is lost,” I thought, as I had forgotten my passport, and the exam was in half an hour, and I still had to get to Alexeevka.
The driver cursed, saying something about being late for work, but agreed to drive me home for a fee, pick up the passport. The car flew through the avenues, overtaking everyone, and somehow I made it in time. Biology exam. Everything was symbolic that day; the exam card was number 33. I stared at the card and repeated to myself: thirty-three, thirty-three… I also thought that 3 was my lucky number, and ticket number 7, too, my favorite. Sitting in front of me were two teachers: a man and a woman. The woman immediately disliked me, I could tell by her distrustful look, but the man, on the contrary, looked interested and as if he wanted to help when I pondered before giving another answer. At some point, when I thought it was all over and I didn’t know the answer, it was as if information began to come to my head, as if I had turned to some kind of higher library. And finally, everything! Grade – 4. Hooray!
I was really tired that day, either me or my brain, and my grandmother, Claudia Alexandrovna, and I decided to take a walk in the park. We stood in the square, where the world seemed to me like a huge metropolis, because I was from a small town. It was time to take a few photos, and we captured ourselves after this tough day.
Exams passed. In the dean’s office, the secretary, a woman in her fifties, said, “Oh…” – looking at my card – “you passed the exams well, and you have a preference for admission, as an orphan, you might make it.” I don’t know why, but this humiliating word – orphan, which appeared in my life, I hated; I felt ashamed or something, it sounded humiliating and unpleasant. Why pity for me caused my displeasure, I didn’t know then.
It’s done!…
This day I will remember for a long time. Everyone gathered in the backyard of the medical institute to find out the admission results. I was no longer nervous; there was a boldness in my soul and calmness. Klavdiya Aleksandrovna, my grandmother, wore a colorful dress with red roses scattered on it. People stood in clusters, and I walked around near the steps. My grandmother stood with her arms folded, waiting. The lists were brought out. Yes!! Among those admitted, my surname shone. My grandmother stood a bit away. I looked up, our eyes met, they sparkled and were wet with tears of happiness. I made it! My grandmother reached out to me, choked with tears of joy, and we hugged as the culmination. A new life was beginning for me!
Student Years
Oh, those student years… My school teacher was right when she said, “student years are the best, the most interesting.” Back then, I didn’t understand why they were better. Sleepless nights until morning, wandering aimlessly, studying, boys… I was like a blind kitten with wide-open eyes, but blind. My hair was full and reached below my shoulders, standing and slightly wavy. I wore wooden trinkets on my chest, brightly painted with black arrows, and bright clothes; to onlookers, I seemed “beautiful and brave,” like in a song. All my classmates thought so… that I was from a big city, unaware that I came from the small town of Semivetrinsk. Kharkiv welcomed me into its embrace. I didn’t know how young people lived, I was only occupied with the institute, and after classes at seven in the evening, I barely had the strength to eat and study. My body was tuned to one program: studying. Of course, I observed people, watching and staring at our Jewish classmates in the group. It’s amazing… they are smarter than many people, how their minds work… they have an answer for everything. Several Jewish boys and girls studied in our group. One even had a crush on me, secretly watching me during classes. When I realized I might fail the biochemistry exam, I turned to him, and he said, “You’ll pass, I have connections, you’ll get a four.” When you live through the years, you remember your student days and think, “What if I had lived differently… If I had agreed to tie my life with Grisha, Petya, Vova, or Seryozha, things would have been different, I would have lived without want, without twists and turns… But something held me back, maybe it wasn’t fate, maybe it was a sinister force guiding me where I needed to go.
What kind of pipe is this?
Kharkiv. Shevchenko Park. Summer. There are many places here where you can stop and take a picture. A green bush stands on the lawn near the path. Amina, Grandma, and I lined up and asked a photographer working in the park to take a picture of us.
“Stand closer to each other, like this…” the photographer aimed.
“It’s so nice in the park…” Marianna thought. The sun was shining right into her face, and she felt at peace.
“You can pick up the photo in half an hour.”
At home, Marianna admired the photograph.
“What is that…?” On the right shoulder in the photo, something is visible: it looks like a pipe or a snake with its mouth wide open, but without teeth, only two vertical bars on the sides.
Marianna showed the photo to a friend in the student dormitory, and after looking at it, she said, “It’s from another dimension! It just appeared. If you want, I can send the photo to an expert.”
“No, no need, it might just be a film defect.”
Although deep inside, Marianna felt that this pipe was an observation device, meaning she was being watched from another dimension. By the way, the pipe resembled one from a cartoon, sticking out from a submarine when it’s underwater.
Nastenka
I first saw her at the collective farm. Yes, at the collective farm, when we were on our practical training as first-year students, working in the tomato fields, helping to harvest the crops, so to speak.
Nastya was quiet; my eyes were immediately drawn to her large eyes – such a pure being. I remember how we devoured fresh peppers together, even though before the collective farm, I had only eaten them boiled. But here, I was so hungry that even a tomato straight from the vine was delicious.
After getting to know Nastya, we decided to live together in the dormitory, in the same room. Her parents were not ordinary people; I realized that right away. Nastya had branded, expensive clothes and shoes. Her mother arranged for the room, and we ended up with our own separate quarters: Room 7!
***
Nastya and I spent our short student evenings together. Short because we were always busy with our studies at the institute. In the evening, we would make tea and have heartfelt conversations. It was warm and cozy. Nastya was kind-hearted, good, and sincere.
After graduating from the institute, we kept in touch with Nastya, and she called me every year on my birthday. I eagerly awaited her call each birthday. Now she was calling from England, where she had settled well and worked as a doctor. Meanwhile, I moved to work in my small hometown.
Nastya’s Calls
The phone rang.
“Nastya!”
Marianna rushed to the phone and grabbed the gray receiver of the landline.
“Nastya! Nastya! I hear you, hello!”
“Hello, Mariannochka!”
“How
