How wonderful it is when a person loves his job so much that he doesn’t need days off, because he enjoys what he does. This idea is well reflected in the book by the Strugatsky brothers, “Monday Begins on Saturday,” and this applies not only to its title. Writers transfer to unusual world, in which Soviet reality is combined with a fairy-tale world, it turned out interesting and unconventional. It has its own language, a dictionary of terms that may not be clear to people from the real world.
During a trip to visit friends, programmer Alexander meets two hunters. They can help him stay overnight. When Roman and Vladimir find out that Sasha is a programmer, they make him a strange but interesting offer - to work at NIICHAVO. In this place they study magic and search for answers to the most difficult questions. Sasha learns about the existence of another world, where there are talking cats, huts on chicken legs, spells, movements, clones and much more. Most of the research institute's employees are completely immersed in the work they love, and those who are idle are betrayed by their ears. Experiments are carried out here, some are looking for happiness, others are looking for the meaning of life, relying on their centuries-old experience of communicating with people. And people, in fact, are always looking for the same thing.
The book consists of three parts of equal meaning that complement each other. There is a lot of unconventional humor in the novel, and the fantastic component captivates you from the first pages. Thanks to the author's terminology, detailed descriptions The reader, together with the hero, learns more and more about the new world. It seems that you yourself are gradually becoming an employee of NIICHAVO. The novel contains both satire and allegories; bureaucracy and consumerist attitudes towards life and people are ridiculed. Thus, the book will be a good fairy tale with deep meaning for both teenagers and adults.
On our website you can download the book “Monday begins on Saturday” by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky, Dimitry Churakov for free and without registration in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format, read the book online or buy the book in the online store.
Very briefly the 60s of the XX century. Traveling by car, a young programmer gives a lift to two employees of the Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with the help of whom he enters the mysterious and funny world of magic.
Story one. Fuss around the sofa
Leningrad programmer Alexander Privalov travels by car during his vacation and heads to the city of Solovets, where he has a meeting planned. On the way, he picks up two employees of NIICHAVO (Research Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry) and takes them to Solovets, where they arrange for him to spend the night in the museum of the institute - IZNAKURNOZH (Hut on Chicken Legs). Little by little, Privalov begins to notice unusual phenomena - the similarity of the museum keeper, Naina Kievna Gorynych, with Baba Yaga, a talking mirror, a huge cat reciting fairy tales and songs, a mermaid on a tree and an upside-down book in which the contents change all the time. In the morning, Privalov catches a pike from the well that grants wishes. He thinks that all these unusual things must fit into some kind of system.
While walking around the city during the day, he finds an irreplaceable nickel and begins to experiment with it, buying various things with it. This experiment is interrupted by the police. Privalov ends up in the department, where he is forced to pay for the damage, and the nickel is confiscated and exchanged for a regular one. At the same time, the police are not at all surprised by this strange object.
Returning to IZNAKURNOZH to rest, Privalov discovers that the sofa, which was still there in the morning, is missing. Then, one after another, strange personalities come to Privalov who demonstrate incredible abilities: they fly, become invisible, pass through walls, and at the same time for some reason are interested in the disappeared sofa. In between, Privalov learns that the sofa is actually a magical transmitter of reality. It was stolen by one of the institute’s employees, Viktor Korneev, for research work, since it was not possible to officially reclaim it from the museum due to the bureaucracy of the administrator Modest Matveevich Kamnoedov. In the morning, the scandal with the theft of the sofa becomes uncontrollable, and Roman Oira-Oira, whom he gave a lift to the city, comes to Privalov’s aid. He persuades the programmer to go to work at NIICHAVO. Privalov agrees - he was interested in what was happening.
The second story. Vanity
The second part takes place approximately six months after the first.
On New Year's Eve, Alexander Privalov, head of the NIICHAVO computer center, remains on duty at the institute. He accepts keys from all department heads. A series of bright characters pass in front of him - magicians Fyodor Simeonovich Kivrin and Cristobal Khozevich Junta, hacks and opportunists Merlin and Ambrosy Ambruazovich Vibegallo, director of the institute Janus Poluektovich Nevstruev, who exists simultaneously in two incarnations - as administrator A-Janus and as scientist U-Janus, and other. Then Privalov takes a tour of the institute, starting with the vivarium located in the basement of the building, where magical and mythological creatures are kept, through the floors of the departments of Linear Happiness, The Meaning of Life, Absolute Knowledge, Predictions and Prophecies, Defense Magic, Eternal Youth, and Universal Transformations. The tour ends in the laboratory of Vitka Korneev, who is still working. Privalov tries to kick Korneev out of the laboratory, but he cannot cope with a practicing magician who is passionate about his research. Leaving Korneev's laboratory, he discovers that the institute is full of employees who, instead of celebrating the New Year at home, chose to return to their laboratories. The motto of these people was “Monday begins on Saturday,” and they saw the meaning of their lives in work and knowledge of the unknown. Having celebrated the New Year, they continued their research.
At this time, in the laboratory of Professor Vibegallo, a “model of a person with gastrointestinal dissatisfaction” “hatched” from an autoclave. The model, a copy of Professor Vibegallo, is only capable of devouring everything edible. Employees gather in Vibegallo’s laboratory, and the professor himself appears, accompanied by correspondents. According to Vibegallo’s theory, the path to personal development and spiritual growth lies through the satisfaction of material needs, and this model- an intermediate stage on the way to creating a model Ideal Man, “a completely satisfied person.” The model successfully demonstrates that, while satisfying its gastric needs, it is capable of eating a lot - the further, the more. In the end, the model bursts from gluttony, showering Vibegallo and the correspondents with the contents of her digestive organs. The employees disperse.
Privalov ponders what is happening for some time, then falls asleep. Waking up, he tries to use magic to create breakfast for himself, but instead witnesses a meeting with the director of the institute, where the question of how dangerous it can be is discussed. next model. Professor Vibegallo wants to test it right at the institute, while other experienced magicians insist on testing it on a field test a few kilometers from the city. After a heated argument, the director of the institute, Janus Poluektovich Nevstruev, decides to conduct tests at the test site, since “the experiment will be accompanied by significant destruction.” Nevstruev also expresses “preliminary gratitude” to Roman Oyre-Oyre for “resourcefulness and courage.”
