Unlimited

Vic lowered her eyes and noticed Philippych’s lips silently moving and then a clear whisper went on: “…political capitalism economy, historical materialism, scientific communism. The philosophy centre is a conception of a human subtraction from own labour products…”

Vic was watching the professor’s lips and understood nothing. The whisper, he was speaking, was a whisper but loud. It was so loud so the person sitting next to Philippych, would have absolutely heard what was going on near.

‘Have you told anything, Professor?’ Victoria asked unexpectedly.

‘I’ve asked you to give Marxism conception. Philipp Philippych is silently waiting for the answer.’

The moderator was speaking, and Victoria saw Marxism conception coming out of his mouth. It was just in tune with his announcements! Simultaneously!

‘What’s the hell?’ Vic asked herself under her breath, touching her hair.

‘I beg your pardon? Are you ok, Drache? You don’t look like yourself.’ Philippych asked quiet. ‘You’re pale, sweated… Shall I let you go to the nurse?’

‘No,’ she whispered in replay kept on looking at the moderator’s lips muttering about Marxism conception. ‘I’ll go on.’

In a trembling voice, Victoria re-told everything that the moderator said and got good mark, and looking round, she left the auditorium.

‘So? How was it?’ group-mates came up to her.

Vic came along the hall, speaking and listening to nobody. She washed her face with cold water, trying to wash off madness that had attacked her. She couldn’t still believe what she had seen was true. How was it possible to believe in such things? And on the other hand, how was it possible not to believe? Knowing nothing Vic passed the final philosophy exam because the moderator himself had told her the examination card! What a nonsense!

Cold water streamed. Refreshing. Victoria refused to believe in what had happened. It was too much. There was no such a thing.

In fifteen minutes, she left the WC room, forced herself to smile. She had to speak a lot about how the exam was, how she was lucky, that she remembered the correct answer, that professors weren’t mean. Vic tried to calm her course mates down, infused hope into them, saying that everything would be okay, and everyone would pass.

‘Vic, have you passed?’ Olga Vladimirovna spoke in a voice touched with emotions on the cell.

‘I have, I got a good mark. Don’t worry.’

‘Oh, thanks god. When are you going home?’

‘In the evening. Maybe at night. We’re gonna to a cafе with mates.’

‘Okay, try to be at home earlier, will you?’

‘Mum!’ a reproachful note appeared in Vic’s voice. ‘I’m not a baby!’

‘Yes, you aren’t, of course. You’re a child. So be careful. Are you listening to me, Vic?’

Victoria looked angrily at the ceiling, holding the cell away from her ear not to listen to the talk.

‘Okay, mum, okay. I got it. See you.’

‘Vic, I’ve not…’

Her mum was speaking something when the girl hanged up the cell. She didn’t want to listen to any moralizing. After Vic had seen the professor saying her the examination card and nobody but Vic could hear him, she wanted to relax a little bit. It didn’t matter what people it would be around. The main point was not to be alone, especially at home.

After the exam all students went to a cafе at Sokolniky. They chattered bragging of their achievements and call luck bad names, telling how they had passed.

The moderators turned to be very severe. The Ministry Chairman was almost physio. He failed every student, having fun. If Philippych hadn’t been there, not everyone would have passed. Philippych got it hot and strong – the Chairman made fun of him and of his badly educated students. And if Victoria thought that Philippych answered the question himself, then the moderator wouldn’t have done the same.

She remembered those terrible whispering lips, the blank, whitish look, getting pale skin. She couldn’t get the face disfigured by indifference out of her memory.

Everyone was celebrating the successful examination while Victoria was meditating, making herself sure that her subconsciousness projected recollections in the shape of the whispering professor.

After she drunk two or three glasses the girl started relaxing and losing herself in dreams. If it was madness then damn with it, she could do nothing anyway. If mind got ill, then it was the end. When you were drunk, you better recognized and got over your own hopelessness than when you were sober. It was easier for the girl when her course mate embraced her, laughing in unison with her. It was easier to see his face imagining no Kharon’s face. And, of course, it was easier to kiss him back because there was nothing similar in comparison with the demon’s kisses.

As soon as Victoria felt the miserable embracing with a perishable human body of male sex, being very annoying, pleasureless, she left the cafе when no one saw her.

There was metro ahead and having gone a little distance towards the underground kingdom of marble and granite, Vic stopped. The big park behind her offensively looked at her. There were fresh young leaves, embracing students and loving couples on benches, drunkards, were going to sleep hat in hand to the strains of tree crown murmurs on the warmed ground. The lanterns were fabulously lightning, along the carefully done paths, giving the atmosphere of Peter Pan fairy tale.

Without a second thought Victoria went back to the park, understanding nothing, why she was doing it. The only thing she understood the unreal smell of adventure. She walked on the smell…until she stumbled and fell into the bushes.

Then there was darkness. There was nothing before her eyes. She didn’t understand if her eyes were open or not. There was just coldness gently touched her body. The dream wasn’t a dream and reality wasn’t a reality. Nothing was understandable. She had a cramped consciousness, dancing in alcoholic delirium. It was busy. It had no time to look after reality. It was still rushing having forgotten the mind. Time was happy: nobody watched it! A rustle… Another one. The mind was tired. It wanted to back to reality, but all the attempts were in vain. An abrupt movement. A blaze was before her eyes… Pain. Violent pain. She wanted to cry. Her mind had been still apprehending existence out of the bounds of subconsciousness, remembering the sly consciousness.

Someone’s hands. Warm. Strong. Zero gravity. That was what meant to hover over the ground. The breeze… The beginning of the way.

Vitoria opened her eyes. The darkness. She couldn’t understand who she was. The girl tried to move her hands and legs: they worked. Pain! Here was it! On the upper eyelid of the left eye. Vic blinked and the pain was gone nowhere but got stronger.

‘You landed on a sharp knot…in the bushes.’ A sudden quiet voice brought Vic to life a bit.

In her fright she jumped up and fell on the floor… that wasn’t her one. The darkness still covered the truth and with vigour, Victoria was still feeling for little pile on the floor.

‘Where am I?’ she asked under her breath, sat on her knees, with no result looking into the night dark.

The silence was in response. Vic was turned her head like an eagle-owl, peering into forward. She carefully got up and faltered ahead like a year-old baby.

‘Hey!’ she shouted, going like a zombie, stretched out her hand. ‘Who’s here?’

Consciousness was coming back slowly into reality, then dragging fear, which always said no. It was exhausted already to come every day to that girl.

‘Have you forgotten yet?’

The hands were the same, strong and warm, gently touched her palms, holding the girl not to let darkness make her fall.

‘Kharon.’

Victoria didn’t know what to feel: fear? Blissfulness? A scare? Enjoyment? She was losing in her feelings.

‘Is that really you?’ she asked with fear, stepping back from his hands. ‘Where am I?’

‘Well what if I say that you are at my place? Would you be glad?’

‘At your place? Your home? What time is it? Jesus…mum’s gonna kill me!’ Victoria stared round.

Despite her eyes were used to the darkness, all the same she saw nothing but the dark silhouette. No furniture was seen there, nor street lamps light through the curtains. The windows seemed not to exist at all.

‘I called her and said that you would come in the morning or afternoon…’