Ольга Палагина – Stories from Lyubavino. Chronicle of an extraordinary Incident (страница 11)

Yevgeny Vladimirovich instantly pictured this vivid scene and shuddered in horror at the position he was now in! Vasily’s appearance, his behavior, and his slightly strange manner of speaking – in this context, it would have provoked one unambiguous reaction in anyone: a direct death threat! Nothing more, nothing less!

“Do you have any idea what kind of position you’ve put me in?! You blockhead!.. I’ll be having a word with your father today. Some way to help out a friend! Getting his precious son a job! Now he can help me mend fences with our dear prosecutor!”

He ran a hand nervously over his face before continuing with renewed vigor.

“Who, I might add, thanks to you, just called me and lodged a serious complaint! About how I’m apparently wishing her dead and sending her funeral money via some thug of questionable appearance! Now this is your father’s problem, too!”

Yevgeny Vladimirovich measured Vasily with a gaze full of utter bewilderment:

“Well, I’ll be damned… such an intelligent, responsible man, and he has a son… like you! You’ve landed on my head like a ton of bricks! Get out of my sight! I don’t want to see a trace of you here. And I’ll be paying a visit to your father today…”

Vasily listened to this thunderous tirade from his superior, and the understanding was slowly beginning to dawn on him that he had done something wrong – something very, very wrong, in fact. He slowly backed toward the door, wanting to slip away quickly, to vanish through the doorway, to dissolve into thin air, but then he unexpectedly stumbled upon the cluster of colleagues who had been impudently eavesdropping by the door.

“So, what’s the word, ‘Killer’?! ” one from the group addressed him.

“Ha, that’s right, ‘Killer’! ” others chimed in cheerfully and with a sort of wild glee.

As if on cue, Vasily tripped over someone’s feet and, flailing his arms helplessly, crashed to the floor in the middle of the aisle. In an instant, he scrambled up and, without brushing himself off, dashed out of the store, which had suddenly become unbearably cramped.

For the first time in his life, he felt an immense, crushing frustration for having failed at the most elementary of tasks – mixing up two completely different buildings. And now, he was most likely facing a shameful dismissal, even though he had barely even started working.

But the worst part was the impending explanations: the just reproaches of a disappointed father and the sad eyes of his mother. And that cursed nickname – “Killer” – now hanging over him like a storm cloud in a clear sky!

He had never had a nickname or a moniker; somehow, this particular circumstance had luckily passed him by in his childhood and youth. And it must be said that he was quite content with this state of affairs. His own name, which he considered uninteresting and unmelodious, was perfectly sufficient for him.

But then suddenly, in his nineteenth year of life – it happened! He understood perfectly well that this strange, sinister nickname would now be attached to him forever. Against its backdrop, even the name “Vasily” suddenly sounded noble, almost regal – exactly as his mother had always tried to explain to him. And he somehow suddenly saw everything in a new light. And to his greatest surprise, he made an unusual discovery: he was starting to like his name very much indeed.

Anything but “Killer”!

That evening, at home, after receiving the scolding he deserved from his father, and utterly dejected by the hopelessness of his affairs, he got ready to go to his faithful pal, Vitya. The electricity was still out, and he was languishing from boredom, so he decided to stay overnight at his friend’s place, which he duly informed his parents about.

His father and mother thought highly of Victor and believed, between themselves, that he was a good influence on Vasily. Moreover, the boys were bound by a strong friendship dating back to the days when they used to dig around together in the sandbox. Therefore, despite the dressing-down that had just taken place, they let their son go with light hearts and the firm conviction that at Vitya’s he would at least not get into any new mischief.

Dusk was falling. Vasily’s mood was rotten, absolutely rotten! In such a state, he didn’t want to arrive at his friend’s place and decided to distract himself a little.

But there was particularly nothing to do. No internet, couldn’t lose himself in video games, couldn’t watch TV – no power! A profound melancholy seized the hapless head of our fine young lad, Vasily; he sat down on a bench and sank into despondency.

