Читать книгу A Man from the Future. 1856 - Евгений Платонов - Страница 7

At night he couldn’t sleep. He lay with his eyes open and thought. Thought about how life was passing, and he hadn’t done anything. Twenty-five years – a quarter of a century! – and what did he have? No family, no home of his own, no job he loved, not even real friends.

Friends, he thought bitterly. Who are my friends? Maxim from the office, who I say hello to every day but never talk to about anything personal? The guys from the reenactors’ forum, who I last saw a year ago? Classmates who’ve all scattered, started families, and who I only talk to through social media?

He got out of bed and walked to the window. Outside it was dark and empty. Only the streetlamps glowed with dim yellow light, and somewhere in the distance advertising signs blinked.

St. Petersburg, he thought. City of great writers, poets, artists. The city that Pushkin and Dostoevsky celebrated. And for me it’s just a place where I’m stuck. Gray, cold, indifferent.

He remembered reading Crime and Punishment in university. Raskolnikov had also lived in St. Petersburg, had also suffered, had also been unable to find his place. But Raskolnikov at least had an idea, even if it was insane. And Dmitry – what? He didn’t even have an idea. Just emptiness.

Raskolnikov wanted to test whether he was “a trembling creature or whether he had the right,” Dmitry reflected. But I don’t even ask myself such questions. I just exist. Wake up, go to work, come home, go to sleep. And so on every day. I’m not even a trembling creature anymore – I’m nobody at all.

Suddenly a terrifying thought came to him: What if I die tomorrow? What will be left of me? Who will remember me? My colleagues will say: “Oh, Dima died? Too bad, he was good at fixing computers.” My parents will cry and feel guilty that they didn’t keep in touch. Friends who’ll genuinely grieve – none. No wife, no children. No mark on history. I’ll just disappear – and that’s it.

The thought was so frightening that Dmitry felt a panic attack beginning. His heart beat faster, his breathing became ragged, his hands trembled.

Calm down, calm down, he tried to get a grip on himself. These are just night thoughts. It’ll be easier in the morning. It’s always easier in the morning.

But he knew it wouldn’t be easier in the morning. In the morning it would be the same thing – hatred for the sound of the alarm, not wanting to get up, dread at the thought of work. And so on until the end of his life.

No, he suddenly thought with unexpected clarity. No, I can’t live like this. I have to change something. I have to! But what? What can I change? Quit? And live on what? Find another job? But it’s the same everywhere. Move to another city? But does geography really change anything?

He went back to bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling. Thoughts swirled in his head, refusing to let him sleep.

Finally, toward morning, he fell into a restless sleep, full of strange dreams about medieval castles, knightly tournaments, and some incomprehensible events.