Vita Nostra

by Dyachenko, Marina

  “Sveta is looking for me everywhere… And I’m not in the mood to talk to her.”

  “Sveta? First year from Room 5?”

  “The very same.”

  “Are you hiding from her?” Sasha asked with a hint of contempt.

  Zakhar sat down gingerly on a three-legged stool.

  “It’s not what you think. I… I am taking the exam on January thirteenth.”

  Suddenly remembering her job, Sasha dashed to the window and barely managed to turn off the music at the last second.

  The audience laughter was continuous. It looked as if the holiday roast was a big success.

  “So?”

  Zakhar shrugged.

  “For some reason… I don’t know. I wanted to some day see my parents, my brother… my classmates. You… Sasha, I have this feeling like it’s the end of the world. As if after this exam nothing at all will exist.”

  “Nonsense,” Sasha said, recollecting her own nightmare in the administrative wing, when she imagined a conveyor belt, dragging third years onto the sacrificial stone. You know it’s baloney. We are not being educated only to be slaughtered later. We are simply going to be different.”

  “We are already different,” Zakhar said. “This New Year’s Eve… everyone is laughing… Sasha, you are a great girl. I want you to know that.”

  “What are you babbling about?”

  “Me? Nothing. I just… Goodbye, Sasha. After all… Farewell.”

  Sasha gaped at him, her mouth wide open, and did not realize right away that the audience was suspiciously silent. The pause lingered…

  The Turkish March! She was supposed to cue The Turkish March!

  When, music booming in the assembly hall, wet as a mouse Sasha rose from the music stand, Zakhar had already left the booth.

  … The holiday roast was a big success. Only that triumph saved Sasha: if her mistake really did lead to failure, as it seemed for a moment, Lisa would have murdered her with her own hands. Lisa did in fact admit it, in a very strong unparliamentary language.

  ***

  On January second first years took their test. For a long hour and a half not a sound came from the auditorium.

  Then it was as if a dam broke—two girls came out first, sweaty and happy, then a boy, then three boys at the same time. One after another, eighteen people came out; Yegor was not among them.

  Hiding behind the bronze leg of the gigantic horse, Sasha bit her hand. If only Yegor passes… if only he passes… She will approach him first. Just let him come out.

  Minutes passed. Voices in the corridor died down. Yegor did not appear.

  I bring bad luck, Sasha thought in terror. Those who love me… Rather, those who loved me and left me… If Yegor has to take a make-up test… what am I going to do?

  The door opened.

  Yegor hesitated on the threshold—and walked out into the dark hall. Sasha jumped at him from underneath the statue’s belly. Yegor staggered.

  “Did you pass?!”

  “I passed,” Yegor swallowed. “Yeah. I did.”

  Sasha embraced him, squeezed him with all her might. She pressed her face against his sweater, inhaling his familiar scent. She hadn’t held anyone like that for so long. She wanted to freeze like this for an eternity, wanted Yegor’s hand to lie on her shoulder, touch the back of her head, smooth down her hair…

  Yegor stood motionlessly.

  Sasha heard the beating of his heart. Felt his breath.

  She raised her head. Yegor looked down at her. He was not smiling.

  “Yegor,” Sasha said still holding him tightly. “If I upset you, I am sorry. I love you, and don’t you listen to anyone else. It’s all a lie. I was in a very bad way… but now I’m better. Listen… let’s go to my room.”

  Yegor was silent. She felt him tense up. Perhaps, he was trying to control himself.

  “Don’t you believe me?”

  Yegor did not respond. His arms hung limply along his body.

  Sasha took a step back.

  “I’m sorry,” Yegor said. “I have to get ready for the English exam.”

  He left.

  ***

  “Greetings, second years, Group A. The magical day has finally arrived, and our test is finally here…”

  Portnov spoke, shuffling through the grade books stacked on the edge of the table. He pulled out two of them, took his time signing them, and moved them to the side:

  “Samokhina, Pavlenko, congratulations. Samokhina, the leader of the class, keep up the good work. And Pavlenko who walked the path of glory from failure to a straight A student. Both are dismissed. Take your grade books and get out of here.”

