I was browsing the streets of Grey Waters. The city was sprawling titanically and looked like a patchwork quilt. The facades of Austrian-era building were interspersed with Stalinist skyscrapers and golems made of glass and concrete of a somewhat later time. It looked like a pair of cars after a road accident when two completely different mechanisms stuck together randomly in a chaotic and unpleasant beauty. The city that day lived up to its name, grey and gloomy. The rain was drizzling ghastly, it seemed that everything was wet and even the Grey Waters themselves would soon catch a cold by wetting their feet. People around stared at each other suspiciously, passing me, everyone wanted to get home as soon as possible.
Everyone, but not me. There were few reasons to return to an empty house full of feelings and symbols that I wanted to forget. So I wandered the streets covered by dark grey wet asphalt, snatching one cigarette after another. I looked up where the TV tower pierced the sky as a menacing index finger. It could be seen everywhere and even in the farthest suburbial, untidy hives, which consisted entirely of nine-story dormitories and communal apartments, at night everyone's eyes were dazzled by a red lighthouse rising high above the horizon. I started going to these blocks, suddenly deciding to check if there is a place somewhere in the Grey Waters where the tower will not be visible.
The further from the centre I was going, the more people around me changed. They became worn out. From their looks, their clothes, the small stains on the cuffs of their shirts sticking out from under their coats, from the shoes that were trampled and worn, it was clear that something had broken in their lives and they had not been able to fix it. Not a right occupation, not a right wife, not a right city. One wrong choice or turn leads there. One day they came home from work or just woke up and realised that even though the bodies were still alive, they died when they lost something really important and couldn't get it back. For the dead, neatness and happiness are useless.
Maybe I'm already dead? Maybe my crossroads point recently expired and I crashed to pieces on this road? Who knows. The feeling of death does not come immediately, but when your blunders, cowardice, and greed overlap with a bizarre pattern, and cross out your actions and yourself.
The dead are many. There are more of them than the living. With gloomy faces, hunched over, silent, they walk around, forever cemented in the moment when they realised their death. The living do not understand the dead. The living err, but still keep going, the dead float downstream, the living radiate and act, and the dead only enjoy the actions of others. The living can die - the dead have nowhere else to go because the end is already here, you just have to wait for the seal to strike on the death certificate.
Overwhelmed by these thoughts, I did not notice the moment when I went out into the wasteland past the densely arranged tall buildings through their lonely courtyard-wells. The ground was wet and viscous as if she wanted to eat my boots and then myself. Barely pulling my feet from the surface, I walked through the dark plane of the horizon under the blond plains of the sky. Shabby abandoned houses were scattered around like they were thrown on the ground carelessly by a giant's hand, each under an almost invisible aura of antiquity and stories that perished along with the owners. Ruins. I smiled to myself. If I don't get out of the peak I'm diving into now, I'll be a wreck too. Even if I keep my attractive beard with slightly shiny skin and deep brown eyes on the outside, there will be a dead ruin inside. A house in which no one is destined to settle anymore.
Her name was Margaret. The closest of the women I’ve been with. AS it always happens with such losers as me - she left when I turned into a sick scumbag, trying hard to keep his treasure from prying eyes. Red hair, freckles, a snub nose, green eyes, and a nice smile. She was not particularly beautiful by the usual perception of beauty. However, Margaret glowed with life, the primordial force, which probably once was in the mythical goddess Lada. She was loved by all, without exception. Women, men, young boys and grandpas - everyone kept their eyes on her when she was around.
And her laughter… Like a gust of wind between the frozen willow branches, she laughed softly and calmly. But I can't hear her laugh anymore. She is not with me now. I left because I couldn't stand it. We did not quarrel, there was no culmination and tension before the end. Everything happened naturally - one morning I came from the night shift, and she was sitting in the hall with a couple of bags next to her in the full uniform of her charm. "I have to go, darling," she said. "It's been a while, we've gone too far and I'm no longer the one you need," she said. Then she kissed me. Fervently, as if she was putting a full stop at the end of the story. When I opened my eyes she was no longer in the apartment. I was left alone. And so I left my home too and chased through the streets trying to catch something unknown.
