Back Home, Into The Sky! Read online

  AT THE TROLLEYBUS STOP

  Realness of the sleep put me in amazement. I had a feeling that the windows suddenly were opened in a stuffy room and a fresh wind burst into it. This wind was sweeping away with my life the remnants of the former slowness. He brought with itself the smells of storm, ocean and open space. And the feeling of the future freedom. All what I lacked.

  During the morning toilet the mirror has reported peculiar changes in my appearance. No, no, my head was on its place. Brown eye color remained unchanged and black hair to the shoulders. Expression of the face changed. I saw shining eyes and a faint blush on the cheeks. The sleep somehow influenced me.

  Going down to a bus stop, I relived moments of the sleep. Here I stood at night and watched at the starry sky. And from there a stranger came down to me. And here he took my hand and we soared.

  I looked around me - people who are afraid of being late. Usual morning rush. I wanted to tell everyone about my nocturnal wanderings. But does it give anything? Are they able to see the experiences through my eyes?

  Only one remained for me - to continue to internally rejoice, not to worry because of the lack of human understanding and wait for the promised meeting with overnight guest.

  New is in the institute. Scientific and practical conference with Norwegian friends and colleagues. It starts today in two hours. We, as a sophomore, were invited to participate. And as future linguists – we will translate lectures and conversations.

  The promised conference started in accordance with the established deadlines. Guests were warmly received, settled in "Arctic", fed at the smorgasbord, were taken on a guided tours.

  Meetings and speeches. Norwegian friends, 30 people were happy. Rector, deans and we, the students, were glad too. A small celebration of communication pending New Year.

  The conference started in accordance with the schedule and was held in a warm and festive atmosphere. I translated a lecture, which was declared, sat two more, just for fun. And somewhere at half past five in the evening, saying goodbye to classmates and our curator, came out of the institute.

  Murmansk winter does not lead for a long wait at the bus stop. People feel cold or frankly froze to the bones (it depends on the temperature overboard). And they strive to quickly jump to their number – bus or trolley, and to strive for the hearth and home. People gather in groups impatiently shifting from foot to foot. When approaching the stop the awaited lights of public transport there begins assault - big or small - it all depends on the total backlog of residents of our city, of the number of transport and of the air temperature. The more people are and the lower the temperature is, the more intense the people rush to board. During rush hour, respectively, the assault occurs with greatest power and speed.

  That's how it was at this time at the stop where I was waiting trolley. Evening rush hour. All were tired and wanted home – to warm up, eat and relax.

  Clever engineers have designed many trolleybuses and buses that they have three doors. People enter into the middle and back, and go out of them too. Front door is for the disabled and controllers. As a result, people do not rush to the front of the machine and do not climb under the wheels.

  However, here there was an unusual situation. Trolleybus number three was not long ago - perhaps breaking on the line. And now at once two came one after another. People tried to climb the first seeing the second, darted toward it. I also decided to go by second, because the first one was already packed to capacity.

  Everything happened very quickly. I was one of the first. Only a puny boy of thirteen with red briefcase-backpack was in front of me. We definitely were taking down under the wheels of the trolleybus, and I became to intensely resist and turn left. But the boy was too small to fight the crowd. I saw that he was extruded onto the road. An auto was coming closer.

  I went cold at the sudden awareness of impending disaster. I wanted to scream, somehow stop people, but I realized that it will not help. Now the boy will suffer, most likely will die. I squeezed my eyes shut, heard a thud. And a cry-moan of people who witnessed the sudden tragedy.

  I opened my eyes and saw that the trolleybus stood and all crowded in front of it. The driver got out. I also squeezed myself ahead. And already knew who I see there - unhappy kid ...

  But no, it was not him ...

  It was a grown man, still lying on the road, strewn with sand. He lay, as if asleep. He reminded me of someone ... A sudden feeling of deja vu pierced my consciousness. It was he! My overnight guest.

  There was no doubt, and it is not even in the external similarity, and in the inner insight.

  How did he get here?

  The saved boy was standing here, I saw his face on his right. He seemed a little surprised and confused. The prime candidate for the fall.

  But all my attention was directed to a man lying on the road. I looked at his calm, relaxed face. It was still, as the body. I did not notice signs of breathing. He was hatless, and arctic wind whipped blonde straight hair. He seemed to be asleep. I was hoping that he was just unconscious. There was no blood, snow everywhere was clean. However, during the polar night, under artificial light it was easy to make a mistake.

  But people still had to get home. Driving up trolleybuses stayed on the roadway, took the people, and were carried away - fastest and noiseless.

  The driver of the machine that became the cause of the accident was talking to someone on the radio inside the cabin. Probably he reported the incident. The boy with red backpack disappeared. And I stood and stood contemplating the snowflakes falling on the body. Snowflakes were falling on his face ... and did not melt because of something.

  I waited for an ambulance. A few minutes later it arrived. Paramedics examined the man, and by the fact that they did nothing - did not put a dropper, did not impose tires and, in general, not fussed, I realized that it was no longer necessary. Hence, he can’t be helped.

  I watched as the young man was shifted on a stretcher, and then they rolled him into the ambulance.

  But he did not look dead. The death has many masks, and here it put on the best outfit.

  And that's it? For what did he come to me in the sleep? In order to die in front of me? Some nonsense.

  In such a perplexed state I passed a few more stops, until finally, frost forced me to squeeze into the almost closed door of the leaving trolleybus.

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