Self-discovery

Chapter 23

Policeman Gayevoy was sitting in the duty room, suffering from love and writing a letter on a complaint form. “Hello, Valya! This is Aleksandr Gayevoy writing to you. I don’t know if you remember me or not, but I can’t forget how you looked at me near the dance floor with the help of your black and beautiful eyes. The moon was big and concentric. Dear Valya! Come to T. Shevchenko Park tomorrow night. I’ll be on duty there until twenty — four hundred — “

Onisimov came in, his eyebrows furrowed into a strict look. Gayevoy jumped up, dropping his chair, and blushed.

“Has Kravets been taken care of?”

“Yes sir, comrade captain! He was brought in at nine — thirty in accordance with your orders. He’s in a cell.”

“Take me there.”

Victor Kravets was sitting in a small, high — ceilinged room on a bench, smoking a cigarette, blowing the smoke into a sunbeam that came through the barred window. There was a three — day stubble on his cheeks. He squinted at the men as they entered, but didn’t turn his head.

“You should get up, like you’re supposed to,” Gayevoy said in reproach.

“I don’t consider myself a convict!”

“And you aren’t, comrade Victor Vitalyevich Kravets,” Onisimov said calmly. “You were detained for questioning. Now the situation is becoming clear, and I don’t feel it is necessary to keep you under guard any longer. We’ll call you if we need you. So, you’re free.”

Kravets stood up, giving the investigator a suspicious look. Onisimov’s thin lips jerked into a short smile.

“A high forehead, granite jaw, well — shaped nose. dark curls framed his handsome, round, melon — shaped head. Krivoshein the Original had very provincial ideas of male handsomeness. But, that’s understandable. (Kravets’s eyes bulged.) Where’s the motorcycle?”

“Wh — what motorcycle?”

“License plate number 21–11 DNA. Being repaired?”

“In… in the shed.”

“All right. By the way,” Onisimov’s eyes narrowed angrily, “you should have sent the telegram before the experiment. Before, not after!”

Kravets didn’t know whether he was alive or not.

“All right. We will return your documents to you in a little while,” the investigator continued in an official voice. “Good day, citizen Kravets. Don’t forget us. See him out, comrade Gayevoy.”

Matvei Apollonovich showed up at work with a headache after his difficult night. He was sitting at his desk, making out his plan for the day.

“1. Send the liquid for further analysis to see if there are any undissolved human tissues in it;

2. Inform the security organs (through Aleksei Ignatievich);

3. — “

“May I come in?” a voice asked softly, making Onisimov’s skin crawl. “Good morning.”

Krivoshein was in his doorway.

“Did the man on duty send me to the right place? You are the investigator Onisimov, who’s in charge of the incident in my lab? How do you do. May I?” He sat down, took out a handkerchief, and wiped his face. “It’s only morning, but the heat is unbearable!”

The investigator sat in stunned silence.

“Well, I’m Valentin Vasilyevich Krivoshein, head of the New Systems Laboratory at the Institute of Systemology,” the visitor explained. “I only found out today, you see… that you’re… that the police are interested in this sad affair, and I hurried right over. Naturally, I would have given you a thorough explanation yesterday or even the day before, but… [shrugs] it never even occurred to me that an unsuccessful experiment would lead to such a to — do, involving the police! I was resting in my apartment, rather unwell after the experiment. You see, comrade Onisimov… excuse me, what’s your name and patronymic?”

“Apollon Matvei… I mean, Matvei Apollonovich,” Onisimov muttered hoarsely and coughed to clear his throat.

“You see, Matvei Apollonovich, it was like this: in the process of the experiment I had to immerse myself in the tank with the biological informational medium. Unfortunately, the tank was unsteady and turned over. I fell with it, hitting my head on the floor, and lost consciousness. I’m afraid that the tank must have hit my assistant too — I remember he tried to hold it up at the last second. I came to under an oilcloth on the floor. I heard voices in the lab….” Krivoshein gave a charming smile. “You’ll admit, Matvei Apollonovich, that it would have been very embarrassing for me to stand up in my own laboratory in my birthday suit with a bashed — in head. And that liquid, it stings terribly, worse than soap suds! So I sneaked out from under the oilcloth and scurried into the shower room to wash up and change. I must admit that I don’t know how long I was in the shower; my head was spinning and my mind was fuzzy. I probably didn’t even know what I was doing. Anyway, when I came out there was no one in the lab. And I went home to rest up. That’s it in a nutshell. If you like, I can give you a written explanation, and we can end all this —

“I see.” Onisimov was gathering his wits about him gradually. “And what experiments were you doing in the laboratory?”