Suddenly a light flashed from a far corner of the wasteland. I went there and a strange picture unfolded before my eyes - a small shabby trailer leaning against a peeling wall. On the sign on top of the trailer was an even more bizarre name – “Destiny Inc”. What could that mean? I walked closer to the trailer.
Its windows were dark as if burnt by constant wind and smoke, but the walls were made of untouched steel, flickering under the light of day, making the car look like a tired and old chariot of some ancient war god. There wasn’t too much light going out of the windows. I leaned my face against the glass, trying to look inside when I suddenly heard an old man's voice to the left.
– Are you looking for something, young man?
I shuddered and turned my head to the owner of that voice. He was a small bald old man with a grey beard, its pointy end resting on his chest, he was wearing an old shirt and a black cloth vest with gold bands. Behind the round glasses in a gilded frame hid watery grey eyes with dark surroundings that looked like two frozen lakes somewhere in the middle of the taiga. His face was covered with brown spots, which, like old freckles, pierced here and there in the parchment of his skin.
– I… I... What does “Destiny Inc” mean?
– Well, I’d bet it has something to do with destinies. We repair the broken, we help the needy. Of course, for a fee. – The old man smiled showing thirty-two yellow teeth. "Probably some good crowns," – I thought. The old man came closer and said, holding out his hand with long fingers that ended in club-shaped phalanges:
– Archippus Kadar. Nice to meet you.
– Joseph.
He was shaking my hand a little awkwardly. Then Archippus pulled a glass on a chain from his waistcoat pocket and, squinting one eye, looked at me through the glass.
– Hm... A critical point has been reached but has not yet been passed... The sigma around allows invasion... Bifurcation is somewhat difficult, but it’s level two, no more. If you cross the golden branch... – he muttered, and then shouted – Jagiello, come here, we have a client!
Suddenly the trailer door opened and another man came out. He was wearing a brown vest, a yellowish shirt, and heavy, nail-studded shoes. A red scarf with brown spots was tied around his neck. He was short and stocky, with dark skin and stiff black hair. His face was from a cohort of faces that suffered from the "five-hour shadow", which always remained densely covered with bluish bristles from neck to cheeks, which hid the face and made everyone, even the noblest man, look like a scoundrel and swindler. Multicoloured eyes - one blue, the other brown, completed this image.
The man approached me, tilted his head to the side, and held out his hairy hand proclaiming:
– Jagiello Lagoda. Hmm ... What is this case, Mr. Archippus?
– Lost love of a lifetime." – he said as if it was a legitimate type of a case in some taxonomy. – B-2, that is. Actually, I am hurrying a bit right now… – the old man squinted. – Ask the confirmation first.
– Hmm. Well, Joseph. Need help?
Strange. I was amazed and confused. How do they know about my problems? What kind of institution is this? What is happening in general? I expressed all this in a capacious phrase:
-What the hell is going on, motherfucker? – I shouted.
– I don't have a mother. As for your question... I'm sorry. It needs to be clarified a bit. We fix lives. You have one, and as I see it, it’s on the verge of breaking. Don't ask how I know this, I'm a specialist, man. – He stared at me with one eye, while the other was spinning in all directions in the orbit.
– I wouldn’t like to scare you, would you like to come in to the trailer? For starters, we will give you a free consultation, right, Mr. Archippus? – The old man nodded. – And then you decide whether to use our services. – With these words, his brown eye stopped and also stared at me. – To do this, you have to give me any amount of money of your choice. This is a tradition, and we do not like to break it.
"Stranger and weirder," said Alice. – A thought sounded in my head. Maybe I got sick, caught a cold in this rain and it's just a hallucination from the temperature? I touched my forehead, but it was cold. Hmm... They say they can make my life better. The consultation is free. I have nothing to lose here. I never believed in miracles. However, he did not deny the existence of something otherworldly. Maybe this is it? Maybe it’s worth a try?
