Forbidden Rock and Roll E-Book

Polina Krymskaya

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

In a small Soviet town, ninth-grader Seva Temkin finds solace in his friendship with Zhenya Smirnov. Gradually, he realizes his feelings for Zhenya have become complicated. Grappling with hidden emotions and societal norms, Seva withdraws into his art, straining the boys' bond. Just as they prepare to confront their truths, an unexpected event forces Seva to retreat, leaving their relationship uncertain.
Seva rebuilds his life with the help of a classmate and distracts himself with a new romance with Alina Denikina. Meanwhile, Zhenya realizes the depth of their friendship, but their hidden desires face obstacles due to Seva dating Alina. Months later, a scandal threatens to expose the boys' feelings, which would have tragic consequences.
Polina Krymskaya's "Forbidden Rock and Roll" is a poignant coming-of-age tale set in a repressive society, exploring love, friendship, and the resilience of youth. It delves into the transformative power of acceptance and the price individuals pay for embracing their true selves in the face of adversity.

Leseprobe

Forbidden Rock and Roll

A Stain On The Red Banner

Book 1

Polina Krymskaya

Contents

Acknowledgement

1. The Broken Window

2. The Records

3. The Gambling Debt

4. The Old Drawings

5. The Lake in the Middle of the Forest

6. A New Portrait

7. Physics Against Sense

8. Isn’t That the Same with You?

9. Flared Pants Behind the Scenes

10. Do You Like Her?

11. No Longer a Friend

12. Just Like You

13. The Pack Of “October”

14. Jam Bun for a Kiss

15. It’s Not the Same

16. We’ll Call It a Fight

17. The First Date

18. Kisses are Overrated

19. She’s Incredible, But …

20. Strange Reaction

21. Are We Cool?

22. And Here We Are Again

23. Broken Pride

24. Night in the Lilac Bushes

Next in the Series

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2023 Polina Krymskaya

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2023 by Next Chapter

Published 2023 by Next Chapter

Edited by Tyler Colins

Cover art by Lordan June Pinote

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

Acknowledgement

In addition to my entourage, to the close people who have always believed in me and supported me, I want to thank my friend Arlene Money. She provided me with invaluable help on this long and difficult journey of translating and adapting my book to foreign realities. I also want to thank my other English-speaking friends who helped me a lot in working on my book. It was priceless to receive all your help and support; I believe I couldn’t have done it all alone. I will always be grateful to all of you.

Chapter1

The Broken Window

The massive wooden door slowly cracked opened. The snub-nosed, dark-haired boy of about fifteen timidly looked through the gap.

“Did you call for me, Rosalia Andrianovna?”

“I did, Temkin, I did!” a loud female voice from the other end of the office responded with displeasure. “Come in! Don’t pretend it’s your first time.”

From the restlessly darting eyes of the unfortunate Temkin, he was clearly, desperately looking for an opportunity not to cross the threshold, so as not to find himself in this terrible room. But he had no choice. With a resigned sigh, the dark-haired boy went into the office and closed the door behind him.

“Tell me about what happened, Seva.” A woman sitting at a round table made of dark wood took off her glasses and looked up at him with tired eyes.

He sighed heavily again and looked around the office wistfully. Indeed, it wasn’t the first time he was here. Last year, he went here as if going home, sometimes alone, sometimes with his father. The first time was better, of course. The arms and legs were intact, he had pocket money, and no one threatened to drive him out of the house. The fact that Andrianovna’s shouting was ringing in his ears for another week was nothing. He could survive it; there had been worse.

Nothing had changed in the office since the last academic year. The same sad, green walls, a battered carpet, massive furniture made of dark wood. Maybe the flowers were different, but that was just a little thing. Andrianovna also changed her hairstyle—clearly burned with peroxide. Poisonous white hair lay on her shoulders in some odd style.

“She looks like a poodle,” Seva thought, but he immediately pushed this thought away. First, to laugh in his position meant condemning himself to death. Second, even if he left the office alive, it would still be impossible to spread Andrianovna’s new nickname around the school—it would not take root. With eternally pursed lips, a tenacious hawk’s gaze from which all the schoolchildren huddled in hallway corners, and a broad-shouldered posture towering over even tenth graders, she involuntarily and simultaneously inspired awe and respect, even among slobs like Seva. A poodle? No way—a German Shepherd.

“Seva, please don’t waste my time,” the head teacher’s voice threatened. “Why did you break the window in our art teacher’s apartment?”

Seva lowered his eyes and began to carefully examine the toes of his shoes. They were already battered. If he didn’t change them soon, they would be riddled with holes but, it wasn’t surprising. He had been wearing them for more than a year; it was a miracle they lasted this long. They had bought them, even though they knew he was growing, but now they pressed so hard against his toes that it hurt to walk.

“Seva!” Rosalia Andrianovna was becoming really angry.

No, Seva was not an idiot. He knew perfectly well that sooner or later he would have to answer the head teacher, but he tried to delay answering until the last moment. What should he say? That he and his friends were aiming to hit the window but missed? And how would he explain why he threw stones at the art teacher’s apartment? Well, he could say that they wanted to call Lenya, the art teacher’s son, into the yard. But why? So that he would give them the math homework done for them in exchange for keeping his big secret? It was unlikely that Maria Viktorovna would be happy with the news about her exemplary son being un-Komsomol-like and taking money from elementary students to get cigarettes.

Seva bit his lip. That was the truth but saying it out loud didn’t make it any easier; Andrianovna definitely wouldn’t approve of such an answer. As if he had done something wrong! On the contrary, he tried to help the Octobrists, but no one appreciated his noble act. Lenya tried to buy him off with cigarettes, but you couldn’t buy Seva so cheap. However, none in their trio needed to smoke. Rostik was an athlete, Dima had asthma, and Seva himself had an extreme adversarial to smoking. If Seva had his way, he wouldn’t want to see any cigarettes for a century!

“It was an accident.” Realizing the pause was prolonged, Seva muttered under his breath, “I won’t do it again.”

It was so unfair! The three of them messed up but why was he the only one shouldering the consequences? How could he call them comrades? If he would have known that they would run away from the crime scene so quickly, he would never have gone with them to beat out debts from Lenchik! He wouldn’t even greet them. However, Seva reluctantly admitted, he didn’t hold much of a grudge against Rostik. Rostik had at least made an attempt to pull him along. But Dima, he ran off without even looking back!

