Chapter 24

"To think, so much time has passed, and only now has something strange appeared," Konstantin thought that evening, sitting at home. "Or perhaps my imagination has truly run wild. People are inclined to seek something strange in everything. But from my scholars, I did not expect this."

Today Kostya felt a certain heaviness. In truth, he had never felt happy; the eternal anticipation of the worst and thoughts of the future never allowed him to savor the present moment. Despite everything, he perpetually lacked something. "Dim shapes, you are here again," Kostya mentally quoted yet another line from Faust.

Konstantin had no desire to philosophize today; melancholy had washed over him, everything seemed meaningless. "Everything is meaningless—philosophy, this room, this society, and I myself," he thought, then took a sheet of paper and a pen. He did not begin writing immediately; Kostya wanted to write something meaningful, but whatever he began with, all words seemed to him merely sounds. At last, he wrote unrestrainedly:

"The wolf exults. He bares his white fangs. Against the wind he carelessly races into his steppe. Gusts of wind stroke his dark-grey fur in bursts. The wolf bares his sharp fangs at a succulent rabbit, quenches his thirst at a lake that belongs to no one. No more lies, hypocrisy, self-interest, falseness, farce, 'how are you?' He need not ask the question: 'What are you congratulating me for? Does it truly matter? In the context of the soul, the universe, or nature—does what you congratulate me for hold even the slightest significance?'"

Kostya read what he had written. "What is this? I, Magister Konstantin of OPZS, am writing some depressive words instead of going to an expensive restaurant, meeting the most beautiful woman, and sending a few luminaries of modern science to hell." But Konstantin did not actually want any of what he was thinking. He wanted to be that very wolf he had just written about—independent of everything. "How is Elizabeth? She would probably find the recent events interesting," Kostya thought, and dialed Liza's number.

"Hello, what are you doing? Very busy?" Kostya asked, trying to lend cheerfulness to his voice.

"Yes, busy, preparing...," Liza answered curtly.

"We had quite a story here—what are you preparing for?" Konstantin continued in a somewhat infantile tone.

"For a wedding...," Liza answered.

"Wonderful, whose wedding?" Konstantin asked.

"Mine," Elizabeth answered, and continued nervously, "I wanted to tell you, but you're always busy; one has to schedule an appointment with you as if with presidents. I'll even think about whether to invite you to my wedding at all. And now excuse me, I'm busy, I'll call later, probably...," Liza finished her tirade and hung up.

The mobile phone fell from Konstantin's trembling hand. "I have lost her again," he thought sadly. Kostya rose from his chair and walked to the kitchen. He glanced out the window. "Well, this is not yet the end. I have not yet reached the heights I am capable of. This is only the fifth floor," Kostya weakly consoled himself. Memories of those three years spent together, from their first meeting, flashed before his eyes like slides from a projector.

"There they sit in a café—pleasant chance glances, touches. They sit at a bus stop at night, talking about the supernatural. There is an evening, rain falling, Liza reading poetry. The summoning of a demon in the synagogue, Konstantin's astonished revelation: 'What is such a girl doing here with me?' There they are at Kostya's home, writing up their accounting practicum. There they sit together at a supplementary lecture on 'tax systems.' There Kostya is taken away by the police, and Elizabeth waits for him near the station until late at night. They discuss Konstantin's first book together with Liza's academic advisor. They help each other study for the final examination. Konstantin comes to Elizabeth's graduation—the first kiss. Kostya sees Liza off as she departs for the sea, a week of agonizing waiting. Three red roses at the moment of her long-awaited return. There is another white rose, just because. A small scarlet rose with the words 'forgive me.' A bouquet of flowers, presented on bended knee and rejected. There she is, serving Kostya coffee. The first meeting with Henry's friend Anastasia—Kostya and Liza joke, tease each other like brother and sister, a feeling of joy overwhelms Konstantin. There is an image of Kostya writing another sentimental letter after a quarrel with Liza. There they reconcile, standing among the trees in the park, embracing as friends with the words 'I missed you.' A completely unserious séance at Anastasia's home. Kostya's lost wager with Liza for a case of sweet soda. The first and last night. A sleepless night before entering the University. A short film parodying an exorcism. Another quarrel—Konstantin cuts his wrists. Peace again. A blissful week together in the village. And finally, as if in slow motion, an old image—Elizabeth watches Konstantin as he walks away, secretly smiling, and he pretends not to notice."

Terrible emptiness, uncertainty, grief, tedium, resentment, regret—these very feelings, this gamut of emotions, now transformed into rage. Konstantin, turning around, overturned the kitchen table, shattered the display cabinet. The clean dishes also fell victim to his wrath.

"To hell with everything! All of this is meaningless! YES, I am a Magister, and I am vanquished! Laugh, O Creator! This is your greatest jest!" Konstantin shouted, continuing to demolish his kitchen. When he finished, he went into the other room. Kostya had not smoked for nearly a year, but he remembered that one of the doctors had given him an expensive Cuban cigar. He found it in his desk, leaned back in his leather armchair, lit the cigar, and stared at a single point.

In his consciousness, some of the opening lines of Faust began involuntarily to surface. He had quoted them hundreds of times, but never had the meaning of these words cut so deeply into his soul. In a quiet, calm voice, he whispered Faust's words:

I've studied now, to my regret,

Philosophy, Law, Medicine,

And—Loss of all—Theology

With fervent zeal through and through.

And here I stand, poor fool,

No wiser than I was before.

Kostya skipped a portion and moved directly to the following lines:

A dog would not live thus! And so

I've turned to Magic's art instead,

That spirits' voice and might may show

What secrets hold this world in stead.

He knew what he had to do, as if he had done it before. Nothing would change from sitting here. He did not care what would happen next; he was ready at this very moment to leap from the window. But there was still one chance which, since matters had come to this, he could not fail to seize. Konstantin put on his coat and went out into the night.

In half an hour he reached his office. He hurried to his safe, where recently, as he thought, he had forever entombed the sole proof of the existence of higher powers. The parchment was now in his hands. The safe contained everything necessary for such rituals. Konstantin had long been collecting such objects there from various places; lately it had been his hobby. He took a satchel and began gathering everything into it. He placed the parchment inside as well. Kostya slung the satchel over one shoulder. This looked somewhat strange, but Kostya did not think about it. He thought of nothing but Elizabeth, whom he was about to lose, clinging to her image as to a vanishing mirage. Konstantin glanced back at his office, remembered Henry's warnings. "I think you would understand me," he thought, and headed to where it all began, to where it all must end.