“You see… I’m researching the biochemsitry of higher combinations in a systemological aspect with the addition of polymorphous anthropologism,” Krivoshein explained blandly. “Or the systemology of higher forms in a biochemical aspect with the addition of anthropological polymorphism, if you will.”

“I see. And where did the skeleton come from?” Matvei Apollonovich squinted at the box on the corner of his desk. “You just wait!” he thought.

“Skeleton? Oh, the skeleton!” Krivoshein smiled. “You see, we keep the skeleton in the lab for educational purposes. It’s always in the same corner that I was put in when I was unconscious.”

“And what do you say to this?” Matvei Apollonovich removed the box that covered the sculpted head of Krivoshein. The pale — gray plastic eyes stared at the visitor who grew pale himself. “Do you recognize it?”

Graduate student Krivoshein lowered his head. Only now was he certain of what he had suspected, and what he didn’t want to believe: Val had perished in the experiment.

“Your story doesn’t make sense, citizen! I don’t know your name or who you are.” Onisimov, controlling his feeling of triumph, leaned back in his chair. “Yesterday you managed to mystify me but you won’t get away with it today. I’m going to arrange for a little meeting between you and your co — conspirator Kravets, and then what will you say?”

He reached for the phone. But Krivoshein put his hand on the receiver.

“Hey! What are you — “ Onisimov looked up angrily and saw himself… a broad face with narrow lips and a sharp chin, a thin nose, fine wrinkles around the mouth and small close — set eyes. Only now did Matvei Apollonovich notice the blue suit, just like his, and the Ukrainian shirt.

“Don’t fool around, Onisimov! It won’t be what you expect. You’ll only succeed in making yourself look foolish. No more than twenty minutes ago investigator Onisimov released Kravets for lack of evidence.”

“So….” Onisimov stared as Krivoshein’s face relaxed and took on its former features: blood drained from his cheeks. He lost his breath. Matvei Apollonovich had been in quite a few fixes in the line of duty: he had been shot at and he had done some shooting — but he had never been this scared in his life. “Then you’re… you?”

“That is it: I’m me.” Krivoshein stood up and walked over to the desk. Onisimov squirmed under his angry gaze. “Listen; end this nonsense! Everyone’s alive, everything is in place. What more do you want? No sculpture or skeleton is going to prove that Krivoshein died. Here he is, Krivoshein, standing before you! Nothing happened, do you understand? It’s just the project.”

“But. how?” Matvei Apollonovich muttered. “Couldn’t you explain?”

Krivoshein frowned sadly.

“Ah, Matvei Apollonovich, what could I explain to you? You used all of detection’s technology: televideophones, Gerasimov’s system of reconstructing the face… and still… you couldn’t even figure out a type like Hilobok. And that’s a clear — cut case with him. There was no crime, you can be sure of that.”

“But… I’ll have to report. I have to tell them something. What do I do?”

“Now we’re talking business.” Krivoshein sat down again. “I’ll give you an explanation. Remember this part about the skeleton resembling me. It’s a family heirloom. My maternal grandfather, Andrei Stepanovich Kotlyar, a famous biologist in his day, willed that he not be buried but embalmed and his skeleton left to his descendants who went into science. An old scientist’s eccentricity, understand? And apparently you discovered broken right ribs in the skeleton, which naturally raised some suspicion. Well, grandfather died in a road accident. The old man loved zooming around on a motorcycle over the speed limit. Understand?” “I see.” Onisimov nodded rapidly

“That’s better. I hope that this… family heirloom will be returned to its owner after the case is closed. As well as the other ‘clues’ taken from the laboratory. The time will come,” Krivoshein’s voice resounded dreamily, “the time will come, Matvei Apollonovich, when that head will grace not your desk but a memorial. Well, I’m off. I hope I’ve explained everything. Please give me Kravets’s papers. Thank you. Oh yes, the guard you were so kind to leave at the lab has requested relief. Please let him go. Thanks.”

Krivoshein stuffed the papers in his pocket and headed for the door. But a thought struck him on the way. “Listen, Matvei Apollonovich,” he said, coming back to the desk, “please don’t be hurt by my proposal, but would you like to be a little smarter? You’ll grasp things quickly. You’ll think broadly and profoundly. You’ll see clues and delve into the essence of things and phenomena. You’ll understand the human soul! And your mind will be visited by marvelous ideas — things that will make your cheeks cold with amazement. You see, life is complicated, and it will get more so. The only way to remain at a human being’s top position in it is to understand everything. There is no other way. And that’s possible, Matvei Apollonovich! Would you like it? I can arrange it!”

Onisimov’s face, contorted in insult and injury, filled with blood.

“You’re mocking me,” he said. “It’s not enough that you’ve.. you’re mocking me too. Go on, citizen, out.”

Krivoshein shrugged and turned to the door.

“Wait!”

“What now?”

