29 DREAMS AND REALITY

Fortunately, the redhead seemed pleased. In all honesty, had it not been for my random discoveries, I would have been absolutely delighted.

"I think I'll give it to Cyril," I said, twirling the small shield in my hands. "I'll try to find more stones tomorrow."

I smiled at the blacksmith, who nodded with satisfaction and returned to his place, clearly intending to go to bed. I thought that it was time for me to hit the hay, too. Too many events had happened, and I needed to rest my body and mind. Especially since I intended to get up at the crack of dawn.

Back in the cave, I collapsed onto my bed, absolutely exhausted, and even grunted quietly; my arms and legs ached like I had spent the whole day unloading wagons. Well, that's what I used to do for a living. Back then, when I was working my ass off, I never could've imagined that everything would be different, that I would be able to heal wounds and fight monsters, and that I would have followers. Followers! Satisfied, I buried my face in my makeshift pillow, and instantly fell asleep.

I dreamt of huge boxcars in a rail yard, and Vic Chigrash, with whom I only talked about work. Everything looked so real.

It was winter, a cold and heavy one. For many years everyone was talking about climate change, the greenhouse effect, Earth overheating, and how soon we will be having tangerines for New Year in Central Russia. However, when the snow fell at the end of October, the chatterers fell silent. But we couldn't do without conspiracy theories, so very soon the talk of global warming was replaced by global cooling. This didn't seem that far off, however. Snow persisted throughout the entire winter, and 22°F became the usual temperature. During one of those icy nights, we had to unload a freight. What was on it? We didn't care, as usual. Stew, condensed milk, vodka, sugar — unloading all of that was equally hard and not really paid for.

"I'm sick and tired of all this," Chigrash noisily blew his nose into the snow and lit a crumpled cigarette that he pulled out of his pocket. Despite the cold, he took off his gloves again.

"You'll freeze your hands off," I told him.

He shrugged off my warning. "I can't smoke with gloves on. Five minutes won't kill me."

"That's what Alex said," I said, "Do you remember what happened to him?"

"The poor fool wasn't only without gloves, but without a coat, too," said Chigrash with a noisy puff. "He said that he was hot. He was already sick, poor guy."

We paused, remembering Alex Krutitsyn who used to often work with us. He became a victim of some new strain of flu. He got sick unloading a wagon and refused to go see a doctor. Despite the cold, he came to work the next day. It was then that he undressed in the cold, not realizing that he had a fever. We hadn't seen him since. A week later, one of the guys from the depot said that he died in the hospital.

"Anyway, Vasily," Vic bent his frost-bitten fingers, but stubbornly continued to smoke. "We ruin our health working our asses off, and what do we get? Good money by the standards of those who are used to eating porridge without butter, and soup without bread. And this will go on until we die."

"Do you see another way out?" I asked grimly. "Should we go to college? Isn't it a bit late for that?

"I actually went to college," Chigrash finally finished smoking, threw the cigarette-butt under the wheels of the wagon and put on the gloves with trembling hands. "But, you know, didn't have enough to buy food."

I remembered being very surprised. Chigrash's appearance and his way of talking didn't exactly paint a picture of a student. As it turned out, he was an engineer, but the mechanisms that he had to design and maintain had sunk into oblivion. The technological breakthrough that affected our country destroyed many professions. Life became better, or so it seemed at first, but not for everyone. Whole social classes were left without work, replaced by technology. Of course, if you had a working head on your shoulders, you could fit in, learn another profession, and live comfortably. But, alas, there were more those who were willing to work than there were opportunities for them.

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But even in the age of technology, wagons were still being unloaded by people. This area of activity was in demand all year round as the volume of cargo was increasing exponentially. Large companies could afford automatic unloading and smart wagons. But if company produced canned meat or vodka, the cost rose. Therefore, cardboard boxes with these simple goods were unloaded by Chigrashes and Cats like me.

"Would you like to leave, Cat?" he asked suddenly, in no hurry to finish his break. He was fighting the temptation to light another cigarette.

"To leave?" I asked slowly, trying to understand what he meant. "And go where? To the Far East?"

"No," Chigrash waved his hand in exasperation. "They need only teachers and doctors. You wouldn't be unloading the cars there, too, would you?" he laughed nervously and coughed.

"Where then?" I asked a little bit resentfully. "It isn't much better abroad. It's the same where ever you go. Everything is automatic and computerized."

"That's it," said Chigrash. "Somewhere where it's different. Where it doesn't matter if you're a loader or a nuclear physicist. Where everything depends on you. On your strength and your artfulness."

I stood, silently listening to him. It had been a long time since he had spoken so much. He was usually a silent guy, who talked only if it was necessary or if he was tired of silence.

"Sometimes I think," he continued, "how good it would be if there some catastrophe or war happened."

"Are you crazy?" He made me angry. "Life's already bad, and you want a war!"

"Hang on," he said quietly and somehow sadly. "I really think that humanity needs a shake-up. Remember the 19th century? Or even the beginning of the twentieth? Every trip to the sea was an adventure! Every zeppelin flight could've been the last one. The phone just been introduced, and a car was like a private jet now…"

"I have no car even now. No more, that is…" I said with a sad smile. "And some have a car that's already like a plane."

"Can't argue with that," Chigrash nodded. "But that's not what I mean. It's not even about money. Progress swallowed us, Vasily, you know? Erased our individuality, took the craving for knowledge of the world. Have you been abroad, Cat?"

I shook my head. I hadn't travelled around Russia much either.

