Professor Zhen`s corridors. part III

"I hate you, got it? You and your soy sauce! I'm ashamed of you all the time, I can't even show up with you anywhere! You think you're special? And what's in your head, I just don't understand! Our home is a mess, just like your head! Are you some kind of genius professor? Then where's the money? Are you a Chinese prince or something? You're just a Chinese knockoff, not a real man!"

With these proverbs, the solemn handover of belongings in a sports bag from the wife-accountant to her presumably ex-husband Professor Zhen was crowned. Straight with this bag early in the morning, he, "the Chinese knockoff" and "not a real man," went to work. And being frank with himself, he came to the conclusion that he regretted losing the apartment near work a bit more than his wife. And even though the apartment was his, he had no intention of litigating.

That day, Walter was "at the gates." His face took on a rare serious and focused tone for a young superintendent when he saw Zhen.

"Uh, Professor, there's a thing," Walter, not particularly skilled in words, began, "could you please take a look..."

And with some circular gesture, he invited Zhen to go around his desk and look underneath it. Underneath the desk, in the drawer, were ordinary compartments where, apparently, the superintendents kept something known only to them.

"And?" the professor didn't understand.

"They're moving out."

That was indeed true. The compartments had moved out a little, not much, but it was obvious.

"They've been doing this for several days on my shift."

Zhen stared blankly at the rebellious drawers.

"You know, Professor, I think our university is leaning."

"Just stick something under the back legs," Zhen decided to solve the problem as best he could and went up to his third-floor office, quickly bypassing the pharmaceutical-chemical floor.

Overall, that day flew by almost unnoticed. Completely forgetting about being roofless during work, Zhen lectured something to freshmen and to the Grand Master, who joined him for a couple of sessions with "teenagers" as the only master who hadn't lost interest in teaching yet. His master's project of designing a café website in Scandinavian style blatantly frightened the color-sensitive Professor Zhen with its purple-orange and red-yellow textures. Thus, tearing himself away from the freshmen and sternly looking at them so they wouldn't take back his drawings, the Grand Master hovered over his sketches, like a general before a decisive battle, deciding to consult with his monarch just in case. Professor Zhen, with his characteristic caution, unsuccessfully tried to convince Max to adopt a more peaceful pastel palette. Just in the midst of the irresolvable coloristic contradiction in the classroom, the fair-haired head of "that very" junior came into view:

"Professor," pause. She glanced at curious freshmen and at the frowning Max. "Professor Zhen, can I speak to you?"

Professor Zhen, barely audibly sighing, shuffled to answer the call of his admirer. When they went out into the corridor, Zhen noticed her dark-eyed follower standing aside.

"Professor, I miss you!" The girl stepped towards the professor, who instinctively stepped back, pressed his back against the door, and immediately switched to Russian: "Victoria, are you out of your mind?"

This situation made Zhen sympathize with all the women in the world suffering from male advances. He looked around bewilderedly and only saw the face of the little third-year student with black eyes, embarrassed but not shocked. Apparently, she had no doubt that if her friend wanted something, she would take it. Being half a head taller than the professor, Victoria leaned slightly towards his face, and even casually rested her hand on the door jamb above his shoulder, further heating up the situation. Zhen could only press the door handle and retreat back into the classroom. What the freshmen saw and understood, Zhen didn't know. Stunned by the unexpected attack, he returned to his desk soaked. Max, critically assessing the situation, just shook his head and continued to argue, pointing his finger at the red chair he had drawn. Nothing else noteworthy happened that day. Zhen had an early dinner, with a poorly reheated burger from the supermarket, nowhere to go, he attempted to find solace in his alma mater. "I can let you in for today, Professor. You're lucky, I'm here at night. Stepanich and Makarich, two old guards of the university, got into a fight while drunk, and now they're playing billiards, but tomorrow Stepanich will be released, although I was rooting for Makarich..." In general, the good soul Walter, without much thought, let Professor Zhen into his glassy domain. Before going to bed, they played a bit of Need for Speed and had some beer. At midnight, graciously leaving Zhen the cot, Walter spread out his sleeping bag on the floor in the superintendent's "glass room."

