Читать книгу A Man from the Future. 1856 - Евгений Платонов - Страница 34

Dmitry went out into the street. It was already beginning to get dark – October days are short. Lamplighters were lighting the oil lamps, and the city was sinking into twilight.

What do I do next? he thought, wandering aimlessly through the streets. I have zero rubles left (gave all three for tea and bread), I have clothes, I have a room for one night. And tomorrow? Tomorrow Praskovia Pavlovna will demand money for lodging. Where can I get it?

He remembered his phone – he’d hidden it in his room, under the mattress. There was still battery. Maybe sell the phone? But to whom? Who would buy an incomprehensible gadget that doesn’t work without electricity?

A watch, he remembered. I have an electronic watch on my wrist.

He looked – yes, the watch was still there. Simple, inexpensive, but working. Maybe he could sell it as a curiosity?

But it was already late – the shops were closed, the merchants had gone. He’d have to wait until tomorrow.

Dmitry returned to Praskovia Pavlovna’s house. He climbed the creaking stairs to his room. He lay on the bed without undressing – it was cold, and the frock coat provided at least some warmth.

He lay in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the house. Behind the walls life continued – someone was cursing, someone was crying, someone was praying. Somewhere a door creaked, heavy footsteps went past.

I’m here, Dmitry thought. I’m really in the nineteenth century. This is not a dream, not a hallucination. This is reality. And now I need to learn to live in it. Or die.

But strangely – there was almost no fear. Instead of fear – some strange calm. As if he had finally ended up where he was supposed to be.

Maybe this is my fate? he thought. Maybe I was born in the wrong time, and these glasses corrected the mistake? Returned me to where I belong?

Before sleep he took out his phone and turned it on. The screen lit up brightly, almost blinding in the darkness. He looked at the date: October 17, 2025.

No, he thought. Wrong.

He went into settings and changed the date to October 17, 1856. Now the phone showed the correct time.

I’m here now, he told himself. In 1856. And this is my real present.

He turned off the phone, hid it under the mattress. Closed his eyes.

And for the first time in many years, he slept peacefully, without anxiety, without nightmares.

Because for the first time in many years, he felt alive.