Privalov manages to attend the test. The "completely satisfied man" had the ability to satisfy all his material needs through magic. Coming out of the autoclave, the model takes to itself all the material values that it can reach with its magical abilities(including things of people nearby), and then tries to collapse the space. The cataclysm is prevented by Roman Oira-Oira, who throws a bottle with a genie at the Ideal Consumer, and the released genie destroys Vybegallov’s model.
Story three. All sorts of fuss
The Aldan computer on which Privalov works has broken down. While it is being repaired, Privalov travels around the institute and ends up in the department of Absolute Knowledge, where at that moment a machine invented by Louis Sedlov is demonstrated, on which you can get into a fictional past or a fictional future.
He comes to Roman Oyre-Oyre and sees a dead parrot lying in a cup in the laboratory. The director of the institute, Janus Poluektovich, comes, calls the parrot Fotonchik, burns its corpse in the oven, scatters the ashes in the wind and leaves. Roman Oira-Oira is surprised, because the day before he found a burnt green feather in the stove. Where it came from, if the parrot was burned today, and there were no other green parrots nearby, remains a mystery.
The next day, Privalov, together with the witch Stella, is composing poetry for a wall newspaper and suddenly sees that same green parrot enter the room. He flies, but doesn't look entirely healthy. Other employees come and ask where this parrot came from. Then everyone gets to work, but suddenly they see that the parrot is lying dead. On his paw there is a ring with numbers and the inscription “Photon”. The same thing was on the leg of the parrot, which yesterday lay dead in a cup. Nobody understands what's going on. The artist Drozd accidentally puts a parrot in a cup.
The next day the computer is fixed, and Privalov gets to work. Roman calls him and tells him that the parrot is no longer in the cup, and no one has seen it. Privalov is surprised, but then, absorbed in his work, he stops thinking about it. A little later, Roman calls again and asks him to come. When Privalov arrives, he sees a live green parrot with a ring on its leg.
The parrot responds to the words of the NIICHAVO employees with other words, but a semantic connection between them cannot be established. Then they begin to tell the parrot the names of those gathered, and he briefly characterizes each one: rude, old, primitive, etc. The employees do not understand where he got such information from.
It occurs to friends that this mysterious parrot belongs to director Janus Poluektovich, an even more mysterious person. This man, one in two faces, never appears in public at midnight, and after midnight he cannot remember what happened before it. In addition, Janus Poluektovich accurately predicts the future.
In the end, scientists realize that counter-motion is possible here: the passage of time in the direction opposite to the generally accepted one. If the parrot was a countermotor, then it can be alive today, yesterday it died and was put in a cup, the day before yesterday it was found in a cup by Janus and burned, and the day before, a burnt feather remained in the stove, which Roman found.
The novel tries to explain the incident with the Tunguska meteorite based on the concept of counter-motion: it was not a meteorite, but spaceship, and the aliens in it were contrarians and lived, by the standards of ordinary people, from the future to the past.
The mystery of Janus Poluektovich has been solved. He existed in the person of A-Janus and was engaged in science until he came to the idea of countermotion and understood how to implement it in practice. And in a year that is still a distant future for the NIICHAVO employees living now, he turned himself and his parrot Photon into counter-movers, began to live backwards according to the time ruler, and now every midnight he moves from tomorrow to today. In the form of A-Janus, he lives like everyone else ordinary people, from the past to the future, and in the form of Janus U - from the future to the past. At the same time, both incarnations of Janus Poluektovich remain one person and are combined in time and space.
During lunch, Privalov meets Janus U, and plucking up courage, asks if he can come see him tomorrow morning. Janus U replies that tomorrow morning Privalov will be called to Kitezhgrad, so he won’t be able to come in. Then he adds: “... Try to understand, Alexander Ivanovich, that there is no single future for everyone. There are many of them and every action you take creates one of them...”
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(03.01) Samovar, Tikhon and the undead!
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There is no single future for everyone; every action leads to one path or another. This thoughtful phrase is the final one in the work “Monday Begins on Saturday” by the Strugatsky brothers. But that’s not all that the satirical story is notable for: in the hut on chicken legs, the sofa has disappeared, Professor Vibegallo is trying to create a model of a person who is satisfied with everything, and the director of the Research Institute turns out to be a parrot (or did the director turn out to be a parrot?). And this is just a brief summary. “Monday begins on Saturday” - what is this story about and who are its heroes? Let's figure it out.
Brief information
Before you begin to analyze a work, you need to find out when, why and by whom it was created. Thus, the story “Monday Begins on Saturday” saw the world in 1965. The Strugatsky brothers created this humorous fiction with the goal of depicting, at least in a book, a person’s dream of completely devoting himself to science and revealing secrets. The authors ridiculed businessmen and bureaucrats, as well as opportunists who are as far from science as heaven is from earth.
The story is divided into three separate sections. The chapters of “Monday Begins on Saturday” can be considered as separate stories that are connected by a common theme. The first part is introductory. Introduces the reader to a new world and its rules. The second part is filled with satire that captivates the reader. And in the third, the authors talk about the structure of scientific society, how important it is to think outside the box and have a vivid imagination.
Chapter 1: "The Fuss Around the Sofa"
So, let's start retelling the summary. “Monday Begins on Saturday” tells in the first part about how the main character ended up in NIICHAVO, and stayed there.
Programmer from Leningrad Sasha Privalov is going on vacation. Not far from the city of Solovets, he picks up two people along the way who work at a local institute. In gratitude for the fact that he gave them a lift, Privalov is offered to spend the night in the museum at the research center - IZNAKURNOZH (or, as people say, in a hut on chicken legs). Initially, the programmer takes everything that happens for granted, but is still confident that these events must be guided by a certain system. The pike that grants wishes, the fat talking cat, magic mirror- all this becomes the object of study by Alexander, who wants to find a reasonable explanation for everything he sees.
Who took the sofa?
In the heat of enthusiasm, he begins to explore this system and experiments with the fiat ruble. For this he is taken to the police station. When he returns to IZNAKURNOZH, he notices how alarmed everyone is - the sofa on which Alexander was sleeping suddenly disappeared. Following this, Privalov witnesses inexplicable events: previously unseen entities penetrate walls, become invisible, suddenly appear or disappear.
Later, the hero learns: the furniture was a transmitter of reality, and it was “borrowed” by Viktor Korneev in order to study the principle of operation of the sofa in laboratory conditions. When the missing person scandal reaches its climax, Roman Oira-Oira comes to Privalov’s rescue and persuades him to stay and work here.