"Professor?"

"Yes, yes?" Zhen tried to get comfortable under his jacket.

"I can't sleep..."

The professor became alert.

"Tell me a story..."

Walter said it so innocently that Zhen complied:

"In a distant city, where there were red and yellow houses, lived a boy who rode the bus to school every morning. One day, he got on the wrong bus and ended up in a completely unfamiliar place, where the houses were only gray and brown. 'Where am I?' the boy asked himself. To this, Walter responded with a peaceful nod.

'He fell asleep,' Zhen stated, interrupting the impromptu tale. But Walter hadn't completely surrendered to the arms of Morpheus yet.

'It was just amazing!'

'Like Greta Garbo,' Zhen confirmed decisively, assuming that before sleep, Walter could only dream of the fair Miss Borgia.

Walter had no concept of 'Golden Hollywood,' but dreamily nodded, 'Yeah... I've never seen anything like it before.' And after that, he snored more confidently.

Zhen sighed understandingly, but sleep had completely eluded him. He tossed and turned on the hard, plank-like bed. He remembered a previous argument with Marina and its possible outcomes. Then, the harassment by a third-year student came to mind, and finally, the white chemist from Golden Hollywood. Stop! What did he mean by 'I've never seen anything like it before'? He'd been a dormitory attendant for a long time, and Bordjia even longer, given her position on the honor board... They should have met every day!

Zhen emerged from under his jacket, lit his vintage lighter, and carefully, so as not to disturb Walter, circled the tiny attendant's room. The young attendant lay straight in his black uniform, as was their custom in case of theft, break-in, or if particularly diligent students wanted to continue studying in the middle of the night. Walter slept on his back, like true saints, or young carefree attendants. Right beside his face were those very drawers that had recently puzzled him. They were now subtly trying to escape their usual position. Randomly opening the middle drawer, Zhen immediately found what he needed: the attendant's report on the issuance and return of keys to the offices. Carefully placing the lighter on the stand and unfolding the book, Zhen began to search for the name Bordjia among the faculty. She was not there. Zhen looked into the darkness. Then he wanted to check the others from the chemistry and pharmaceutical floors. One was named Sinepupov, you don't forget that, but he forgot the rest. He could, of course, take the opportunity to go and check... But Zhen would sooner have his front teeth pulled out than volunteer to go there alone at midnight. Excitedly, he immediately remembered other chemists: Pryshchenko and Alakyan. He began to search for these dreadful three names throughout the attendant's log but, of course, did not find them. What did it mean? He didn't know. These gentlemen had never taken or returned keys to their offices throughout the year. It was very strange. And what conclusion to draw from this, he also didn't know. Here, lacking any signs of logical thinking and content with only the abstract, Zhen decided to check which chemical cabinets had actually been opened and closed during this time in reality. Fortunately, all the cabinets on their floor were under two hundred numbers. Here, the biggest oddity was revealed: only odd-numbered cabinets were operated on this cursed floor. Bingo! That is, only one side of the corridor had cabinets that were opened and closed! Zhen was thrilled with the discovery but didn't know where to take his thought next and, for some reason, stared at the trembling drawers right above Walter's smiling face.

All night, Zhen lay in fruitless contemplation, and rose frozen and miserable as if he had spent the night at the train station. 'What's next!' He sighed deeply and shuffled to the toilet to freshen up, until his colleagues, unlucky with the morning schedule, caught him. The old tap in the men's room rattled and groaned, and hygiene enthusiast Zhen, lifting his shirt and sweater, began to splash himself with icy water, quietly moaning in unison with the tap. It was this pitiful scene that the straight-A student and obligatory attendee of all lectures without exception, Max, also known as the 'Great Master,' witnessed.

