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I was about five years old when my friend A, his grandmother and I were sitting on a bench in front of the Big House – as we called it in my family – on a clear summer day in the village of Malye Gorki, Vladimir Oblast. The Little House, where my mother and I used to come during the warm months, was later attached to the bigger one.
During our idle pastime I heard how to the left of me a gate leading to the Little House opened. I thought at that moment that my mother was coming out, since no one else could go from our part of the garden plot, as my mother and I were the only one in the Little House that day. My father was in Moscow, and my aunt Liza, or great-aunt Liza, formally speaking, always went outside from the side door of the Big House, located to my right.
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Having problems with imagination, I understood that Liza was no longer alive, but I could not feel any feelings about this, everything that was happening was in a “haze” and seemed to be far away. I understood that such a state of consciousness is not normal, remembering very well my dream, and the full focus and pure clarity of consciousness after it. But I could not free myself from these shackles – with the exception of one moment when I was able to concentrate on reality for a sufficiently long time. Then it was evening, and I went for a walk. My friend Natasha asked me why I was so sad? I did not know what to answer – and then I still could not tell the whole truth. I did not want to be sad and live in boredom, and the imagination again consumed me.
One day our company was drinking. As far as I remember, I did not touch any alcohol then. At that time, many guys were crowding around one of my old female friends. They were hugging with her and so on. I do not remember if I was a bit drunk after all, or I just wanted to get a little closer to her, but to my flirtations she told me the following: “Listen, you moron, stop touching me!” It hurt me, and for a long time I remembered that incident, wondering why she said it to me and in such a harsh form? After all, I did not want to do anything bad to her and I was her old friend. She did not treat new strangers like that. Moreover, it was she who had previously told me that I was a “very handsome boy”. So what had changed since then?
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