Chapter 2: "Vanity of Vanities"
Further events take place 6 months after the incident with the sofa in the story “Monday Begins on Saturday.” The summary of the second part is as follows. Alexander Privalov is a full-fledged employee at NIICHAVO and holds the post of head of the computing department. On the night before the New Year, he gets to be on duty. He must accept the keys from those leaving and check all the premises.
Privalov makes a walk around the building to make sure that no one is left and to close everything. In one of the laboratories he meets Viktor Korneev. He decided not to rest at home, but to do his research. Sasha tries to kick him out, but a practicing magician is not to be trifled with. And it’s better not to mess with that magician who is also headlong into science. Privalov leaves Korneev alone and leaves his laboratory. But then it turns out that there are too many people in NIICHAVO. The institute's employees do not want to celebrate the New Year, but want to continue their research.
Magicians are people with a capital letter, they hate Sundays, because on this day they are very bored, because they have nothing to occupy themselves with. Their motto is simple: “Monday begins on Saturday.”
Why did the fuss start?
This festive atmosphere is suddenly disrupted by another “successful” experiment of Professor Vybegallo. During his research, a sample of a “gastrointestinal dissatisfied person” appeared in his laboratory. This homunculus looks like a professor, but is guided by one instinct - to eat everything that is edible.
Professor Vibegallo is called to the institute. He appears there with the press, and while his creation is chewing on both cheeks, the creator talks about his goal - to create the Perfect Man. His research is currently at the intermediate modeling stage. And while Vybegallo says that the only way to develop personality and spiritual growth is to satisfy material needs, his experimental sample bursts from large quantity food consumed.
How did it all end?
Vibegallo skillfully ignores this incident and says that in the future he will create a new homunculus - “a person who is completely satisfied.” And with the help of magic he will be able to satisfy his property needs. At a meeting of the institute’s management, to which Privalov became an involuntary listener, the question was raised about the danger that the created homunculus could cause. After all, Vybegallo conducted all his experiments in the laboratory, and did not use special testing grounds.
Management's fears were not in vain. As soon as this Perfect Consumer appeared, he appropriated for himself all the valuables that his magic could reach, and tried to create a closed space where he could personally dispose of the loot. The second part of the Strugatskys’ story “Monday Begins on Saturday” ends with the Consumer imprisoned in a bottle of gin. The genie, who gained freedom, destroyed the professor's homunculus even before he gained unprecedented power.
Chapter 3: "All the Vanity"
How does the story “Monday Begins on Saturday” end? From the summary the reader learns about big secret head of the institute.
The Aldan computer, which Privalov skillfully operated, has broken down, and while they are trying to fix it, Alexander wanders aimlessly around the institute and takes part in various kinds experiments. He becomes the first tester of a machine that sends a person to the time told by the writer. Then he sees a talking parrot die in the office of Janus Poluektovich Nevstruev.
Death and Rebirth
Later it turned out that this death was a link in the chain of events that took place earlier. The next day, Privalov sees this parrot alive. Interested researchers, including Roman Oira-Oira and former programmer Alexander, are beginning to study this phenomenon. In the process, it turns out that this phenomenon makes it possible for objects and actions to exist in reverse time order. In the Strugatskys’ story “Monday Begins on Saturday,” this theory is the key explanation for all the unusual phenomena that concerned the head of the Scientific Research Institute Janus.
Characters
All the characters in Monday Begins Saturday can be divided into four main categories.
- Young Mages. One of them is Alexander Privalov - although he is not friendly with magic, he is an excellent programmer. Viktor Korneev is an employee of the “Universal Transformations” department and a fan of trolling everyone. Edik Amperyan is an anthropocentrist from the Linear Happiness department. Roman Oira-Oira - teaches Privalov the basics of magic, works in the “Inaccessible Problems” department. Stella is a trainee of Professor Vibegallo, a young witch with gray eyes. Sasha likes it.
- Corypheas. This category should include Janus, the scientific director of the research center, along with all his incarnations, Fyodor Kivrin, the head of the “Linear Happiness” department, the black magician Magnus Redkin, Cristobal Junta, who is also the head of the “Meaning of Life” department. And also Merlin, Giana Giacomo, Sabaoth Odin, Ambrose Vibegallo and Giuseppe Balsamo.
- Fairy-tale creatures. In the original they are called shkazhoshny noises. Their brotherhood includes Naina Gorynych (aka Baba Yaga), the cat Vaska is Naina Gorynych’s pet, he knew how to tell fairy tales, start songs, and strum the harp. And also the Pike, who grants wishes, the house elf Tikhon, the mermaid sitting on oak branches. There is also the rehabilitated ghoul Alfred (the vivarium caretaker) and Maxwell's Demon - two creatures that open and close NIICHAVO.
- Other personalities. They were mentioned briefly in the book “Monday Begins on Saturday,” but this in no way diminishes their significance. For example, the journalists who came with Professor Vybegallo, Modest Kamnoedov, Kerber Demin, Louis Sedlova and others.
Put everything into pieces
Let's start the analysis. “Monday Begins on Saturday” talks about the problems of a person’s relationship with the outside world. Having made magic the main object of study, people are trying to determine the place of fairy tales in everyday life. Previously, when science was still in its infancy, all inexplicable facts were attributed to the supernatural segment. Later, when science matured, it began to explain the inexplicable, and everything that could not be explained was attributed to wild imagination and childish imagination. But even so, humanity will sooner or later be faced with the unknown.
The Strugatskys consider the problem of a pragmatic attitude towards the unusual and the inability of a person to appreciate a miracle in all its glory. In addition, miracles are special indicators that allow us to evaluate the creativity of scientists. Indeed, in most cases, if an experiment does not go as planned, then this is attributed to errors in its conduct. Scientists tend to move away from the new because it does not fit into old and painfully familiar concepts, and the Strugatskys oppose this approach.
The authors, in their characteristic humorous manner, ironize over problems modern society, but do not open them, flaunting all the deliberate and illegal activities, but call for an understanding of the problem and awareness of the further, correct path of development.
What did they say about the story?
There were no indifferences among those who read “Monday Begins on Saturday.” Reviews began appearing in Soviet magazines immediately after publication. Everyone had different opinions about the work. For example, Vsevolod Revich saw in the structure of NIICHAVO a prototype of modern Soviet society. Moreover, he insisted that the Strugatskys were making fun of the bureaucracy. In his words: “There are forces that no magic can handle.” He fully supports the work of the authors.
