Chapter 12

"None of this is coincidental," Kostya thought the following day, sitting at his writing desk.

"Kostya, will you have breakfast?" his mother's voice came from the kitchen.

"A bit later," Kostya replied, picking up his diary. "I must write something," he thought, took a pen, and wrote the first words: "Resurrection—a word used to denote the seventh day of the week." He wanted to write something about his feelings, his experiences connected with Elizabeth, but instead he continued irrelevantly: "This cannot be coincidence; if something happens, it means it was meant to be." Then another sentence: "All that is present is true if the past acquires meaning." It seemed logical to him; he kept thinking only about the SSPS. "Dreadful reflections on suicide, philosophical thoughts, books, occult sciences, the pull toward the supernatural, the dissonance between myself and the external world, Elizabeth, the madhouse, and now the mysterious statute of some society, like a bolt from the blue." Then he abandoned this endeavor, realizing he would write nothing coherent today—too many different thoughts were interrupting one another.

He dialed a number he had not dialed in a long time but still knew by heart:

"What do you want?" came the sharp response through the receiver.

"Hello to you too, Liza," Kostya greeted his friend.

"Yes, so what do you need?" Elizabeth continued just as sharply.

"Well, the thing is, basically, Henry's been committed. I thought you might not be indifferent to this," Konstantin spoke in a calm tone, surprising even himself.

"Committed where?" asked Liza.

"Well... in short, the asylum," Kostya answered frankly.

"Really? What, did he decide to follow in your footsteps?" Liza continued, her tone softening somewhat.

"Apparently went a bit too far. Anyway, last week he said we should come visit him. How about it—don't you want to visit an old friend?" Kostya asked with hidden hope.

"That's possible, in principle. But when exactly? I'm at work. Perhaps next Friday—I have a shorter day then," Elizabeth suggested.

"Alright, we'll talk again and work out the details. And how are you yourself—everything well?" Kostya attempted to shift to their former familiar tone.

"Yes, everything's fine," Liza replied, cutting off his intended approach.

The friends said goodbye. "So everything's fine with her. Well, fine then." Konstantin began to feel irritated. "I'm not around, and that's just fine." Kostya lay down on the sofa. "But that's not the point right now... what else was there?" Kostya recalled the statute. "What is the popularization of science?"

The entire day and all the following week, he occupied himself with reading famous popularizers of science, among whom were such scholars and writers as Mikhail Lomonosov, Yakov Perelman, Alfred Brehm, Isaac Asimov, Stephen Hawking, and several others.

Kostya began devoting far less attention to work than before. All his free time went to reading. He had never thought that physics, chemistry, and mechanics could be so fascinating. Kostya had been familiar with the scientific works of mathematicians and nuclear physicists before, but now he was not merely reading scientific books—he was, one might say, devouring them one after another. Kostya even forgot about cigarettes. When on the third day he discovered them on his desk, he firmly resolved not to continue smoking, hoping this would further improve his cognitive abilities.

***

The anticipated meeting was at hand. A dark blue BMW pulled up to the gates of the psychiatric hospital. "Well, of course," thought Kostya, who had been standing not far from the gates. The girl in the front seat kissed her boyfriend. Konstantin, as if by chance turning away, felt an unpleasant shudder of revulsion.

"Hello," the girl greeted Konstantin as she got out of the car. She approached Kostya and gave him a friendly embrace.

"That was unnecessary," thought Kostya, considering the gesture superfluous. "Hello, Elizabeth," he replied, and to ease the tension continued, "Well then, shall we go see our madman?"

"Let's. Do you know where he's staying?" asked Liza.

"Yes, come along," Kostya gestured for her to follow, and they entered the hospital grounds. "Actually, I knew where he was staying, but he called me and said he'd been transferred to the sixth ward temporarily. I don't know exactly where it is, but we'll find it."

"How did he manage to end up here?" Liza asked the familiar question.

