Professor Zhen`s corridors. part II

Throughout the following week, Professor Zhen didn't show up to work. New Year passed in a classic manner: salads, the wife's relatives (all of them accountants), naive hopes that the upcoming year would be better than the last. Zhen preferred not to dwell on what had happened to him and the Grand Master on that last working day. After all, if he were to think about it, he would have to decide what it actually was. If everything that appeared before his eyes was a hallucination, a dream, a vision, then what was happening to him? Zhen wasn't a hypochondriac, but issues with his own body threw him off balance. Should he run to some Freudian doctor with silly pictures? And if it was happening in reality, then how should he go on living? It would mean that life wasn't just simple, but rather something else with all sorts of possible outcomes. But what kind of life and what kind of outcomes, Zhen couldn't imagine, and so he dismissed these meaningless ponderings.

It's worth noting that during these days, Professor Zhen began to fear the darkness and unexpected sounds, especially in the evening. Surprisingly, the presence of his wife, the accountant, by his side every night, calmed him greatly. For years, he had suffered from this domestic companionship. Her beloved mobile phone's light, her giggles as she scrolled through feeds, her glasses with golden frames and little gems, her synthetic blend straps on her sharp shoulders, the threats of shared intimacy, which Zhen perceived much like his work, burdensome yet obligatory. And yet, with her mobile, her glasses, her attire, everything was familiar and so realistic that no university horrors could assail him. In her presence, he fell asleep peacefully.

When it was time to return to work, his fears were practically dispelled, especially since they hung everything on him that the seasoned professors didn't want to deal with. So, without straightening his proud Asian back, the professor lived through a few more working days. Moreover, a couple of times, he encountered the Grand Master in the corridor. But the conversations were about nothing. Until one day, after lunch, Professor Zhen lingered in the department, sorting through and scanning through the next volumes of meaningless and endless university life. And then it turned out that another martyr had been sent to help him, namely the Grand Master Max.

Outside, it was getting dark, they sat facing each other on the floor, like two ancient gods, the papers seemingly endless, their hands synchronously moving them from one stack to another, barely glancing at them.

"Why didn't you try to help me when that creature attacked me with a knife?"

Yes, it was the very thing Professor Zhen didn't want to think about. Why, for heaven's sake, did he, a grown man, freeze to the ground and not move when some monster circled his student, still just a kid?

The pale round European eyes of the Grand Master stared directly and sternly into Zhen's black, slanted Asian ones. Zhen surrendered and honestly replied:

"Because I'm a coward."

At that moment, the door creaked open, as if deliberately, to rescue our heroes from the awkward situation. In the doorway appeared a tall, smiling lad who spoke in Ukrainian:

"I apologize, sir... Mr. Professor... In ten minutes, I'll turn off the lights, we're on an economy mode, so turn on your flashlights or light some candles for romance..."

And he shamelessly chuckled after his wit. Even if the guy had no need to memorize the name of any teacher, he himself was a rather popular figure in their institution. Working twenty-four-hour shifts as a guard, his name was Walter. And that was his real name. Whether his dad adored adventurous English literature or his mom preferred German firearms, it's not known, but they brought forth Walter, who, combining modest external reserves from both sides, came into the world as a handsome fellow. True, he wasn't a star in academics, and he was even ousted from the modestly intellectual designer establishment. After trying his hand as a local model (not showing any talent even in this purely mindless profession), Walter hadn't found anything better than sitting on guard duty, replacing tired old guard dogs every fourth day, causing significant traffic jams at the entrance each time. Female students flirted with Walter, and he shamelessly reciprocated without much discrimination. The management threatened with punishment, but the model was above them in both literal and figurative senses, and besides, it couldn't affect him, given that his own mother chiseled him every day just the same.

Neither Zhen nor the Grand Master found anything to counter the rudeness and simply glared maliciously at the thug Walter. The degree of bad mood increased, and they continued to throw papers at stacks with even greater fervor, but no order was achieved; on the contrary, only paper mountains multiplied.

Suddenly, under one of the stacks, an old cardboard box with patterns appeared. "Probably from the sixties, judging by the drawn elephants, Indian..." thought Zhen, the design connoisseur. Max shook the box in his hands, then removed the lid; it turned out to be a board game, probably never seeing the light of day after packaging. Under the master's knotty fingers, cards with pictures flickered, and soon they found a yellowish piece of paper with instructions. Max glanced over it and began to read excerpts:

"The cards are laid out face up, three in each pile... dice are thrown... If cards with numbers come up, there's a turn change; if with animal parts (cow, elephant, monkey, tiger), throw again; the first to assemble a creature with four correct parts (head, back, front legs, hind legs) wins, the combination also serves as some kind of prediction..."

