Vita Nostra (58 page)
Authors: Marina Dyachenko,Sergey Dyachenko
She felt as if a page from the activator opened in front of her—enormous, multi-dimensional, encompassing all that can be represented in the universe. She saw herself—a mute word ready to reverberate. She saw many layers of reality—bright, textured, dull, vague, they gathered into surreal folds at the edge of her field of vision. Probabilities and rearrangements: she was supposed to stop at the tower, meet the examiner, select a point of application—she is a verb… And reverberate; it’s so similar to throwing a bowling ball into the midst of immobile pins, or swinging a still pendulum… Leave a chip at the neck of an ideal and thus non-existent pitcher… the dominoes would collapse, cars would run along distant roads, raindrops would fall, and Sasha would materialize for the first time, she, the Imperative, an instrument of Speech.
But something had gone wrong. She could no longer go back—not because the fourth dimension is irreversible. It was because her nature, her inner essence, led her here, to this dark space with two stars above her head, and here she was subject to different laws that did not fit into any reality known to her. Laws alien to any dimension.
“Stop!”
“Stop her! It’s not a verb, it’s a…”
“Yes. This is Password.”
Sasha who was the dark space shuddered. Two stars leaned over above her head—they were eyes, very intense, unblinking, and now black lenses no longer remained between them and Sasha.
“
Greetings, Password
.”
That, which came from the darkness, spoke without words, in bare meaning. Sasha knew how to communicate, but she did not answer. She lost her… no, not her tongue. She lost that place in her soul where words are born.
“…Do you hear me, Sasha?”
She was still sitting behind the table. In the empty and dim hall without ceiling, without walls. Fog curled above her head. Across from her, in the examiner’s chair, now sat Farit Kozhennikov.
“Can you hear me?”
She nodded, overwhelmed for a second by the pain within her enormous heavy head.
“You are not simply a verb in the imperative mood. You are Password—a key word that opens a new informational structure. Macrostructure. Do you understand what it means?”
Essences around her shifted, remaining in place, flowing, turning different facets. Meanings followed in a single file. Sasha managed to grab onto the simplest definitions, the ones lying on the surface:
“
Reverberate. Beginning.
“
“
Mistake—no. Act of creation—important
.”
“All the subtleties and finesse will be taught to you during your fourth and fifth year, and in graduate school. The introduction to applied science is over; your applied science is here. Your most important applied work.”
“P
assword. Name, new essence, Creation. Creator
…”
Concepts moved like a triumphant procession. Like a large ship going by. Sasha recognized them sequentially—and simultaneously.
“Sasha,” Kozhennikov’s voice interrupted the stream of information like a wave breaks into the surface of the water. Stay conscious. The transformation has not yet been completed. When you reverberate… do you know what will happen?”
“I…”
“You are Password. You will align fragments of reality—and open a new informational expanse. Do you understand what is happening?”
Farit Kozhennikov spoke, his lips moved. Reality again split and faded. Sasha found herself in the assembly hall, a bottle of mineral water stood on the table, bubbles hissed, each reflecting the assembly hall, the professors, a cup filled with pencils, Sasha leaning over the sheet of paper…
“Pick up your pencil. Concentrate. Are you ready?”
She complied—but did not feel the pencil in her numb fingers. She blinked—and lost her human body, hung in the middle of the empty dark space. Empty and dark. And only two stars watched her from above—the white eyes.
“
Your will. Create. Reverberate.”
The order was so authoritative that she immediately felt relief.
It is simple—like flicking a switch in a dark room. Digits on the display will coincide. Grooves will align, template and print will line up. The darkness will be broken by the light.
“Reverberate!”
She held her breath under the petrifying stare of the two distant stars.
Silence can be unbearable—a moment before the Word finally wrenches itself free.
***
Darkness—a second before the appearance of the first spark.
In the beginning was…
Silence. Stillness.
In the beginning was…
“No.”
Two yellow eyes inched closer:
“
Why
?”
To live is to be vulnerable. A thin membrane of a soap bubble separates one from impenetrable hell. Ice on the road. The unlucky division of an aging cell. A child picks up a pill from the floor. Words stick to each other, line up, obedient to the great harmony of Speech…
“Everything will be different for you. Your will. Your power. Let it always be sunny. I believe in the world without evil. Let a hundred flowers bloom… You are the favorite instrument of Speech… Reverberate!”
Sasha flinched from the force of this command.
“No. Because for me to love is to be afraid.”
There, in the assembly hall, a glass pitcher fell off the examiners’ table.
“I will reverberate, and the fear will reverberate in me—in the First Word. And all the love that I carry will forever be poisoned by fear. I refuse…”
Shards of glass flew up.
“Word is spoken.”
“The end. She failed.”
“She did not pass.”
“Failing grade.”
The empty dark space around Sasha lit up with a multitude of stars, and the stars turned into gold coins. Dull, heavy, they flowed and overflowed, threatening to bury her under.
“I refuse to be afraid!”
At that moment she reverberated and knew she was heard.
***
“Sweetheart? Honey?”
The baby fell asleep. He breathed heavily. He coughed in his sleep and tossed and turned. The woman lay next to him, her hand squeezed between the rails of the wooden crib, pressing her palm to the hot little head.
“Baby… sweetheart…”
The other side of the queen size bed was empty. Cold smooth sheets.
The baby gasped coughing again. The woman closed her eyes, sore as if filled with sand.
Several more hours until morning. Coughing. Crying. Long beeps in the receiver. “The person you are trying to call is out of reach.” Where is he, what happened to him? When will he come back? Will he come back at all?
A strip of parquet floor crunched softly under a bare foot.
“Who… who is it? Who is there?”
Step. One more step. The woman is sitting up in bed. She is watching the darkness. Her shoulders twitch under the thin bathrobe.
“It’s me.”
“Sasha?!”
“I haven’t completely come back yet. I am in your dream.”
“Sasha…”
“Mom, I have to tell you one very important and secret thing. I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I always will. Listen! I love you…”
The baby inhaled deeply—and breathed evenly.
***
In the morning, when the man returned and unlocked the door with his key, they slept in a tight embrace—the baby, moist with sweat, but his forehead cool and lusterless. And the woman, haggard, pale, with a weak smile on her lips.
***
Darkness.
“In the beginning was the Word.”
Slow rotation.
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it.”
Luminous dust folds into a flat silver curve with two soft spiral arms.
—Do not be afraid.
About the Authors
SERGEY AND MARINA DYACHENKO
are the recipients of the most prestigious literary awards in science-fiction Russia. They were honored as the European Science-fiction Society’s Best Writers of Europe in Eurocon 2005. Sergey and Marina are married and live with their daughter in Moscow.
JULIA MEITOV HERSEY
originally began her translation of VITA NOSTRA because she wanted her non-Russian speaking family to share her love for this striking example of urban psychological science fiction and fantasy genre, along with its literary allusions and dark ominous atmosphere. Born in Moscow, Julia studied journalism at the Moscow State University; at the age of 19 she moved to Boston, Massachusetts. Currently, she is at work on translation of other Russian to English projects.
Connect with Sergey and Marina Online:
http://www.dyachenko-writers.com/
Other Books by Sergey and Marina Dyachenko
Marina and Sergey Dyachenko are the authors of 27 novels, several novelettes, short stories, screenplays and children’s books. The following works have been translated into English: THE SCAR, THE AGE OF WITCHES, THE BURNED TOWER, BASKETBALL.