“You’re not a kid anymore!” The head teacher threw up her hands. “I’ve already heard from you this ‘it was an accident’ excuse and the ‘don’t call my father, Rosalia Andrianovna, this won’t happen again’ line, but what’s the use? Once a hooligan, always a hooligan!”

“But it really was only an accident!” Seva jumped up resentfully.

“I don’t believe that you could accidentally hit her window; Maria Viktorovna lives on the fourth floor!”

“I was aiming at the window leaf.” Deciding that the situation could not be saved, Seva gave up. “So that Lenya could meet us in the street.”

“What were you thinking?!” Rosalia Andrianovna was horrified. “This is ridiculous! Temkin, you’re already in the ninth grade! Moreover, you are a Komsomol member! Did you leave your brain in elementary school? What kind of example do you set for the younger ones? You’re disrupting lessons, your academic performance is inexcusable, and now you’re also breaking windows!”

“You’re rude to teachers, you don’t communicate with your classmates, you twist off the lightbulbs in the bathroom …” Mentally, Seva continued the list of his “merits”. He had heard it before and had heard it more than once. He was so bored with all these accusations! Moreover, most of them were unfounded; Andrianovna hung all the sins on him out of habit.

Once, last year, Seva unscrewed the lightbulbs in the bathroom, but no one noticed him. Yet Andrianovna didn’t hesitate to say, “It was Temkin!”

There was no evidence, but everyone immediately thought of him. It was offensive, even though he deserved it. And Seva never disrupted any lessons. He wasn’t that much of an attention-seeker. What kind of example should he even set for the Octobrists?

“Listen, Temkin, if you keep this up–”

“Then I can’t blame anyone else but myself. I will be expelled from the Komsomol; I would not be able to see either the Communist Party or have a decent future,” Seva finished the always repeated threat.

They would not expel him from the Komsomol, that he was sure of. There was not a single case in his memory where someone was kicked out, at least during his school years. Only the university students could be kicked out—for having low academic performances. But Seva was not going to go to any university so his academic performance in the Komsomol did not particularly bother him. What was the use? That only concerned those who were going to build a career, which he had no plans of doing.

“Look, Seva. You know that teachers are always happy to help you.” Having let off steam, the head teacher continued on a calmer note. “Maybe you’re still mad at Maria Viktorovna for your grade? It was a long time ago; you haven’t studied her subject for a year, and you have a good grade. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not mad about that,” Seva snorted.

No, he’d never been that petty. His grade could not upset him that much. Besides, he had enough bad grades in other subjects. Art wasn’t something special. One more bad grade was not a big deal.

“Alright then, look at me,” sighed Andrianovna. “Explain to me, Seva, why you chose Turin as your friend out of everyone else in the entire tenth grade. There are so many other good boys in this grade! Zhenechka Smirnov, for example. But you decided to be friends with the big bully in our school! And for what? Your grades have deteriorated drastically, your behavior has been erratic, and you don’t communicate with your classmates either. The teachers are all complaining about you.”

Seva was silent. What else could he say? He listened, as it should be, without raising his eyes, creating a very guilty appearance, while he lazily thought that Andrianovna was wrong in her conjectures. In fact, it was the opposite. His grades deteriorated first, then his behavior. He only became friends with Rostik and Dima afterwards. But who cared? Andrianovna had already created idealistic conjectures for herself and even came up with a “solution” to this so called “problem”—which was to make friends with Zhenya Smirnov.

Seva had seen Zhenechka many times. At school events, at joint physics lessons, at school contests when Seva still went; he could always find Zhenechka. He was first in everything, he was the best among the best, the kind of person who was always happy, never complained, and did everything perfectly, in accordance with instructions. It was no surprise that Andrianovna was crazy about him.

Zhenechka was the typical excellent student—a nerd, a parent’s joy and pride. He always wore a neat and ironed uniform with the Komsomol badge, his shoes black and shiny. He had huge brown eyes which appeared earnest and naïve, the kind of innocence found in those helping a grandmother cross the road. The only thing that stood apart from this image of a typical good boy was the unruly blond curls sticking out in all directions. They always reminded Seva of fluffy dandelions.

As soon as he saw Zhenya, Rostik, ever lacking in eloquence, would loudly announce, “Oh, the ram is coming!” Rostik was well known for giving everyone nicknames that would, more often than not, stick for a long time. Maybe that was why Seva became friends with Rostik; it was hard for him not to be. Or maybe he just didn’t care who he hung out with, as long as he didn’t have to stay at home.

“Okay, Seva, this is not even the main thing.” Exhausted, Andrianovna stopped scolding him. “I’m not just telling you off because of your academic performance. Your father wasn’t at the parent meeting, so I’m telling you now: your classmates’ parents decided to give you a gift and organize an excursion to Odessa at the end of the year. For a whole week, Temkin! I arranged for the five best students to receive this trip as a reward for their efforts. But this is all provided there are no second-year students in the class. And you, Seva, are the main contender to be in the ninth grade for two years. We transferred you from the eighth grade last year … just because … because of your beautiful eyes. So, you must really try not to let your classmates down.”

Seva nodded obediently, but a feeling of indignation stirred in his chest. What did she mean the “main contender”? It had only been two weeks since the beginning of the school year; he hadn’t had the time to get bad grades yet. Dima’s grades were worse than his, but no one told him off. And Seva was definitely not going to study for the sake of his classmates! Anyway, he was not going to go with them to Odessa. He was willing to go anywhere else, but not to Odessa. At the mention of this picturesque city in the Northern Black Sea region of Ukraine, Seva suddenly felt nauseous.

“If, in the first semester, you still get the same marks and are doing poorly, you and I will have another conversation.” Andrianovna became serious again. “And not just with you. Denis Ilyich, I think, will also be happy to hear what a slacker his son is. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Seva nodded dejectedly.

“Alright.” The head teacher stretched her thin lips into a good-natured smile. “Now, get out of my office. I have no more time for you.”

Seva immediately rushed to the door, not intending to linger for a second.

“By the way, I haven’t called your father about the window yet, so you have time to tell him yourself,” Andrianovna said as Seva headed out of the office. “He will be so very happy.”

Stopping, Seva looked back and offered Andrianovna a fake smile.

