Short stories 2 страница

– I don't know. Probably, I was silly. I love you.

– I like you very much.

Some inner voice whispered her about the discrepancy of words and thoughts, but it was somewhere far, in the depths of her subconsciousness. She just wanted to say " I want you", and he had no desire to talk at all. Therefore they started kissing again.

– It would be great, if you let your hair grow long.

She felt how her heart ached. The thoughts in her head were ahead of one another, but none of them could be expressed here and now.

– You're so beautiful.

She smiled. Igor looked so self-satisfied and ridiculous.

– I am, sort of, your deflorator. But there was little blood for some reason.

From the lips of a virgin guy it sounded idiotically. But she suppressed her desire to burst out laughing.

– You have so many birthmarks, – he said.

She recalled with how difficult it was she managed to help him to finish the whole business, his constant " you should learn to give pleasure to a man", and the feeling of joy left. Instead of it the feeling of disgust came.

– I’m tired and I feel bad.

– I will take you home.

It seemed, she wouldn’t be let to spend the night. And it isn't necessary. It seemed absolutely unimportant in comparison with what happened in the bed. Sex has no faces.

– The mother is sleeping, she won't notice us. Let's go.

They were walking along the dark streets of a small town. Here and there the lamps burned, occasionally the scared cats and pussycats were dashing aside. Nobody wanted to talk. At the porch it was silent and damp.

– When will we meet next time?

– Never.

– Well, this is your business. There won't be a third time.

Igor murmured something more, she never caught the words. She never saw him again.

At home on the balcony she lit a cigarette and was lost in thought. It was silent, and only the starry sky reminded her that she was not alone in the Universe. She recalled how once she and her classmates were returning from school, and he was showing some constellations in the sky to his friend. Just like her father. Her grandmother, the father's mother, was a biology teacher, as well as the mother of her classmate. So they were walking and gazing at the stars, and she was walking behind them, as though she didn't exist to him. Never existed.

Igor dialed the number for the third time. Long beeps. At last, a female voice was heard:

– Hi. Why are you so late?

– I was late at work, my darling. Perhaps, we will go somewhere some evening and have a walk?

2012

The club

– Let's play one more game? – Igor offered. His eyes were gleaming, he was looking down at the T-shirt of a girl sitting in front of him.

It was stuffy in the small room. It smelled of old sweat and lollipops. Several children were running one after another, laughing and crying out chess terms. Yellow wallpaper merged with the color of the ceiling, long desks with chessboards were almost breaking under the weight of chess pieces. The players were sitting at the desks.

– Only by five minutes, I should go.

– Not, I am just an amateur, I am not able this way.

At the next board two pensioners were loudly discussing the game:

– I moved my bishop right here, so what are you talking about, Ivan Sergeich?

– The bishop stood on d2. Well, Slava saw that, right, Slava?

– Your flag fell down long ago, what are you arguing about?

– The bishop stood here! Well f*ck you, make your move!

Some chess player of uncertain age and in crumpled clothes approached the girl and suggested her to play a game. Having sat down at the little table, he suddenly began to pull her hand to his mouth instead of shaking hands before the game.

– Well you’re completely, – she said, fastidiously withdrawing her hand.

The game started. In the middle of the game she suddenly felt that someone is trying to half-embrace her from behind. It appeared, it was a fellow chess player from another city.

– Well why are you playing here? Let's go and drink beer.

– Leave me alone!

In another corner, in the little nook, the club’s elite gathered, the masters of sports and candidate masters gathered. Discussing something chessy. Several people made their way into the very corner, took out the hidden glasses and bottles from a locker. The fun began.

– And what can I do after work? Only to drink! – cheerfully one of the young people said.

Several nasty grease ugly faces drew nearer to her. But it was necessary to finish the game. And certainly to win. To smash that sh*thead.

– A good chess player plays well with vodka too, – joyful talks were heard from the corner.

A couple of local college students stopped at the board. Both suggested her to date, – that is, to walk with beer from one end of the city to another.

– Well, that’s nenough, I give up, – her opponent said and began to arrange the pieces. Fortunately, he didn't give a hand to her.

She came out into the dark street and went to the bus stop.

