can I work? I don’t know. I’ve barely slept? Could they be waiting for me here? Hardly. Not in the morning.
I go inside. Say hello. Reply politely to concerned questions about how I’m feeling. Sign in. Watch the last workers leave through the main gate. They can barely put one leg in front of the other. Time is flying by in bursts. Sometimes imperceptibly, sometimes slowly, thick like treacle.
I’m alone again.
I go up to my section. The steps ring with a metallic jangle. They’ve put the staircase in, nice one. Could have painted it.
I’m at the top. Now I can relax. It’s going to be a warm day today. I lie down right there on the roof. I can fall asleep. But there’s something else important. I’ve got to remember. Something important. What Ben said. What did he say?
I have to figure out what’s the last moment I remember in my life.
That’s easy. Let’s have a think.
So, yesterday I spent the whole day chilling with Ben. It was a good day. A lot of sun and sky and summer in the city. My eyes are closed, but I’m smiling.
And what was before that?
The theatre. The circle of light. Did that really happen? It happened. I took an important decision and ran right off the stage. I remember Linda’s fair hair, her hand holding a cigarette and her bright eyes. The jigsaw which was made especially for you. The missing piece which has been hidden and which you have to find. What else? Club FridayZZ. Night, torches, the frightened faces of Oxana and Viktor. Confusion and heaviness in my head. A flash. That’s when I realised that I had problems with my memory. And I… I didn’t go inside. They pulled me out. Viktor and Oxana pulled me out. Why? What was in there?
Night. Black dogs. The road lit with flaming torches leading off into the wood. The silent masks surrounding me. Running through the wood at night. The strange light on the hill. The evil, drunk faces of the guys we had to run away from to save ourselves. Walks through the city. Gray hanging upside down and smiling. Talking to Lady F… right here on this roof and the three aces looking up. A teary Oxana. I dragged her out of some stupid situation at some guy’s flat.
Mutt. The invisible tower. The dog that attacked Linda. Flowers and cats on a brick wall. My knees shaking because I’ve nearly fallen off the roof at work. It’s a long way down. About eight storeys. I’d probably have been smashed to pieces. Did that really happen? Of course it happened, I remember it very clearly and precisely. You can go up the stairs, go out onto the roof, onto the warm rooftop and look down. Then I fell for some reason. Ah, they were doing up the staircase. It’s good I don’t have to use it any more. And before that, what was before that?
Before that there were the guys. Mutt, Linda, Gray and Torte. A beam of light and an enormous butterfly on the wall. The silhouette of a woman’s face. The outline of a girl. And running dogs. No, that was before. The guys. The artists. Tanya. The car. The money. The sevens.
A bright ray of light crawling across the wall.
“Imagine,” Dmitri Alexandrovich says to me softly, “that you’ve got a friend Misha. Have you imagined that?”
“No, Dmitrii Alexandrovich,” I say. “Ben is me. You’ve got it all confused.”
“What about the roof, Ben?”
“What about it, Dmitri Alexandrovich?”
“Turn round, Ben. But be careful! It’s a long way down!”
I look down. It really is a long way. And my mum is shouting. Wouldn’t want to come crashing down from up here! But it’s warm here, up on the roof. Just baking. Mum, stop shouting! It’s all OK. I’m just joking about, Mum.
“Hi!” she says.
She is behind me.
“Hi!” I greet her cheerily.
I want to look at her so badly, so badly. But I can’t turn round. My darling, my darling Lady F! I can’t turn round. And that noise too. What came after that? What’s next? I can’t figure it out.
Nothing. A grey fog. There’s nothing more. There’s no way to get deeper. Just noise.
It’s the noise of the trees. Big, huge, towering trees, reaching right up to the sky. Far above their crowns intertwine, forming a dome which the sun can never break through. Ahead of me there is an avenue which goes round a corner. I remember that it’s dangerous here. It can get scary here. But I can just not think about it and then everything will be fine.
There’s something in my hand. It’s a photo. I can’t see it, but I know it’s a photo. Cold. A cold spot on my back. From behind me and to the left, I feel this penetrating cold, like there’s an icy ray drilling through me. Turn round. I can’t turn round. I have to turn round. The wind flutters the photo in my hand. I want to look, but… Up ahead something’s moving. It’s the black dogs. No. I look carefully. There, beyond the trees, I see a road. Cars are going along it, one after another. It’s just an ordinary road. You can go along it to get the park. I’ve just been along it to get here. Scary.
