Читать книгу Libertionne - Anna Tishchenko - Страница 4

In stark contrast to the lower floors, the fiftieth floor was a haven of peace, calm, and emptiness. The interior design was typical – black polished floor, fake granite trim, chrome planters with artificial plants. Bird noises emanated from hidden speakers, in a clumsy attempt to emulate traditional eastern concepts of relaxation, and the chirping mixing in with trivial background music, completely lacking in expression or melody. The bird sounds were supposed to be soothing, but Tiberius found them annoying. Once he was forced to wait twenty minutes here, and he imagined himself shooting them out of the sky, even wishing he had brought a gun. But this time there was no need for such violent fantasies, as there was no one else in the reception area.

“I’m here to see Mr. Darnley.”

Tiberius threw a glance at the secretary, who despite her youth had already managed to perfect an imperious air. She hesitated before replying.

“I see… is he expecting you?”

“Yes.”

His answer was terse and confident, but she looked him over once again, even more disdainfully, before getting up from the black leather couch. Only a handful of mortals were granted an audience here, along with members of the government, patrons, and other celestial beings. Tiberius, with his humble suit and cheap smartphone, looked suspiciously like a professor, or even that most questionable type – a historian.

After a pause, she relented. “I’ll ask,” she said, looking timidly through the frosted glass of the massive door that led into the office. “Mr. Darnley, you have, um… a visitor. A certain Mr. Crown…. You may go in.”

The secretary flattened herself against the wall, in order to avoid the slightest physical contact with the dubious guest. The door began to retract slowly, and Tiberius impatiently gave it a kick as he walked into the room. A sharp whiteness cut into his eyes. It was a bright, pure color, but also a dead and naked one. Everything was white: the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the furniture. Eight years since his first visit, and he still wasn’t used to this blinding, sterile, cold whiteness. And although white was thought to be the pinnacle of design and the epitome of taste, reflecting the cleanness and perfection of our ideal era, Tiberius desperately longed for something dirtier.

“Well hello, Mr. Darnley,” said Tiberius as he walked into the office, smiling sincerely for the first time in two weeks.

Under the accepted norms, the inhabitants of Libertionne addressed each other officially as “feminolibertinian” and “masculolibertinian.” Ten years earlier, the Tolerance had introduced these terms to replace the sexist “man” and “woman.” It was decided that the informal title “Mr.” would be used for sexes, although Tiberius still felt awkward addressing women as “Mr.” It was never explained why “Mr.” was chosen and not “Miss.” Why, Tiberius wondered, hadn’t humanity’s feminine half protested against such gender domination? Perhaps for the same reason that for over a hundred years, while women were fighting for equality, they also loved to dress like men and cut their hair short. Come to think of it, most of the women he knew seemed to prefer the company of men (as did all of the men).

“I’ve missed you, Laura,” said Tiberius. “But what’s the urgency?” He unceremoniously dropped into a wide chair near the rector’s desk.

Laura quickly reached with one hand under the desktop, where Tiberius knew there was a “white noise” button, an unimaginable luxury that only members of the government had the right to own. But the rector of a university was a position no less important than a state worker; after all, what could be more significant than shaping the minds and attitudes of the young generation, the pillar upon which the superpower stood?

“Two items of news,” she said, raising her eyebrows gravely.

“Start with the good news.”

“Why do you think there’s good news? We’ve come up with a program to select one graduating student each year from each of the eleven academic departments, through a competition, and send them on a one-week excursion to one of the old cities. Please, close your mouth, that’s not the whole story. They have to be accompanied by the head of the history department, in other words, you. There will be a base of operations, fully-equipped with everything you might need. You’ll go out into the city only to explore…”

“Laura. You want me to be a babysitter to ten greenhorns for an entire week?”

“Eleven. The best students of the university. Questions?

“Only one. Why?!”

“The government wants future specialists to be able to extract fresh ideas from the rotting foundations of the past. And at the same time, they’ll learn just how miserable that past was.”

“Aha, that’s why…”

“Fine, I’ll be completely frank. They wanted to shut down the history department. Something like, a two-week history course in the primary school would be enough. Yes, that’s right, now stop imitating an crocodile that’s trying to swallow the Egyptian sun. If you only knew what I had to do in order to get this project approved, and also to find the money for it. But tell me,” she said, anxiously looking him straight in the eye, “don’t you want to see for yourself what you’ve been reading so much about?”

She stopped, then quietly added, “I was able to convince Him. And He gave the money for it.”

