Libertionne. Anna Tishchenko
that means you saw Him?”
“Yes,” she answered, reluctantly.
“Then you know what He looks like…”
“Yes, I do. But of course I can’t discuss it.”
“But don’t you think it a bit strange that in our modern era, when it’s acceptable to announce every single step you take to the entire world, that a figure such as the emperor is so cautious about hiding his name and image? A strange approach to PR, don’t you think?”
“Does this surprise you?” Laura said, squinting at him mockingly. “You’re a historian. Try and think of a single PR move, as you put it, like this one. There’s never been one.”
“Well, then,” he chuckled, his head still spinning from the unexpected news, “as an old and shabby wolf like myself once said, ‘We accept the fight.’” [a classic line from the Russian animated film Mowgli, adapted from Rudyard Kipling’s The Jungle Book]
The awkward pause was broken by the quiet but relentless ringing of Laura’s smartphone. She glanced at it, nodded, and then turned off the sound.
“Martha?” asked Tiberius, trying to imbue his voice with an uncharacteristic delicacy.
Laura nodded, upset.
“You had another fight?”
“Not exactly, it’s just…”
“That means you did have a fight,” Tiberius said, looking at her point-blank. “Are you going to renew the marriage license?”
“Probably not.”
She nervously drummed her fingers on the table.
“But you’ve been together for four years! It’s so rare these days that anyone renews their marriage even once, and you’ve done it three times!”
“Let’s talk about you,” she exhaled, eager to change the unpleasant topic of conversation. “Tiberius, there are rumors…”
He burst out laughing. “You don’t say!! What rumors? That I’m a sadist and a pervert? Maybe even a secret heterosexual?”
“No, nothing that serious, of course, but…”
“And what are you ordering me to do? Copulate with my partner in the central square?”
“Well, that would be a start. But no, seriously, go with your partner to a club, get more people to see you, take a selfie in a cafe, on a dance floor…”
“Maybe a selfie in bed?”
“It would actually be good. I’m sure that Paul would post them all to his social accounts, if he doesn’t first explode with joy. You don’t exactly spoil him with your company, right? Listen. You already stand out because of your appearance and your abnormal lifestyle. You can’t swim against the current all the time! Just look at us!”
She rose effortlessly from the table and led him, laughing, to a large mirror on the wall. It seemed like the man and woman reflected in the indifferent surface of the mirror were separated by twenty years, no less. Tiberius didn’t look at himself, but as always he was lost in admiration of his classmate – her young, tender face, and her hair, which was the flaxen color of a linen Pre-Raphaelites goddess. And it was her natural color. Why do women always dye their hair some other color, he thought, regardless of whether their natural hair color is so beautiful? She could easily pass for Lorelei, from German folklore, if it weren’t for her eyes. Iridescent as jasper, they were unromantically piercing; her stern, sharp glare seemed capable of penetrating the very soul of an opponent, causing them to cower like a government bureaucrat at the Court of Fear.
“You see? Just look at your gray hairs, your wrinkles, and your hands! When was the last time you were in a manicure salon?”
“Never.”
She sighed, looking at him as tenderly as a lawyer gazing at a beloved, longtime client, whose case he hasn’t been able to win for the last fifteen years, but thanks to whom the bank account is not exactly hurting.
“I’m not going to ask which rejuvenation procedures you use; I’m just going to give you the phone number of my doctor.”
“I could care less about rejuvenation.”
Smiling, he turned to her, took her by the hand, and then spoke in a serious voice. “It’s been ages since we’ve gone somewhere nice. Maybe we could get together in the woods?”
“Only after you start behaving like a good boy. Do you promise? And it’s about time – exams are about to start.”
“Yes, mama,” he said, unable to resist a risque little joke.
Laura jumped when she heard the vulgar word, but then pulled herself together and smiled. Taking something from a desk drawer, she put a small object into his hand.
“Here, have this. Open it one week from today, no earlier. And don’t be angry with me. If you can manage that.”
Taken aback by the unexpected gift, and by her strange words, Tiberius couldn’t hide his annoyance. Despite his strong gratitude for everything she had done for him, she had once again refused his offer to simply get together and talk freely, about nothing in particular…
“Thank you,” he muttered drily, already turning toward the door.
“Tiberius. You know that I know everything.”
He flinched, then slowly turned and calmly asked, “For how long?”
“From the moment that I first saw you.”
The classics are dead. Long live the classics!
The exams came and went without incident. Since his thoughts were wandering today, somewhere far beyond the walls of the lecture hall, Tiberius was particularly sluggish and indifferent. There were no tricky, tortuously complicated questions, like the one that stumped his students last year: “Was Jesus born in B.C or A.D.?” The handful of students that came to his history class loved him. They loved him for his deep, encyclopedic knowledge, for his sincere passion for his subject and even for his rather venomous sense of humor. When Tiberius had been strolling in his mind around the cobbled streets of Berlin for the past forty minutes, gave a sigh, got up from the table, a fair-haired, round-faced boy gave a sigh, got up from his desk, and timidly walked up to him while clutching a scroll of brown paper nervously to his chest.
“Sam Becket? You want to challenge your grade?”
“No, by no means, sir,” the boy said, breaking into a broad smile. “It’s just, well… today is the last day, and maybe we’ll never see each other. I mean, as a teacher and student…” He blushed even harder. “And I’d like to present you with a parting gift.”
Tiberius took the scroll, and without even removing the paper, he understood what was inside. He shot a surprised look at his student, who was returning his gaze with even more adoring eyes.
“A book? A real paper book? Sam, you’re crazy. This must have cost you a fortune!”
“It’s not just a book! It’s Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy. When you told us about it, I understood that the story was like, interesting for you, from a historical standpoint, of course.”
“And…,” Tiberius said, looking incredulously at the boy, “where did you buy it?”
“At the antique store!”
“Legally?”
“Yes, and so what?” said Sam, somewhat at a loss for words. “We live in a free empire…”
“Of course, of course,” said Tiberius, and, still not believing his luck, tore open the wrapping. At the last second a fearful suspicion crept into his mind – the book was so small and light, probably published