Max muttered all this barely containing his boredom, then suddenly said to Professor Zhen:

"I'll forgive you if you play this game with me, Professor."

"He'll forgive me, what a statement, who is he to forgive anyway?" ran through Zhen's mind, but he just grunted:

"Set it up."

And then, of course, the lights went out. The Grand Master was about to turn on the flashlight on his phone, but Zhen pulled out a lighter from his pocket, one he had pilfered from his stepfather long ago. It was majestic in a beautiful metal case with a hinged lid, nothing like the local disposable plastic lighters. Honestly, Zhen hadn't parted with this little piece of homeland since that fateful evening. The lighter cast a soft yellow light, outlining the playing area. The Grand Master laid out the patterned board and started throwing cards into piles. The professor threw the dice first, and he immediately got a card with an animal, it was a cow's hoof. As soon as the card landed in its rightful place, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Zhen said with all the professorial dignity.

A woman in a white robe partially opened the door, not in a hurry to speak. She dignifiedly studied the scene before her. Two men sat on the floor amidst piles of papers playing Indian Monopoly. Apparently, this satisfied her.

"Dear designers, oh, it's so good that you're still here, all our chemists have already left work, and I just managed to boil the kettle..." The woman in white swayed her hips. "Come with me, to the second floor!"

After the offer, Zhen and the Grand Master exchanged glances, and Zhen was about to politely decline, but his wife intervened.

"As you wish," she said casually and slammed the door. After a minute's pause, Zhen threw the dice again, but he got a card with the number "4", and Max also got a "3", and after a few more such turns, the master finally got his first animal, it was the back of a monkey.

After that, there was another knock on the door, but this time the woman in white didn't wait for an invitation and entered herself, holding a tray in her hands, on which there were cookies, a sugar bowl, and even a sliced lemon. The white lady approached the players and gracefully sat down to place the tray on the floor. Her soft bend, more clearly outlined by the modest work robe, brought the neckline into the embrace of the professor's gaze, causing him to delicately avert his eyes, while Max, on the contrary, snorted sternly. The woman stood up, straightened her robe, and abruptly announced:

"I won't carry tea anymore, follow me, Professor."

Zhen obediently followed the chemical woman, first through the designer corridor, then turning onto the stairs, pondering on the way that he really didn't want to go to the second floor, didn't want to leave Max alone, and if anything, he didn't even like tea, he'd rather have a cup of coffee, which he's been drinking since he was 10. Since he's Chinese, he's supposed to drink tea, right? On the second floor, the woman suddenly stopped abruptly and, approaching Zhen, switched to Russian:

"You have the blackest hair in the world. Blacker than the night."

And as if to prove it, she ran her hand through his hair, then kissed Zhen on the lips. He felt nothing, or rather, he really wanted to feel something at that moment, but felt nothing. His soul seemed to have left his body, swirling nearby, either panicking or euphoric... But Zhen never understood how it all happened. Then the woman abruptly stepped back and disappeared into one of the cursed second-floor offices. The professor didn't move. It was dark, awkward, and unreal. "Blacker than the night..." The woman appeared suddenly, silently handing over the tea cups, and then slammed the door. In the light of the mobile phone, he saw her again and almost screamed in surprise. It wasn't her, but her honorary stand. The beauty in the robe was also hanging in this ugly corridor, which sucked in the worst designs of all times: the stiff thirties, the indifferent seventies, the rowdy nineties, and the shameless new twenties. Layers of paint, linoleum, bad pots with dried-up plants, faded flags, and right in the middle of it all, the goddess of Golden Hollywood. His legs were weak, but the professor climbed up to his designer floor, almost spilling his tea. The Grand Master, as always, skeptically glanced at Zhen, he clearly wanted to say something, but silently threw the dice. He got a five, took a card, and took a sip from the cup; Zhen followed suit. The tea was sickly sweet and viscous, like liqueur. He got a seven, and he passed the dice to the Grand Master.

"And you're easily tempted, Professor Zhen," the Grand Master finally voiced his thought and got in succession a cow's head and a tiger's hindquarters.