At that point Tiberius realized that he had no choice. If the project was being sponsored by the emperor himself, then of course neither Laura nor he could jump off this train until it had successfully reached its destination. But he was interested in another thing.

“Laura, that means you saw Him?”

“Yes,” she answered, reluctantly.

“Then you know what He looks like…”

“Yes, I do. But of course I can’t discuss it.”

“But don’t you think it a bit strange that in our modern era, when it’s acceptable to announce every single step you take to the entire world, that a figure such as the emperor is so cautious about hiding his name and image? A strange approach to PR, don’t you think?”

“Does this surprise you?” Laura said, squinting at him mockingly. “You’re a historian. Try and think of a single PR move, as you put it, like this one. There’s never been one.”

“Well, then,” he chuckled, his head still spinning from the unexpected news, “as an old and shabby wolf like myself once said, ‘We accept the fight.’” [a classic line from the Russian animated film Mowgli, adapted from Rudyard Kipling’s The Jungle Book]

The awkward pause was broken by the quiet but relentless ringing of Laura’s smartphone. She glanced at it, nodded, and then turned off the sound.

“Martha?” asked Tiberius, trying to imbue his voice with an uncharacteristic delicacy.

Laura nodded, upset.

“You had another fight?”

“Not exactly, it’s just…”

“That means you did have a fight,” Tiberius said, looking at her point-blank. “Are you going to renew the marriage license?”

“Probably not.”

She nervously drummed her fingers on the table.

“But you’ve been together for four years! It’s so rare these days that anyone renews their marriage even once, and you’ve done it three times!”

“Let’s talk about you,” she exhaled, eager to change the unpleasant topic of conversation. “Tiberius, there are rumors…”

He burst out laughing. “You don’t say!! What rumors? That I’m a sadist and a pervert? Maybe even a secret heterosexual?”

“No, nothing that serious, of course, but…”

“And what are you ordering me to do? Copulate with my partner in the central square?”

“Well, that would be a start. But no, seriously, go with your partner to a club, get more people to see you, take a selfie in a cafe, on a dance floor…”

“Maybe a selfie in bed?”

“It would actually be good. I’m sure that Paul would post them all to his social accounts, if he doesn’t first explode with joy. You don’t exactly spoil him with your company, right? Listen. You already stand out because of your appearance and your abnormal lifestyle. You can’t swim against the current all the time! Just look at us!”

She rose effortlessly from the table and led him, laughing, to a large mirror on the wall. It seemed like the man and woman reflected in the indifferent surface of the mirror were separated by twenty years, no less. Tiberius didn’t look at himself, but as always he was lost in admiration of his classmate – her young, tender face, and her hair, which was the flaxen color of a linen Pre-Raphaelites goddess. And it was her natural color. Why do women always dye their hair some other color, he thought, regardless of whether their natural hair color is so beautiful? She could easily pass for Lorelei, from German folklore, if it weren’t for her eyes. Iridescent as jasper, they were unromantically piercing; her stern, sharp glare seemed capable of penetrating the very soul of an opponent, causing them to cower like a government bureaucrat at the Court of Fear.

“You see? Just look at your gray hairs, your wrinkles, and your hands! When was the last time you were in a manicure salon?”

“Never.”

She sighed, looking at him as tenderly as a lawyer gazing at a beloved, longtime client, whose case he hasn’t been able to win for the last fifteen years, but thanks to whom the bank account is not exactly hurting.

“I’m not going to ask which rejuvenation procedures you use; I’m just going to give you the phone number of my doctor.”

“I could care less about rejuvenation.”

Smiling, he turned to her, took her by the hand, and then spoke in a serious voice. “It’s been ages since we’ve gone somewhere nice. Maybe we could get together in the woods?”

“Only after you start behaving like a good boy. Do you promise? And it’s about time – exams are about to start.”

“Yes, mama,” he said, unable to resist a risque little joke.

Laura jumped when she heard the vulgar word, but then pulled herself together and smiled. Taking something from a desk drawer, she put a small object into his hand.

“Here, have this. Open it one week from today, no earlier. And don’t be angry with me. If you can manage that.”

Taken aback by the unexpected gift, and by her strange words, Tiberius couldn’t hide his annoyance. Despite his strong gratitude for everything she had done for him, she had once again refused his offer to simply get together and talk freely, about nothing in particular…

“Thank you,” he muttered drily, already turning toward the door.

“Tiberius. You know that I know everything.”

He flinched, then slowly turned and calmly asked, “For how long?”

“From the moment that I first saw you.”