2013

Music for suicides

The club was noisy and crowded. I took a second cocktail. A lot of drunk people crowded near a scene, even more people crowded near the bar. Someone began to make a pass at me. I dropped back away from them. They evoked irrational fear in me …

… I recalled a camp somewhere in the south. We, students at that time, lived in separate houses near the sea. On the first day four people got poisoned by the wine of local bottling, some girls picked up local guys. I was collecting stones for my aquarium on the seashore and thought about how to catch a jellyfish. I was smoking on high benches near the stadium, sunbathing and eating crayfish on the beach. In the evenings I was expelled from the house because I had an allergy to someone's mosquitoes’ repellent. The roommates were watching me in a strange way and were spitefully telling something …

… The music sounded ugly, more precisely, just awful. Once one my acquaintance named Sasha had advised me to listen to that band. At home in the earphones it, really, sounded as it should. The real music for suicides. I had fallen in love with it to listen to in the long evenings, when I was frightened and wanted to end my life. But I came to the club not because of the music, but from some strange wish to pay a tribute to the memory of the past …

… The train. I’m going home. There is a pack of Doshirak Ramyeonlayingon a little table, a nice guy – laying on the side seat in front of me. Each time the train stops we come out for a smoke break, and he is convincing me to give up smoking. On my question why he smokes, – answered that he is already a washed-up man and it’s all the same to him. His name was Sasha, and he had recently returned from the army. He had been studying at sports department of some university and loved aquariums too. I told him how I once was dreaming to enter the department of chess in Moscow. He taught me to eat dry noodles, and was telling me how they smoked usual tea instead of cigarettes in the army …

… Suddenly I recalled that I ran out of cigarettes, and have felt panicky. Fortunately, the barman shared one with me. I ordered one more cocktail, and I started to feel a bit calmer …

… I met Sasha one more time. That day me and Natasha arrived to St. Petersburg together. We were sitting in the electric train and listening to the player, one earphone into each one’s ear. At the station all of us got acquainted, and then she left with her new boyfriend whom she hoped to complement her husband. Me and Sasha were wandering through the bookstores and took part in a bus excursion. He seemed to be a good friend, but we had nothing to talk about. It is nice to get acquainted with people which don’t attract you, and which aren’t attracted by you too. And in the evening he saw me off to the station. He had a strange look … for some reason I always remember how a person looked at me for the last time.

… In the smoking-room I fall into talk with several local inhabitants. There was nothing to talk about, and even our favorite bands didn't coincide. But it was necessary to buy time till the end of the concert …

… We didn't correspond any more and Sasha disappeared from my life, as well as many people who are not interested in each other cease to exist to each other. On his page he wrote that he is a very good and merry person. Probably, it was so. Soon Natasha who liked to communicate with people on the Internet more than me, told me that he got married. Natasha liked to snap up my friends, but this time didn't attract her keen interest in my acquaintances didn’t evoke any emotions in me …

… The cloakroom was crowded, and I seriously was afraid that I will be crushed before I manage to get out from there. Sweaty teenagers in T-shirts with names of bands and hairy people of indefinite age in sneakers were fiercely forcing their way to cloakroom attendants. At last, I got my clothes and went out of the club …

… Suddenly Natasha called me and said that Sasha hung himself at his apartment. " That's all", – he wrote on VK wall. That last evening he was trying to tell something to Natasha, but she didn't answer him – she had no time.

2013
On the streets of St. Petersburg

It was a late autumn. Slushy and dreary. It seemed, the streets of St. Petersburg pushed me away. Even the buildings seemed hostile. I felt lonely and lost. I was fired from another job, where I had been working only for three days. Before that I managed to have worked for month in a certain office, typing documents and answering calls, but, at last, the fatigue forced me to leave.

– Girl, let me paint your portrait, – a street artist offered. I refused and went forward. The rain was starting, and it was quickly darkening. I was heading for to the subway. Usually in the evenings I was wandering about some department store, so that not to feel so lonely. I sat down at a little table in McDonald's and imagined the times when my dad had been alive, and we drove there as a family. Since then a lot of things changed.

– It is possible to get acquainted with you? – the young man of uncertain age asked me. The train didn't arrive yet, and we got to talking. He worked as a teacher at some institute, and suggested me to come around there to chat wit him, on the next day. The train approached, and we got into different cars. I didn't go to chat with him and didn't answer his call. I never saw him anymore.

I left at some station and went to a cafe, where I agreed to meet with my Internet acquaintance – a chess player from Moscow. As well as many of my acquaintances, he drank a lot.

He was ten minutes late and arrived not alone. He was followed by two tipsy guys and a girl, who then disappeared in the direction of the subway. We sat down at a little table and started drinking beer.