In contrast, one can cite reviews of “Monday Begins on Saturday” by Mikhail Lyashenko, who saw in this work a kind of trinket, which may be funny, but not at all exciting. He firmly believed that such a plot would defeat the true purpose of science fiction. After all, “it’s stupid to call events that happen in a house on chicken legs an adventure.”
Screen adaptation
But despite all the contradictory opinions and reviews, at one time this work was made into a film adaptation. “Monday Begins on Saturday” was directed by A. Belinsky. In 1965, a performance of the same name was shown on Leningrad television. True, he was not greeted warmly enough, and he never appeared on screen again.
In 1982, the film “Sorcerers” was released, directed by Konstantin Bromberg. The film featured individual stories and characters from the Strugatskys' story. The director did not accept the original version of the script, which fully corresponded to the book, and asked the authors to write a separate work.
Did Vybegallo run?
Although the Strugatskys’ innovative views on science were not accepted in society, some quotes from “Monday Begins on Saturday” became, although not popular, very popular:
- “83% of the days of the year start with an alarm going off.”
- “Every person is a magician. But he becomes like this only when he stops thinking about himself, is carried away by his work and neglects entertainment.”
- “This is all very banal, which means it is far from the truth.”
- “No one among scientists had any idea what the meaning of life was or what happiness was. Therefore, they accepted a win-win hypothesis: happiness lies in the constant exploration of the unknown, this is also the meaning of life.”
This story can be perceived in different ways: you can admire, despise or disagree with what is written, but just do not remain indifferent. Subtle humor, bright characters, a simple and uncomplicated plot can tell a lot if you learn to read between the lines.
But what is strangest, what is most incomprehensible of all, is how authors can take such plots, I admit, this is completely incomprehensible, that’s for sure... no, no, I don’t understand at all.
N.V. Gogol
Story one
Fuss around the sofa
Chapter first
Teacher: Children, write down the sentence: “The fish was sitting on the tree.”
Student: Do fish sit on trees?
Teacher: Well... It was a crazy fish.
School joke
I was approaching my destination. Around me, clinging to the road itself, the forest was green, occasionally giving way to clearings overgrown with yellow sedge. The sun had been setting for an hour, but still could not set and hung low above the horizon. The car rolled along a narrow road covered with crisp gravel. I threw large stones under the wheel, and every time empty cans clanged and rumbled in the trunk.
To the right, two people came out of the forest, stepped onto the side of the road and stopped, looking in my direction. One of them raised his hand. I let off the gas, looking at them. It seemed to me that they were hunters, young people, maybe a little older than me. I liked their faces and stopped. The one who raised his hand stuck his dark, hook-nosed face into the car and asked, smiling:
– Can you give us a lift to Solovets?
The second one, with a red beard and no mustache, also smiled, looking over his shoulder. Positively, they were nice people.
“Let’s sit down,” I said. “One forward, one back, otherwise I have some junk in the back seat.”
- Benefactor! – the hook-nosed man said joyfully, took the gun off his shoulder and sat down next to me.
The bearded man, looking hesitantly into the back door, said:
– Can I have a little bit of that here?..
I leaned over the back and helped him clear the space occupied by a sleeping bag and a rolled-up tent. He sat down delicately, placing the gun between his knees.
“Close the door better,” I said.
Everything went as usual. The car started moving. The hook-nosed man turned back and started talking animatedly about how much more pleasant it was to go to passenger car than walking. The bearded man vaguely agreed and slammed and slammed the door. “Pick up a raincoat,” I advised, looking at him in the rearview mirror. “Your coat is pinched.” After about five minutes everything finally settled down. I asked: “Ten kilometers to Solovets?” “Yes,” answered the hook-nosed man. – Or a little more. The road, however, is not good for trucks.” “The road is quite decent,” I objected. “They promised me that I wouldn’t pass at all.” “You can drive along this road even in the fall.” “Here, perhaps, but from Korobets it’s dirt.” - “This year the summer is dry, everything has dried up.” “They say it’s raining near Zatonya,” remarked the bearded man in the back seat. "Who is speaking?" – asked the hook-nosed one. "Merlin speaks." For some reason they laughed. I took out my cigarettes, lit them and offered them a treat. “Clara Zetkin’s factory,” said the hook-nosed man, looking at the pack. “Are you from Leningrad?” - "Yes". - “Are you traveling?” “I’m traveling,” I said. “Are you from here?” “Indigenous,” said the hook-nosed man. “I’m from Murmansk,” said the bearded man. “For Leningrad, probably, Solovets and Murmansk are one and the same: the North,” said the hook-nosed man. “No, why not,” I said politely. “Will you be staying in Solovets?” – asked the hook-nosed one. “Of course,” I said. “I’m going to Solovets.” - “Do you have relatives or friends there?” “No,” I said. - I'll just wait for the guys. They are walking along the shore, and Solovets is our rendezvous point.”
