Chapter 29

Another year of daily routine had passed. Kostya was drinking tea, sitting in his kitchen. "One day from an ordinary life." He was waiting for Elizabeth to return from work, where she held her former position. Konstantin recalled with sadness his greatness of two years ago; he harbored no anger toward Elizabeth, he loved her as before, yet this was hardly a mutual feeling. She was not happy—he sensed it, and therefore suffered himself. He felt boundless pity for Elizabeth, especially after realizing he could no longer give her everything she might desire at her first request. Despite all their troubles, they had not quarreled even once throughout their life together. Perhaps it was precisely this secretiveness, this silence, that erected a cold wall between them. Small quarrels or at least minor reproaches are sometimes simply necessary for better understanding of one another.

Working as a bank teller demanded little in the way of intellectual abilities. Konstantin would sometimes again record his thoughts, similar to those that had once comprised his first book. Thoughts in themselves can sometimes be so beautiful or so true that comprehending them is accompanied by certain new emotions, even to the point of trembling in one's body. There are two kinds of thoughts, which are likewise accompanied by two states of the soul. The first kind of thoughts are nihilistic ones; they are accompanied by the deepest despair, by the soul's ascension into an understanding of the futility and insignificance of life. The other kind are aesthetic thoughts; from them the soul soars upward, away from the sinful earth, to such heights from which even this earth appears beautiful in its small significance. Such thoughts are accompanied by a feeling of complete awareness, of completion, and even a certain fragrance.

Kostya, sitting in a somewhat melancholic mood in his kitchen while awaiting Elizabeth, decided to write something down. He took out his notebook:

"I wonder, would the love of Romeo and Juliet have been equally eternal had they lived to old age? Most likely not. They immortalized their love through their death. And Werther in Goethe's tragedy—could he have loved Lotte eternally after his suffering had passed? Again, no; he, like the first pair, immortalized his love through a mortal gesture. In truth, it turns out to be impossible to kill a person who loves—this only makes their love eternal."

He knew that despite still loving Liza madly, this would pass. His love could not be eternal, as he had written in his notebook. Perhaps everything would have been different had he felt that Liza was truly happy with him. It pained him to accept the opposite fact, and the realization that he had once again become no one filled his heart with boundless sorrow, yet to let her go was beyond his strength.

The brief entries in his notebook, which he carried with him always, were his secret consolation, understood by him alone. This habit returned him to that state in which he had dwelt during his acquaintance with the beginnings of philosophy. "It is as though I have found myself home again, in such a pleasantly familiar world..." he once wrote.

The sound of the door lock was heard. Liza had returned from work.

"Hello, what are you doing?" she asked from the threshold.

"Oh, nothing special. Drinking tea. Thinking perhaps I should prepare something to eat," Kostya answered, trying to lend his voice a note of cheerfulness.

"Only thinking?" Elizabeth entered the kitchen. She began tidying up the kitchen in her housewifely manner, opened the refrigerator. "So, what shall we eat today?"

"How was work?" Kostya asked his now customary question.

"So-so. We had an inspection. The auditors found a couple of my mistakes," Liza reported, setting about preparing dinner.

"And are you very worried about it?" Kostya asked.

"How shall I put it. Not very; if they fire me, so be it," Elizabeth concealed her concern.

Kostya's phone rang. "Hm... Henry is calling," he informed Liza, glancing at the phone.

"Long time no see!" Kostya said into the phone. They had not spoken with Henry for quite some time. There had been no time for it. After the collapse of the SIPR, Henry too had been forced to seek new employment.

"Yes, hello, what are you doing?" Henry asked.

"Oh, nothing, sitting in the kitchen with Liza," Kostya answered honestly.

"Give her my regards. Listen, I just got paid; perhaps we could go to a café? Tomorrow is a day off. We could sit, reminisce about old times," Henry proposed.

"Wait," Kostya said to Henry and turned to Liza. "Liza, Henry is suggesting we go to a café; would you like to?"

"I am very tired after work. You may go if you wish. As it happens, I was also planning to sit in a café with colleagues tomorrow," Elizabeth calmly informed him.

"Well..." Kostya began to answer Henry, still pondering what Liza had said, "alright, where and when shall we meet?"

"In half an hour. Near our old café 'Constellation.'"

"Do you think it is still open?" Kostya asked.

"I don't know; we shall see when we get there," Henry decided.

The old friends met at the appointed place. The café was open; since the last time they had been there, almost nothing had changed, except for a minor renovation. Kostya and Henry sat down at a table.

"And how is life together with Liza?" Henry asked when the drinks were brought.

"What can I say. Normal," Konstantin answered evasively.

"Is that so? But you always wanted this. I remember how you suffered in those days, cutting your arms," Henry smirked.

Kostya wanted to confide that even now he was not experiencing his best times, but instead asked Henry, "And how are you? Where do you work?"

