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It was another turning point, one he endured far more painfully than any before.
– We’re almost there! – he suddenly snapped out of his stupor, becoming a living person again. – Alya, you were dozing off!
Alya was indeed dozing, practically asleep while standing, leaning her back against the door.
– Huh? What? – she stirred. She had barely slept the previous night, while he struggled against the steep slope, overcoming it even in his dreams. Her sleep had been fitful at best, and it was no wonder that exhaustion had taken hold by morning, in the metro.
– Our stop… – he said, referring to the metro station.
– Oh! Yes! Right! – she moved toward the exit.
***
“Perhaps it really was a prophetic dream!” flashed through his mind the moment he stepped over the threshold at work.
“If it was prophetic, then add that it was a dream that came at the right time!” – came the second thought.
“Then it’s time to get serious! – a slight sardonic voice chimed in, adding to what had already been said. – Otherwise, the next prophetic one might be about soggy land, or a striped pajama… or even yellow walls and big, kind uncles in white coats.”
“Well, thoughts just keep climbing into your head!” – several voices immediately spoke in unison in his mind
– Drinking again? – Karina grimaced as soon as she saw him at the office doorway.
– No, – he replied, quite seriously.
– But you look like you should be… – she measured Aly with a gaze full of disdain. “You look awful.”
– I don’t have the strength to argue with you, – he agreed, and there was not a hint of irony in his words. – And I feel exactly the same.
– It’s high time you got your act together, darling! You’re no boy to be drinking vodka by the liter and hopping from one woman to another.”
– You speak the truth! – he nodded. – It seems I’ve come to the same conclusion…
– Then I’m glad for you, – she smiled indulgently. – If that’s the case, you can count on my support.
“I’d be glad to get an extended support package!” he almost joked, in the style that had become normal for his second self.
– Thanks for the help, dear, – Karina said, turning her full height toward Alina. – Much appreciated. I’ll take it hand to hand. – She smiled predatorily.
Alia mumbled something and hurriedly retreated, feeling increasingly out of place since the previous evening.
She disappeared so quickly that he didn’t even notice it happen. Though, honestly, he had no time for her right now, just as he had had none during all the time Alia remained in her state of uncertainty.
– Well then, darling, – Karina said, putting all the sarcasm she could muster into that one word. – Allow me to take care of you. – She brushed an imaginary strand of hair from his shoulder.
He closed his eyes, slumping into his chair, letting the events carry him along freely for a while. Karina fussed nearby, either genuinely concerned about his state or simply enjoying her little revenge. He didn’t resist; melancholy had completely overtaken him.
– Would you care for some tea, sir? – she joked. He accepted, and the light giggling of Karina’s friends didn’t bother him at all.
In his mind, the dream mixed with scattered memories from the past, including ones where Karina appeared, half-naked and…
The tea, alas, was not sweet. Not nearly as sweet as he was used to. Previously, Karina had never erred with the sugar, knowing his tastes perfectly. But now… “Doesn’t matter…” he waved it off, continuing to pour the hot liquid into himself without even tasting it.
– How’s our ladies’ man? – suddenly appeared Igor on the horizon, and immediately a fist, obeying an instantaneous impulse, lunged at him. Igor managed to dodge, stepping aside, and froze in confusion. What had happened seemed unexpected for him, and, as it appeared to him, Igor was simply unprepared to deal with things physically – not now, and in principle. A sissy boy, the kind he once had been, but who had been saved by a turning point in life – unfortunately for Igor…
He hated Igor. Hated him on a subconscious level, the kind of hatred one feels for someone simply for existing. Igor embodied that individual who could be an excellent specialist yet a complete scoundrel when it came to human relations. Something deep within him drove him not only to act but to think, to be an extension of his inner complexes, expressing protest through petty mischief, gossip, and open envy, and therefore hatred, of almost everyone around him.
