Sasha ended up liking the English class as well: the professor, a sarcastic woman with an intricate hairdo, and the textbook, and even what she had to do during the class. Language was logical. The efforts were clear. Even the process of memorization, the learning of new words, was reasonable.
They broke for lunch.
On the bulletin board where the generic schedule was posted, Kostya hung up a separate list: one-on-one Specialty workshops. Sasha found herself in the first time slot, right after the bell for the third block.
“How come you put me first?”
“What, you don’t like it?”
“Calm down,” Sasha said apologetically. “I’m just asking, no subtext.”
“I just thought you’d prefer to get it over with,” Kostya said after a pause. “Plus, you know that idiotic text better than everyone else.”
“What the heck makes you think that?”
“If you don’t want to go, I’ll take your slot!”
The bell rang.
Auditorium 38 was hidden behind the dean’s office, a little pigeonhole of a space. Why the auditorium had this high number—or was called an auditorium at all—Sasha had no idea. She knocked on the door and entered. The classroom was tiny, had no windows, and fit only a desk and a few chairs. A single bare bulb hung from the ceiling on a very long cord. The piercing light made Sasha squint.
“You are two minutes late, Samokhina.”
“I couldn’t find number 38. I thought it was on the third floor.”
“I am not interested in that.”
Sasha lingered by the door, not knowing where to go or what to do. Portnov beckoned her with a bent finger. She approached; Portnov, in the same striped sweater, sat behind the office desk, watching her intently. His gaze—over the glasses—made Sasha even more uncomfortable.
“Just look how bogged down we are,” said Portnov, perhaps to Sasha, perhaps to himself. “Up to our ears. Pure jelly. Why don’t you come here?”
He got up, his chair squeaked lightly, and a moment later he was right next to her. Very close. She smelled his cologne—and had a split second to wonder why. For some reason, she didn’t think someone like Portnov would use cosmetics.
Above, almost over her head, the bare lightbulb burned brightly. Round black shadows lay on the linoleum floor. Projections. Shadows …
“I am listening. Tell me what you have learned.”
Sasha began, losing her way, stumbling, absolutely sure that she would never get close even to the end of the first paragraph. And further—after the first ten lines—it was hard to imagine, there existed a black hole, and the gibberish melted into a solid gray hum …
“Look in here.”
He lifted a hand to her face; she saw a ring on his finger, a ring that was not there before. A large pink stone diffracted the light of the bulb, became bright blue, then green; Sasha held her breath. She felt dizzy, took a step, trying to maintain equilibrium …
“Hold it.”
She blinked. The ring was no longer there. Portnov stood beside her, holding her shoulders.
“Good job,” he said with unexpected kindness. “I can see you worked hard. But it is only a minuscule step. You must work like this every single day. For your next practice, read Section 2. Everything that is underlined in red must be memorized.”
“But what about …?”
“Good-bye, Samokhina. You are already cutting into somebody else’s time. Go.”
Sasha stepped into the hallway, where Andrey Korotkov waited, leaning against the wall.
“So?” he asked impatiently. “Did he yell a lot? What happened, anyway?”
“I—”
“Korotkov, I am waiting,” said Portnov.
The door closed behind Andrey. Sasha shook her head, completely bewildered. She lifted her watch to her nose.
Fifteen minutes had passed since she entered auditorium 38.
“I told you, I did not see him for many years. He showed up in August. I failed the law school entrance exams … And in September I was turning eighteen, so I would be drafted soon. My mother was in shock. And then he shows up! Sort of a savior. Made everything work out … Do you think I wanted to come here? I wanted to enlist! Well, not so much wanted to, but …”
Sasha and Kostya were walking down Sacco and Vanzetti Street, and then down Peace Street, and one other street, farther and farther from the town center, not really knowing the destination. At first, Sasha told him about the morning swimming sessions, about the gold coins, about running in the park and the trip to Torpa. Then Kostya spoke. His story was much simpler.
“He literally made me. Had I known what it was like here, I’d definitely have enlisted.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Sasha said.
Kostya threw her a surprised glance.
“My father left when I was a little girl,” Sasha said. “He had another family. And he never showed up again. My entire life it was just Mom and me. Always, just the two of us. And my biggest fear—do you know what it is? That something will happen to her. I remember now what Farit did and said to me. No, he never threatened me openly. He just allowed my fear, all by itself, to break loose and spread all over me. All of me. And my fear brought me here—and is holding me down. And will continue holding me.”
The street suddenly ended. Sasha and Kostya went by the last two deserted-looking houses and unexpectedly found themselves on the bank of a narrow but relatively clean river. Grass crept close to the stream. A fisherman in a roomy jacket with a hood stood on the wooden dock.
“Would you look at that,” Kostya mused. “I didn’t even know there was a river. Think we can even swim here?”
Sasha followed him down to the water. Grass clung to their feet. Cattails swayed gently, and frogs croaked on the opposite bank. Kostya sat down on a fallen tree trunk, old, barkless, mossy in places. Sasha lowered herself next to him.
“I wonder if there are any fish here.” Kostya lowered his voice. “I used to love this stuff. I even went fishing in the winter once …”
The fisherman gave his line a strong pull. A silver fish the size of a man’s palm flew up over the water, escaped the hook, and fell at Sasha’s feet, then hopped on the grass. The fisherman turned to face them.
This time he was not wearing glasses. The brown eyes of Farit Kozhennikov were perfectly friendly.
“Good evening, Alexandra. Good evening, Kostya. Sasha, please hand me the fish.”
Sasha bent down. The fish trembled in her hand; taking a wide swing, Sasha threw it into the water. Circles stayed on the surface for a few seconds. A few scales stuck to Sasha’s palm.
“Have fun catching it,” Sasha’s voice rang out. “Just keep your feet dry.”
Kozhennikov smirked. He placed his fishing rod on the grass, unbuttoned his jacket, and sat down on the tree trunk next to his son. Sasha remained standing. Kostya tensed up, but chose to sit still.
“How’s everything? Classmates, professors? Are you settling down?”
“I hate you,” Sasha said. “And