* * *

The remaining lessons flew by unnoticed. Ignoring all of Andrianovna’s reminders, Seva played “naval battle” with himself in math, counted the men who wearing gray clothes passing along the school fence in literature, and slept peacefully in history; all of these he got away with by hiding behind the broad back of Nastya Suvorina, sitting in front of him. With the bell signaling the end of the class, he quickly threw all his things into his briefcase, but was stopped in the aisle between the desks. Sveta Kaluta, the head girl and the best student of the class, blocked his way.

“Kaluta, what do you want?” Seva asked impolitely, taking a step back.

“Fie, how rude.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Why should I be nice to you?” he snorted. “If you have something to say, say it quickly. I’m busy.”

“You probably don’t know …” Twisting a strand of her short light brown hair around her finger, Svetka told him, “Your dad wasn’t at the parent meeting yesterday, and you don’t talk to anyone in class.”

Seva felt slightly irritated.

“So no one told you. Our class will go to Odessa this summer, and the top five students will get this trip for free. But only if there are no repeaters in the class. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

“No,” Seva replied cautiously. He didn’t like the topic of conversation, Svetka’s tone, or her haughty, irritated expression.

“Why am I not surprised.” Sveta rolled her eyes. “We have this great chance, okay? Only you are standing between the trip to Odessa and us. So, Temkin, if you and your grades are the reason why I can’t go to Odessa …” Sveta fell silent, giving Seva time to consider what she’d said.

Seva felt his face redden with indignation and his fists involuntarily clenched. Who was she to talk to him in such a tone? This blabbermouth, a sycophant, and a know-it-all! Who was she to threaten him and set conditions?

Seva took a deep breath and was about to retort when a calm voice from behind said, “Kaluta, leave him alone.”

Seva turned around. Alina Denikina was sitting at the desk behind him. The belle of the school. Oozing with confidence and a touch of arrogance, she garnered admiration, some envy, and a lot of respect from his classmates. Many were even afraid of her.

It seemed like she’d heard their entire conversation from the start. He suddenly felt uncomfortable. His face turned red but this time from embarrassment.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Svetka snapped, but it was clear that under Alina’s icy gaze she had lost some confidence.

Alina gracefully, without any hurry, got up from her desk, put her accessories in her bag, took out a mirror, and straightened her hair. With every movement was a subtle sense of superiority, and Seva thought that such self-control could only be envied. After looking at her reflection for several seconds, she finally turned to Sveta, and stretched her lips into a venomous smile. “Sveta, just because you don’t have a personal life and you spend all your free time studying, that doesn’t mean that others have to do the same. I think Seva will figure out what to do for himself. Right, Seva?”

Seva nodded gloomily. He wouldn’t say anything he might regret later.

“How do you know if I have a personal life or not!” Svetka blurted in a squeaky voice.

Alina had clearly pushed the right button.

“Your evening get-togethers with Alena, Nastya, and Oksana reading tea leaves about future husbands do not count as a personal life,” Alina said caustically. “Right, Lelia?”

Standing behind Alina’s back like a shadow, Lelia nodded in agreement. She never argued with what her friend said. Lelia herself was mostly silent, so no one knew whether her usual uncomplaining consent was the same full-fledged opinion of, or just blind devotion to, Alina. It was rumored that Lelia was afraid of Alina, so she used Lelia’s fear of her and treated the poor girl however she wanted.

Seva never really believed these rumors. Alina was a cold person, but only to those who tried to mess with her. In other cases, she preferred to uphold strict neutrality, not getting involved in any conflicts and keeping her communication with classmates to a bare minimum.

With regards to Lelia, during the nine years that Seva had been studying, he had never heard Alina be rude to her friend. Quite the contrary. Alina was ready to fight to the death anyone who offended Lelia. How these two managed to be friends was a mystery to everyone.

Confident and a little bitchy Alina Denikina. Tiny and easily intimidated wallflower Lelia Turina. Their friendship surprised everyone; someone even believed that Lelia should have made friends with Svetka and become part of their foursome instead of Alena Solodskaya. Lelia would fit in perfectly with large-sized Sveta, who sported an ugly, almost boyish hairstyle, unpretty and unpleasant Oksana Kachusova, and funny, chatty, fat Nastya Suvorina.

Bright and quite pretty, Alena would have made a perfect friend for Alina Denikina. But it didn’t turn out that way. Alena was happy to be friends with Svetka, Nastya, and Oksana, but Lelia was friends with Alina, following her everywhere like some shadow. Given that Alina and Alena had a lot in common, it made sense for them to be together; Alina and Lelia were nothing alike. Still, they were friends and generally, everyone was happy and doing well—until someone from the foursome encountered Alina.

And now, hearing Alina’s words, Svetka almost choked with indignation. Blushing, she opened her mouth to say something but immediately closed it, apparently unable to find the right words. Seva sneered mockingly, as if he hadn’t been in her place a minute ago.

“Move along, Kaluta.” he said with fake calmness. Only the barely noticeable tremor in his voice suggested just how hard it was for him to do this.

Sveta glared at all three of them, snorted loudly, and turning sharply on her heels, and sped off after the trio who had long left the classroom.

Seva exhaled and turned to Alina. “Thank you,” he smiled tightly.

He was still embarrassed that he could not immediately retaliate, and was even more embarrassed that another girl had to stand up for him. But despite this and the rage inside, Seva was grateful to Alina. It turned out she wasn’t that conceited.

“It’s nothing,” she winked at him.

Seva was utterly surprised. Did she just wink at him? Alina? Winking? At him? Trying not to show his amazement, he bid goodbye to Alina and Lelia, and rushed off to exit the classroom.

With these gloomy thoughts, Seva reached his yard and stopped near a tall maple tree. He didn’t want to go home, even if his father, from whom he would probably get a good beating today, hadn’t come home yet. What would he do there? Contemplate the dreary view from the window with his grandmother? There was no more boring activity than that in the entire world.

Usually, he spent all his free time with his friends, but now Seva had absolutely nothing to do. He didn’t want to be with friends right now. No, Seva was not proud, but he had some self-respect. How could he call them his friends when they just left him in trouble like that? Ironically, this was even less Komsomol-like than their innocent blackmail for the benefit of society.

Shaking his locks of dark hair, Seva rushed home, but only to drop off his briefcase and borrow the toy soldiers from Sema, his younger brother. Of course, he wasn’t going to play with them. Rosalia Andrianovna was right; he hadn’t gotten smarter since elementary school, but not to such an extent that he’d lapse into childhood again.