He looked at Igor, at his dazed eyes, at his adrenaline-shaking hands, which he didn’t even dare to raise, and it hit him! He saw himself. Himself, and no one else. The self he could have become if, at a certain moment, his second nature hadn’t taken over, if his friend, who could not imagine herself without her old profession, hadn’t significantly altered his worldview, and, perhaps, if later nothing had happened to her… He would most likely have grown out of the sissy-boy phase while still keeping those pants carefully tucked deep in his subconscious. Igor was unlucky. At least, that’s how it seemed to him now. And if he was right about Igor, then Igor also lived a double life, hiding the vulnerability of his nature from outsiders, protecting it in ways that avoided direct confrontation, because any head-on collision would be fatal for him.
He hated Igor, and now he thought he understood why! Because Igor was himself – the modification he could have become but didn’t. Whether fortunately or toward self-destruction – he couldn’t say.
Igor was a classic case of a grown-up infant, the type that today’s society produces in unbelievable numbers. Produced in such numbers that they’ve become the norm. An infantile creature, trying with all its might to hide it and reacting painfully to any attempt to expose it.
– I, uh… – he tried to apologize, but the words disappeared. This happened sometimes when his speech center refused to work in sync with his thought process. Thoughts formed images; he was even ready to give a speech, but…
– It’s nothing, – Igor waved it off and smiled. – Withdrawal from alcoholism… it’s…
And he hated him again! Igor would have been better off keeping silent, but instead, stepping a decent distance away, he excused him with words and gestures that previously would have made him immediately grab a pipe.
He tried to pull himself together and focus on the cup of tea, then on work, then on Karina’s figure – but Igor wouldn’t leave his mind. In his current state, it would have been better if Igor hadn’t come to work at all. At least for a week.
Once again, he sank into the memory of his dream. There was something in it that refused to let him go. Everything was so symbolic that it seemed like an artificial, deliberate veil meant to cover something else. And again, something slipped away from him.
– What’s gnawing at you, darling? – Karina sweetly, teasingly, approached him once again. All morning she had circled around him like a shark, ready to strike but not yet finding her prey vulnerable enough, wearing it down in the process.
– I can’t even understand it myself, – he said, not even attempting to joke.
– It’s alright, everything will be fine, – she replied, still triumphant. – We have no other choice, my dear! Since we’ve taken you on…
That’s how the first half of the day passed. Alia appeared a couple of times, under obviously fabricated pretexts, but seeing Kristina, she dared not approach. He noted her presence once or twice, but honestly, he had no time for her – or anyone else, really.
After lunch, he found the strength to get up and walk a bit. The smoking area held no appeal, and wandering the yard in the unpredictable weather – sudden rain, perhaps – was not tempting, so his feet naturally carried him to Zheka.
Zheka was brewing something in his pots, stirring his concoctions occasionally with a handheld food mixer. He didn’t notice the arrival, so he had time to lean against the door frame and watch the chemist’s curious experiments, clearly over-absorbed in his craft.
– What’s up? – he caught Zheka when the latter turned away from his brew. Zheka jumped, the mixer clattering to the floor, and he flinched.
– Cooking a potion? – he smirked.
– You are the potion, – Zheka exploded. – Why did you come here? I’ve got nothing to cure your hangover – nothing left. And there won’t be anymore. Go to… – He left the sentence unfinished and walked away.
– Well, that happens sometimes, – he admitted to himself. – Not once, not twice… and not just that.
“He’ll blow off steam and come to his senses!” he smirked. For some reason, it seemed to him that in his previous state, the world had been somehow brighter. Now, though, that grayness he had lived with for so many years, the grayness that had molded him into a model member of society, was pressing down on him. But it seemed there was no other way, because a complete opposition to that very society would inevitably have led to ostracism and exile to the margins of life.
“The margins? Bah – what margins?” he spoke to himself. “Here…” – he didn’t get to finish; Karina interrupted him.
– I was looking for you, – she said, without irony or a trace of revenge. “I wanted to talk to you.”
– And why wouldn’t I converse with a beautiful lady? – he answered melancholically, accepting.
– Well then…
She lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and exhaled the smoke slowly, though nervously. The smoking room was empty and damp.
“Must be a dozen heads peeking secretly from every window right now,” he thought, and glanced around. Perhaps they were heads, quickly disappearing into the gray office space, or perhaps it was just his imagination.