  “Such a bastard,” Lisa said when they found themselves in the corridor.

  Sasha nodded.

  “I hope everyone in our group passes,” Lisa moved her shoulders uneasily. “Listen…We should keep our fingers crossed for them.”

  The test lasted four hours, and no one left the auditorium during that time. Lisa couldn’t handle the pressure; she went back into town. Sasha went with her, but came back halfway. She moved like a pendulum, back and forth, and listened to the sound of her own steps. She would sit down—and get up again; then repeat it all over. Everything was exactly the same as yesterday. Tinsel garlands still decorated the entrance to the assembly hall; Sasha couldn’t banish the thought that garlands and wreaths were the traditional adornments of animals to be sacrificed.

  Shortly after four, when darkness descended outside, the second years of Group A stumbled into the corridor. Some people remained standing, leaning on the wall. Some, eyes bulging, raced toward the bathrooms.

  Sasha rushed over to Kostya:

  “How was it?”

  “It was fine,” replied Zhenya Toporko, coming out of nowhere.

  “He passed everyone,” Denis Myaskovsky was still breathing heavily. “He was brutal, that bastard…. Ugh.”

  Kostya squeezed Sasha’s hand, silently and forcefully. Then he turned and walked down the corridor; Zhenya trotting behind him.

  Exhausted, Sasha closed her eyes.

  ***

  On January twelfth, exactly on the due date, Sasha’s brother was born and named Valentin.

  The day before, on the eleventh, she took Sterkh’s test. The hunchback called people in one by one. Sasha walked in last. She was shaking, but not with fear.

  “Sasha, please don’t worry so much, everything is fine. Take the headphones, I’m going to play a track that you have not heard before, and your task is to perceive it as fully as possible. It is not so much a test as it is an overview, a concluding lesson. Are you ready?”

  Sasha regained her senses once she left the auditorium. Her classmates, mad with joy, were having a chicken fight: Zhenya on Kostya’s shoulders versus Lisa on Denis’s back. The girls slapped each other with rolled notepads, trying to get the other “chicken” off her partner’s back; the boys neighed, clucked and kicked, and the entire corridor brimmed with stomping and laughter. Sasha thought that a medieval carnival—the momentary freedom from a hideous burden—in its hysterical glee, resembled the point when the Specialty test was definitely passed…

  “What are the sparrows singing on this last day of chill? We live, we breathe, we made it, and we are living still!”

  A few minutes ago Sterkh wrote in her grade book the word: “Outstanding.” Specialty tests are always graded.

  One more year remained until the placement exam.

  ***

  On the morning of January thirteenth the first floor of the dorm was swamped with suitcases and bags. The rooms stood wide open. First years left the day before, except for a few girls who stayed behind for some reason; Sasha suspected they wanted to say goodbye to someone.

  “Goodbye, little’uns!” Zakhar saluted the first-year girls. “Until we meet again… on the other side!”

  The third years walked into the assembly hall, one by one, and the door closed behind them.

  ***

  On Jan
uary sixteenth second years had a Constitutional Law exam. Sasha ended up with something about splitting assets after divorce. She couldn’t remember how one was supposed to split property, and mumbled something inarticulate, burning with shame. The professor seemed displeased, but for some reason still gave her a B.

  Kostya was sitting on the windowsill outside the auditorium. He was probably waiting for Zhenya.

  “I left my grade book on the table,” Sasha said. “Would you mind grabbing it?”

  “Sure, no problem,” he said. Then, lowering his voice, he asked: ‘When are you leaving?”

  “I don’t know yet,” she replied. “I don’t even have the tickets yet. Mom’s still in the hospital, I don’t know when she’ll be coming home, and I…”

  Kostya stared at something behind Sasha’s shoulder. She turned around. Ten steps away from them stood Sterkh; his ash-blonde hair, this time brushed smoothly, framed his gray face, falling down on his collar.

  “Hello, Nikolay Valerievich,” Kostya said.

  “Good afternoon, Kostya. Sasha, have you taken the exam yet?”