Leaning against an old maple tree, Seva remembered that only seven years ago he was reputed to be the best shooter in the yard. Actually, not just the yard; the rumor about him spread all over the district! If Seva left the house with a slingshot, his friends understood that they had a busy day ahead. It would be luck if by evening, something had survived in the yard. Young shooters’ parents tended to swear terribly when collecting broken glass jars and bottles all over the street.

Seva was not a fool. Even as a child, he always had the sense not to choose living targets. And since he never missed, there had never been an injured eye or head of some clumsy person who’d turned up at the wrong time. And after such skillful feats, it was a shame how the incident with the window happened! If someone had told him that he would miss a shot a few years ago, Seva would not have believed it.

He was going to prove to everyone—or to himself—that he could still do it. Having lined up the soldiers in a neat row on the back of the bench, Seva pulled out a slingshot from his pocked that he’d found in a chest filled with old toys. It had been so long since he’d held it in his hands!

As a child, the slingshot seemed such a solid weapon, a real jewel; even the older guys envied him. But now it was only an ordinary slingshot, too small for his palms. How was he supposed to aim at something? It appeared that over time he had finally lost his knack.

Seva shook his head. It was simple! He took the slingshot in his right hand, found a suitable pebble, pulled the elastic with his left hand, eyes squinting, focusing on the target. A crow cawed loudly near his ear as the projectile flew into the crown of a spreading birch tree. Damn it! Thank God, it did not hit someone’s window again. Irritation stirred in him with renewed vigor. Snorting, Seva fumbled on the ground in search of a new projectile, straightened, aimed. The pebble missed the target again.

“Damn it!” Seva swore aloud.

This time it was not possible to blame the treacherous crow. It was completely quiet in the yard, only the leaves of the old maple tree rustled. Seva felt angry, not at anyone, at himself. Cursing under his breath, he found a third pebble, aimed the slingshot at the target again, and whispered, “If I miss again …”

And he did. The slingshot flew into the bushes.

“Ouch!” A voice full of indignation yelped.

The slingshot had landed on the bench behind the bushes where, by coincidence, someone decided to sit down exactly at that moment. The ground slipped from under his feet. What if he had knocked out someone’s eye or hit his forehead? As if he wasn’t in enough trouble today!

But who knew that in an absolutely empty yard, this particular bench behind the bushes would be occupied? Even mothers walking with their kids preferred not to sit down because older guys on the carousel might have sprinkled them with sand. But not today!

The bushes rustled threateningly and Seva cautiously pulled his head into his shoulders. He exhaled sharply and almost laughed with relief—a blond curly dandelion came out to meet him, rubbing the bruised back of his head with a slingshot in his hand. The same Zhenechka Smirnov that Andrianovna had been talking about earlier today.

His eyes were okay, there was no blood either, and he would not complain to his father; it was not customary to snitch on one another at school. Even the most responsible students knew that.

Seva could not have imagined that he would ever be so happy to see him. “I’m sorry,” Seva apologized, unable to restrain a broad smile.

“Why are you so aggressive?” Still wincing from the pain, the blond boy asked, “What did that poor piece of wood do to you?”

Seva realized that Zhenya must have heard him swearing at the top of his voice, when he’d thought there was no one else in the yard. Somehow, he didn’t feel embarrassed; it was funny. Seva snorted with laughter. At Zhenya’s questioning look, he just waved his hand and briefly, but honestly explained, “Just a bad day.”

“Did Rosalia Andrianovna tell you off?” Zhenya came closer and handed him the slingshot. “You should be more careful. It turns out that you’re stronger than you look. If you’d serve like that in volleyball, your class would always win.”

“I haven’t been going to PE for six months. Besides, I’m not that strong. Also, I think your hair softened the blow,” Seva said sarcastically. “And how did you know about Andrianovna?”

“The whole school knows.” Zhenya was surprised by Seva’s ignorance. “And also about the window, and about the fact that Rosalia Andrianovna called you in her office …”

Seva grimaced. Of course, everyone knew about it. Could there be any doubt? In their small school of five-hundred students, rumors spread at the speed of sound—literally. In the absence of major scandals and gossip, even little things such as being called to the office of the head teacher could become the main gossip of the day. From the Octobrists playing hide-and-seek in the backyard, to high school students with cigarettes behind the bushes, and the entire teaching break in the staff room. The whole school had probably heard about Andrianovna scolding him today. His mood soured again.

Seva put his hands in his pockets and glared at the blond boy from under his brows. “What are you doing here anyways?” he asked rudely. “I’ve never seen you in this yard.”

The question was a good one, albeit a little late. Seva had never seen Zhenya outside of school, especially in his yard. As far as Seva knew, he lived in a completely different neighborhood. And what could have brought him here, no one knew.

Zhenya was suddenly embarrassed. “Nothing, actually. I just don’t want to go home yet. I had a fight with my father, so I decided to take a little walk after school. And this courtyard is secluded and calm, so, I thought, why not sit here in silence for a while? Who knew that you were here with your slingshot.” Either jokingly or reproachfully, Zhenya still answered his question.

“Who knew that there was a dandelion?” Seva responded in the same tone.

Actually, he wanted to call the blond one something offensive, but at the last moment he changed his mind. Zhenya had not managed to do anything bad enough to deserve Seva’s anger. Besides, there was no suitable name to call him. “Nerd” was trite, “Ram”, as Rostik liked to call Zhenya, was too strong. So, he called Zhenya what he usually called him in his head.

“Dandelion?” he chuckled. “Not Ram, thanks. Say hi to Rostik.”

“For sure,” Seva winced.

“And what do you have here? Toy soldiers? As a target? What great entertainment!” Zhenya said appreciatively.

Seva didn’t understand whether his approval was sincere or just mockery, so he snorted and rolled his eyes. Zhenya did not notice this. He walked around the bench, looked at the soldiers curiously, and held out his palm to Seva. “Let me try!”

Seva was surprised but did not argue. Obediently, he handed the slingshot and stared at Zhenya with genuine interest. It wasn’t every day you saw a tenth grader recklessly playing with toy soldiers in the middle of the playground. And knowing that this same tenth grader was also an exemplary student, the pride and joy of teachers alike, it was quite funny. He wondered if Zhenya had ever held a slingshot in his hands before. Usually, exemplary children didn’t do these kinds of things.

The first pebble flew right on target. Seva’s face expressed surprise, but he skeptically assumed that it was just on accident. Zhenya took aim again and casually, playfully, as if not making any effort, he shot again. Bull’s-eye! The second soldier fell behind the bench.