“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged. “Let them look.” Then he turned back to Karina.
– I’m entirely at your disposal, Karina.
She took a couple more drags, still hesitating to start the conversation, and he decided to help her.
– You know, Karina, I had a very strange dream last night… – he began.
– I’ve been thinking all along why things didn’t work out between us!” she said, clearly not hearing him. “I couldn’t find my place, trying everything on myself, looking for the reason within me. I don’t know…” She lowered her gaze. “So what’s the matter? Maybe we’re just different people? Maybe we don’t fit together?”
– It was my dream, – he said, somehow getting angry. – Very strange… I dreamed I fell into an abyss and reached the bottom…
– I didn’t even sleep at night, going over everything in my head, remembering, looking for reasons… I was furious…”
– I ended up in the embrace of something that wouldn’t let me go, held me, and you know, it felt good there, – he said. He could hear everything she was saying. She wanted to pour out her soul, to confess, and as often happens in such cases, the response didn’t matter anymore. Only shared experience mattered, nothing more.
– You know, I even wanted to poison you! – she admitted. – Not to death, but enough to make you suffer…
– Something made me rise, pull away from that grass, or whatever it was, and pushed me upward, along the sheer slope. And I still can’t understand what it was,” he said quietly, watching her closely.
– I even prepared a mix of pills. But you just didn’t show up that day, – she said into the void. – You probably went drinking somewhere.
– And then at the very top, when I reached the open surface, I saw a house. And it seemed to me that it was worth everything I had struggled for, climbed for… But that last second… – he trailed off uncertainly.
“Or you got tangled up with another girl in bed. That day I was so mad at you. And had you been in my hands then, I don’t know what I would’ve done. Maybe even strangled you,” she said. He understood that this wasn’t something said lightly. It was a confession, and he let go of his story about the dream – which, anyway, she didn’t want to hear – and listened to her intently.
They stood outside for another forty minutes. He abandoned any attempt to say even a few words, only occasionally nodding or touching Karina’s shoulder as if to say, “Don’t worry, everything in your life will work out.” At that moment, there was something in her that broke the ice of estrangement, and he melted, becoming pliable like wax or clay. Her words, even if she didn’t realize it, were molding him into something he had always feared. She wanted – he agreed! She suggested – he didn’t object! She said something else – he no longer cared, because somewhere deep inside, someone so similar to his past self made a decision and presented it as a fact, which he, in turn, accepted without resistance. Or almost accepted, with a few minor reservations.
– Let’s go to your place today, – he suggested. – Tea, pancakes, and everything else, just like before!
She nodded, cried, and fell on his shoulder. The blinds on the windows, which had barely moved before, suddenly became a restless sea as waves leapt upward under the gusting wind. There were more than enough onlookers to witness this touching melodrama scene…
***
– Congratulations! – Igor’s smile greeted him in the corridor. Karina slipped into the office, her steps full of joy and pride in herself.
Igor may have been happy for them, but it would have been better if he’d stayed silent. Better still, he should have wiped the smile off his idiotic face, which, at that moment, he seemed to him, and gone away.
Adrenaline surged through him, flooding his vision with a red light. His fists clenched instinctively into the necessary stance, and Igor should have hurried to order a wake… But then someone appeared in the corridor himself! He saw him with Igor, was horrified, forced a smile, and saved Igor.
– Congratulations! – he said, apparently already aware. – I have a couple of questions for you. – He dragged him into the office.
7
Karina was softly snoring, her nose buried in the pillow. The clock hands had long since passed midnight, yet he somehow couldn’t sleep. He lay there, mentally counting the swirls on the ceiling wallpaper. Thoughts swirled in his head, refusing to focus on anything in particular. The touch of the girl’s bare thigh – he felt the warmth and firmness of her skin.
“Hot woman!” – as his childhood friend Vitalik would have said. “Though a bit on the stocky side…” He was always amazed at the abundance of stereotypes in male-female interactions. For example, why must a woman always be slender and smaller than her partner? There were plenty of explanations, some even tracing back to the subconscious, formed during the primitive stages of human existence. But still – why? Why can’t a woman be larger?