'Did you spend the night here?'

'As you can see,' Zhen shivered, pulling down his shirt.

'With Walter, I presume?'

Zhen didn't even think of replying, but the master drew his own conclusion:

'I told you, it's easy to tempt you!'

This day, which started so miserably, intended not to ease its malicious pace for the professor, thanks to the upcoming event. Specifically, today Zhen had to drag his first-year students on an outdoor sketching session to draw exhibits from the city's museums. Without having children of his own, living a generally isolated life, and fearing responsibility in any form, Zhen absolutely did not want to drag thirty students somewhere in the cold. For some reason, he foresaw some otherworldly catastrophes and potential injuries to teenagers on this day. Fortunately, after some hesitation, Walter volunteered to help him, the same Walter who replaced the dormitory attendant Makarych in the morning, the one who defeated Makarych in their epic showdown. And as it turned out, it was difficult to find a better companion for such an event than Walter. He was a potential father of many: he always brought up the rear, made sure everyone crossed the road correctly, and even double-checked them. Besides, the girls (because, as it turned out, boys never went on such outings) just couldn't peel themselves away from Walter when the opportunity presented itself, so the group stuck together tightly, and no one fell or got lost. However, they didn't manage to draw much, as the museums were closed on Mondays, and the architecture around wasn't particularly inspiring in such cold weather. If it weren't for Walter, the girls would have cursed Zhen and his sketching session and scattered to their warm rented apartments and dormitories. To boost their creative spirits, Zhen told them stories about China, bought coffee and pastries, spending his last few dollars. His last attempt to impress the students was the crazy idea of taking them to the "Cat's Belly" store. Why he got the idea to take teenage girls to the oldest and most notorious store in the city, Zhen couldn't even remember later. There was no explanation for it. "Cat's Belly" had been located in the old downtown area since the early nineties, if not earlier. Since those ancient times, "Belly" hadn't changed: oversized T-shirts made of plastic cats and hookah bongs were sold in the black interior of the shop. All this strange stuff was fluorescent in color and literally glowed in the dark. And most importantly, the store had a strong smell of sandalwood, as if all of India, all one and a half billion of its inhabitants, were smoking there. Of course, eighteen-year-old provincials had never been to such a place, so they wandered dazed among the neon T-shirts, trailing behind Walter, who felt it was his duty to guide and recount the girls even in the store. Especially when he saw how the shop assistant called Professor Zhen over, and he obediently headed to the counter. A boyish figure in a bandana, resembling a movie pirate, was smoking a hookah behind the counter, slightly glowing with neon and squinting at the professor. Then he blew smoke at him and asked, "Did you do this?" pulling out from under the counter some old notebook paper. In the poisonous yellow-green light, you could see a caricature, most likely of the same shop assistant: a long nose, cunning eyes. The professor shrugged, but the guy pointed insistently at the signature: "Zhenya, 11 years old." Then he showed the backside, where there were several clumsily written hieroglyphs. Zhen hadn't studied the language of his ancestors for a long time and only understood the word "live."

"What are you staring at?" the "pirate" wasn't particularly polite. "It says here, 'I don't want to live like everyone else,' idiot, completely forgot the language..."

"Sir, I don't understand!" Zhen said in desperation, because he really didn't understand anything, and he also felt awkward in front of the group of girls who, like kindergarteners, followed Walter between the rows, while he, not knowing what to do, just circled between the fluorescent exhibits.

"Maybe it's some other Zhenya, 11 years old?"