There’s a photo in my hand. I want to look at it. But I can’t. I can’t. This tiny, insubstantial object in my hand suddenly becomes heavier than iron, heavier than a boulder, heavier than me. The photo falls out of my hands and disappears in the ground, its enormous weight driving it down.
I’m overcome with terror. Powerlessness. A nightmare. Shaking hands. I have to turn round, I want to look at her.
>
But I can’t.
I open my eyes. I feel good. My head is clear. I’m lying on the roof of the factory. I just had a nightmare, that’s all. Why did I wake up?
I crawl over to the edge. There’s a guy standing on the other side of the factory gate, looking at the fence. Then he climbs over it. I see Snowy lifting his head. Even from eight storeys up I recognise him immediately. He was already after me then, in the theatre. Time to go.
I don’t get up but move over to the staircase crouched over. I go down carefully, not lifting my head. Then a yelp. You wouldn’t say that Snowy is much of a fighting dog. He’s good at sensing strangers. And the night watchman has to take it from there. But right now the night watchman is stealthily making his way towards the fence on the opposite side from the entrance. He climbs over and sprints away.
Farewell, my job. They’ll have to find another night watchman. I hope they’ll remember me fondly. And I thank you. Thank you for leading me to my strange dream and to this discovery on the top of an eight-storey factory. I understood three things. Number one: the last thing I remember is the roof of the building where I sat swinging my legs. Number two: the gloomy park under the tall trees where the black dogs live is real. It’s somewhere in my city. I don’t remember where. I don’t even remember vaguely, but I know for sure that I’ve been there before. And finally: the photo. The photo in my hand, the light photo that’s heavier than a rock. I remember it. I think I remember.
• • •
A call. Somewhere nearby a phone is ringing. I don’t understand. The melody is really close by, but there’s no one around. I realise with surprise that it’s coming from my pocket. It’s my mobile. Have I finally lost the plot? It’s not my ringtone. For sure. How come? I get out my phone, look at the screen.
“Sweetheart”. Who’s that then?
“Hello?”
Then it hits me – last time round Oxana got into my phone, and changed my contacts, and changed my ringtone too.
“Hi Max, is that you?” she says hurriedly. “Where are you? Where’ve you disappeared off to? Is everything alright?”
“Everything’s alright,” I reply. “More or less.”
I hear her breathing excitedly down the line.
“Max, let’s meet up!”
“What for?”
“What do you mean what for?! We’re going out! I need you. I’m worried about you. What’s up with you? What’s happening?”
“Everything’s fine. I’m just looking for answers. Certain answers to certain questions. Questions that are important to me.”
“Max, let’s meet up. Please.”
“Will you come alone?”
“Yes, fine…”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
We meet half an hour later on our usual bench in the park.
She looks at me for a long time, hugs me, kisses me.
“Maxim, what’s up with you? You’re scaring me.
“I’m looking for answers, Oxana. Answers that are very important to me.”
“What answers, why?”
“My past. What happened to me before.”
“It’s… Max, what do you need all that for? You’re only hurting yourself. There wasn’t anything important. Stop it. Everything’s going to be fine, remember? Do you believe me?”
“I don’t know…”
“Max. Listen to me,” she clasps my head in her hands and looks me in the eye, seriously and intently. “Max. Listen. Everything’s good with us. Remember? You’ve got me. We’re a couple. We’ve got a future. Maybe we’ve got at a long relationship ahead of us. Maybe even more. Who knows? Right now you’re destroying everything. You’re hurting yourself, destroying yourself. Stop it. Just forget all this. I’m begging you, forget it. Whatever there was in your past, real or imagined, doesn’t matter now.”
I don’t say anything back. It’s hard for me to look her in the eye. She looks full of worry. Real worry, on my behalf. How can I explain to her…
“Max…” she says despondently.
“It matters,” I reply gloomily. “It matters to me.”
“Stop it!” she cries with tears in her eyes. “Stop this! Please! When are you going to stop? I don’t want this. We shouldn’t have come here. We shouldn’t have… Forget it, just forget it, I’m begging you! It’s all in the past. Now there’s just you and me! There’s no past, there’s only the future. It’s all those artist friends of yours. It’s all them. Sad mental cases. Max. Come with me, eh? Just come with me. Let’s just have everything be like it was before. We were good together, right?”
“Oxana,” I say. “Don’t… I have to remember. I have to.”