“No, there’s charm in petite and skinny girls,” he reasoned. “They’re convenient in bed. Convenient purely from an ergonomic perspective. You don’t need to be a wrestler or weightlifter to… And there’s more “degrees of freedom’ with them, to borrow the engineers’ language. Seems comfortable!”
“But on the other hand,” he countered himself. “On the other hand, you have curves no tiny skinny girl can match! And if it’s not smothered in excess fat, it undoubtedly compensates for any weight inconvenience and reduction of your ‘degrees of freedom.’”
Once he had come across an article – just glanced through it, because he remembered little from reading it – probably drunk or hungover – about Jesuits. It covered many topics, he supposed, but only one episode stuck in his memory: how the Jesuits were taught the art of debate. A problem was posed: one had to prove it, the other disprove it. And it had to be a real victory. When one side lost, they switched positions. Now the one who had been proving had to argue against it. Thus, the debaters had the chance to see a situation from multiple perspectives and avoid biased thinking. Naturally, they also learned to defend a point of view, even if it was completely wrong.
“I’m like a Jesuit,” he smirked, gazing at Karina’s sleeping back. “I justify, then refute what society accepts as a postulate. For example, a girl should be smaller than her man! And if it’s the other way around?” His thoughts flew through his head. He hadn’t drunk in a while, and the urge for alcohol was beginning to remind him of itself. His body was craving it, and, as usual in such moments, demanding the continuation of the species. “Nothing personal – just physiology!” he mentally laughed, planning to take advantage of the opportunity once again. “It’s either alcohol or a woman!”
“Better both at once!” – responded the demon lurking deep inside.
***
An hour and a half later, he was sitting in the kitchen – her kitchen – and the hot coffee burned his throat. The night lamp created a sense of intimacy, the full moon and dazzling stars kept passersby away, leaving the bustle subdued even there.
Karina slept sweetly in the next room, exhausted yet happy. That was how he had left her, finally realizing that sleep would not come for him tonight, and, so as not to trouble either himself or his colleague – for some reason he now thought of her as a colleague – he moved to the kitchen.
Karina was a striking and enchanting woman. Her height and proportionate curves were both her advantage and her curse. She stood out from the crowd of women, if only because she naturally stood out due to her height, but she wasn’t considered a model. A pity. She wasn’t a tiny half-hundredweight girl with a bland face, punishing herself with exhausting diets like all the models, who looked elegant but ultimately sickly and unnatural.
She had more than enough admirers, but their interest was limited to her physiological traits, which they exploited, each creating a new wound as best they could.
She could have married several times, but something in her suitors was off. Either a migrant worker from the Caucasus, a village alcoholic, or a pretentious insurance manager who only loved himself and needed someone as an object of his contemplation. They all hurt her, shaping her into a woman with a sharp instinct for self-preservation and disdain for men.
He, alas, was no exception. And he knew it well. The inner demons in his consciousness danced around the chair that could hold only one – the one who would rule the roost at that moment.
Now, there sat a gloomy, sentimental little devil, seeing only the negative, craving warmth and compassion – which is why he immediately felt tender feelings for Karina. He wanted to get up and join her in bed, but coffee, fatigue… how many times would that be tonight?
“No! – he stopped himself. Not now!”
***
Morning caught him in the kitchen. A strong feminine hand rested on his shoulder, and he instantly startled. The sun was just rising. He wanted to sleep badly. Karina stood there in pajamas over her bare body, her hair falling in rebellious strands across her face.
“Women look completely different in the morning!” – he caught himself thinking again. “Evening adds a charm of mystery and makes them desirable… but in the morning, they transform.” The enchanting spell fell away, and they became those beings who often hated mornings, disliked work, and despised the one who had climbed into their bed yesterday. He had long grown used to it, so the morning detachment of most of his partners was normal. But there were exceptions – those who, in the morning, turned into soft, ivy-like creatures, rejoicing in the new day and greeting him with pink cheeks and a smile that lit up their eyes. Most of the time, he didn’t understand such women, and therefore was cautious, although there were exceptions, for example:
– Good morning, darling, – Karina nearly sang. – Why are you here?