To this, the shop assistant just laughed loudly, releasing smoke like a boiling kettle and revealing countless gold crowns. When his laughter subsided, he continued:

"The first time you came in here with your aunt and signed this. Then, at 13, you came because you fell behind your classmates at art school. Next time, five years later, with your girlfriend Elizaveta, you wanted to buy her a wandering cat with blue eyes. But you never bought it, and in general, you miser, you never bought anything in the store! Is this supposed to be an art gallery?... Alright, a year later, you showed up with Natalya, and then with Lenka, but she stayed here for a long time. And seven years ago, you stumbled in here drunk as a skunk, and even wanted to blow your nose into a T-shirt, for which you got it from me later, you don't remember that either, 'Zhenya, 11 years old'?"

The professor felt sick and incredibly ashamed of these accusations, especially since the group was trailing behind:

"Well, even if all that was me, what do you want me to do now? If it upsets you so much, let me buy something..."

"I'll manage," the "pirate" cut him off, but apparently, his anger turned into mercy. "And now, are you happy with your life?"

Zhen focused on the question but again didn't understand what was expected of him.

"Well, didn't you want to be 'unlike everyone else'?"

"Suppose I didn't want to..."

"So here you go, monsters and kisses in the corridors."

"Monsters and kisses, how do you even know?..."

Smoke blew into his face again.

"You know what, Zhenya, don't bother me, leave the bag, take the girls to the metro, you're a teacher after all! And come back."

"Why do you need me?"

"Well, we've known each other for a while... Don't get excited, I don't live here, and they kicked you out of the apartment." The neon shopkeeper summed up almost kindly and tossed a bunch of keys at Zhen.

Under the impression of the strange conversation, or perhaps from inhaling the poisonous fumes, Zhen completely lost his will. Shoving the keys in his pocket, he led the unfortunate girls and the thoroughly exhausted Walter out of the "Cat's Belly" and dragged them to the subway. After a touching farewell, he wandered the area for a long time, squinting his eyes, which couldn't shake off the fluorescent light. His head was in chaos. Eventually, it started raining, and it got significantly colder. Then Zhen remembered how obediently he had left his bag with the neon "pirate." "Goodness!" and Professor Zhen turned back to the "Cat's Belly," even though he would have preferred to freeze and die right here, in the middle of the street. The "Belly" turned out to be already closed, and Zhen went for the keys. Sure enough, no one was there. The crazy smell of sandalwood, black walls, sparkling hookahs, cats, and T-shirts. Amidst this madness was an old cot. Suddenly, Zhen felt like crying. How did he come to this point in life? A forty-year-old man with two higher educations should not be sleeping in the midst of a stinky hipster store. Surely, wanting to "live differently" at 11, and at 40 it came true! And now he wanted to eat, bathe, and change clothes, finally! But all he could do was lie down on the cot and quietly fall asleep. But about an hour later, he opened his eyes because of a fairly lively conversation about thirty meters away from him, and Zhen could swear that the shop wasn't that big. Sitting up in his cot, he saw a table with four creatures sitting around it, they simultaneously resembled animals and humans. That is, either they were people in very lifelike animal costumes, or animals that had been trained to sit as partners in a whist club. At the table sat a cow, a tiger, a monkey, and an elephant, and they were indeed playing and drinking tea. Moreover, they all emitted a steady fluorescent glow, just like everything else in the "Cat's Belly." If the professor could strain his eyes, he would distinguish that the cards were exactly like those Indian ones from room 350, with the only difference being that they depicted humans, not animals. Meanwhile, the players had apparently been engaged in conversation for some time:

"But what does 'not like everyone else' mean?" the cow asked her colleagues.

"It's hard to say what he meant at 11," the elephant drawled nasally.

"First, we need to figure out who 'everyone else' is," the monkey laid down a card and continued. "One thing is me, another is him." And the monkey nodded to the tiger. "We're different, so how can we all be the same?"

"That's not the point," the tiger parried with a low, velvety growl, tossing the dice to the cow. "He wanted more!"

"Old good wolves and sheep, either you or you," the cow said sadly, and the tiger smirked.

"Not quite, rather there are two ways here: either you make big bets, or you're a small-time player," the elephant folded his cards.