Professor Zhen remained silent and cautiously felt his lips, searching for remnants of the Hollywood chemist's lipstick, but only felt blood seeping from his lip. He licked it and threw the dice, getting an elephant's head.

"I don't think that's any of your business."

Next was a five and a turn to Max.

"Do you just not care who you get involved with?" During the subsequent move, accompanied by a sip of liqueur-like tea, blood dripped from the master's finger onto the game board. "Scratched myself on these damn old cards," the professor thought, handing a wet wipe from their lab supervisor's drawer.

"I'm sorry, Max, but you're also clinging to me. Even though you act like a misanthrope. And I know why."

Max looked angrily straight at the professor.

"I'm listening."

"Simply put, you, like your gay acquaintances, are deathly afraid of people. And yet, I'm still your teacher, and won't chase you away, even though you've annoyed me to death..."

The professor didn't want to say this and so he lowered his eyes to the board. Then there were a few more moves in silence, accompanied by cuts, likely from the edges of the cards. Blood smeared on the players' hands, accompanied by silent curses and washed down with tea.

"I won!," Zhen announced childishly, licking another cut on his knuckles. The Grand Master, licking his wounds, leaned over the board. The Indian cards showed a complete animal made up of four parts.

"So, let's see, an elephant with cow hooves and six cards with numbers..." Max delved into the search for an answer in the yellowish rule sheet and soon triumphantly declared, "Ah, here it is! You'll soon be left without a roof over your head and die a painful death!" But seeing the professor pale with nothing but scratches, like a tabby cat, he added, "But you've won, and I forgive you!"

At that moment, they both turned around to find Walter in the room, for how long, it was unknown. He was as always glowing with health, happiness, and simplicity.

"Excuse me, can I have a cookie?" the warden decided to break the ice, sitting down and reaching for the plate of cookies.

"If you say 'excuse me,' it means you're excusing yourself," Max unfriendly moved the cookies further away. "Go downstairs to the chemists-pharmacists, there's a lady in white just pouring."

Sometimes Max spoke in a ridiculous, frivolous manner, under which, probably, he wished to hide his burdensome intelligence. Walter got up, looked at the scratched players, and with tender concern said:

"You guys should be more careful..."

After the warden left, Max noticed a stray phone lying next to the stacks of cards.

"Did he leave it on purpose?"

"Why would he? I don't think so... Probably grabbed it on his way home... Go get it!"

"I won't!" Max proudly replied. "Am I his cleaning lady?"

"And you'll order me?" Zhen wanted to add "to go there..." but didn't want to dig up the subject. And suddenly the professor seemed to be scalded. He remembered the name of the chemical beauty on the stand, and for some reason, it seemed terribly significant to him. Galina Sergeyevna Borgia. "Okay, let's go together."

A couple of minutes later, the players would find the owner of the phone and discover how he and Galina Sergeyevna Borgia were kissing.

They were beautiful, not like those kissing couples in the subway or on the street, where someone is old and fat, or some creep who manages to grab his beloved in an uncomfortable place while kissing, and she's not so happy about the unexpected display of affection, but there's nothing she can do about it anymore. No, miss Borgia and Walter were indeed beautiful, like the characters in Francesco Hayez's "The Kiss": she was a white alabaster beauty, delicate and fluid, like colorless flame, which writhes in one's hands, and, of course, Walter, tall and broad-shouldered, with a waist no wider than that of a ninth-grader, with long red bangs and in a black uniform that never looked so brilliant on any living warden...

"What a beautiful couple!" Zhen exclaimed aloud, forgetting entirely that less than half an hour ago he himself was in the warden's place.

"Yeah, not like you and me!" the Grand Master supported this thought in his own way.

"Why?" Zhen perked up, turning around.

"Well, I'm an ugly red-headed rascal in funny clothes, and you're just an old Chinese man!"

Zhen bristled like a wet bird:

"Why 'old'? I'm only forty years old!"

"Wow! Forty? I thought you were younger!" The Grand Master was sincere as a baby.

"What do you mean, 'wow'?" Zhen rapidly lost his sense of humor. "And why are you comparing them and us in the first place?"

The Master wanted to say something, but the smiling Walter approached them, once again left alone, as his alabaster friend disappeared again.

"How's it going? I saw her for the first time! Didn't even say a word, and she..."