Jagiello seemed to sense my doubts and turned to me theatrically, holding out his hand and smiling. It was as if something bizarre was affecting me, and since I had no money with me, I pulled my lucky coin on a chain from behind my shirt. I once bought it at a flea market in the centre of Lviv. It was a Third Reich coin with a beautiful eagle on it, silver and probably almost indestructible, because it still looked like a new one. I passed it to this strange man and put it in his hand. He smiled even wider and threw the coin into his trouser pocket.
– Well... Let's go inside, where we can help you better. The rain is getting heavier. – as if obeying the words of Lagoda, the rain turned from a trickle into a downpour of large heavy drops. I followed him inside the trailer. It turned out to be big inside, there were two tables and a few chairs, the shelves were cluttered with papers and bizarre things, colourful metal figurines, an aquarium with spiders, and a telephone handset from the 90s. Jagiello sat at a table with several thick folders on it, an ancient yellow copier and a computer monitor from the same period. The cables from the monitor and printer went straight to the floor in black bundles and snaked back and forth before getting stuck in the dust-strewn fill. He pointed to a black rocking chair in front of me. I sat down.
– Well. What is her name?
– Margaret. But what can you possibly do, she left and will not return to me…
– It's up to me what I can do. Your dog died when you were ten years old. What was his name?
– H-hoy. But what does this have to do with the case?
– It does have something to do with your life.
–OK.
Jagiello turned on the monitor and began to click randomly on the keyboard, from time to time abruptly moving the mouse. Judging from the light falling on his face, bright and dim segment alternated rapidly on the screen. This made him look a little scary because the light shone in the man's eyes and they seemed to transform with each change of screen content. – Six. Seventeen. Thirty-eight. – said,Jagiello. At the same time, the old man stood at the blackboard that reminded me of school days, when we wrote equations and formulas in the physics classroom on a similar specimen of such a kind, a relic of the old Soviet times, and began to write down the numbers muttered by his companion. It all seemed like some incomprehensible ritual by which ancient alchemists and sages would try to find their destiny, but adjusted for modernity in methods of action. Number by number Archippus wrote two rows thirteen columns each. Jagiello stopped clicking and looked at the board. He mumbled something and looked at the old man.
– Fatalism goes beyond the scale. – he added.
– This case is yours. Tell him, junior. If you make a mistake, it is your sin.
– No mistake, I checked.
– Take action.
Then Lagoda turned to me and looked me straight in the eyes. It was an unpleasant feeling. It was as if he was an oncologist after the examination and he began his speech:
– Joseph. Everyone has a time when everything breaks down. Point of no return. You have one too. It happened recently. If nothing is done, everything will go bad.
It's stupid, it's crazy, but for some reason, I wanted to believe this man. His voice seemed to vibrate and his words were as hard as metal. And I felt he was telling the truth.
– How bad is it?
– Without this woman, you will achieve almost nothing. Depression, stagnation at work. You will be shackled and deep in the water. Estimated life expectancy - 48 years. Plus or minus four years. Not the best kind of life either.
– How do you know?
– You. Let’s keep the subject on you right now. I know my craft. And you know I'm telling the truth.
– But if I know it now, I can change everything, right?
Jagiello barely smiled. He was silent for half a minute.
– No. You can't, Joseph. Have you ever heard of self-fulfilling prophecies? All actions to avoid a certain fate are most likely to help in fulfiling the forecast. Simply put – twitching will only tighten the strings.
– And how can this be avoided?
– We can intervene. But...
– But? – I asked nervously.
– It isn’t charity. You will have to pay the price.
– Which price?
– Service. Such are the rules.
– Which kind of service?
– If we manage to do a fix to your life – you will owe us a favour. One day a wanderer will come to your door – you will recognise him at once – and ask you to provide a certain service. You can't refuse.
– What will happen if I refuse?
-Termination of the contract. – the old man spoke suddenly. – If you do not fulfil the conditions, the universe will get back its own. The fastest possible method. Illness, death, and various misfortunes on the heads of those who violated the agreement. The universe is not cruel, it will simply return to its previous state in the fastest way. – He snapped his fingers.