“Just a second, citizen… Krivoshein. All right, I don’t understand. Perhaps you really have the science for this. I’ll accept your version of the story — I have no choice. And you can think what you want of me….” Matvei Apollonovich couldn’t get over the insult. Krivoshein frowned: what is he leading up to? “But if we accept your version, a man perished. Who’s guilty?”

The graduate student looked at him carefully.

“Everyone a little, Matvei Apollonovich. Himself, and me, and Azarov, and others… and even you are mixed up in it a little, even though you didn’t know him, because, without really knowing, you suspected people. But according to the criminal code, no one. That happens.”

“I think that’s taken care of,” the student said to himself as he got into the bus.

Tomorrow is the experiment. Actually, not even tomorrow, but tonight, in seven or eight hours. I’m never sleepy before I have an important thing to do, but I need the sleep. That’s why I walked and rode around town for over four hours, to get worn out and distract myself.

I was everywhere: midtown, suburbs, by the train station. I looked at people, houses, trees, animals. I watched the parade of Life.

A desiccated old man hobbled toward me with a yellowed mustache and a red, wrinkly face. He had three Saint George crosses and a medal on a striped ribbon dangling from his gray sateen shirt. The old man stopped in the short shadows of the lindens to catch his breath.

Yes, gramps, you had your day too! You’ve lived through a lot and obviously you want more: you’ve come out to preen, you cavalier of Saint George! If we filled up your muscles with strength, cleared up your corneas, wiped the sclerosis and fog from your brain, freshened up your nerves — you’d show the young punks a thing or two!

Some boys wandering along, talking about the movies:

“And then he gives it to him — pow — pow — with an atomic gun!”

“And they go: bam — bam — bam!”

“Why an atomic one?”

“What other kind? On Venus — and with a regular gun?”

A cat looks at me with anxious eyes. Why do cats have such anxious eyes? Do they know something? They know, but they won’t tell. “Shoo, you cat!” It skulked into a doorway.

A man with a low forehead and gray crewcut walked past: his pants hugged his powerful calves and thighs and his tee shirt barely covered his well — developed chest. His face made it clear that the fellow could handle any of life’s problems with a quick uppercut to the jaw or by tossing you over his shoulder.

And we’ll make muscles like that for everyone — everyone will know about boxing and judo — and then how will he feel about his ready answer?

In Shevchenko Park a boy and girl walked past me, noticing no one, holding hands.

You lovers don’t need our discovery. You’re good for each other just the way you are. But… anything can happen in life. And danger threatens your love: life, misunderstandings, good sense, relatives, boredom — lots of things! If you manage on your own, more power to you. But if not, know this: we can repair your love, fix it better than a TV set. It’ll be like new — like the day when you first saw each other in the movie ticket line.

And the woman I ran into in front of the department store on the prospect! Her body was squeezed into a brocade dress, a gold brooch, fake amber necklace, with sweat spots the size of plates under her arms and on her back! The blue brocade glistened with all the colors of a stormy sea.

Fie on you, madame! How can you stuff yourself into brocade in this heat. It’s not a Saint George Cross, you know! Your husband doesn’t love you, does he, madame? He stares in horror at your arms, as thick as his legs, at that fatty hump on your back. You are miserable madame. I don’t feel sorry for you, but I understand. Your husband doesn’t love you; the children don’t appreciate you; the doctors don’t sympathize; and the neighbors — oof, the neighbors! All right, madame, we’ll figure out something for you as well. After all, you too have the right to an additional portion of happiness in the human line. But, speaking of happiness, madame, your taste worries me. No, no, I understand: you stuffed yourself into the brocade, put on the horrible earrings and necklace that do nothing for you, and decorated your fingers with rings to prove that you are no worse than anyone else, that you have everything. But, forgive me, madame, you don’t have a damn thing. And I’m afraid that we’ll have to improve your taste along with your body, as well as you mind and feelings. For the same money, madame, don’t worry. Otherwise it’s not worth it: you’ll just waste your new beauty and freshness in restaurants and parties and on lovers. In that case, why should we bother? The true beauty, madame, lies in the harmony of the body, mind, and spirit.

Two pretty girls walked past without giving me a glance. Why should they? The sky is clear. The sun is high. Exams are behind them. And this bus takes them to the beach.

A little kid, who wasn’t allowed outside, pressed his nose to the windowpane. He caught my eye and made a face. I made a face at him. Then he did a whole act for me.

I love life, oh, how I love life! I don’t need it to be any better. Let it stay just as it is, as long as… as long as what? What? Oh, you!

That’s the whole point, it has to be better. There’s too much wrong with the world.

