Chapter 4

"Good day, how is your independent job search going?" the agent at the labor exchange asked Kostya as soon as he sat down beside him.

"So it has come to this—now people must seek out their own slavery. Happy is he who has found it. In the Middle Ages there were rusty chains and the whip, but now these chains have become invisible, light, fluffy. Now everyone wears them voluntarily, and there is no need for whips when natural necessity exists." So thought Kostya, and then replied:

"Still no results."

"I see... remind me, what kind of work are we looking for? Ah, yes, I see it now—accountant or economist. Well, let's see what we have here." The agent began shuffling through papers. "Ah, here's something. A dental clinic is requesting an accountant. I'll write you a referral. If they hire you, come back sooner; if not, then until next week."

Kostya took the referral extended to him. He said his farewells and left the labor exchange. Now he was listening to the audiobook of Victor Hugo's "The Man Who Laughs." But this did not prevent him from reasoning at times. "How I despise all these formalities and documents, despite the fact that I understand them rather well. What possessed me to enroll in the economics faculty with such sympathies for bureaucracy? Why not philosophy? Well, no use postponing the unpleasant—where is that referral?" Kostya read the address of the dental clinic. "Ah, excellent, not far."

"Good day, I was sent from the labor exchange," Kostya greeted the receptionist at the hospital.

"Good day. You need to go to the annex on the left near the entrance to this building," replied a middle-aged nurse. "But there's no one there today. I think it would be better for you to come after the weekend."

Kostya did not go straight home. And it would have been pointless anyway. He would still need to perform the evening ritual. He headed directly toward his usual route.

Walking along the street, he observed the people. In general, there was nothing remarkable. Some people hurried, others had decided to walk slowly. Unlike him, all of them had a purpose; they knew precisely where and why they were going. He peered into them and saw that they were too preoccupied with themselves; they were all occupied only with their own affairs, while he contemplated them. It seemed to Kostya that on every face was clearly written, as if inscribed: "How all of this exhausts me." In the end, he decided to retreat somewhere more deserted, so that these people would not occupy his thoughts.

He turned right, and before him appeared a street. This was the street where his deceased classmate's house stood. His classmate had not simply died; after spending nine years with him in the same class, he had taken his own life. Passing by this house, Kostya always asked himself: "Was he not perhaps right? Did he not choose the most correct path?" And when he shaved, with the razor in his hands, he would recall the words from Hermann Hesse's "Steppenwolf": "On the whole, this day was neither particularly wonderful nor shone with happiness and joy, but was simply one of those days that had long become common and customary for me—moderately pleasant, quite tolerable, bearable, colorless days of an elderly discontented gentleman, one of those days without special pains, without special cares, without real grief, without despair, days when even the question of whether it was time to follow the example of Adalbert Stifter and fatally cut oneself while shaving is considered calmly and practically, without agitation or fear."

Konstantin at times would even mentally picture what would happen if he lowered the razor below his beard and drew it across horizontally. No matter how hard he tried to imagine the accompanying pain, he could not succeed. Then he would gaze long at the razor, like Hamlet at the skull, asking: "To be or not to be."

He walked on, and approaching an unremarkable turn, he stopped. Our wanderer remembered where this turn led. Who would have thought that such places existed in the city? It led up a hill. About two years ago, having left yet another examination, he had answered a phone call. It was Liza calling: "Hello, what are you doing? We've decided to gather with some friends on the hill... come join us, I'll meet you."

"What was that hill called?" Kostya could not remember. "Something beginning with A... oh, never mind." Kostya had decided then to join them—it could not have been otherwise. From that hill there opened a rather fine view. There were about five people, no more, among whom he knew only Yulia and Liza. He became acquainted with the others. Despite the late hour, everyone was in good spirits. Turning around, he saw that Elizabeth stood somewhat apart and higher than the rest. He approached her; her usually cheerful mood had given way to a certain sadness. Kostya stood beside her, savoring the view from the hill.

"I once gazed long at a calm sea. This view is also very beautiful. In general, the creations of nature are far more beautiful than the works of men," Konstantin said, as if to himself.

"You know, Igor came up to me. I sent him away," Liza said with a certain sadness.

"I hope you won't send me away?" Kostya turned to face Elizabeth with a slight smile. Liza smiled bashfully and, turning her head aside, said quietly: "No..."

"What happened? Is it because of that fellow Vakula, or whatever his name is?" He knew his name perfectly well. This young man appealed greatly to Liza, but she was somehow timid before him, as Kostya had once been before her. "Don't worry, all is not lost for you. He can be yours if only you wish it," Kostya continued, against his own will.

"I don't need him," Liza spoke ever more softly, now gazing intently at Kostya.

"Then whom do you need?" Kostya asked with surprise.

"I need only you..." Liza answered, now in barely a whisper.

Everything within his soul turned upside down. Kostya could not believe what he had heard. "It cannot be. Most likely I imagined it. Yes, it cannot be. No..." But he had heard it; these words echoed in his consciousness in a thousand different keys and intonations.

"What are you saying? Do you truly think so?" Kostya asked for some reason, still not believing his ears, not believing his happiness. Meanwhile, Liza continued to gaze at him intently with a timid, tender look full of hope.

This look he would never forget. But what did he do then? "Idiot, what did I do? I should have pressed my lips to hers, savoring this angelic creation of the Lord. I should have accepted this gift of the gods, tasted a little of blessed paradise. God, what did I do then?" Thus Konstantin now reproached himself.

At that time, he had somehow let the last words pass by, failing to notice the condescension of the heavens. He had voluntarily refused the grace offered for his boundless suffering. He simply said that the others were waiting for them. He offered her his hand, and they descended to the rest of the group. All evening—or rather all night, for they sat nearly the entire night on that hill—Liza did not leave Kostya's side. She sat in his arms; he felt her body trembling from the cold and embraced her tenderly.

"Idiot and miserable coward"—having once more called himself this in his mind, Kostya continued on his way. Now he was infinitely angry with himself...

# PART I

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