completely forgotten how to perceive time: there was simply no time in hell, so my new roommate simply did not know how to distinguish seconds from months and millennia. Half an hour ago we were fighting with Yurka, a moment later there was a conversation in the principal’s office, instructions from my parents, more lessons, fights, paintings by Rubens, and now I’m watching Yura pushing Vika into the car. I had never noticed such rage in him before. When – before? A year ago? Half an hour?
– I decided everything! Jerk! I won’t be with you. You’ve always been so cruel. You…
– Who will ask you! If not with me, then you will not be with anyone! Whore! How could you exchange me, a Candidate of Masters in boxing, for this skinny guy with glasses. Look at him.
– But I love him. Understand? Do you hear me?
We talked for a long time with my void father. He is always as logical as I once was.
«Yes, dad, she loves someone else, so I shouldn’t interfere. Yes, dad, you can find a peaceful solution. Yes, dad, I won’t fix anything with my fists, I’ll only make it worse. Yes, dad, I need to finish school and spend time applying.»
I nodded my head, lowering my eyes to the floor, although everything was boiling inside. But no, dad, she doesn’t love anyone else. All this time she loved me. And if I don’t work with my fists, then we will never be together.
Did we fight for a few seconds, hours or minutes? At this time I even forgot about Vic. Only my opponent remained. But he really is good in a fight. Why, I wonder, did Vika choose me – and not him? He’s stronger than me. When we both sat down on the asphalt, exhausted, covered in drops of blood, Vika put her hand on my shoulder. Yura looked in our direction. And then he silently shook my hand and walked away, forgetting even about his car.
And yet I loved Vika. No, I needed her not only for procreation, as when I was a voidman. I needed not only her body, like when I was a dem. I looked at my right shoulder: there was no characteristic tattoo on it. I was a man.
The next day I eagerly looked at the paintings that Violetta Semyonovna showed. I could hardly restrain the feelings that suddenly surged: how could this genius artist, with a stroke of his brush, pour out his soul, which remained immortal for four hundred years? Why didn’t I notice this before? Seventeen years of life are wasted. But the rest of my life, which I have only now begun to appreciate, I will not spend on trifles.
Matryoshka effect
I entered my room, although this time everything did not seem so familiar and familiar. Where does this smell of sweat come from, mixed with too much deodorant? Socks are scattered on the floor. The bed is unmade, and she is wearing multi-colored clothes, crumpled into a heap. He walked to the window, disgustedly stepping onto the long-unwashed floor. He pulled back the curtain to dispel the prevailing twilight. I saw posters on the walls: rock bands, scantily clad girls. As soon as the handle was pulled up, the room was filled with moist, cold October air, mixed with the choice swear words of the local «gentlemen» who were constantly sitting at the tables, as well as with the endless hum of cars. But it became fresher, at least you can breathe. A corner of a precariously hidden erotic magazine peeked out from under the bed: what can you take from a teenager? And next to it lay an equally unsuccessfully hidden white book. I wanted to leave everything in place, but curiosity got the better of me.
«Diary of Nikita Sivtsov, 8th grade student» Flipped through. «Behavior – 2, interferes with the lesson», «No homework! 2», «Had a fight with a classmate», «Smokes on school grounds. Parents should urgently approach the school principal for a conversation.» Mathematics test – and then a bad mark. Has he even stopped learning his favorite math? By the way, there were more notes in red ink than shades of blue ballpoint pen. Of course, there is almost no diary kept, so teachers even have to write down subjects in red pen.
The door creaked.
«I asked: never come into my room without asking.» This is my personal space, and you are violating it.
The voice has barely begun to become rough, sometimes breaking into falsetto. The first fluff is above the lip. On the black T-shirt is the inscription «Down with the State.» When I go out, I sometimes take a hat with me, but he still wears a T-shirt. But the main distinguishing feature: a black eye on half the face.
He handed the diary forward. Nikita immediately lowered his head.
– Even a D in math? Last year you only got an A. Remember how you idolized Vera Fedorovna!
– I… I just didn’t understand this topic. It seems like he taught. And then all the rules flew out of my head. And Vera Fedorovna was so unhappy – she sobbed, or did it seem to me? – She is good. The only good person in our… school.
He pretended not to pay attention to his obscene expression.
– Nikit, you’re a smart guy. You can become, for example, a programmer or an engineer. Or you can become like me. that’s fair. I would give anything to go back to school and correct all my math grades and achieve what is now out of reach.
The boy shyly wanted to hide his hands in his pocket, but then another trouble awaited him: a pack of cigarettes treacherously fell out onto the floor.
– You’re already smoking! How many times have you been told – it’s harmful! At your age I also became addicted. And I still can’t quit. Although I tried five times. And then again any trouble, and the hand again treacherously reaches for a cigarette.
A challenge flashed in Nikita’s eyes, and the shyness disappeared as if by hand.
«If I want to, I’ll quit at any moment.» I’m strong, I’m a man! And now I decide for myself: I like it, so I smoke. I’m already an adult.
– An adult, yes. I see you’ve decided to give up on studying and you’re smoking. Did you go to the rally again, wearing that T-shirt of yours? If you are caught, your father will be punished.
«And you’re not my father to give me orders,» he clenched his fists. And some kind of irreconcilable rage appeared in the slitted eyes. His mood changes… just like, in fact, any teenager.
Father… I concentrated, trying to remember the features of his face. But at one time I was taken into Krylov’s gang for my good memory. I was especially good at remembering faces. But I can’t remember the face. And the name… Did I even have a father? «The matryoshka effect,» I think Professor Belgorodsky called this phenomenon that way. And also recursion.
I took Nikita by the elbow and led him to the mirror.
– Look at you. And then at me.
– Well?
– Don’t you see anything strange? – I ask
– Well, you look a little like me, so what? Brother or what? Or uncle?
– Nikit, do you know how many mistakes of my youth I would like to correct if possible? I am you.
Nikita pulled out his elbow and ran back a few steps.
– What? Are you drunk or stoned? Show your pupils.
«I’m