"I have," Chigrash said. "It's the same, Cat, all the same. Before, when you went to another country you found yourself in a different world. Different people, lifestyles, and traditions. And now, Russia, Africa, Vietnam, everywhere you go, even the cafes are all the same…"

"Let's just unload the car, Chigrash," I said. "It's getting late and colder. I want to finish this before seven, or things will get tough here."

"We'll do it, don't worry." He waved his hand dismissively and got himself a new cigarette. "Five minutes won't change anything."

I was starting to freeze. I couldn't feel my toes, so I stood there, stomping my feet.

"Imagine if the whole Earth shook all of a sudden," continued Chigrash, releasing a stream of thick smoke. "Communications would be destroyed. There would be no Internet. There would be chaos everywhere. People would loot warehouses and organize communes, and fight for survival." He was slowly becoming angry. "They wouldn't have time to pick what color of toilet to get, white or black, or think about how to make a pass at a gal without any money! They'd be busy surviving, Cat, sur-vi-ving!"

Chigrash shouted, coughed, spat thick phlegm and threw away the half-smoked cigarette.

"Are you all right?" I asked sympathetically. "You have a bad cough."

"No matter," he shrugged. "It doesn't really matter."

"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" I was indignant. "You really wanna follow Krutitsyn's example?"

"I'll go to the doctor tomorrow, Cat," he said quietly. "I promise."

He leaned against the icy car and breathed heavily.

"I'm tired of it, Cat," he started again, and this time some kind of anguish could be heard in his voice. "Every day is the same. Load the damn cars to buy food so that I would have enough strength the next day to unload the next damn cars again… How long have I been here? Spinning in circles…"

"You're not yourself, Chigrash." What was I to do with him? "Let's unload this car and go to the cafe. Have some tea. Or beer? Let's have a beer, we need to spend money on fun sometimes. We'll talk and discuss everything. We'll warm up after work. Look at the station tower, its -11°F."

"Why do I have to live like a piece of garbage?" asked Chigrash with pain in his voice, not paying attention to my words. "Why did I spend six years studying, only to live in a rented room and unload stew, and make girls laugh when they hear about what I do for a living? They don't care that I'm an engineer, Cat, they don't care! I unload stew!"

He started shouted again and coughed.

"Bloody society!" he almost cried, leaning over the body of the car. "Where should I go? Retire? At the age of thirty?"

"Vic," I said uncertainly.

"Perhaps I can help you, gentlemen?" a clear, carefree voice rang out.

A man with an old-fashioned glasses and a hat, wearing a three-piece suit that went out of fashion probably twenty years ago, approached us. He was carrying a leather briefcase. I've seen him somewhere before... Maybe? I knew his face from somewhere.

"You wanted a war, Victor?" the man asked. His appearance didn't fit his surroundings. The temperature was below zero, but he was wearing a suit! He didn't even look cold! "Nobody would benefit from it and nobody needs it. Progress can't be stopped, you know that. You weren't the only one left behind when society made a leap forward. You still have a good life, my friend. Just imagine how old people must feel!"

"Who are you?" Chigrash asked hoarsely.

"Yeah, who are you?" I added menacingly, although there was no need for it.

"My name won't tell you anything," the man smiled. "Suffice to say that I can help you. You, Victor," he nodded, "and you, Vasily."

What? Does he know me? Did he really want to help me? But I didn't need help! I didn't ask for any. The man is crazy. Crazy! I'll scare him so he goes away.

"Only one can leave," the man continued quietly.

Hell, he was obviously some kind of a maniac. Should we beat him up and turn him in to police? Or should we run away?

"I will help you to go to a better world," his glasses flashed in the light of a street-lamp, "In there, everything will depend on you. On your strength, your mind and your skills. There, no one will care about your profession. There, you will be treated in accordance to your deeds."

I was about to rush at the man, but stopped abruptly seeing the air vibrate behind him, forming a tunnel.

"Who are you?" asked Chigrash again, but now with curiosity and some hope.

"Only one of you will get there," said the man with a strange smile, still ignoring Vic's question. "The one who stays alive."

Victor instantly went crazy. He froze, squinting at me, and in the next second lashed out with a wild roar. He hit me fiercely with his fists, aiming for my eyes and ears, trying to blind and stun me. At first I was only defending myself, but then I realized that Chigrash honestly wanted to kill me. I punched him in the jaw, but then he punched me in the neck.…

We fell, tangled, and were now rolling on the ground, flailing each other with tremendous force. The man in the three-piece suit, glasses and a hat, looked at us with a broad smile. The tunnel behind him widened even more, and some vague shapes emerged from it.

"I! Want! To get! Out of here!" Chigrash was practically beating every word into my head.

I felt myself getting weaker and weaker. My vision darkened; Vic's shouts sounded as if they were coming from across a street.

"I! Will! Get! There! I! Will!" shouted Chigrash. Another blow, and I blacked out. It didn't hurt. I just felt bad. Chigrash would go to the new world, not me. Why was this so important to me?

"Vasily!" someone called me and I woke up. "Cat!"

I stared blankly at the dark silhouette above me. Cyril tried to wake me up by slapping me.

"What a sleepyhead you are!" he exclaimed joyfully when he saw that I had finally woken up. "You ordered us to get up at dawn, and you're still sleeping! For a moment there, I thought that you weren't breathing."

Did he really think that I was dead? Was he worried about me?

"Anyway, you could've woken me up without that," I grumbled. "Go upstairs, wait for us there."

Cyril nodded, apparently apologizing for slapping me, and left. I couldn't shake off the strange feeling that haunted me after waking up. Vic Chigrash jumped in front of a train long before I got into this world. Why did I dream about him?