“Max,” she says, her hands squeezing against my head. “Max, listen here. Right now you’re going to go with me. And all the bad stuff is going to stay in the past. It’s going to stay in the past forever. All your memories, your mental friends, your crazy street art, all your pain, everything bad. Everything. And ahead of you there’s only good. That’s where there’s you and me. And our happiness. We’ll live together, then we’ll get married, and we’ll have kids, and everything will be OK. OK?”
She waits. She’s probably right. Is it worth it? I think about it. She sees the doubt in my eyes; her eyes burn with crazy hope.
For a second, for one tiny second, I agree in my head. But then everything comes back. Too late. It’s too late to stop.
She realises even before I reply. She cries without a sound. Tears pour out of her eyes.
I gently free myself from her hands.
“Sorry, Oxana. I can’t. My path is different, you see?”
“What, what different path have you got? What’re you on about?!” she cries angrily.
“I don’t know. I need to work that out myself.”
“Yourself. Yourself! And did you ever think about me?!”
She starts crying, smearing the mascara round her eyes.
“Again… Again, what is it with me? What is it with me… I’m not right. I’m just not right…”
She covers her face and sobs violently. I stand next to her, not knowing what to say.
“Oxana. You’ll be great. I know for sure. But I’ve got to go. Sorry, I’ve got to go.”
She doesn’t reply, just sobs violently, her head buried in her hands. Her fragile shoulders tremble.
I walk away. I feel bad inside. But I need to keep going. Oxana distracted me, but that photo… I know it’s in my flat. Hidden in one of the books. I put it there ages ago. I need to keep going. There’s not a lot of time.
• • •
The half-gloom of the corridor. I turn the key carefully. The lock still clicks, however much I try to be silent.
A pause. I wait. If there’s someone there, I’ll be giving myself up for sure.
Nothing. I open the door carefully. Inside there are a few signs of someone else’s presence. The empty teapot with the lid off. The open bathroom door. They’ve definitely been waiting for me here, hoping that I’d come home. Maybe even mum too. Only she has a key. She’s unlikely to have given it to someone. There’s half a sandwich on the table. Looks like she left in a hurry. Someone probably called her.
I smell food and immediately realise how hungry I am. I throw the remains of the sandwich into my mouth on the walk. A missing sandwich will tell them for sure that I was here. To hell with that. Making a sandwich to mask the fact that you’ve been in your own flat – that really is madness. But I feel OK. Of sound mind and memory. And I’ve got a job to do here.
I go into my room and up to the bookshelves. It should be here somewhere. I run my finger along the spines. The first shelf, the second, the third.
The book’s nowhere to be seen. This can’t be. I check again.
I look over th
e shelves one more time, then go round the flat. I look in the drawers in the table and behind the sofa. “This can’t be… this can’t be…” I whisper to myself, and, I must believe it because once I’ve stopped looking everywhere possible, including looking in the bathroom and the kitchen, I suddenly completely unexpectedly remember something, remember it precisely and exactly, dragging it from the hidden depths of my memory, from somewhere there beyond the terrible grey fog, I remember that the book I’m looking for is definitely lying on the top shelf. It’s lying there half-hidden, its scratched cover facing up, lying on top of the other books so you can’t see it from down below, so I wouldn’t have found it however much I looked from down here, and I put it there myself. I put it there a long time ago, when I stopped reading one of the plays half-way through, I just stopped reading and left it.
Trembling, I stand on the desk and look on the top shelf. The smell of dust hits my head.
The book is lying there. It’s lying there exactly how I, or someone else, whoever I was before, left it there sometime long ago, maybe a month, maybe a year, or maybe three years ago. I look at it. I dig through my memory, hoping to find something else not far away. There’s not much else, not even a single little bird of a thought, not one memory can break through the grey fog which hides my past.
“That’s it, Max,” I whisper to myself. “Time’s up!”
I can’t stay here long. My mum could come back at any moment. Not now, when I’m so close, I can’t, I definitely can’t accept ignorance now.
I get the book, close it, clasp it in my hand.
Time to go. Away, away. I carefully climb off the desk. I open the door. For a moment I think of stocking up on supplies, but I reject it immediately. There’s no time. I walk away, not looking back. Away, away. Now the only direction is forward.
• • •
I’m at the White Tower. None of the guys are here, I’m alone. A warm summer day. You can’t make out the ray of light and the butterfly in the sun. There’s the outline of a woman’s face on the wall opposite. I’ve seen it all a million times.