I saw a large scattering of stones ahead, slowed down and said: “Hold on tight.” The car shook and jumped. The hook-nosed man bruised his nose on the barrel of a gun. The engine roared, stones hit the bottom. “Poor car,” said the hunchbacked one. “What should I do...” I said. “Not everyone would drive their car down this road.” “I would go,” I said. The scattering is over. “Oh, so this is not your car,” the hook-nosed guy guessed. “Well, where did I get the car from? This is a rental." “I see,” said the hook-nosed man, as it seemed to me, disappointed. I felt offended. “What’s the point of buying a car to drive on asphalt? Where there is asphalt, there is nothing interesting, and where it is interesting, there is no asphalt.” “Yes, of course,” the hook-nosed man politely agreed. “It’s stupid, in my opinion, to make an idol out of a car,” I said. “Stupid,” said the bearded man. “But not everyone thinks so.” We talked about cars and came to the conclusion that if we were to buy anything, it would be a GAZ-69, an all-terrain vehicle, but, unfortunately, they don’t sell them. Then the hook-nosed man asked: “Where do you work?” I answered. “Colossal! - exclaimed the hook-nosed man. - Programmer! We need a programmer. Listen, leave your institute and come to us!” - “What do you have?” - “What do we have?” – asked the hook-nosed one, turning around. “Aldan-3,” said the bearded man. “Rich car,” I said. “And does it work well?” “How can I tell you...” “I see,” I said. “Actually, it hasn’t been debugged yet,” said the bearded man. “Stay with us, fix it…” “And we’ll arrange a translation for you in no time,” added the hook-nosed one. "What are you doing?" – I asked. “Like all science,” said the hunchbacked one. “Human happiness.” “I see,” I said. “Anything wrong with space?” “And with space too,” said the hook-nosed one. “They don’t seek good from good,” I said. “A capital city and a decent salary,” the bearded man said quietly, but I heard. “No need,” I said. “You don’t have to measure it with money.” “No, I was joking,” said the bearded man. “He’s joking like that,” said the hook-nosed man. “You won’t find anywhere more interesting than here.” - "Why do you think so?" - "Sure". - “I’m not sure.” The hook-nosed man grinned. “We’ll talk about this again,” he said. “Will you stay long in Solovets?” - “Two days maximum.” - “We’ll talk on the second day.” The bearded man said: “Personally, I see the finger of fate in this - we were walking through the forest and met a programmer. I think you're doomed." - “Do you really need a programmer that much?” – I asked. “We desperately need a programmer.” “I’ll talk to the guys,” I promised. “I know people who are dissatisfied.” “We don’t need just any programmer,” said the hunchbacked one. “Programmers are a people in short supply, they have become spoiled, but we need someone who is not spoiled.” “Yes, it’s more complicated,” I said. The hook-nosed man began to bend his fingers: “We need a programmer: a - not spoiled, be - a volunteer, tse - to agree to live in a hostel...” - “De,” the bearded man picked up, “for a hundred and twenty rubles.” - “What about wings? – I asked. – Or, say, a glow around the head? One in a thousand!" “And we only need one,” said the hook-nosed one. “What if there are only nine hundred of them?” - “We agree nine-tenths.”
The forest parted, we crossed the bridge and drove between potato fields. “Nine o’clock,” said the hook-nosed man. “Where are you going to spend the night?” - “I’ll spend the night in the car. What time are your stores open until? “Our stores are already closed,” said the hook-nosed man. “We can go to the hostel,” said the bearded man. “I have a free bed in my room.” “You can’t drive up to the hostel,” said the hook-nosed man thoughtfully. “Yes, perhaps,” the bearded man said and for some reason laughed. “The car can be parked near the police,” said the hook-nosed man. “Yes, this is nonsense,” said the bearded man. - I talk nonsense, and you follow me. How will he get to the hostel?” “Y-yes, damn it,” said the hunchbacked one. “Really, if you don’t work for a day, you forget about all these things.” - “Or maybe transgress him?” “Well, well,” said the hunchbacked one. - This is not a sofa for you. And you are not Cristobal Junta, and neither am I..."
“Don’t worry,” I said. – I’ll spend the night in the car, not the first time.
I suddenly really wanted to sleep on the sheets. I've already slept for four nights sleeping bag.
“Listen,” said the hook-nosed man, “ho-ho!” From inside the knife!
- Right! – the bearded man exclaimed. - It’s in Lukomorye!
“By God, I’ll spend the night in the car,” I said.
“You will spend the night in the house,” said the hook-nosed man, “for a relatively clean linen. We must thank you somehow...
“It’s not a good idea to give you fifty dollars,” said the bearded man.
We entered the city. There were old strong fences, powerful log houses made of giant blackened logs, with narrow windows, carved frames, and wooden cockerels on the roofs. I came across several dirty brick buildings with iron doors, the sight of which brought the semi-familiar word “storage store” out of my memory. The street was straight and wide and was called Prospekt Mira. Ahead, closer to the center, two-story cinder block houses with open parks.
“Next lane to the right,” said the hunchbacked one.
I turned on the turn signal, slowed down and turned right. The road here was overgrown with grass, but a brand new Zaporozhets was standing huddled at some gate. House numbers hung above the gates, and the numbers were barely visible on the rusty tin of the signs. The lane had an elegant name: “St. Lukomorye". It was not wide and sandwiched between heavy ancient fences, probably erected back in the days when Swedish and Norwegian pirates roamed here.
“Stop,” said the hook-nosed man. I braked, and he again hit his nose on the barrel of the gun. “Now it’s like this,” he said, rubbing his nose. “You wait for me, and I’ll go now and arrange everything.”
“Really, it’s not worth it,” I said in last time.
- No talking. Volodya, keep him at gunpoint.
The hook-nosed man got out of the car and, bending down, squeezed through the low gate. The house was not visible behind the tall gray fence. The gates were absolutely phenomenal, like in a locomotive depot, with rusty iron hinges weighing a pound. I read the signs in amazement. There were three of them. On the left gate, thick glass sternly glittered a solid blue sign with silver letters:
NIICHAVO
hut on chicken legs
monument to Solovetsky antiquity
On the top of the right gate hung a rusty tin sign: “St. Lukomorye, No. 13, N.K. Gorynych,” and under it was a piece of plywood with an inscription in ink at random:
THE CAT DOESN'T WORK
Administration
– Which CAT? – I asked. – Defense Technology Committee?
The bearded man chuckled.
“The main thing is don’t worry,” he said. “It’s funny here, but everything will be fine.”
I got out of the car and began wiping the windshield. There was suddenly a fuss over my head. I looked. At the gate, making himself comfortable, a gigantic cat—I’ve never seen anything like it—black and gray, with streaks, was anointing himself. Having sat down, he satedly and indifferently looked at me with yellow eyes. “Kiss-kiss-kiss,” I said automatically. The cat politely and coldly opened his toothy mouth, made a hoarse sound in his throat, and then turned away and began to look inside the yard. From there, from behind the fence, the voice of the hook-nosed man said:
- Vasily, my friend, allow me to disturb you.
The bolt squealed. The cat got up and silently disappeared into the yard. The gate swayed heavily, a terrifying creaking and crackling sound was heard, and the left gate slowly opened. The hook-nosed man's face, red from exertion, appeared.
- Benefactor! – he called. - Come on in!
I got back into the car and slowly drove into the yard. The yard was vast, in the back stood a house made of thick logs, and in front of the house stood a squat, immense oak tree, wide, dense, with a thick crown obscuring the roof. From the gate to the house, going around the oak tree, there was a path laid out stone slabs. To the right of the path was a vegetable garden, and to the left, in the middle of the lawn, stood a well frame with a collar, black from antiquity and covered with moss.