“Coincidence,” Seva thought less confidently.

The “coincidence” was repeated eight more times in a row, and each time Seva felt his eyes widen more and more, and his mouth continually formed the letter “O”. When the last, tenth, soldier was defeated, Zhenya lowered the slingshot and proudly asked, “Well, how was that?”

“Impressive!” Seva murmured, stunned, but immediately came to his senses and pulled himself together. Pretending to have little interest, he casually asked, “Where did you learn this?”

Zhenya shrugged. “My father is fond of hunting. Since childhood, I have been able to handle weapons. Especially a conventional slingshot.”

“Ah … I see.” Seva pretended that he was not surprised at all, but in fact Zhenya’s words struck him to the depths of his soul. Who would have thought? “I was the best shooter in our neighborhood as a child. Even the elders came to look at me. I never missed!” Seva boastfully shared, but immediately deflated. “But that seems to be in the past. Now, somehow … it just didn’t work. You saw it.”

Zhenya looked like he wanted to say something encouraging, but rubbed the bump on the back of his head, grimaced, and instead asked, “Why did you decide to take a slingshot anyway? The last time I held one in my hands was probably ten years ago already.”

Seva caught himself thinking that if someone else had been in Zhenya’s place, he would have been embarrassed by this question. In fact, what was a fifteen-year-old boy doing out in daylight with a toy for hooligans from the senior kindergarten group? But Zhenya’s question held no condemnation or ridicule, only genuine curiosity.

So, Seva explained. “I couldn’t think of anything more interesting to do. I don’t want to go home. My father will be so mad because of Andrianovna when he comes back. So, I’m killing time as much as I can.”

“I see,” Zhenya nodded. “Why aren’t you hanging out with Dima and Rostik, like usual?”

“We kinda had a fight.” Seva said and, catching Zhenya’s questioning look, waved a dismissive hand. “Long story.”

The story was actually not long at all, just childish and stupid. Seva didn’t want to tell anyone about the reasons for their “fight”. He was ashamed.

“Okay.” Zhenya did not insist.

They fell silent. Seva stood for a while, furtively looking at Zhenya and his fluffy curls—wow, not a single crease in the suit, not the slightest spot on the shoes, even on the playground, with its perpetually dusty, sandy paths!—and went to collect the soldiers lying behind the bench. Zhenya followed him.

“Listen, I just thought …” He started to say, handing Seva the last soldier.

Squinting, Zhenya wrinkled his snub nose. The sun’s rays fell on him so that the light eyebrows on his white face were almost invisible. Seva wanted to say something sarcastic and had already opened his mouth, but for some reason changed his mind at the last moment and simply asked, “Thought what?”

“You don’t have anything to do anyway, do you?”

Seva nodded, stuffing the soldiers into his pockets. “Why?”

“Let’s go to my place,” Zhenya said and, noticing Seva’s surprised look, hurried to explain. “Well, you don’t want to go home, and I don’t either. I already told you it was because of my father. Rosalia Andrianovna complained to him that I didn’t want to participate in the Physics Olympiad, so he’s been freaking out these past few days. I don’t know why I’m resisting, anyway. I’ll still do as he says … whatever. If I don’t come home alone, maybe he’ll leave me alone for at least one evening. So? If you don’t want to, no problem. I won’t insist.”

Seva, at first, wanted to refuse—well, what could they do at Zhenya’s place? Read a math textbook together? Discuss probability theory? Or what else were the blond nerds doing there?

He was about to open his mouth, to give some stupid excuse, but suddenly he thought about what he’d do all alone for the rest of the day? Continue to throw pebbles that might kill someone? Not so fun. Even reading a math textbook together, seemed to Seva, not such a dull thing to do compared to injuring someone. And why not find out how such exemplary, excellent Komsomol members live? Rostik had always wondered, sincerely believing that they were cloned and grown in incubators. Smiling at this thought, Seva waved his hand toward the street. “Whatever. Let’s go.”

Chapter2

The Records

Zhenya lived in a large, nine-story house, a few bus stops from school. Seva was surprised how close it was to the town center—ten minutes on foot to the main avenue. None of his friends or acquaintances lived in this area, and he himself was rarely here. He was a strange boy, this Zhenya; now Seva was sure of it.

The Smirnovs’ apartment was on the seventh floor. They took the elevator up. Seva felt uncomfortable. There was no elevator in his small five-story building and, until today, he had never been in a house with one.

“Mom, I’m home!” Zhenya loudly announced, having crossed the apartment threshold.

Seva followed and stood behind him, furtively looking at the hallway. Usually he was not so shy, but now Seva wanted to shrink as much as possible or become invisible altogether. It seemed that Zhenya’s mother would immediately kick him out of their apartment, which was as perfect as the blond boy himself. A sterile flowered carpet, a clean floor, family photos on the walls in classic frames, potted plants in the corners that were probably always watered, shoes lined up in a neat row at the threshold—and even in the corridor he could smell the mind-blowing smell of rich, hearty homemade borscht. The last time Seva’s apartment held such a fragrant smell was in the seventh grade. And what was Seva doing here in his rumpled shirt, dirty worn shoes, and ridiculously disheveled hair?

As if to confirm his thoughts, Zhenya’s mother came around the corner; she was a well-groomed lady of about thirty-five, in a pale pink housedress and a clean apron. Her short blond hair, just like her son’s, was immaculately styled, strand to strand, and clearly set with a huge amount of setting lotion or spray. The woman herself, despite her short stature, towered over them—at least, it seemed so, thanks to her excellent posture and proudly straight but fragile shoulders.

Seva mentally shrank and was ready to hear something like, “What kind of ragamuffin did you bring to our house?” However, catching the eye of this visibly meticulous lady, he suddenly calmed and even relaxed a little. Her gray eyes shone with cordiality and hospitality. Her lips were pulled into a light, slightly tired smile.

Zhenya, bending down a little, pecked her on the cheek and said, “This is Seva Temkin from my school. And this is my mother, Maria Arsentievna”.

“Nice to meet you,” Seva modestly said and lowered his gaze, having remembered remnants of politeness and upbringing.

“Me too,” Maria Arsentievna nodded. “Zhenya, are you hungry? Wait a little while until the borscht is cooked. I’ll feed you.”

Seva almost choked on his saliva, barely refraining from nodding vigorously in agreement.