  “Yes,” said Sasha.

  “Then come with me, we have something to discuss,” the hunchback motioned her over with a long finger, and she went as if pulled by an invisible rope.

  ***

  She expected to be taken to his office. Instead, the hunchback grabbed his hat and coat, told Sasha to get dressed, and they went outside. The day was sunny. Clear sky encased Torpa in a blue dome.

  “Have you eaten yet?”

  “No…”

  “Terrific. Sasha, congratulations on the successfully completed winter exams. To the left, please, toward the sign. There, on the second floor, is a fabulous restaurant.”

  “I have a new brother,” she said, surprising herself.

  “Then we have a perfect reason for celebration.”

  Restaurants, with tables covered by velvet cloths, doormen and cloakroom attendants always made Sasha uncomfortable. The two of them were escorted to a private nook, and Sasha immediately tucked herself in a window corner—from there, she could see the street, pigeons on the molding and a scrap of the sky.

  “Here’s the menu, Sasha, what will you have?”

  “This,” Sasha pointed her finger randomly. “And this. And mushrooms.”

  Their appetizers arrived.

  “How do you feel?”

  “More or less… not bad. I wanted to ask you—how are the third years? Are they doing well, did they pass? All of them?”

  Sterkh shook his head.

  “I cannot say anything until the final meeting of the examining board.”

  “But just a ballpark estimate?”

  “After your vacation, Sasha, you will return and find out. The exam was somewhat tense, uneven, that I can tell you. But they did well, almost all of them. They are now facing a new life, new projects, new successes… It’s remarkably fascinating, Sasha. It is so much more interesting than what you have right now. You will see—life begins after the placement exam. But oh well. Right now you’re on vacation, you need to relax and get some rest. No Specialty textbooks, no studying of any kind. No emotional stress. And here’s something else, Sasha. If I were you, I wouldn’t go anywhere right now.”

  Sasha choked on a tomato slice.

  “I can’t! I have a new brother… Mom’s coming out of the hospital any time now, she needs help. Plus, she’s waiting for me!”

  “I understand. But, Sasha. Remember what happened on your last winter vacation, a year ago?”

  “I know how to control myself,” Sasha said hotly. “A lot better than before. And also, that was an accident. It was the first time in my life when somebody was attacked, beaten, assaulted in front of me! It has never happened before, and I hope never happens again! I am responsible for my own actions!”

  “No, Sasha,” Sterkh shook his head. “It’s me who’s responsible for you. You are older now, and your problems may be different. What is going on with your nails?”

  Sasha hid her hands under the table. When she was stressed, her nails darkened and grew with mind-boggling speed. Having grown by three millimeters during the exam, they now started lengthening again—hard, shiny, like the chitin backs of brown beetles.

  The hunchback rubbed his sharp chin:

  “Sasha, I am not going to stop you. Frankly speaking, I couldn’t—it’s your business, you passed all your exams… But just think what your family is going to say if you enter a metamorphosis in front of them.”

  Sasha did not respond.

  “Self-control… of course, you learned quite a bit. But just imagine: stress, extreme situation, a newborn baby… I’m afraid for you. You are too valuable to behave so irresponsibly.”

  “Nikolay Valerievich…”

  “Yes?”

  “Am I no longer human?”

  “And why is it so important to you?”

  Sasha looked up. Sterkh sat across the table from her, calm, benign. His ash-blonde hair framed his pale triangular face in two parallel lines.

  “Sasha, what is so important about being human? Is it because you simply haven’t experienced anything else?”

  “I’m used to it,” Sasha looked down.

  “Precisely. You have an unusually strong force of habit, and that is what made our breakthrough so difficult. But now things will move a lot faster. Ah, and here is our veal.”

  A huge valley-size plate was placed in front of Sasha. White steam rose above the lake of white sauce, above the thick tangle of dill.

  “I have to go,” Sasha swallowed fretfully. “They won’t understand. Especially my mother. I haven’t seen her in six months. And then I wasn’t quite myself during the summer vacation. I miss her! Just for a few days!”