And I’ll go. I haven’t sold you out, people. We’ll be able to do so many things with this method: give people looks and wisdom, introduce new abilities, even new qualities in them. Let’s say, we could make a man have radio feelings, so that he could see in the dark, hear ultrasounds, sense magnetic waves, count time to the fraction of a second without a chronometer, and even read people’s thoughts at a distance — would you like that? Though I suppose, all this is not the important part.

The important part is that I’ll go. And then someone else will, if things go wrong now. And then… that’s how it will be!

“No one died, damn it!” graduate student Krivoshein muttered to himself in the bus. “No one died!..”

I’m going, Life! Thank you, fate, or whoever you are, for everything that’s happened to me so far. It’s scary to think that I could have stopped and ended up as a petty coupon — clipping mediocrity! Let the rest of my life be difficult, frightening, confusing, and tormenting — but don’t let it be petty. Don’t ever let me sink to struggling for security, success, and for worrying about my hide when things get serious!

It’s almost night, but I’m not sleepy. What a waste, sleeping. We could probably do away with it, too. They say there’s an eccentric in Yugoslavia who hasn’t slept in thirty years — and he feels fine.

“Midnight in Madrid. Sleep soundly! Respect the king and queen! And may the devil never cross your path!” In those days they would have burned me at the stake.

Don’t sleep soundly, people! Don’t respect the king or the queen! And let the devil cross your path; there’s nothing too terrible about that.

As a youth I dreamed (about so many things) that when the time would come to undertake something frightening and serious, I would first have a talk with my father. But I didn’t have anything serious to talk about and my father couldn’t wait forever. Well, I’ll give it a try now.

“Well, father, tomorrow I stand on the parapet. Were you scared?”

“What can I say? It was scary, of course. It was only four hundred yards to the German trenches, and I’m highly visible. Fraternization hadn’t come into full force; they were still shooting. And they shot at me a couple of times — the Germans had all kinds, too. Maybe they were only trying to scare me.”

“But why that kind of punishment — standing on the parapet?”

“The temporary government had introduced it specially for those who were agitating for an end to the imperialist war. ‘Oh, so they’re your brother workers and brother peasants? Let’s see how they’ll shoot at you! And you stood there for two hours. And some for four.”

“Clever — you can’t say anything about it. (Father, did you know that… I didn’t believe you?)”

“I knew, son. It’s all right. It was the times. I didn’t always believe myself. What are you planning to do?”

“An experiment in controlling information in my own organism. Eventually I should develop a method of analyzing and synthesizing one’s own body, soul, and memory. Understand?”

“You always spoke like a book, Val. I don’t know all this science stuff. Once I was able to take apart and reassemble a machine gun blindfolded. But this I don’t follow… what will it give you?”

“Well, you fought for equality, right? The first stage of this idea is coming true: the inequality between the rich and the poor, between the strong and the weak, is disappearing. Society offers equal opportunity for everyone. But besides the inequality built into society, there is the inequality built into people. A stupid person is no equal to a smart one, an ugly one to a handsome one, a sick or crippled one to a healthy one. But this method will let everyone make himself just the way he wants to be: smart, handsome, young, honest — “

“Young, smart and handsome — that’s for sure. Everyone will want that. But as for honest — I don’t know. That’s harder than anything else, being honest.”

“But if a man definitely knows that this information will make him viler and sneakier and this will make him honest and direct, he wouldn’t vacillate over which to pick, would he?”

“What can I say? There are people for whom it is important to appear honest in front of others, but they would steal or do anything else as long as they’re not caught. And those would pick cleverness and sneakiness.”

“I know. Don’t talk about them now. The experiment is tomorrow, father.”

“And you must go? Watch out for yourself, son.”

“Who else, if not for me? Listen, you could have jumped down from the parapet into the trench?”

“There were two officers guarding me. They would have shot me.”

“Couldn’t you have gotten out of it?”

“Sure! I could have told them that I wouldn’t agitate any more, that I was leaving the Bolsheviks — and they would have let me go at once.”

“Why didn’t you tell them that?”

“I should tell them that? I never even thought about it. I was thinking that if I was killed, it would be the end of fraternization in our unit.”

“Why were you thinking that? You loved people so much, is that it? But you had killed people before — both before and after that.”

“I killed and they tried to kill me — it was the times.”

“Then why?”

“I was proud, I guess that’s why. I was very proud in those days. I thought I was fighting the whole war.”

“And father, that’s how proud I am now.”

“Of course, if you go on the parapet you have to stand proud. That’s true. But don’t you equate your work with the parapet, son. I didn’t stand the whole two hours. The soldiers’ committee raised the battalion; they bumped off the officers, and that was it. Do you have anyone to raise an alarm over you?”

I had no answer for that question — and the imagined conversation ended.

Well, enough of this — bedtime! Cuckoo, cuckoo, how long will I live?