He didn’t know what to answer. He stayed silent, failing to react to her transformation. In the morning, she was always like this, and, to be honest, it unsettled him greatly. The morning softness and kindness she radiated each time clashed sharply with the persona she would slip into just a few hours later, grinding everyone down who dared to cross her path.
There was still time. She radiated warmth and desire, and the outstretched hand demanded a response – one that allowed for only a single answer. He didn’t dare refuse her, despite the sleepiness and the pleas of his weary body, which had already endured this routine four times tonight.
***
“Interesting thing – human consciousness!” he thought, covering the distance that now separated him from his workplace. “If you look closely, each of us carries a dozen independent personalities within!”
Karina was nearby, and at the same time, she wasn’t. Her fatigue and detachment peeked through a mask of friendly warmth, and her demonstrative arm-in-arm walk only enhanced the effect.
Karina was significantly taller than him. Her height and figure inspired not just one man to various thoughts, and sometimes mischief, but now she was completely absorbed in her own reflections, walking alongside him, pressing nearly her whole body against his, which only emphasized the fact that mentally, both of them were far from this place. In fact, they weren’t in the same mental space at all. Their thoughts moved in dissonance rather than resonance.
Of course, he could have guessed what Karina was thinking, but he had no attention for that. Two people, demonstratively pressed together, with the woman towering a couple of heads above her companion, threatening to overwhelm him with her femininity – two people physically close, yet mentally miles apart, lost in their own worlds.
He pondered how archetypes – he believed that’s what Jung once called them – his archetypes, like theatrical costumes, emerge, becoming his second persona, and after a while, he begins to believe in everything dictated by this new persona. Behavior, social roles, the small societal circles that shift depending on where you are – at home, at work, in transport, stepping outside for a cigarette or a scrap in the park, or deciding to charm a woman… Archetypes emerge naturally, depending on the situation he finds himself in, and lately, also based on mood and the decisions he makes.
He felt like a completely different person. For now, largely artificial, having become in a day or two a “standard” member of society, having decided to cut ties with the past, to bury – or even rid himself entirely of – his second (or hundredth, how many did he have according to Jung and Freud?) personalities, to become an average consumer, and perhaps, eventually, even form a social unit. The thought made him shudder. He had never seen himself as a family man. Society demanded it, friends and acquaintances thought the time had come, and relatives with whom he had long maintained only formal relations lamented the absence of it. He had come close several times to… but each time, his inner nature rebelled against such a decision. In marriage, he saw only something patriarchal, something that would kill all that essence in him that still made him live and enjoy life. Perhaps somewhere deep inside, he had developed a line of relationships with the opposite sex that he dared not cross.
Until now, she had been a desired lover, for whom he was ready to do much, but as soon as that bright and ambiguous person took just a single step toward formalizing the relationship through a marriage certificate, and with all the resulting consequences, she lost all her appeal for him. He could no longer, and would no longer, feel the emotional euphoria that had recently elevated him to the heights of his emotional Olympus. The woman turned into something completely different, gloomy, gray, uninteresting – and his consciousness immediately cast her image out. And along with the image, he lost all interest in her.
He was drawn to infatuation, that feeling from the “hunt,” from the first meetings, from the first touches in the hallway, from the first: “Mom’s away… the apartment is free!” And such relationships could (!!) last, if not forever, then certainly for a long time, but on one condition – they left the right to remain free… at least formally. Because there were cases when his relationships went so far that he lived with women, bore the burden of family responsibility, even planned things, but formally, both he and she remained free. Sometimes they quarreled, kicked each other out, then reconciled. And he didn’t mind curlers, slippers, the absence of makeup, or a worn robe in the morning. That was just the outer scenery; the main action took place in the mind and imagination. He didn’t lose his sense of freedom, nor deny it to her, took her bursts of jealousy in stride, returned them in kind… Only the desire to formalize the relationship legally would immediately destroy all of it.