Time Jumps. The Paradigm of Immortality. Vladimir Baranchikov
of local territories. And here is a wonderful barrel on legs – she brazenly fit into a niche by the closet, as if she had always stood there as a dubious semblance of antiques. The rumbling refrigerator at the wardrobe turned out to be full of food and drinks, which turned out to be very useful – Peter did not have time to look into the White House buffet. When he saw his haggard, tired face and faded eyes in the mirror, he realized that if he did not stop this exhausting marathon now and did not give the body a break, then he could discard the hooves. It was here, at this moment, that a kind of pit stop came in this crazy race for the super idea of saving humanity: a monstrous fatigue fell on the time traveler with a heavy stone.
– Driven horses are shot, aren’t they? Three days to relax! – having diagnosed himself and prescribed a course of rehabilitation, Kalinkin trudged off to take a shower. Alternating hot and cold streams of water miraculously cheered up his exhausted body, and flowing foamy streams with the scent of balm interrupted the endless running in a circle of obsessive thoughts. After some ten minutes, it felt like he was born again! The anxiety dissipated like smoke, and suddenly a long-heard motive surfaced from the subconscious, and an invisible chorus burst out powerfully:
– Hey, Barguzin, move the shaft,
Well done swim near…
After rubbing his body to redness with a soft towel, he felt weightless and lightened, soaring to the gates of paradise, where, however, he still had to penetrate. The pass was found in the refrigerator: Texas straight bourbon, a weighty flask of first-class first-class corn. Cold and sweet, with the aroma of cinnamon, the “the Texan” quickly spread through his veins, warmed up and with the skill of an impressionist began to paint the world in bright colors. Kalinkin, throwing on a robe, sat down in a wide armchair with a glass in his hand and cast a glance at the green plain spread out outside the window with patches of yellow sand islands. In the distance, at the horizon, there were white tops of distant mountains, the possessions of a Large Volcano. Soon he will touch the mysteries of the beautiful creation of nature, but today – whiskey and cigar, cigar and whiskey…
The next day, Peter woke up from the noise of slamming car doors under the window. It’s ten minutes to twelve on the clock. The room was in semi-darkness, someone’s footsteps could be heard in the corridor. The hotel lived its usual life, the guests came and went somewhere, and the sleepy inhabitant of the luxury suite was involuntarily included in the usual whirl of events and faces. Yesterday, he obviously had too much alcohol and barely resurrected gatherings in a bar with an elderly Indian or Mexican, whom he treated to a drink and chatted about volcanoes and politics. The insidious bourbon hit the brain twenty minutes later already downstairs, at a table on the veranda, and then everything got mixed up and broke into separate episodes. Now the face of the interlocutor floated out of memory like the frames of a chronicle: tanned olive skin, gray mustache and hair, a smile of a gap-toothed mouth. The rest he remembered poorly, even forgot the name – like Joe, or maybe Jack. When Peter was still in control, he found himself in the company of young men and girls, where he introduced as a specialist volcanologist. Glasses with drinks, debates about nothing, music and female laughter, and then – indistinctly, vaguely to the point of disgust…
After making sure that the barrel was in place, Peter barely shuffled to the refrigerator, took out a can of beer and drank it in three gulps. Before taking the second one, he automatically glanced at the whiskey bottle: it was almost empty… Although his head was bursting with pain, Peter remembered that yesterday he took no more than a third on his chest before going down to the bar. So, either he was unconscious and then drank alone in the room, or someone kept him company. Badly… A terrible guess, having penetrated his half-drunk brains, mobilized him to search for the key to the portable safe. Fortunately, soon the ill-fated key was found in the pocket of the suitcase: documents, bank cards and money were in place. His heart is relieved! The false alarm in the soul organically transformed into a small jubilation, which is not a sin worth noting. Kalinkin took another sip of the bottle – there’s no good to be lost… and hit the spot: the pain in the back of his head gently flew up somewhere, to the ceiling, and hid there, insidious. And ten minutes later, warmed up by libations, the undimmed joy of life filled his being to the brim again and called for action. He lit a cigarette greedily, and then began to dress. The Fiesta has started again…
– Are you really from Russia? – the girl at the bar turned to Peter and smiled mysteriously.
– Yes, and how do you know me?
She laughed, throwing her head back slightly and revealing perfect teeth. Then she perkily shook her black shock of short hair and slyly looked at the interlocutor:
– Yesterday we met and even danced…
Due to embarrassment, Peter blushed and did not immediately find what to answer.
– Yesterday I was too heavy on cocktails, – he barely came out of his stupor. – I was overworked the day before, and the resul there is…
He found the strength to smile back, but the smile turned out to be somehow forced. He have to get so drunk that he don’t remember anything…
– You look much better today, but that doesn’t mean you’re more attractive. You told so many interesting things about Yellowstone that our company sobered up a little and focused on your story. What terrible things: a catastrophe, human casualties – is it all a fantasy?
– First of all, excuse the bitter drunkard: what’s your name?
– Catherine Joyce. I’m a student at Broward College from Fort Lauderdale. You can call me Cat.
Kalinkin took a bolder look at her and noted the slimness of her young body, the delicacy of her hands and the grace of her neck, decorated with a thin gold chain.
– Catherine, I am glad to meet you for the second time and I regret my forgetfulness…
– Never mind, sir, – she elegantly brought the conversation back on track. Peter nodded understandingly.
– What is your specialization?
– I’m studying to be a general practitioner.
– And where is Fort Lauderdale located?
– It’s in Florida, not far from Miami. That’s my home.
– Let’s start from the beginning. My name is Peter, I’m from St. Petersburg, from Russia. I can say that I am not a professional scientist, but rather a lover of geology. I was interested in Yellowstone as a potentially dangerous object for modern civilization. Doesn’t that sound very grandiloquent?
– Not really, – the girl supported him. – Is that why you came to the USA?
– That’s right.
– Alone?
– Yes, alone, as a tourist, – Kalinkin paused for a while and gently added: – Alone and in the sense of personal life.
Why did he make this clarification? Perhaps there was something in her besides her bright beauty – perhaps a genuine interest in the topic, or did he succumb to her charms? Meanwhile, alcohol habitually drowned Peter’s natural timidity in a glass and transparently hinted: “Hey, barguzin, move the shaft…”
– Are you alone today too? But…
– They left the hotel in the morning, there was something like a farewell dinner yesterday.
The girl lit a cigarette and fell silent, avoiding unnecessary details. Perhaps not without reason…
Peter