Great asthenic. The Road Book - Part 5 (eng)

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The fog was so thick around me. And how cold it was. The forest was covered in multicolored leaves. Not at all like the forests of St. Petersburg. My wet T-shirt and jeans clung uncomfortably to my body. The alcohol was leaving me, taking away the magical buzz on which I had apparently survived the past few days. My body trembled incessantly, like the engine of an old car, sending waves of vibrations from my head to my shoulders, then lower, finally ending somewhere in my calves. I lay on the ground, my bare feet shoved into a guitar case. My coat was spread underneath me. In front of me, Belka was fussing around—she was stoking a small fire, sticking sticks into the ground around it. She had hung my wet socks and hoodie on the sticks. My guitar, though, stood proudly as a solitary beauty, leaning against a nearby tree. Suddenly, I thought—how natural and beautiful it looked in this forest, as if it had returned to its ancestors. A prolonged cough seized my chest. I began to cough. Belka rushed over and pressed her hand to my forehead.

— You don’t seem to have a fever. But why on earth did you listen to her and give her your clothes? It was obvious she needed… To wash them, wash them… How typical! — Belka grumbled, like a concerned mother.

— I didn’t think…

— Uh-huh, didn’t think, exactly. You men always think with the wrong head first.

— Listen, it’s fine… — I hesitated for a second, wondering how I would look in the eyes of this young girl if I said that nothing had happened, that instead, I had been giving Katya a therapy session—nothing, nothing, I’ll dry out, warm up, and everything will be fine.

— Yeah, nothing, nothing. You even busted your head open. — Belka touched my forehead with her tiny fingers and smoothed the bandage.

I watched the sparks from the fire drifting into the fog and fading in the damp, cold air. The only question in my head was—what’s the point of all this? How did I end up here? Probably because everything was wrong. Did I choose this path? Did I plan it? No. Just like this oak tree, against which my guitar is leaning. If it could speak, would it compare itself to the pine growing beside it? Would it ask why I’m here? Of course not. The oak simply exists. It grows as best it can, its roots in the earth and its branches reaching for the sky. The oak never questions who it is. It’s just an oak. And I—just an oak. An idiot who can’t flow with the current. That’s why I’m here. The fire had flared up, and Belka sat down next to it, crossing her legs on her jacket.

— Play something, will you? — I turned my head and looked at Belka.

She stared at me for about ten seconds, then silently took the guitar. The forest filled with music.

Washed away by the rain, our tracks,

The evening has flown by.

The phone fell silent, as if asleep,

And eternity passed.

But nothing has happened to me,

Only happiness fades away like a dream

Down the road, away from me,

I remain silent. That’s all.

All that was, all that will be, all that is,

It will remain with us.

In the dark sky, we cannot count the new bright stars,

Let one fall.

If there’s a drop of water at the bottom,

It holds the sound of the sea.

I know, even one tear

Will bring sorrow.

And nothing will happen to me,

And the years will flow again.

The midday heat simply passes.

Night will come soon. That’s all.

All that was, all that will be, all that is,

It will remain with us.

In the dark sky, we cannot count the new bright stars,

Let one fall.

A crunch sounded from the bushes nearby, and Belka and I quickly turned around.

— In spring, there are hundreds of flowers, in autumn, the moon. In summer, a cool breeze, in winter, snow. The world is beautiful as long as there’s vodka. — From the bushes, a disheveled Dan appeared,

— Where are you so happy? — Belka asked, setting the guitar aside.

— I was with Katya, bought some food and drink. Not much here, but at least it’s something.

— How did you meet her?

— Well, when she kicked us out of the apartment at 5 in the morning, while Serj was pulling on the clothes we’d left in the washing machine, I swapped numbers with her. And while I was at it, I asked if there were any forests nearby. She told me about this huge park. Isn’t that a forest? So while I was out looking for mushrooms and berries, she called me. She even gave me three hundred rubles extra!

Belka peered into the bag: vodka, tea bags, “My Family” juice, bread, chips, and plastic cups.

— Well done, Dan. But how are we going to drink the tea? You could’ve at least bought a bottle of water.