I parked the car aside, turned off the engine and got out. Bearded Volodya also got out and, leaning his gun against the side, began to adjust his backpack.
“Here you are at home,” he said.
The hook-nosed man closed the gate with a creak and a crash, but I, feeling rather awkward, looked around, not knowing what to do.
- And here is the hostess! - the bearded man cried. - Are you healthy, grandma, Naina Svet Kievna!
The owner was probably over a hundred. She walked towards us slowly, leaning on a gnarled stick, dragging her feet in felt boots and galoshes. Her face was dark brown; from a continuous mass of wrinkles, a nose protruded forward and downward, crooked and sharp, like a scimitar, and the eyes were pale, dull, as if closed by cataracts.
“Hello, hello, grandson,” she said in an unexpectedly sonorous bass. – This means there will be a new programmer? Hello, father, welcome!..
I bowed, realizing that I needed to keep quiet. The grandmother's head, on top of a black down scarf tied under the chin, was covered with a cheerful nylon scarf with multi-colored images of the Atomium and with inscriptions on different languages: "International Exhibition in Brussels." There was sparse gray stubble sticking out on his chin and under his nose. The grandmother was dressed in a cotton vest and a black cloth dress.
- In this way, Naina Kievna! - said the hook-nosed man, coming up and wiping the rust from his palms. – We need to arrange for our new employee for two nights. Let me introduce... mmmm...
“Don’t,” said the old woman, looking at me intently. - I see it myself. Privalov Alexander Ivanovich, one thousand nine hundred and thirty-eighth, male, Russian, member of the Komsomol, no, no, did not participate, was not, does not have, but it will be for you, diamond, long road and interest in the state house, but you should be afraid, diamond one, of a red-haired, unkind man, but gild your pen, yakhontovy...
- Hmm! – the hook-nosed man said loudly, and the grandmother stopped short. An awkward silence reigned.
“You can just call me Sasha...” I squeezed out a pre-prepared phrase.
- And where will I put it? - the grandmother inquired.
“In the storeroom, of course,” said the hook-nosed man somewhat irritably.
– Who will answer?
“Naina Kievna!..” the hook-nosed man roared like a provincial tragedian, grabbed the old woman by the arm and dragged her to the house. You could hear them arguing: “After all, we agreed!..” - “...And if he steals something?..” - “Be quiet! This is a programmer, you know? Komsomolets! Scientist!..” - “And if he starts tutting?..”
I shyly turned to Volodya. Volodya giggled.
“It’s kind of awkward,” I said.
- Don't worry - everything will be fine...
He wanted to say something else, but then the grandmother screamed wildly: “And the sofa, the sofa!..” I shuddered and said:
“You know, I guess I’ll go, huh?”
- Out of the question! – Volodya said decisively. - Everything will be fine. It’s just that grandma needs a bribe, and Roman and I don’t have cash.
“I’ll pay,” I said. Now I really wanted to leave: I can’t stand these so-called everyday collisions.
Volodya shook his head.
- Nothing like this. There he is already coming. Everything is fine.
Hump-nosed Roman came up to us, took me by the hand and said:
- Well, everything worked out. Went.
“Listen, it’s somehow inconvenient,” I said. “After all, she doesn’t have to...
But we were already walking towards the house.
“I have to, I have to,” Roman said.
We walked around the oak tree and came to the back porch. Roman pushed the leatherette door, and we found ourselves in the hallway, spacious and clean, but poorly lit. The old woman was waiting for us, her hands folded on her stomach and her lips pursed. When she saw us, she said in a vindictive voice:
- And a receipt right away!
Roman howled quietly, and we entered the room assigned to me. It was a cool room with one window covered with a chintz curtain. Roman said in a tense voice:
– Make yourself comfortable and make yourself at home.
The old woman from the hallway immediately jealously inquired:
- Don’t they click their teeth?
Roman, without turning around, barked:
- They don’t tut! They tell you there are no teeth.
- Then let’s go and write a receipt...
Roman raised his eyebrows, rolled his eyes, bared his teeth and shook his head, but still left. I looked around. There was little furniture in the room. There was a massive table by the window, covered with a shabby gray tablecloth with fringe, and in front of the table there was a rickety stool. Near naked log wall there was a spacious sofa, on the other wall, covered with wallpaper of different sizes, there was a hanger with some kind of junk (quilted jackets, loose fur coats, tattered caps and earflaps). A large Russian stove jutted into the room, shining with fresh whitewash, and opposite in the corner hung a large, cloudy mirror in a shabby frame. The floor had been scraped and covered with striped rugs.
There were two voices muttering behind the wall: the old woman was booming on one note, Roman’s voice was rising and falling. “Tablecloth, inventory number two hundred and forty-five...” - “You still need to write down every floorboard!..” - “The dining table...” - “Will you also write down the stove?..” - “We need order... Sofa...”
I went to the window and pulled back the curtain. There was an oak tree outside the window, nothing else was visible. I began to look at the oak tree. It was apparently very ancient plant. The bark on it was gray and somehow dead, and the monstrous roots that came out of the ground were covered with red and white lichen. “And write down the oak tree!” – Roman said behind the wall. There was a plump, greasy book lying on the windowsill; I thoughtlessly leafed through it, walked away from the window and sat down on the sofa. And I immediately wanted to sleep. I thought that I drove the car for fourteen hours today, that perhaps I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry, that my back hurts, and everything in my head is confused, that in the end I don’t give a damn about this boring old woman, and that it would all be over soon and I could lie down and go to sleep...
“Well,” said Roman, appearing on the threshold. - The formalities are over. “He shook his hand, his fingers splayed and smeared with ink. - Our fingers are tired: we wrote, we wrote... Go to bed. We leave, and you go to bed peacefully. What are you doing tomorrow?
“I’m waiting,” I answered sluggishly.
- Here. And near the post office.
– You probably won’t leave tomorrow?
– Tomorrow is unlikely... Most likely the day after tomorrow.
“Then we’ll see each other again.” Our love is ahead. “He smiled, waved his hand and left. I lazily thought that I should see him off and say goodbye to Volodya, and lay down. Now an old woman entered the room. I wake up. The old woman looked at me intently for some time.
“I’m afraid, father, that you’ll start to bite your teeth,” she said with concern.
“I won’t tut,” I said wearily. - I'll go to sleep.
- Go to bed and sleep... Just pay the money and sleep...
I reached into my back pocket for my wallet.
- How much do I have to pay?
