Vita Nostra (23 page)

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 room 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.

Sasha hadn’t skated since seventh grade. She stepped on the ice, moved forward, spreading her arms, ready to be clumsy and slow. Not even close: only a second later, she accepted the dull blades of rented skates as a continuation of her own body, and the uneven, dented ice seemed familiar and comfortable.

She went around in a full circle. Ceased to think and simply moved. She flew, imagining the surface of the ice as the snowed in ground far below. Lights flickered in naked branches, multihued snow shimmered. Sasha skated, oblivious to her surroundings, a little surprised, but joyful; a couple of hours had passed before she got tired and looked around for a bench.

They were sitting at the edge of the ice. A rather large cluster: four guys and as many girls, and in its epicenter reigned Ivan Konev, a law student, owner of a soft curly beard.

“Hey, Kon.”

‘Hey, Sasha. Decent skating. Guys, move over.”

Sasha joined the group.

***

All of them went to the most prestigious schools, except maybe one girl, somebody’s sister, who was still a high-school student. But even she, of course, was looking forward to something economics-international-ish with a concentration in law. They had plenty of questions for Sasha, all with a hint of sympathy: what’s there, in the town of Torpa? Do they sell pickles at Torpa stores? Are there bedbugs in the dorm?

“Only cockroaches,” Sasha assured them.

“Ivan! It sounds fabulous! Maybe you should transfer to Torpa.”

The girl who asked the question was a daddy’s girl in an expensive-looking pale pink sheepskin coat. She had trouble understanding why they were wasting time at some stupid ice skating rink, when normal people were enjoying themselves in decent clubs. Sasha aggravated her to no end: the girl must have had some interest in Ivan Konev. Her cell phone kept ringing ostentatiously.

“I just might transfer there,” Konev said. “Why not?”

Sasha changed her shoes and returned the skates to the rental office.

“You’ve grown,” Ivan said, giving her a once-over. “I wasn’t imagining it.”

All of them went to a café, had a few beers, and Sasha felt unexpectedly relaxed. She even managed to make two or three jokes that made everyone laugh uproariously, even the girl with the cell phone. It was already almost midnight, when the group dissipated; most people got into cabs, and Ivan Konev walked Sasha home by himself.

“Listen, Samokhina, you have changed so much.”

“How? I’d like to know myself, really.”

“Well,” Ivan spread his arms. “I look at you, and it seems as if we’ve never met. And I’ve known you since first grade…”

“Yes,” Sasha said. “But they say it does happen. People mature, you know.”

“Maybe I really should transfer to Torpa…”

Sasha bit back her response.

“Your face has changed,” Konev continued. “Your eyes are strange. Pupils… Listen, do you… Are you on drugs?”

“No,” Sasha said with surprise.

“What is your profession called?”

“That will be decided during the third year,” Sasha said after a pause. “Transferring to the next level… Specialization.”

“I see,” Konev said, and it was abundantly clear that he saw nothing. “And one more thing… When you stare at something in the distance, what do you see?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, just like right now. I thought you’d forgotten about me…”

“I did?!”

“Listen, are you seeing anyone in that Torpa?”

Sasha slowed down.

“No. There was this one guy, but… anyway, not anymore.”

“I see,” Konev repeated. “But seriously, you are going to transfer, right? To a normal school, and closer to home?”

“Seriously? No.”

They stopped in the dark yard of Sasha’s building. The windows were lit, a lone streetlight emitted a dull shine, and a man in a fur hat strode down the path from the underground walkway, a briefcase under his arm. Probably working late.