"Shall we have one?" Henry asked, and after Kostya's affirmative nod, began filling the glasses with spirits. "Me? So-so. I work at a wholesale enterprise. Basically, I have returned to my old life."

"Haven't found yourself a girl?" Kostya asked with a smile.

"Well, there is one, but..." Henry paused, then continued, "do you remember our philosophical conference in the capital? We allowed ourselves to speak at length then, and no one forbade us; I liked that."

"I remember; those were good times. Interesting investigations, intelligent people. Do you still see the former members of the SIPR?"

"Some have called me. They say those six months were truly the best for them, despite the fact that they all worked hard. They regret how things turned out. They often say we could have achieved much more," Henry said sadly.

"So they say they were the best times," Konstantin repeated. "Do you also think so?"

"Yes..." Henry paused again, looked at Kostya, and continued in a sterner tone. "And do you know what else I think? I think everything was perfect; we were more than any of these average people in this café, until someone ruined it all," Henry reproached Kostya.

"I regret everything," Kostya said, acknowledging his guilt.

"To hell with the past," Henry poured spirits into Kostya's glass and his own, then drained his in one gulp. Kostya followed his example. "But the thing is," Henry continued, "this is not just the past. Every day I get up to go to this work that disgusts me, knowing that everything could have been different. Because once, it already was different. We could afford everything. The only thing that surprises me is that Elizabeth has not left you yet. No... I do not blame her. You alone are to blame for everything; precisely your infantilism, or perhaps simply your stupidity—destroyed it all."

"'Every passion leads us into error...'" Kostya began to quote La Rochefoucauld's words in his own defense.

"No... spare me that rubbish!" Henry interrupted him. "You had no right to act that way. You were responsible not only for yourself, and I warned you all along. Do you know what?" Henry sighed heavily. "It would have been better if none of it had ever happened; better if I had never known what I came to know during that brief time of our success. Now it is much harder to resign myself to the role of a slave."

Konstantin said nothing in reply; he sat with his head sadly bowed. Henry was right; he had been responsible for everyone, including himself. His heart was gripped by sorrow once more. Henry meanwhile rose from the table in irritation. He took out money for his order and threw it on the table.

"And since that is how things are, it would have been better if I had never known you. I could not have imagined you were so weak," Henry said, heading toward the café exit.

For some time Konstantin sat alone in the café. His entire body felt a profound weakness; he did not want to move. Kostya could not believe what he had heard. "This is so unlike Henry. He never spoke words intended to wound," Kostya recalled. To say that he was hurt would be to say nothing. The only person who had stood by him even in those times when Konstantin was wrong, when everyone turned away from him, had now himself renounced his friend. Kostya stood up, settled the bill with the waiter, and headed home.

Walking home was unbearably difficult. Kostya sat down on a bench, throwing his head back. Before his eyes stretched the starry sky. In such moments there often comes an understanding of human insignificance in comparison with the bright light of a star, with the distance from a person to that star. Forgetting everything in the world, Kostya sank into reflection: "How strange it is—there are infinite stars, yet each star is alone in itself, thousands of light-years from another star. How beautiful they are in their solitude, in that cold and silent space called the Universe. What concern is it to this space, to the universe, and to each star individually, that someone gazes upon them, notices or fails to notice their beauty?

What can We do that is so important as to compare with the importance of the Universe? There are no such deeds in the world, and if there are, man is not capable of them. He is a weak, foolish creature who at times believes the opposite, but as soon as he finds himself alone at night and raises his head, this illusion dissipates. Until then, all people pretend that in the affairs filling their lives there is some 'seriousness.'

Some stars in the sky may no longer exist, yet we see their light, which they emitted a thousand years ago. Their work will be visible long after their death. Can a person 'shine' so many years after their death? No! They are forgotten within a few years. A few more years, and the grave becomes so overgrown that even the person's name will be concealed and forgotten forever. What does 'a person' mean in comparison with the eternal movement of time from past to future? What distinguishes a person who lived a thousand years ago from us? Will we not be forgotten, just as they were? Must one continue the same meaningless philistine way of life? Must one forever look at the ground, lest an accidental glance directed at the sky reveal to us an understanding of the illusoriness of our own sense of importance?"

Kostya opened his notebook and recorded only the last thought; after all that had happened, lethargy overwhelmed him. It seemed this reflection had drained his final strength. He made one last effort and continued on his way.

So as not to wake Liza, Kostya quietly closed the door behind him, undressed, and very carefully lay down on the bed beside Elizabeth. His only consolation in this cruel world now caused him no less pain. He felt that she was suffering, even if she did not tell him so; he felt that the events occurring around him were beyond his control. He could change nothing; he was indeed weak, as Henry had told him—weak and insignificant. Kostya fell asleep with a heavy burden upon his soul.