The old woman raised her eyes to the ceiling.
- We’ll put a ruble for the premises... Fifty dollars for the bed linen - it’s mine, not the government’s. For two nights it comes out to three rubles... And how much you will throw in from generosity - for trouble, that means - I don’t even know...
I handed her a five.
“The generosity is only a ruble so far,” I said. - And we’ll see from there.
The old woman quickly grabbed the money and left, muttering something about change. She was gone for quite a long time, and I was about to give up on both the change and the laundry, but she returned and laid out a handful of dirty coppers on the table.
“Here’s your change, father,” she said. - Exactly a ruble, you don’t have to count it.
“I won’t count it,” I said. – How about underwear?
- I’ll go to bed now. You go out into the yard, take a walk, and I’ll go to bed.
I went out, taking out cigarettes as I went. The sun has finally set and it's time White Night. Somewhere dogs were barking. I sat down under an oak tree on a bench rooted into the ground, lit a cigarette and began to look at the pale starless sky. A cat silently appeared from somewhere, looked at me with fluorescent eyes, then quickly climbed up the oak tree and disappeared into the dark foliage. I immediately forgot about him and shuddered when he fussed somewhere upstairs. Garbage fell on my head. “For you...” I said out loud and began to shake myself off. I was extremely sleepy. An old woman came out of the house, without noticing me, and wandered to the well. I understood this to mean that the bed was ready, and returned to the room.
The bad old woman made a bed for me on the floor. Well, no, I thought, I locked the door, dragged the bed onto the sofa and began to undress. A gloomy light fell from the window; a cat was noisily fiddling around in an oak tree. I shook my head, shaking the debris out of my hair. It was strange, unexpected garbage: large dry fish scales. It will be hard to sleep, I thought, I collapsed on the pillow and immediately fell asleep.
Chapter two
...The empty house has turned into a den of foxes and badgers, and therefore strange werewolves and ghosts can appear here.
I woke up in the middle of the night because people were talking in the room. The two were talking in barely audible whispers. The voices were very similar, but one was a little muffled and hoarse, and the other betrayed extreme irritation.
“Don’t wheeze,” the irritated one whispered. -Can you stop wheezing?
“I can,” answered, choking and choking.
“Shut up…” hissed, irritated.
“Wheezing,” the choked-up explained. “Smoker’s morning cough...” He choked again.
“Get out of here,” said the irritated one.
- Yes, he’s still sleeping...
- Who is he? Where did it fall from?
- How should I know?
- What a shame... Well, just phenomenally unlucky.
The neighbors can't sleep again, I thought awake.
I imagined that I was at home. My neighbors at home are two physicist brothers who love to work at night. By two o'clock in the morning they run out of cigarettes, and then they climb into my room and start rummaging around, knocking furniture and squabbling.
I grabbed the pillow and threw it into the void. Something collapsed with a noise and it became quiet.
“Give back the pillow,” I said, “and get out.” Cigarettes on the table.
The sound of my own voice woke me up completely. I sat down. The dogs barked sadly, and an old woman snored menacingly behind the wall. I finally remembered where I was. There was no one in the room. In the dim light I saw my pillow on the floor and the junk that had fallen off the rack. Grandma will tear her head off, I thought and jumped up. The floor was cold, and I stepped on the rugs. Grandma stopped snoring. I froze. The floorboards crackled, something crunched and rustled in the corners. The grandmother whistled deafeningly and began snoring again. I picked up the pillow and threw it on the sofa. The junk smelled like dog. The hanger had fallen off the nail and was hanging sideways. I straightened it and began to pick up the junk. I had barely hung up the last coat when the hanger broke and, shuffling across the wallpaper, hung again on one nail. Grandma stopped snoring, and I broke out in a cold sweat. Somewhere nearby a rooster crowed. In the soup, I thought with hatred. The old woman behind the wall began to spin, the springs creaked and clicked. I waited, standing on one leg. In the yard, someone said quietly: “It’s time to sleep, you and I have stayed too late today.” The voice was young, female. “Sleep like that,” responded another voice. A long yawn was heard. “Aren’t you going to splash around anymore today?” - “It’s kind of cold. Let's say hello." It became quiet. Grandma growled and grumbled, and I carefully returned to the sofa. In the morning I’ll get up early and fix everything properly...
I lay down on my right side, pulled the blanket over my ear, closed my eyes and suddenly realized that I didn’t want to sleep at all - I wanted to eat. Ay-ay-ay, I thought. It was necessary to take urgent action, and I took it.
Here, say, is a system of two integral equations of the type of equations of stellar statistics; both unknown functions are under the integral. Naturally, it is possible to solve only numerically, say, on BESM... I remembered our BESM. Custard colored control panel. Zhenya places a newspaper bundle on this panel and slowly unwraps it. "What do you have?" - “I have it with cheese and sausage.” With Polish semi-smoked, circles. “Oh, you need to get married! I have homemade cutlets with garlic. And a pickled cucumber." No, two cucumbers... Four cutlets and, for good measure, four strong pickles. And four slices of bread and butter...
I threw back the blanket and sat down. Maybe there is something left in the car? No, I ate everything that was there. There is a cookbook left for Valka’s mother, who lives in Lezhnev. What's it like... Pican sauce. Half a glass of vinegar, two onions... and pepper. Served with meat dishes... As I remember now: with small steaks. This is meanness, I thought, because not just to steaks, but to small-scarlet steaks. I jumped up and ran to the window. The night air smelled distinctly of tiny steaks. From somewhere in the depths of my subconscious came the following: “He was served the usual tavern dishes, such as: sour cabbage soup, brains with peas, pickled cucumber (I took a sip) and the eternal sweet puff pastry...” It would be nice to take a break, I thought, and took the book from the windowsill. . It was Alexei Tolstoy, “Gloomy Morning”. I opened it at random. “Makhno, having broken the sardine key, pulled out of his pocket a mother-of-pearl knife with fifty blades and continued to wield it, opening tins of pineapples (bad business, I thought), French pate, and lobsters, which gave off a strong smell throughout the room.” I carefully put the book down and sat down on a stool at the table. A delicious, pungent smell suddenly appeared in the room: it must have smelled like lobster. I began to wonder why I had never tried lobster before. Or, say, oysters. In Dickens, everyone eats oysters, wields folding knives, cuts off thick slices of bread, spreads butter... I began to nervously smooth out the tablecloth. There were unwashed stains on the tablecloth. We ate a lot and deliciously there. We ate lobster and brains with peas. We ate small steaks with pican sauce. Large and medium steaks were also eaten. They puffed satiatedly, clicked their teeth contentedly... I had nothing to puff at, so I began to click my teeth.