  “A few days…” Sterkh’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, Sasha. I was hoping to talk you out of it…”

  Now he was the one who seemed troubled and despondent. Sasha was embarrassed.

  “I am needed there, do you understand?”

  “I do. It’s your decision, Sasha. But I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  ***

  She did not leave right away. She waited a few more days, but not because, as usual, she could not get the tickets. And not because Mom was still at the hospital and Valentin took some time off work. Sasha wanted to make sure that she still looked human, at least on the outside. Without feathers or crust. Without extra joints. She understood Sterkh’s point: after a very recent childbirth, Mom did not need a daughter covered by fish scales.

  She left the dorm when it was beginning to get dark. She dragged her suitcase down Sacco and Vanzetti, and at the bus stop she spotted Yegor.

  She stumbled and slowed down.

  Yegor was looking away, as if he hadn’t seen her. It was possible he did not see her; next to him on the hard-pressed snow was a large gym bag.

  Sasha stopped a few feet away from him. She did not know what she wanted—for Yegor to notice her, or for Yegor not to be there at all.

  The bus arrived. Yegor with his bag entered through the front door, Sasha and her suitcase through the back door. The driver checked the tickets, clicking the punching device. The bus started moving.

  Sasha looked out of the window. In front of her, among people’s hats, bald spots, hoods, she could glimpse Yegor’s short light hair.

  He never looked back.

  The bus arrived at the station. Sasha got lucky: almost right away she purchased a really good ticket, a lower berth in the middle of the carriage. The train station café was still open. Sasha bought two pies and a plastic cup of warm tea. She went to the waiting room and through the window saw Yegor getting on the train without a backward glance.

  She forced herself to finish the pies. Then she went to the station’s bathroom, wet and foul-smelling, hiked up her sleeve and tore off the temporary tattoo with a smiley face, by now slightly warped and green as grass.

  She drowned it in the toilet.

  ***

  That night on the t
rain Sasha woke up feeling lousy. She was chilly and nauseous; holding onto the handrails, she stumbled into the bathroom, locked the door, and there, in the tiny smelly space amidst the clang and rumble of the train, she cut her wings.

  It was cold. Chill air rose from the toilet hole. Sasha saw her reflection in the mirror— and simultaneously in the dark window. She saw how her Made-in-China turquoise jacket with white stripes tensed on her back, ballooned, pulsating as if a live creature were trembling between Sasha’s shoulder blades. She did not feel much pain, she was no longer nauseous, but she had absolutely no idea what to do now.

  She took off her jacket. Pulled off her tee-shirt. On her goose bump-covered back two small pink wings twitched fitfully, covered with fluff. The train charged ahead as only night trains can charge through empty fields. Wheels rumbled under the thin metal floor—so very close. Sasha stood, naked from her waist up, slowly freezing, watching her wings settle down, stop shaking, and press against her back as if they were trying to find the most comfortable position.

  Someone knocked on the door. Another knock came, this time more determined, and the voice of the train attendant asked loudly:

  “Are you alive in there? It is the health service time, I have to lock up the bathrooms!”

  “Go ahead, lock it,” Sasha said.

  “What?!”

  “Hold on,” she coughed. “I’m coming out.”

  She hurried to get dressed. A few tiny feathers, multihued and delicate, flew around the bathroom. One landed in the sink. Without thinking, Sasha rinsed it away.

  She came out, hunched over, into the darkness of the corridor. The attendant gave her a sympathetic glance:

  “Are you sick? Is it your stomach?”

  “Yes,” Sasha said and went to her berth, a very good one, on the lower level, not a side one, in the middle of the carriage. The first thing she did was to find scissors in her makeup bag and cut her nails, covertly, so that no one could see her. She pushed the clippings under the rug. The train rolled onto the night platform and stopped, somebody walked down the corridor, dragging suitcases, somebody rolled over on the upper berth. A workman shuffled along the train, knocking iron on iron, as if playing on a huge xylophone.

  Sasha found the player in her bag. She started the “rehabilitation disk” and dove into the absolute pacifying silence.