-What will happen in case I'm with her?
-You will have a chance. As a rule, a good future is foggy, especially before the transition to bifurcation. So I'm sorry, I can't say the specifics. But at least you will have a chance for a change… Well, do you agree? It should be done already or not at all. – replied Jagiello.
Doubts. Doubts. However, if I agree… If… Oh, damn it all.
– It is convenient for you that I have to act now. OK, I am in. Where should I sign with my blood, huh?
At the same time, Archippus and Jagiello looked at me with contempt, as if I had said something so inappropriate that only politeness stopped them from throwing me out of here.
– We are not some beasts, Joseph. Here's the pen and the contract. – Archippus handed me an old parchment with a typewritten contract and a fountain pen with a flavour of at least 1980s. Its color was brown. I reread the agreement, which contained the same thing they had told me, only in more of a legal or even clerical language. In the column of the executor of the contract there was a strange name "Aliquot vitae", as the customer name there was my name. After re-reading the contract again, I did not find any problematic quotation marks, except for the wording "in case the customer fails to fulfil the terms of the contract, he is responsible for bringing all his personal and otherworldly property into harmony," so I signed the contract.
It was getting a little dark outside the window. Jagiello took the contract from me, made a copy, and then gave it back.
– When was your last intimate relationship with her? – he asked.
– Four or three days ago.
– Unprotected?
– Well ... – I froze. – We trust each other. Or at least trusted at the time.
– How ofter before that?
– Every few days.
– Are you fertile?
– What?
– I asked if you are fertile? Can you have children?
– Yeah. But… But she is… Is not.
Him and Archippus looked at each other and simultaneously began to peform two completely different processes: Lagoda started ferociously typing something on the keyboard, Archippus wiped the board and began to draw strange signs and figures on it. What he drew mostly resembled a map of Lviv, only slightly distorted and having on it symbols of unknown nature here and there. He measured the distance on the map with a ruler and marked the points with red chalk. I looked at it in fascination. I was brought out of a trance by a printer that made a noise and started working, jerking like a shutter from one end to the other. What came out of the printer resembled a ticket. A train ticket.
– What did you do?
– We're trying to help you, boy. – Archippus replied without turning to me. He muttered something under his breath and I heard only fragmentary words. – Hormones, right lines, correct rhythm, seventeen – twenty-five. The printer printed louder and louder, and Archippus’s muttering grew louder too as if it was a thunder from some distant dimension that was reflected in his mind. The sounds around became louder, louder, all-encompassingly loud and suddenly everything stopped. Archippus scratched on the board with chalk, and the ticket finally fell silently from the intestines of the printer. Silence wrapped around everything in the room in cotton wool . It was as long as molasses. – Day-don! Ding-dong! Ding-dong! – The black phone on the shelf rang. I looked at the phone, it looked really old like it should not have been working but for some strange reason did.
– Pick up the phone, boy. It's for you. - Archippus said.
I picked up the phone and poked the green handset button.
– Hello, Joe? – said the woman at the other end. It was Margareth.
– Hi… I wouldn’t think you’d call me. Did something happen?
– Well, that’s one way to put it. I... I'm pregnant.
– What?
-I thought I would never be able to give birth, but the doctor said that I am pregnant and it is for sure. I did not have sex with anybody else. This is your child. If you don't want to accept it, it’s OK. I understand. But… That changes things. Maybe that’s the world’s way of telling me to linger on a little bit more with you.
- Stop. Not a word more. Stay at home. I will get back to the city soon.
Jagiello smiled and handed me a ticket and a contract. Together with Archippus they took me to the door. In a few hours, I was already back in Lviv.
***
Three years have passed. We had a boy. Everything is fine. Margaret loves me almost as much as I love her, no matter how corny it may sound. Everything works, they helped me, repaired my life. And I would be happy if not for one small detail… Someday a wanderer will come to me and ask for a favour. A service I can't refuse.