I must have done this loudly and hungry, because the old woman behind the wall creaked her bed, muttered angrily, rattled something, and suddenly came into my room. She was wearing a long gray shirt, and she was carrying a plate in her hands, and the real, not fantastic, aroma of food immediately spread into the room. The old woman smiled. She placed the plate right in front of me and said in a sweet voice:
- Have a bite, father, Alexander Ivanovich. Eat what God sent, sent with me...
“What are you, what are you, Naina Kievna,” I muttered, “why did you bother yourself so much...
But from somewhere I already had a fork with a bone handle in my hand, and I began to eat, and the grandmother stood next to me, nodded and said:
- Eat, father, eat well...
I ate everything. It was Hot potato with melted butter.
“Naina Kievna,” I said passionately, “you saved me from starvation.”
-Have you eaten? – Naina Kievna said somehow unfriendly.
- I ate great. Thank you very much! You can't imagine...
“You can’t imagine anything here,” she interrupted, completely irritated. - Have you eaten, I say? Well, give me a plate here... A plate, I say, come on!
“Po...please,” I said.
- “Please, please”... Feed you here for please...
“I can pay,” I said, starting to get angry.
– “Pay, pay”... – She went to the door. – What if they don’t pay for it at all? And there was no point in lying...
- So what is it like to lie?
- And so lie! You said yourself that you won’t tut...” She fell silent and disappeared behind the door.
What is she? – I thought. Some kind of strange woman... Maybe she noticed the hanger? You could hear her creaking the springs, tossing and turning on the bed and grumbling displeasedly. Then she sang quietly to some barbaric tune: “I’ll ride, I’ll lie around, I’ll eat Ivashka’s meat...” The night cold blew in from the window. I shivered, got up to return to the sofa, and then it dawned on me that I had locked the door before going to bed. Confused, I walked up to the door and stretched out my hand to check the latch, but as soon as my fingers touched the cold iron, everything swam before my eyes. It turned out that I was lying on the sofa, with my nose buried in the pillow, and with my fingers I felt the cold log of the wall.
For some time I lay there, dying, until I realized that somewhere nearby an old woman was snoring, and they were talking in the room. Someone spoke instructively in a low voice:
– The elephant is the largest animal of all living on earth. He has it on his snout big piece meat, which is called a trunk because it is empty and stretched out like a pipe. He stretches it and bends it in all sorts of ways and uses it instead of a hand...
Cold with curiosity, I carefully turned onto my right side. The room was still empty. The voice continued even more instructively:
– Wine, consumed in moderation, is very good for the stomach; but when you drink too much of it, it produces fumes that degrade a person to the level of senseless beasts. You sometimes saw drunkards and still remember the justified disgust that you had for them...
I stood up with a jerk and swung my legs off the sofa. The voice fell silent. It seemed to me that they were talking from somewhere behind the wall. Everything in the room was the same, even the hanger, to my surprise, was hanging in place. And, to my surprise, I was very hungry again.
“Tincture ex vitro of antimony,” a voice suddenly proclaimed. I shuddered. – Magiftherium antimon angelius salae. Bafilii oleum vitry antimonii alexitherium antimoniale! – A clear giggle was heard. - What nonsense! - said the voice and continued with a howl: - Soon these eyes, still open, will no longer see the sun, but do not allow them to close without a benevolent notification of my forgiveness and bliss... This is the “Spirit or Moral Thoughts of the Glorious Jung, extracted from his nightly reflections " Sold in St. Petersburg and Riga in Sveshnikov’s bookstores for two rubles per folder. - Someone sobbed. “It’s also nonsense,” said the voice and said with expression:
Rank, beauty, wealth,
All the pleasures of this life,
They fly, weaken, disappear,
Behold decay, and happiness is false!
Infections gnaw at the heart,
But you can’t hold on to fame...
-Where does this nonsense come from? – I asked. I didn't expect an answer. I was sure I was dreaming.
“Sayings from the Upanishads,” the voice answered readily.
-What are the Upanishads? “I wasn’t sure I was dreaming anymore.”
I stood up and tiptoed to the mirror. I didn't see my reflection. The cloudy glass reflected a curtain, a corner of the stove, and many things in general. But I wasn't in it.
- Who is speaking? – I asked, looking behind the mirror. Behind the mirror there was a lot of dust and dead spiders. Then I index finger pressed on the left eye. This was an old rule for recognizing hallucinations, which I read in the fascinating book by V.V. Bitner, “To Believe or Not to Believe?” It is enough to press your finger on the eyeball, and all real objects - unlike hallucinations - will split into two. The mirror split in two, and my reflection appeared in it - a sleepy, alarmed face. There was a blast on my legs. Curling my fingers, I went to the window and looked out.
There was no one outside the window, not even an oak tree. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. I clearly saw right in front of me a mossy well frame with a gate, a gate and my car at the gate. I’m still sleeping, I thought calmly. My gaze fell on the windowsill, on the disheveled book. In my last dream it was the third volume of “Walking Through Torment”; now on the cover I read: “P. I. Karpov. Creativity of the mentally ill and its influence on the development of science, art and technology.” Chatting my teeth from the chill, I leafed through the book and looked at the colored inserts. Then I read "Verse No. 2":
High in the circle of clouds
Black-winged sparrow
Trembling and lonely
Floats quickly above the ground.
He flies at night,
Illuminated by moonlight,
And, not depressed by anything,
He sees everything underneath him.
Proud, predatory, furious
And flying like a shadow
The eyes glow like day.
The floor suddenly shook under my feet. A piercing, drawn-out creaking sound was heard, then, like the roar of a distant earthquake, a rumbling sound was heard: “Ko-o... Ko-o... Ko-o...” The hut swayed like a boat on the waves. The yard outside the window moved to the side, and from under the window a gigantic chicken leg crawled out and stuck its claws into the ground, made deep furrows in the grass and disappeared again. The floor tilted sharply, I felt that I was falling, I grabbed something soft with my hands, hit my side and head and fell off the sofa. I lay on the rugs, clutching the pillow that had fallen with me. The room was completely light. Outside the window, someone was clearing their throat thoroughly.