“Okay, Mom. Thank you,” Zhenya answered for him.

“If you need me, I’m in the kitchen.” Maria Arsentievna left them alone.

Seva followed Zhenya into the room closest to the entrance.

“Wait a couple of minutes. I’ll change and come back,” said Zhenya, putting the backpack on the bed.

Seva nodded and curiously looked around the room. He was terribly interested in how all these teachers’ favorites really lived. He couldn’t believe all Zhenya’s interests were limited to textbooks and preparation for tests!

The initial inspection did not provide much: the room was a room. It wasn’t much different from Seva’s. Two huge closets. One was filled with a huge amount of junk, and the other it seemed was for clothes. A bed in the corner, a desk, heavy velvet curtains, a patterned carpet on the floor. Everything normally found in a person’s room. Only there were a lot of honorary certificates hanging above the table.

Seva stepped closer and began to read.

“This letter … awards a student of grade 9 ‘A’ Smirnov Evgeny Prokofievich for good studies in connection with the celebration of the Great October.”

“A commendatory sheet … to the runner-up in the high jump …”. Seva snorted with disappointment. Even without being in the same room with him, Zhenya managed to bore him. It turned out that he was also an athlete!

Seva became sad. On the way to Zhenya’s house, he’d assumed he would see him from a new side, but the most interesting thing in his room turned out to be letters and commendatory sheets. Rostik was kind of right: Zhenya was grown in incubator.

To entertain himself before Zhenya’s return, Seva went to one of the cabinets and began to look at the contents without much curiosity. Some books, of course, school textbooks, incomprehensible figurines … oh! A record player! Seva whistled in surprise—and how did he not notice him right away? If there was a record player, then there must be records! Now, he had to find them.

Seva skimmed through the rest of the shelves but found nothing but books. When he was about to get upset again, his gaze caught something unusual. He took a closer look and almost cried out in amazement: on the bottom shelf of Zhenya’s closet was a record by The Beatles!

It was The Beatles, written on it just like that, in English. How many times had Seva heard about the original records, but had never seen them with his own eyes? Had Zhenya managed to get it somewhere? It was almost impossible!

“Have you looked around?” the blond guy’s voice rang out.

He started and turned around sharply.

In a T-shirt and battered shorts, Zhenya suddenly lost that “exemplary” appearance and seemed to be an ordinary boy Seva’s age, not a nerd at all, but quite an ordinary kid from the yard. Only the dandelion-ish curls were still sticking out, but even they did not seem so ridiculous anymore.

“Yeah,” Seva replied, a little stunned. “I found a record here …”

“I see.”

“Is it real?” asked Seva stupidly, in a suddenly hoarse voice.

“Yes. And the songs on it are also real,” Zhenya chuckled.

“Original, I meant.”

“As you can see,” he shrugged.

The Beatles! None of his friends had an original record from any foreign bands. There was simply nowhere to get them. Some lucky people had records with “Melodies” and “Vocal and Instrumental Ensembles” written on them, as if the names of the bands itself was something extremely shameful and indecent. None of his acquaintances could even dream of an original record! And now he found it at home of the most boring person at their school. If anyone had told Seva that, he wouldn’t have believed it. In Moscow, such an item could be obtained, even if scarcely and illegally, but in their small town? Never!

“I also have The Rolling Stones and Pink Floyd records,” Zhenya added proudly, pushing the record under a stack of magazines with his foot.

Seva opened his eyes so wide and stared at Zhenya in amazement for so long that they started to hurt. When the emotions subsided a little, he could only ask, “Where did you get them?”

“It’s not there anymore.” Zhenya waved it off, but he thought about a little and decided to answer, switching to a whisper. “A friend of my father gave it to me. He has some connections. I didn’t really delve into it, to be honest. I have to hide it from my parents. The father believes that it is impossible to support and instill in the younger generation an American or foreign culture. I don’t know what will happen if he finds these records. He doesn’t really approve of our bands either, actually.”

Seva barely nodded at Zhenya’s revelations; his thoughts were far away. He still did not fully realize what he had just found among dusty books and old magazines. It was unbelievable! Rostik and Dima would die of envy if they found out. But they should have thought about it earlier, before fate suddenly became kind to Seva.

“Can I … can I put it on?” Seva asked cautiously, as if afraid to scare off sudden good luck.

A shadow of confusion passed over Zhenya’s face. “Well … I don’t think so. My father is at home. I tell you he forbids listening to this. So no, I’m sorry.”

“Okay. Whatever you say,” Seva sighed.

There was so much disappointment in his sigh that Zhenya hurried to console him.

“But you can come back another day if you want. Even tomorrow. Tomorrow father is at work all day.”

“Really?” Seva became delighted again.

“Really.”

“Then after school, I’ll come straight to you!”

“Okay, you got it.”

The world around began to shine brighter. He was going to listen to The Beatles! Dima would have sold his soul for the original record, but Seva got it for it free. Had luck finally decided to embrace him? He looked around contentedly again and asked, “What are we going to do now?”

“What do you want to do?”

Seva shrugged. “We can play cards.”

“Do you have a deck?”

“If I offer them, then I do. A durak?”

“The crazy?”

“The full one,” Seva replied, taking the deck out of his pocket, just to disagree with Zhenya.

“Well, deal the cards,” Zhenya waved his hand.

Seva carefully shuffled the deck, sitting down on the floor like a master. And not just shuffled, but as Rostik had taught. Until that day, he had never had a chance to brag about this useless trick in front of someone, but here was an opportunity! Seva stole a glance at Zhenya: did he appreciate his skill?

Zhenya whistled respectfully. “Deftly!”

Seva smiled proudly. No doubt it was deftly! Finally, having finished showing off, he dealt the cards. The game began.

It took him only a few moves to realize Zhenya was playing terribly. Even with the ace and king of trumps in his hands, he managed to lose to Seva, who did not get any trumps at all. After getting rid of the last card, Seva said mockingly, “So, we found out that you are not a ram at all, but just a fool. Another game?”

Zhenya, unlike Rostik, was able to lose. He smiled at Seva’s words and returned the cards to the deck. “Let’s start.”

