Chapter 5

Kostya was approaching the dental clinic once again.

"They've sent us another one," Kostya heard in response to his greeting, accompanied by a disgusting facial expression from one of the specimens present in the accounting annex.

"Vile." Kostya thought, leaving the accounting annex with yet another job rejection. "At this rate, I shall feel nothing but revulsion toward such work." Though he said this, not long ago he had worked as an accountant at a Turkish firm. He had been a respected man, or so it had seemed to him.

"Konstantin Avgustinovich, may I have the turnover balance sheet for creditors from last month?" the director Hakan would address him with a strong Turkish accent.

"Yes, of course, I shall bring it to you," and within a few minutes Avgustinovich would deliver the required document.

"The money will come today, you may take an advance for yourself," the director would say, signing yet another statement that Kostya presented to him.

"Yes, and how much may I take?"

"Two, three... as much as you like." His director was quite generous, but the other accountants could not tolerate the competition. There was nothing personal in it, simply life, simply the need to feed one's children and all that. There were not enough positions for everyone—such was the harsh reality. This, in fact, was precisely why Konstantin had left that firm. He was excessively proud, one might even say that enduring the humiliation from such mercenary people was beyond his strength.

"I would certainly never return there," thought Kostya, extracting a cigarette from the pack. "After all, I am the only independent nihilist philosopher who knows the true value of our time. I despise everyone and everything in which there are no lofty thoughts and desires to accomplish something truly great..." He could not calm himself. "Although it is somewhat regrettable—back then I had money, a status of sorts. I could drive Elizabeth to work and back, and in those moments be near her."

Liza had also been working as an accountant at a university for the past year. Kostya gladly gave her rides from time to time. Since his firm was located far from the city, fuel for the car was written off as a company expense. "It is clear now why she decided to leave me at precisely this moment. I quit my job, I could no longer drive her anywhere. I have no money—what is there to take from me?" Kostya felt anger beginning to envelop his consciousness. But he immediately recalled a few pleasant moments in the car and redirected the anger toward himself. "What a beast I am, wanting to shift my own blame onto her. What a wretch I truly am. However it may be, that is not why she acted so—I am to blame for everything, it was I who grew worse and worse as time went on. For a time, having grown proud, I probably even fell out of love with her. She endured my selfishness for so long, while I continued to push things too far. Not only did I begin to demand too much, but I also grew indignant when I was not given what I wanted."

Konstantin directed the arrows of anger at himself more than once. In general, he did not much love people, denied them as a misanthrope would, but never made exceptions for himself.

Kostya came home in a dejected mood. "I did not particularly expect to be hired, nor did I particularly want it. But still, there is a wretched feeling in my soul." He drank his coffee, told his household about the results of his job search, and went out, as always, for a little walk. This time he even hurried somewhat—his new book was approaching its end, and he wanted to learn as quickly as possible how it would conclude.

Kostya reached the spot after which he usually turned back. Victor Hugo's "The Man Who Laughs" was likewise approaching its climax. The final two chapters. In the penultimate one, the protagonist Gwynplaine returns to his friend and his only love. They cannot believe their eyes, having thought him dead; their joy knows no bounds. On such an optimistic note the penultimate chapter ends. "Hm... how splendidly everything has turned out. Such things do not happen in life. The protagonist renounced the earldom, returned to love, found happiness." Kostya, not particularly impressed by this turn of events, thought this was the end. And indeed, what could possibly happen in the final chapter? But the final chapter turned everything upside down. The blind Dea—the protagonist's love—cannot withstand such trials of fate. Despite Gwynplaine's prayers, she dies in his arms. As the action unfolds on a ship, the protagonist, with the words "I am coming to you, Dea!" leaps overboard. Curtain.

"Will I ever come across a single book with a good ending?" Konstantin asked himself in thought. "Pity for Gwynplaine, though everything is quite logical and causally determined—Hugo knew his craft after all." So as not to dwell too much on the ending of this book, Kostya started the next one—Vladimir Nabokov's "Lolita."

Kostya came home, and for some inexplicable reason he now felt anger. He changed into his home clothes. He needed to release this anger; he took a sheet of paper and wrote the following words:

"Social life is prostitution; there are those who buy and those who sell themselves—there is no third category. Skillfully wielding our bodies, performing the act of our sale, which we often call by the word 'work,' our masters frequently reward us with payment for our services. But why fixate on the socio-financial-slaveholding aspects of our society? Surely the ordinary mutually beneficial social relations are not enough for us. Here everything is traded: presence, smiles, conversation, humor, morality, honor, intellect, hope, thoughts, friendship, tenderness, lies, truth, understanding, the body! And all of it is concealed, neat, morally proper, while any method of payment is acceptable—cash, wire transfer, cash on delivery, BARTER!!! The prostitute is the only symbol of honesty and sincerity in this world!"

He tossed aside the sheet of paper on which these words were written. He lay down on the bed and, surprisingly quickly, sank into the abyss of sleep...

***

Something began to constrict his chest. Konstantin turned onto his other side and felt moisture on his face. He had been weeping in his sleep. He looked at the clock. It was four in the morning. His chest constricted ever more tightly; he rose, walked to the kitchen, drank some water. "Gwynplaine? Why?... Why was it necessary to kill him in the final chapter? Why did Hugo write that damned chapter? Why did he take his love from him, why did he act so cruelly?" These illogical questions sounded in Konstantin's head in some half-conscious, semiconscious delirium. "Dea, I am coming to you!" He could still hear Gwynplaine's dying words. "Why did she leave him? Why did Dea go?" Kostya could not stop asking himself these questions. "Why did Elizabeth leave? Why did Liza abandon me—what was the point of it all?"