— You’re a rescuer, and you don’t know simple things? Back in the sailors’ training, we were taught everything — Dan boasted. — Let’s drink juice and vodka, and then I’ll teach you.

I lay there, remembering this morning. Katya suddenly woke us all up and sternly ordered us to leave because her parents were about to arrive. After vodka and tequila, I felt completely wrecked, but Katya ripped the blanket off me and repeated, “I said out!” It was then, with a shock, that I realized my clothes were nowhere to be found and that Katya had started the washing machine while she had gone back to bed with me. Sitting on the floor, trying to pull on my wet jeans, I thought about how cold it must be outside. In the washing machine were my wet socks, T-shirt, and hoodie. Belka was already ready. She was always ready, like a soldier. I had never seen her drunk, even though she always drank with us. I had never seen her naked or weak. She ran around us, either handing me socks, combing Dan’s hair, or making sure none of us forgot anything. As we were leaving the apartment, I didn’t even look at Katya. I felt so awful and cold. Only now did I realize why Dan had been so upbeat, leading us and Belka in some unknown direction — he already knew where the nearest park was and how to get there. The street was completely deserted. Only once did we meet an old Tajik janitor, from whom Denis did not hesitate to bum a cigarette.

— The park’s that way? — Dan pointed toward the thick fog ahead.

— Yes, yes, that way — the janitor clearly didn’t understand why a group of two guys and a young girl would be looking for a park at half past five in the morning.

— Thanks!

That’s how we ended up here. I don’t know why they call this a park; to me, it was a full-fledged forest. Just not a northern one. I lay in the guitar case, smoking and turning one thought over and over in my head, a thought I’d read somewhere once: “Difficulties give you wisdom, and deprivation gives you freedom.” Some nonsense. Throughout my life, I’ve never had to choose whether to live in difficulties or not. For me, that question has never arisen. I’ve always taken what I wanted. What are difficulties really? They’re just circumstances. If they’re life’s circumstances, you just have to get through them. How? It’s simple — get up, call someone, text someone, meet with someone, borrow something, sell something. It’s hard to explain. I’ve never in my life closed myself off like a snail in its shell and said, “Everything’s bad, I don’t know how to live anymore.” I just can’t imagine such a situation. Even if everything is against you and it seems like life is over — get up and go. Just go. Wherever your eyes lead. Sometimes it seems to me that this is something ingrained in childhood. My mom was an incredible neat freak. Our house was always very clean. When I was little and went to friends’ houses, I always noticed how dirty everyone’s homes were, without exception. Someone smokes right in the room, and there’s ash everywhere, the blanket on the couch has a cigarette burn. Someone has dogs and cats, and everything’s covered in fur, the furniture is scratched by claws. I hated walking around in socks at other people’s houses because my feet felt some unpleasant crumbs, stuck hairs. When I was little, I always sat on a greasy little chair at other people’s places and thought, “Why do you put up with this? It can be clean and beautiful.” And this is how intolerance for what people call difficulties is born. Any life circumstances are divided into two categories: I can live with them and adapt, and I can’t live with them. I’m not talking about someone wanting to go to Mars and asking, “Well, how are you going to solve that?” But my answer would be this: if an impossible desire to go to Mars drives you into depression so much that you can’t even sweep the floor at home, then I have nothing to discuss with you. That’s not a problem or a circumstance, that’s a given. But if a person is living with someone they don’t love and suffering, or keeps working at a job they hate just because they’re afraid to change anything in their life — that’s very strange. Get up and go. Go and see. “Difficulties are a sign that you’re on the right path. Don’t fear difficulties, fear avoiding them” — I think that’s what a wise person once said. My gaze fell on Belka and Dan, sitting across from me. There’s nothing that would make us friends in normal life. Nothing in common. But what brought us together was that we feel the same need to “get up and go” in the face of difficult life circumstances. With a brother or sister, you don’t share your soul’s turmoil, even though they’re your closest person. But often it’s much easier to open up to a stranger. That’s how it is with us — we’re strangers to each other, but now our fates have crossed, so we can emerge from this journey as new people.

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