And right there in front of him was a little beer store. He bought himself some strong beer – one and a half liters – and for the first time in his life decided to drown his sorrows in this manner. To ponder a little over recent events, to be alone with his thoughts, and only then to visit his faithful friend – to pour out his troubled soul to him, to talk about the injustices of life. His friend, after all, was an athlete and didn’t drink.

Vasily sat down on a bench in a shady spot where no one could see him, and until the sun had completely set, he drowned his grief and anguish in beer. It grew dark. His mood improved slightly, and the desire to pour out his soul to his faithful friend Vitya became even stronger than before.

So off he went, the poor wretch, through the dark alleys and streets. He walked and walked, thinking all sorts of unpleasant thoughts about his boss, about that nasty female prosecutor, about his unkind colleagues who had thought up such a vile nickname for him, about his own good-for-nothing self…

“So what if I gave the envelope to the wrong person. And I said what I said. What else was I supposed to say in a situation like that?”

In short, he walked and walked, and all around was just a dark abyss! The sky was covered with clouds – no moon, not a single star, not even the faintest glimmer of a streetlamp. Utter, pitch-black darkness! And then suddenly, from out of this gloom – WHAM! – someone swung and hit him right under his right eye! Out of the blue and for absolutely no reason!!!

Stunned by such an unexpected turn and literally knocked off his feet by the powerful blow, Vasily let out a loud “Oof!” and fell flat on his back.

Instantly realizing that his assailant would certainly try to hit him again, Vasily quickly rolled across the ground and, shielding himself with his hands, shouted into the darkness:

“Who’s there?.. What do you want?..”

In response – a strange silence.

Vasily strained his hearing and the remnants of his vision (in the form of his left eye) and, swaying, got back onto his shaky legs, trying unsuccessfully to make out anything at all around him. But it was dark as pitch. He assumed a fighting stance and, with his fists tightly clenched, lunged forward at the invisible enemy:

“Who are you?.. What do you want?”

WHAM! Taking a hard blow now right to the nose, Vasily mumbled something, sank down, and grabbed his face with his hands. Such insolent behavior from the invisible attacker infuriated him, and in his frustration, he began throwing punches while jumping, spinning like a top, attacking now with his feet, now with his hands.

These absurd combat gyrations were performed in pitch darkness, at random. Vasily hoped to land a blow on the bastard – to the head, the groin, the solar plexus – anywhere would do! But to his great astonishment (and horror), he didn’t manage to hit anyone at all. In the impenetrable gloom, he could hear only his own ragged breath and the scuffing of his own footsteps. Vasily fell still…

The sudden, crushing fear born of the dead silence and the unbroken murk made him take to his heels. He ran wherever his eyes led him – or, more precisely, wherever his one surviving left eye was looking.

He dashed to Vitya’s house practically blind. He only avoided getting lost because he knew the area like the back of his hand. Even in the absolute darkness, he unerringly found his way to the right street with its five-story apartment blocks. In the dark windows, candles flickered dimly here and there.

Guided by memory, Vasily walked briskly towards the right entrance. As he went, he wiped the blood, which stubbornly streamed from his broken nose, with his shirt sleeve…

Vitya opened the door immediately and, after briefly hearing out his buddy’s story about the attack, decided without a moment’s hesitation to go and punish that brazen foe before he could make his escape.

“But listen, Vitya, the guy’s some kind of lunatic with fists of steel, a real hefty one,” Vasily shared his impressions.

“Don’t sweat it, Vasily! The main thing isn’t that nutjob’s height or weight. The main thing is not to chicken out! We’ll break through!..” he replied, hurriedly pulling on his shoes.

Vitya, unlike Vasily, was of sturdy, athletic build and possessed powerful, sinewy arms with hefty fists resembling two sledgehammers; he was, as people jokingly say, big-boned.

Without a second thought, the friends set off to confront the unknown malefactor – a vile character who attacked innocent people, treacherously using the pitch darkness to his advantage.