Seva narrowed his eyes suspiciously but shuffled the deck—in the usual way, without unnecessary ostentation, and dealt the cards again. After playing only with Rostik, Zhenya’s reaction to losing surprised him. Seva remembered how often he had to give in, because the loser, Rostik, stubbornly did not accept his defeat and accused him of cheating, and Dima, who was not playing at all, always agreed with him. To avoid conflicts, Seva preferred to lose if they did not play for wishes. Then he was smashing Rostik to smithereens! But Rostik stubbornly refused to recognize Seva’s victory. And this one, imagine that, accepted defeat with dignity, and agreed to a rematch. A miracle!

Zhenya did not manage to recoup. Surprisingly, at gambling he was a complete zero with cards. Seva won for the fifth time in a row and once again mocked Zhenya. “If you were a girl, I would offer to play strip poker.”

He thought decent Zhenya would be outraged, but he just giggled.

“Won’t you offer it now?”

Seva chuckled. “Tempting. Let’s play the game for wishes.”

“Okay.”

“For any.”

“Of course.”

Once again shuffling the deck, Seva raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“I don’t know if I admire your amazing self-confidence or if it puts me in a stupor.”

“I’m just a gambler.”

“I already figured that out.”

Seva was waiting for a trick. He was sure that all this time Zhenya had adhered to some of his tactics and now, at the most crucial moment, when Seva was relaxed, he would blow him to pieces. But that didn’t happen. Having thrown out the last card, Seva stared in disbelief at the trumps remaining in Zhenya’s hands.

“Come on! Seriously?”

“What’s wrong?”

“I thought … okay, forget it. Will you fulfill the wish?”

“I will. I lost, and gambling debt is a sacred thing.”

Seva shook his head in bewilderment. He wondered if all these exceptional students were like that or did he get a special one? In any case, it was necessary to create a wish. Seva frowned. On the one hand, he wanted to watch Zhenya pester passersby on the street with questions about what year it was or shout something indecent through an open window. Something like that happened once in a hundred years; it was impossible to miss the opportunity. But on the other hand, Rostik had taught him for a whole year to use won wishes wisely, and most importantly, with maximum benefit.

What could this blond student give Seva? Records. But he promised them anyway, and he hadn’t yet reneged on anything, even after six losses. What else did Zhenya have that was interesting? His father must have a gun. Seva would love to shoot from a real smoothbore. But it was his father’s, not Zhenya’s, and he’d not likely allow that. What other benefits could be derived from a blond nerd? The answer came to mind in a blink.

“Do my math homework for me.”

It was not that Seva was afraid of Andrianovna’s threats, but … since there was a chance to do so, why not improve his grades? Especially if he didn’t have to do anything? And maybe Andrianovna would leave him alone.

“What? Seriously? Math homework?”

“I couldn’t be more serious. You promised.”

“If I promised I would, but … math, seriously?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“You are just wasting your wish for nothing. Original, isn’t it?”

“I feel this is far from my last wish,” Seva sarcastically remarked.

“So what? Will you spend the next one on physics?” Zhenya answered in the same tone.

“If I want to,” Seva said calmly. “Come on. Fewer words, more action. Marina Savelyevna will be stunned tomorrow!”

“Wait, right now?” Zhenya grimaced with displeasure.

“Yes. I have a briefcase with me, and a textbook, and a notebook. We had a math lesson today.”

Zhenya rolled his eyes. “Okay, give it here. But you will write it down in the notebook yourself. I’m not going to fake your handwriting.”

“As you say.” Seva relented and went to get his briefcase. He lay the textbook in front of Zhenya and pointed to the task. It so happened that today he even knew what was required; Marina Savelyevna, who’d been standing at his desk while dictating homework, left him no other choice but to write down what she dictated.

“Then sit down and don’t flash before my eyes,” Zhenya snapped.

“So angry,” Seva giggled, obediently sitting down on the next stool.

“I can’t stand math; doing it in my free time is still a setup. If I knew you were going to do this, I would have played strip poker, honestly.”

“I know from your grades how much you hate math.”

“Just because I understand it doesn’t mean I love it. I have a tutor three times a week, so of course I understand it! And I have the city Olympiad in two weeks. And here you are, still with your homework,” Zhenya grumbled, scratching something with a pencil on a piece of paper.

“Compared to the math contests, my homework is nothing major, so don’t grumble,” Seva chuckled.

“Be quiet for a bit, please.”

Seva wanted to snap back, but couldn’t find anything to say, so he obediently shut up and began to watch the blond guy solve the problem.

After reading it again, Zhenya furrowed his blond eyebrows and began flipping through the textbook, muttering something softly. He read some theorems over and over and, it seemed, even understood something. His long thin finger slid across the pages of the book, lingering on some lines for a fraction of a second, until finally it froze at the end of the paragraph.

He immediately grabbed a pencil and began to draw something; Seva looked at the paper over his shoulder with interest, but he could not make out anything in Zhenya’s scribbles and decided not to climb under his arm to do so. He continued to frown, his eyes running over the written numbers and letters with concentration; he sniffed and licked his lips, completely immersed in drawings and theorems.

Seva was amused by this, but not wanting to interfere with the thought process, he quietly chuckled and looked away. After studying Zhenya’s room inside and out, he turned back to Zhenya and saw that he had stuck out his tongue as he concentrated. Seva burst out laughing.

“What are you doing?” Zhenya stared at him uncomprehendingly, clearly dissatisfied with the fact he was distracted.

“You look very funny when you think,” Seva giggled and, remembering the expression on his face, burst into silent laughter again.

Zhenya frowned again, but seeing Seva’s merriment, he could not restrain himself and smiled in response. “You’re such a child, you know that?”

“Like, you’re too grown-up?”

It was obvious that Zhenya wanted to object, but changed his mind and shrugged his shoulders. “Probably I am. While you were having fun, I solved your problem.” He handed Seva a piece of paper with the solution.

Seva whistled in surprise. “You’re fast!”

“It’s an easy task,” Zhenya waved a dismissive hand. “A fifth-grader could solve it; it was only necessary to substitute two formulas.”

“Yeah, no doubt,” Seva snorted. “Okay, thanks. I’ll rewrite it at home.”

“You do understand that Marina Savelyevna will ask you how you solved it? Can you explain it to her?”

“… No,” Seva answered honestly after giving it thought.

“Let me explain.”

“Okay,” Seva reluctantly agreed. He didn’t want to rewrite the task and get a bad grade anyway.

“Look, first you draw a parallelepiped … you know what a parallelepiped is, right?”

“It’s a figure,” Seva shrugged.

“What does it look like?”

Seva said nothing: his knowledge of geometry was far from extensive.

“Seva, do you even show up for lessons?”