– We began drinking in Moscow already. All night long in the train we have been boozing! – he was bragging. I felt repulsion and boredom. Here is one more dipso in my life …

Having drunk and having smoked, we had a walk on the darkening streets, and I saw him off to the railway station.

I got into the subway again and took out a plan of my journey to the future work place, drawn by me. The advertisement promised high salary and stability. But, having reached the necessary address, I found only a small filthy office and consultants who had a fishy look. They began convincing me to invest money into their enterprise. I said goodbye to them and went forward.

The next job was called " A client relations manager". I was cordially welcomed and led into a semidark little cellar. There were computers standing in rows, and several people sitting, by their look – looking for a job too. I was explained the crux of my duties – to register on dating sites, to expose photos of certain girls and to communicate with men instead of them. For everyone enticed into an appointment – additional fare. Soon it became uncozy for me to sit in this den. The thoughts about prostitutes being so busy or silly didn't abandon me. I said goodbye and ran away.

It was already dark, and in the subway I took a little nap. I left on Lesnaya and by desert streets reached the apartment of relatives where I was allowed to live. At last there came the happiest time. I could listen to music, play chess, read books and dream that someday I will find a good job and will be able to participate in tournaments once a year.

I sat up till one am, watching video when I felt the smell of smoke. I went into the kitchen and looked out of the window. The smoke went from our porch. I felt panic and began to think what number I might call the firefighters with. The smoke became more and more dense. I closed the windows and ran out on the balcony to take the air. There wasn't any exit from the eighth floor. Everyone was sleeping.

Several awful minutes had passed, during which the apartment was filling with smoke. I guessed to take mobile phone instead of a flashlight and ran down with a dry rag on my mouth and in slippers. The smoke was hanging in the air by dense shreds. When I reached the first floor, my person was black, and my hair – green. I didn't think that I could have choked and died. I was afraid to be burned alive, though the danger turned out to be not so big. The refuse chute burned. Several people stood at an entrance. Someone was returning home from friends’ meeting and called the firefighters. Now I already became frightened because I had forgotten to wet a rag and ran down at all. It was cold to stand in slippers on the snow, and soon I came back into the apartment.

The next morning, having packed all my things that had gone into three bags, I left the apartment. I didn't feel safe any more and had been very frightened. The city was grinning at me out of a bus window.

2013

Madness

The pines began to move back, the suburban electric train St. Petersburg-Volkhov went forward. I sat down on an outside bench – closer to the portal, so that it was possible to smoke sometimes. There were few folks, – early in the morning usually went only students and pensioners got there. The summer sun was slowly creeping out of the horizon.

I already dozed off as suddenly three drunk men of uncertain age entered the car, unshaven, with backpacks and in crumpled trousers. They took seat on the next bench and began to discuss something loudly, sipping beer.

The slumber passed and the fear appeared. I remembered how once I was pursued by one person from the chess club, an elderly alcoholic. He followed me on heels through all rooms and even into the toilet, watched me on the street and told trite jokes. I made friends with him and was sure for some reason that he will get divorced from his wife, marry me and that we will live happily ever after. We will play chess and kiss under the moon. But gradually I understood that something was wrong. Fellow chess players began to gossip behind my back: " – She sleeps with him. – No, she doesn't". And meanwhile he offered me " at least sometimes to kiss him in the storeroom". It appeared, he was spreading rumors about me.

It became terrible to me to appear in the club, terrible to live. Then he didn't pretend to be a friend any more. He purposely chose offensive words to irritate me. His favourite phrase was: " And it is already your problems now! ". When it happened that we had to play chess together, it was stuffy in air from his greasy words. I worried and couldn't play. It continued for several years. At last, once, on a tournament, having been tired of numerous hints, I shouted at all hall: " Leave me alone! ". And left the club forever. But even in five years he still tried to solicit me. I couldn't appear anymore in the chess clubs where he went to. Three times it was necessary for me to refuse participation in tournaments because of him.

Men noticed me and were going to stick to me. One of them tried to reach my leg. I cried: – If you touch me, I will kill you!

The drunks laughed loudly and began to move. I went to other car. There were more people, but quiet by appearance. I sat down at the window and closed my eyes.

I recalled how only three years ago I stood on the Leningrad station and wanted to rush under the similar electric train. I arrived to Moscow by the invitation of one fellow chess player from the chess website. It was deserted and sad on the platform All meeting and seeing off people dispersed, and there was nobody to calm me. I didn't understand what was happening. Having stayed in Moscow two days, having told lies to the Moscow relatives, something about a meeting with the friend, having visited several museums and having just hanging out on streets, I went back. And before that sat out for fifteen hours at the railway station. I felt very sad and I wanted to die. I liked this person because he looked like my schoolmate. I won't be able to count any more how many letters I wrote to him. But he never answered me. Although he could. And didn't come to the meeting.

