I pulled off the tunic, glanced at my stomach, and nearly dislocated my jaw in shock. A purple scar, still fresh, radiated and bulged across my belly. I shifted my gaze to the gentleman, to the attendant, back to the scar. A chain of bizarre circumstances led from the tank, through the sphere and the arena, all the way here. What had happened integrated itself into an event I couldn’t find a name for.
Where was I? Who were these people?
All I could do was shake my head, sigh, and get dressed. I decided things would sort themselves out later, and for now I’d just put clothes on. The cold surface under my feet reminded me that not everything had settled into its best possible shape. I shivered, shifting from foot to foot.
The gentleman glanced sideways at my bare feet and raised an eyebrow into a peak. The attendant, unhurried, savoring every millimeter-precise motion, produced from behind his back — the height of dreams! — a pair of Reebok Pumps, thick with the smell of leather and absolute happiness.
Delighted, thrilled, exhilarated, I put them on and looked at the gentleman, who inquired:
— How do you like them?
— I like them.
— I see. To like something, you have to put on a pair of Reeboks.
— ..., uh, that’s not what I meant, — I said, flustered.
— I understood exactly as I should have. Don’t get flustered. Try to collect yourself. Sit down.
— Thank you, — I said, sat down, looked around. Nothing I hadn’t seen before. I snorted.
The gentleman smiled and sat down across from me, taking a string of prayer beads from his pocket.
The glittering blue, green, red, and yellow beads pulled my attention away from studying my surroundings.
— Now then, — the gentleman began. — If you have questions, ask.
What was there to ask? Who was he to answer them? Still:
— Who are you?
— A petty question.
— Where am I?
— I think you’ll be disappointed when you hear the answer.
— I don’t care.
— Perhaps, but there’s no point answering right now.
— Uh... how did I get here, and why?
— You got here by subway, if you haven’t forgotten. Just before you arrived, you wished to change your fate for the better. That wish can be granted right now. Ready?
— For what?
— To change your fate for the better?
— M-mm... — I couldn’t get my brain moving. I forced out: — I want to.
— Interested in the terms?
— What terms?
— Your life will change for the better once you sign a contract. If you’re ready to sign, there won’t be any delay.
— A contract? I don’t understand.
— You will soon. What were you feeling just before you ended up here? Do you remember?
— I was fine.
— Is that so? Let me remind you.
The beads in the gentleman’s hands flashed like the electrodes of a dozen welders. I squeezed my eyes shut, gripped by a wave of fury, anger, and hatred. I remembered the half-glitter, half-gloom of Tverskaya Street, laughing girls, confident guys, glossy nouveau-riche types. A mix of helplessness and hatred twisted my whitening fingers into two fists.
— That’s called envy, — the gentleman said, his unblinking gaze fixed on the bridge of my nose. — The parents of envy: poverty and weakness. Want to put an end to it?
— To what?
— To poverty and weakness...
— Yes.
— I can help.
— How?
— It’s not yet time for that answer. Tell me, do you like it here?
— Where?
— This specific place.
I looked around. A cold discomfort pressed down on my shoulders, but...
— It’s fine.
— And do you remember what came before? The desert, the sands, the basement, the room, the arena?
— I remember.
— Was it good?
— Awful.
— Really? — the gentleman laughed. — There are places here far more awful than that. Far, far worse.
He looked away somewhere to the side, lifting a stone of uncertainty and fear off my chest. Yes, exactly. I’d felt like an insect under the crosshairs of his cold eyes.
— It’s called hell.
Hearing the words spoken crisply, precisely, I nearly toppled off my chair in shock. There was no fear.
