Читать книгу A Man from the Future. 1856 - Евгений Платонов - Страница 16

By Friday, Dmitry was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The whole week had passed in a fog – he worked on autopilot, communicated with colleagues mechanically, came home and collapsed on the couch in complete exhaustion.

This can’t go on, he thought. I can’t live like this. I have to change something. But what? What?!

Friday evening he was walking home along the Neva embankment – he’d decided to walk, to get some air. October was cold and overcast, the wind from the river cut through to the bone, but Dmitry didn’t notice the cold. He walked and thought, thought, thought.

Twenty-five years, he counted. If I live to seventy – and that’s an optimistic estimate – I have forty-five years left. Forty-five years of this life. Forty-five years of work I hate. Forty-five years of loneliness. Forty-five years of despair.

He stopped and looked at the murky waters of the Neva. The river flowed slowly, heavily, carrying the reflections of city lights within it.

What if I jumped? he suddenly thought. Just jumped into this cold water and ended it all? No more hated work, no more loneliness, no more this despair that eats away from inside.

He even walked closer to the railing, looked down. The water was dark, cold, terrifying.

No, he suddenly thought. No, I can’t. Not because I’m afraid of death. But because it would mean I gave up. That life defeated me. And I don’t want to give up. I don’t!

He turned away from the railing and continued. Ahead he could see the museum building – an old eighteenth-century mansion that had recently reopened after restoration. Dmitry passed it every day but had never gone inside.

Why not? he thought. I’ll go in, see how people lived in the past. I’ll forget this gray reality for at least an hour.

He turned toward the museum, climbed the steps, and pushed open the heavy door.