Having come back home, I suddenly found in my email the letter from this chess player. He suggested to meet me in St. Petersburg. I was delighted, but couldn't understand why didn't he meet me in Moscow, while I sent him the copy of the ticket.

When I came to the meeting, I found out that this person – absolutely not the one whom he set up as. Or, more definitely, not the one for whom I took him. I somehow made a mistake. He had a restaurant in St. Petersburg, and he suggested me to go and sleep with him. I refused and left home.

Meanwhile the sun rose, and it became hot in the car. People drowsily moved, some got out mineral water, others beer and chips. It seemed to me, all of them know something about me and secretly watch me.

It began long ago. Perhaps, since that time, when one of my classmates added me as a friend VK. Once upon a time I wrote him a letter, in a small notebook, and here it laid and became dusty in a distant box of a locker. I knew that I wouldn't be able to speak to him. I don't know why he did it. And why he wished me happy birthday. I couldn't speak to him. I was afraid that he wouldn’t like me. I knew that he didn’t like me. I wanted to get rid of memories, and I was glad when he wasn’t online. It always seemed to me that all those Internet pages – only the ghosts of people waiting in the wings to frighten me.

There are no accidents in life. Otherwise, why there always happened some strange stories with me?

Here, for example, the last year’s incident. I was sure that there was a plot between several of my classmates, colleagues from work and several of my relatives. All of them were at one, and their purpose was – to kill me, but not directly and so that everyone would think that it was a suicide.

Otherwise how to explain that one chess player was setting himself up as my classmate on one chess website, and, having enticed me into Baku, denied it? He had a familiar face, so most likely, he was a relative of my classmate. I had even been sure of it. And on the conversation which I had eavesdropped on I had been sure that this classmate and my fellow workers drank together. What, perhaps, was not far from reality. (However, I was engaged in running through the chess website and asking everyone in chats: " And are you Vasya? " ) But my theories had brought me far, so that I couldn't get out of them anymore. Having arrived to Baku and having found the unfamiliar Russian young man there, I was surprised and haven't found anything better, than to sleep with him. I really had no choice. I didn’t have enough money for the ticket, the bus went back only every other day. And my doubts had dissipated when I thought that so I will revenge all of them. I had been sure that he was an agent of some secret organization, and he didn't dissuade me. I thought that he would kill me if I don't sleep with him. We drank the wine, and he called me to the room. I refused. But there was no choice left. We had spent a night together, and the next day I left. He promised me that he would arrive and take me away with himself, but, of course, it didn't happen. And it seemed to me that we would always be together now, that it happened that our destinies were crossed. But then he wrote to me that I have to be in the mental hospital, and tall my relatives too. For some time I was ruminating whether I have to cut my veins in the bath, but I couldn’t decide it. Having cried for ten hours, I calmed down. It seemed, there were no any reasons for suicide.

The electric train already approached the city. I left to the portal and lit a cig. Cool air in which I felt the breath of spring, blew into my face. I couldn't understand my life, and it looked to me strange and full of dangers and plots against me.

It was noisy at the station, and I felt alarmed. I knew that someone was watching me, but who – I didn't know. I found the hall with the Internet and sat down at the computer. Police officers were near, and it seemed to me that I was in safety. At least for a while.

I decided to write one more letter. For this purpose I arrived there. I couldn't correspond with people from my apartment any more, I was sure that some other people were watching me. But whom to write? I knew that I was watched not by one person. Perhaps, it was one chess player, or perhaps another. Perhaps even someone who lived nearby. A year ago I made a declaration of love to my classmate because I knew that his e-mail was similar to an e-mail of the other chess player who wrote me. All this was with not without purpose. Such coincidence doesn't happen. And I reprinted the old letter and sent it. Don't know why I did it. It seemed to me that those e-mails couldn't be mere coincidence. But he didn't answer. I wrote him SMS, wrote letters, called him, but he didn't answer. And then, one day in October, he put me into black list on VK. Also he wrote on the wall: " Read The Illuminatus, bitch". But by his notes I saw that he knew about what was in Baku, and I understood that he threatened me. I knew that they want to kill me.

