Chapter 32

At first Konstantin's eyes were blinded by daylight, then his ears were pierced by a telephone ring. Kostya found himself on the bed in his suit. He rose, made his way to the telephone, which lay where he had dropped it the night before.

"Yes," Kostya said into the phone in a weary voice.

"Hello, I called you yesterday, where were you?" Henry's voice sounded.

"I was a bit occupied," Kostya answered evasively.

"I wanted to speak with you further about...," Henry began to say the already familiar words.

"Yes, I know about yesterday's meeting," Kostya preempted Henry.

"Yeees...," Henry drew out, "and also there..."

"No financing for the excavations," Kostya again anticipated Henry's words. "Money must be conserved, and they won't find anything worthwhile there, believe me. Andrei Avdoshin will be somewhat disappointed, but nothing will happen to him."

"But how do you...," Henry began with surprise.

"It's a long story. I'll tell you — you won't believe it," Konstantin was about to end the conversation, but remembered one more thing, "ah, yes, when a certain scientific society appears and announces that it has found a way to achieve cold nuclear fusion. Tell Newton and Chaadaev to immediately look for facts refuting their discovery, not evidence supporting it."

"Well... all right," Henry agreed hesitantly, "see you at the office."

Kostya stood up, looked in the mirror. "Take two," he said to himself, then found a sheet of paper, a pen, and wrote down those words for Elizabeth that he had wanted to write during the night:

"Well then..., perhaps I was waiting precisely for this moment. My consciousness has attained impartiality. Now I write all that my mind has accumulated over many years of learning and reading. I was angry with you, but now I am ashamed of my anger as never before. But that has passed, now I recall your dear image with a smile. I am infinitely grateful that you gave me a certain period of your life. This is a precious treasure, one I could not even have wished for. All your former boyfriends to this day most likely have not realized how fortunate they were to feel your presence. None of them, and even less so I, deserved such a gift. This is worth far more than all the riches of the world, more than money, fame, power. There exists nothing that could be exchanged for this fleeting but immeasurable happiness. I cherish the memory of you more than anything I have or will have. So should everyone who has known you. Forgive this excessive sentimentality. But I want to say that which I never said, did not manage to say, or did not want to, was afraid or too shy to — now it is no longer important. I was foolish, dull-witted and blind, but my eyes have opened. That evening, when I went to meet you, I went to gain friends, but I gained something greater, far greater. I found the meaning of life. You are my life, death, torment, happiness and meaning. Many people live and languish not knowing their happiness, not knowing suffering, not knowing what they live for. But I not only know, I even knew and saw all of this. This image I shall carry through my entire life. Bear me no ill will, I offer my pitiful apologies in exchange for all the precious things you gave me. I am grateful for every minute of your presence and every thought that was, undeservedly, spent on me. Today I release the thoughts of death that possessed me in moments of heavy suffering. You do not deserve to have people die because of you, you deserve to have people live because of you. Live and remember, remember with the greatest gratitude of which a human being is capable. That this bliss has come to an end — it is nothing, it is only external, while internally this joy will be preserved in memory forever. The end is the price. Were it not for the end, all this would not have such value. I would never have understood what condescension from higher powers I was granted in a certain period of my life. I understood that one can truly appreciate and love only from afar. This feeling is far purer than all earthly pleasures. But what are words? They are only 'smoke, which needlessly obscures the brilliance of sowing.' If someday you recall what good you have done in life, remember me, no, not that arrogant, egotistical type. But the one you liked, remember the kind, devoted, selfless, timid one.... Remember that it was you who gave his life meaning, for which he is infinitely grateful to you. In the Talmud it is written, whoever saves one life saves the entire world. Always remember, you did this, you saved the world."

Konstantin reread everything written once more, and placed the sheet in an envelope. He would give her this envelope at the first opportunity. "Will she understand what I mean?" Kostya wondered to himself. "Although that is not so very important." The telephone rang. Kostya had already forgotten that today there was to be yet another telephone call; he picked up the receiver with apprehension.

"Well?" Elizabeth's stern voice sounded, "so are you coming to my wedding or not?"

"Is this like an invitation?" To his own surprise, Konstantin smiled genuinely.

"Like, yes," Liza confirmed.

"Then you can count on me," Kostya said, after which the friends bid farewell.

Konstantin leaned back in his chair. "My attitude toward her is now in that state where I want her simply to be happy. This is the ideal feeling, I love this feeling, I even love loving this feeling." Kostya took the envelope in his hands and read his text again. "More or less beautiful," he thought.

"Strange, why have I written three philosophical books and never once tried to write a novel?" he asked himself aloud. "Yeees...," he drawled pensively, recalling all the recent events of his life, "we shall all be gone from the living, but this story will remain forever." Kostya took a clean sheet of paper and wrote the following words:

"Light. A light snow swirls. A young man of slightly more than twenty years, leaning against the cold stone wall near an entrance, watches the play of snowflakes in the light of a streetlamp. Beautiful. But what he had seen earlier was far more beautiful than this dance of snowflakes. 'What am I doing here?' the young man asked himself. 'Watching snowflakes, trying a little longer not to release from my mind the image I have seen? God, how beautiful she is, and I saw her for no more than two minutes. This is not earthly beauty. O, my Liza, or not mine, I shall die..., die right now by this cold wall, from the understanding that she is not mine, not my Liza, not mine..., Elizabeth.' The young man answers to the name Konstantin, to friends he is simply Kostya. Not tall, reasonably handsome, not of athletic build, a philosopher-nihilist, but an idealist at heart. That is all that could be said about him by one who does not yet know him, but all things in their own time..."

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