"Who knows? You can ask him yourself," Kostya replied. They walked around the hospital grounds for a while until they asked a passing man in a white coat where the entrance to the sixth ward was. Several times Konstantin wanted to start a simple, noncommittal conversation, but all of Liza's answers about her present life were limited to "fine" and "good." "Well, if she doesn't want to share anything with me, so be it—I won't insist," Kostya finally abandoned his futile attempts to learn something. "And really, why should I know? It won't make me any happier or any more unhappy." Thus Kostya concluded in his mind.

Around the back of the old building, Kostya and Liza climbed a few low steps. At the door, they introduced themselves to a man in a blue coat as visitors of Henry Fromm and went inside. They stood in a long corridor running nearly the length of the building. On both sides of the corridor were heavy steel doors. All the doors were identical except for the ordinary door of the doctor's office near the entrance, past a table with two chairs. Along the corridor, one could see some of the inhabitants of that place, more resembling ghosts than people.

From the third ward—which more closely resembled a cell—Henry emerged in reasonably good spirits. "At least he hasn't lost heart in such surroundings," thought Kostya.

"What distinguished guests!" Henry greeted his friends.

"You might as well add 'in Hollywood,'" said Kostya, trying to match his friend's cheerful tone.

"Believe me, you can see things here far worse than in Hollywood," Henry replied seriously.

"And how did you end up here?" Elizabeth asked when the friends had sat down by the table.

"I already told Kostya. I simply came with some complaints, and then apparently said something wrong. Two fellows came and took me away," said Henry, repeating his story for what seemed the hundredth time.

"Henry, you know, if each of us voluntarily went to a psychiatric clinic and started telling them what was on our mind, they'd lock us all up here," Liza admonished, not without a measure of truth.

"What can you do? At least I'll get some rest from work," Henry consoled himself.

The friends talked for some time longer. Then a passing patient addressed Henry with the words: "Vasya, you're here—do you recognize me?" To which Henry replied, as if he spoke with the insane every day: "Granny, I'm not Vasya. Go over there—that's Vasya," and Henry pointed to another patient. For the time being, the elderly woman, not entirely in her right mind, left the friends alone.

Kostya wanted to tell them about the statute he had found last time, to say that he had been reading a great deal lately and had learned much. He wanted to relate the evolution of human views from the geocentric to the heliocentric model of the solar system. To speak of what happens during nuclear fusion. How many elementary particles actually exist. About Fermat's mathematical theorem, the Poincaré conjecture, Heisenberg's uncertainty principle, and even about the biochemical processes at the macro and micro levels of our universe.

But he decided that all of this was superfluous at the present moment, for so much time had passed, and here they were together again. Though admittedly the setting was not particularly pleasant, this could not affect the overall impression of the meeting.

Kostya handed Henry two more new books:

"Here you go. You asked for poetry—here's Lermontov. And also a brief course in logic; it's a useful book." For Kostya, logic was on par with philosophy in importance, and he knew the brief course in logic almost by heart.

Then the familiar elderly woman appeared again. This time she noticed Liza and began calling her Alyona. Elizabeth tried to ignore her but noticeably began to hide behind Konstantin's back. Kostya found the situation amusing; now he understood why Henry did not lose heart in such surroundings. Besides, they had always sought adventure. Konstantin recalled the story of how they had searched for a fortune-teller who might astonish them with her abilities. They did find one woman, but the friends' opinions about her supernatural gifts diverged. Even this situation Kostya would call merely another adventure.

"Take care, Henry, and get out of here soon," Elizabeth said goodbye to Henry.

"When should I come see you next?" asked Kostya.

"Wait until they transfer me back, and then I'll call you. My attending physician wanted to speak with you, by the way," Henry informed him.

"Strange... what does she want to talk about?" Konstantin asked rhetorically, thinking meanwhile, "Well, I don't mind, really. I also have a thing or two I'd like to discuss."

Elizabeth and Konstantin left Henry, and after they had passed beyond the hospital grounds, they said goodbye to each other. "Well, that's it—she's gone again," the lonely Konstantin thought sadly.