“Of course, where else can I go?” He felt offended. “I even listen to Marina Savelyevna … it’s hard not to listen to her when she shouts at the whole classroom: ‘Temkin, why are you going to school? Who are you going to work for with such grades? It’s a complete disgrace … wherever your father looks! What irresponsible student you are! My Tanyusha was an excellent student at your age; she only thought about studying. And she was an athlete, a smart girl, a beauty; all the boys were crazy about her, but she did not pay attention to them because study was the first priority.’” He ceased mimicking his math teacher.

Zhenya tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t, and chuckled. “That really sounds like her. She tells us about her daughter throughout the lesson too. She’s the pride of all parents and the joy of all teachers …”

“You would be a great couple,” Seva thought sarcastically, but said out loud, “And how can you study if you are constantly compared to some possibly fictional Tanya? The desire to study evaporates.”

“I don’t know who or what prevents you from studying, but Marina Savelyevna is a wonderful teacher. She just loves her daughter so very much.” Zhenya became serious. “If you listened to her, not only when she lectured, but also when she explained, you might understand something. Now, listen up.”

Seva thought that his stupidity and incomprehensibility would anger Zhenya, but he didn’t even raise an eyebrow. Opening the textbook on the right page, he explained patiently, then asked, “Do you see this theorem?”

A few minutes later, it began to make sense to Seva. He no longer saw incomprehensible formulas and theorems, seemingly written in a foreign language, but that they formed coherent and logical solutions to problems that he had never mastered in his life. Incredulously shifting his gaze from the pencil-covered sheet to the textbook, Seva exhaled loudly. “Wow!”

“Do you understand it now?”

“You won’t believe it, but I do!” Seva responded. “I can probably even repeat it. And I will if Marina Savelyevna asks. You’re good at explaining,” he said with unintended respect.

“Well, the task is easy. What’s there to explain?” Zhenya responded skeptically.

“Five minutes ago, I didn’t know what a parallelepiped was,” Seva snorted. “Believe me … for me it’s higher mathematics.” He nodded at the deck. “Maybe another game?”

“Do you still want me to do physics?” Zhenya chuckled.

“We don’t have to play on the wish,” Seva took pity on him.

“Tempting. But it’s a little late.” Zhenya looked at his watch with regret. “I still have homework to do. Come back tomorrow, and we’ll play. And we’ll listen to the records too.”

“Nerds!” Seva rolled his eyes. “Are you sure you can’t do without it for one night?” He clasped his hands pleadingly.

“I’m sure,” Zhenya said firmly and then giggled. “So, that’s what Mom meant when she talked about bad influences. I thought it was a myth!”

Seva giggled in response. “I didn’t call you to unscrew the lightbulbs in the bathroom yet. Well, Zhenya, maybe a little later? I really don’t want to go home now. I’ll run into my father. I can sit and wait while you do your homework. I won’t even interfere, honestly.”

“You want to sit and watch me do my homework?” Zhenya was surprised.

“Not that I want to, but I want to go home even less,” Seva admitted honestly.

He saw that Zhenya wanted to object but changed his mind. “I get it. You can stay, but I think you understand that it will take far from twenty minutes.”

“Who would doubt it?” Seva grinned with understanding.

Zhenya took out his notebooks and textbooks from his backpack, spread them out on the table, found a chewed pencil, and plunged into his squiggles. Seva sighed, picked up the deck from the floor and moved to the bed, shuffling the cards again, with an inset, then with a sliding volt. He didn’t understand whether he did it to attract Zhenya’s attention or out of boredom. Nerds! Where do they get all this enthusiasm and energy for all this senseless studying and writing? Seva snorted in frustration and put the cards aside.

There was nothing to do except look at the blond guy’s back. This was what Seva did for the next ten minutes, with quiet chuckles as he noticed more and more of Zhenya’s oddities: that he clicked his tongue, scratched his head with a pencil, then he tapped thoughtfully on the table with his nails. The combination was repeated and became boring.

Seva studied the room. His gaze lingered on the record player and he smiled in anticipation but looked away so as not to tease himself. More than books, nothing interesting could be found. Seva reluctantly got off the bed, ambled over, and ran his fingers over the spines. A bunch of unfamiliar names, mostly textbooks. Boredom. There were a couple of familiar authors. Seva grimaced, turned back to the textbooks. It was amazing how many of them there were, even beyond the school curriculum. Many seemed to be history.

Meticulously studying the spines, Seva realized that there was only history here: world history, history of Russia, Ancient Rome, the Middle Ages. Where did they all come from and, more importantly, why? Randomly choosing a textbook with an attractive cover from a long row, Seva opened it in the middle and read a few lines. He didn’t understand anything, maybe because he’d started reading from the end of the paragraph. Then he opened the next textbook; the situation repeated itself. Regretfully, he returned it to the shelf and commented aloud, “Rubbish.”

Zhenya, who’d been bending over a notebook, turned around and saw Seva removing his hand from the textbook. Squinting, peering at the names, he asked, “Are you talking about the history of the Middle Ages?”

Seva frowned. He had already forgotten which textbook he had just held in his hands. Shrugging, he answered honestly. “I’m talking about history in general.”.

He thought that Zhenya would be satisfied with the answer, but he unexpectedly, vigorously objected. “It definitely isn’t rubbish. It’s an interesting subject, and Grigory Olegovich teaches it well.”

“Maybe,” Seva reluctantly agreed. He could not remember the last time he’d listened to the kind historian. Usually, during his lessons, Seva did everything but study the subject. He played dots, sea battle, or just lazily looked out the window. Grigory Olegovich stopped asking him questions a long time ago, preferring to ignore the negligent student.

“What are you studying now? The Russian-Japanese War?”

“I guess,” Seva nodded uncertainly.

“And how do you like it?”

“Should I like it?”

“I like it; it’s an interesting topic. Did you know that the general of the Japanese Empire, due to heavy losses, asked his emperor for permission to commit hara-kiri?”

“No,” Seva responded, giggling. “Did he allow it?”

“No, of course not. And there is nothing funny about it. Hara-kiri is a ritual, a painful suicide done by ripping open the stomach to atone for guilt. Can you imagine what someone would feel at that moment, once they decided to do this?”

“Oh, these impulsive Japanese.” Seva was not impressed. “What else can you tell me?”

Zhenya did not catch the mockery in his words and, tilting his head, thoughtfully said, “There was one case …”