I wanted to give a sign to the police officers. But I recalled that I already went to militia. I wrote the application, but didn't specify names. It was dangerous. The policeman only smiled. He didn't consider my statement noteworthy. Now, probably, even the police won't be able to help me any more. I know too much.

I was sure that there were lots of people involved in this case, but I had no proofs. I wrote a letter to a fellow chess player, and left the hall.

On my way home I didn't think of anything. My thoughts were confused, and it seemed to me that people are talking about me. Student's years were dimly recalled to me, some people, talks, sit-round gatherings. I recalled one more fellow chess player with whom I tried to build relationships, our long boring talks and walks, kisses and all the rest. I had no any feelings to him, and he had no feelings to me. But for some reason I hoped that we would be together all life through. And it was a little similar to my classmate. Just because I wanted to think so. At present all this seemed to be unimportant. Especially in comparison with what danger was threatening me now.

At home I passed into my room at once and began to search. I knew that there were cameras set all around the apartment, but THEY won't manage to stop me yet! I already prepared a plate and matches. At first I was going to destroy spare CDs with data. It is unclear what they want to take. I gathered disks in a bag. Found some old wires, clothes, and cut them into pieces. I will carry all this into the forest tomorrow.

Someone knocked into the room. It was mother. I didn't open her. It is unknown, maybe, she is one of them.

In the evening I spread out books and papers all around my room. If they try to poison me, then for certain everything is impregnated with poison here. I should have invented yet what to do with all this.

Suddenly the door opened. Mother said that the ambulance arrived to me. The doctor asked what troubles me. I answered that nothing. I wasn't going to give away secrets of this secret organization to strangers. I signed a refusal from hospitalization, and the ambulance left.

I drank a bit of martini, lit a candle and sat that way till morning. I was tired of fight, and I wanted to commit suicide. I collected all ropes what only were in the apartment, and began to make one of them, thick. I already looked after a horizontal bar which was in the corridor under the ceiling. But I wasn't sure that I would manage to make it. I took some orange juice and mixed it with vodka. It was enough for me to calm down and live out till morning.

A week before that I broke my mother's phone with the hammer. It occurred at three o'clock in the morning. I don't know what mother told the neighbors. It was a phone with two SIM cards, and I understood that it was somehow connected with the Double Album of John Lennon. Of course, there was a bomb. Mother carried the phone into repair, but they didn’t succeed to repair it. Fortunately.

The next day I went into the forest, to the old cemetery, and got rid of all proofs. But on the way I met several strange people, and according to their words I understood that they spoke about me. Not directly, but in some secret signs. It was necessary to hurry.

That day was The Eighth of March and the uncle came to us. He presented us two white roses. Something broke at me in heart: two roses – a symbol of death, moreover, they’re white… Later he told us that " we should carry out gas". There I didn't doubt any more – he threatened us. I remember, I had an acquaintance. We got acquainted with him in 2006, and then he poisoned himself with gas in 2009. And Christ was crucified from 6 to 9. So, the uncle was one of them too. They just tried to discover a method how to kill me and mother. I precisely knew that my grandmother participated in the plot too. Some day I came to her, and the things in the room were placed in a very strange way. As though it were some signs. Yes, she wanted to give me a sign. She said: your mother has a beautiful neck. And later, when I saw beads on our vase, I understood what she meant. To hang. They want to hang her. And one more sign – my friend Vera (the name means “believe” in Russian) who lived in the apartment number 27. I knew that I must believe that I will live up to twenty seven, but there was little hope.

I put the cut-up things in the kitchen, and they took a lot of place. I removed my father's portrait from the wall and looked at it. He looked at me somehow strange and frighteningly. I understood that something was wrong there. The portrait was thrown out too, as well as a grandmother's ring, some money, jewelry, all gifts. I shall get rid of everything that was brought to me by other people.

It became even more terrible at night. I sat and listened to the music. But suddenly I understood that all songs sing about me and all films were shot about me too. That night I smoked three packs of cigarettes. I was very scared. I felt as if someone walked on my grave … or stirs my ashes … some foreign impact which I couldn't explain with words. The throat tickled from a set of smoked cigs. The room was gradually filling up with smoke. I understood that they, those mysterious persecutors, influence me at the distance.

I read little those days, and every book strengthened my horror. Everywhere it was written about me. THEY KNEW. That night I compared texts of the Master and Margarita and Bible. Everything met. Yes, indeed. And my address was chosen not accidentally. All figures and symbols met in one point, and that point was me.

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