Libertionne. Anna Tishchenko
one, too. Can it be that you’ve got a new boyfriend?”
The suit was Michael’s, because when Laura took his suit to the cleaner’s, they told her that it may be of interest to a museum of criminology, but not to a respectable dry cleaner.
“I’m not judging you,” the old lady said, stroking Tiberius’s shoulder with her parchment-dry hand, “it’s a young thing, hee-hee. Does your boyfriend know?”
“There’s no boyfriend,” Tiberius replied, forcing the refrigerator into the space between the cupboard and the television. “There, all set.”
“Oy, thank you, my dear! I’m grateful to you for a hundred years. Whatever you need, just come by and ask. And where did you sleep, if you don’t have anybody…?
“First in a jail. Then in a psychiatric hospital,” Tiberius answered with pleasure. “All the best, Mr. Stern.”
And he left, hiding a smile.
Walking into the apartment, Tiberius saw that there was, in fact, a package with a card attached. Without much surprise (he was used to the fact that a locked door was never an obstacle to a delivery service), he picked up the card. Turning over the embossed square, he read: “To my best friend. Michael.”
Inside was a familiar-looking clock. His first reaction was a feeling of regret for his careless words, but then an overwhelming sense of gratitude and unusual warmth poured over him. He put the clock in the most visible place, and sat down to work, unable to think of how to thank his friend.
An hour passed. The bronze hand twitched, and with a jerking motion it jumped to six pm. A pleasant, rich tone resounded through the room, like the ringing of a church bell. Tiberius stopped writing and thought for a moment. He shouldn’t forget to mention the cult of priests in Ariccia and their golden branches. And he should certainly add the myth of Hippolytus. What a pity that this trip was going to delay the completion of a two-year project! But on the other hand, he was going to walk the cobbled streets of the actual, not ephemeral, city of Berlin – touch with his hand the time-worn walls of its great cathedrals – and see the sculptures of Rodin. And it’s no problem that there will be children with him; of course they will somewhat darken his mood, but everything in life has its price.
An intrusive ringing interrupted his daydream. On the display of his smart flashed the word “Paul”. Tiberius frowned and was about to switch off the sound, but suddenly Laura’s face appeared, reminding him of his blatant misanthropy. If not now, then when? Sighing, he pressed the Answer button. A familiar, playful, toothache-inducing voice cried out:
“Tibby, sweetheart, hel-looooo! It’s me, your sweet and nasty little Moopechka!”
“Hello, Paul,” answered Tiberius reservedly. “Please, stop calling me Tibby. How many times have I…”
“OK, Tibby, I’ll stop. So, are we going to have some fun today? Let’s go to the Gnarly Duck. Today there’s going to be a swell little gathering!”
“Fine, Paul,” Tiberius agreed without resisting.
“Really?” said Moopechka in astonishment, having grown as accustomed to Tiberius’s refusals as a business training salesperson. “And maybe we can stop into Nature’s exhibit opening? He’s a good friend!”
“Who?”
“Nature, silly. He’s the leader of the naturist movement.”
“What!?”
“Oh, come on, you’re such a barbarian, my little furrikins. Naturists. It’s the latest artistic movement. They show naturally occurring phenomena, as they really are.”
“They show photos of the sun shining?”
“Of course not, Tibby. You’re such a virgin. Moopechka will show you everything. Should we go?”
Figuring that the expansion of the cultural program would mathematically lead to a reduction in the romantic program, Tiberius willingly agreed.
“Where should I meet you?”
Like many of his contemporaries, Moopechka considered car ownership to be a heavy burden, an encumbrance, limiting his freedom and requiring responsibility and resources. But he eagerly and frequently used Tiberius’s car. This was like having a lover who you could visit for an hour, but regarding marriage…
“Ah, just come and pick me up. I’m at Freedom of Speech Park.”
“You were with those freaks again?”
“They’re not freaks. This is where the cultured members of our nation gather to protest.”
“It would be better if these cultured members found jobs. And what did you forget there?”
“Come on, Tibby – the pee-eeople here are just sooo…! And there are free sandwiches and coffee.”
“I see.”
Half and hour later, Tiberius arrived at Freedom of Speech Park. The sharp smell of freshly cut grass hung in the air; flower beds of crocuses had opened their bright yellow and violet buds; and under striped canopies, pleasant-looking girls were serving mineral water and hot coffee. The park was equipped with every possible convenience for those with a strong desire to speak in public. There were tall, colorful tribunes and open spaces for rallies and demonstrations. For aristocrats and snobs there was a very expensive restaurant, with horrible food and a strange and decidedly provocational interior. Tiberius walked through the park, listening to some of the speech of a fervent young man, his eyes ablaze as he called upon his audience to destroy it and burn all of it to the ground. What, exactly, he did not specify. Especially loathsome to Tiberius was a demonstration in support of the rights of pedophiles. Men and women held signs depicting a young Cupid, and the generic phrase: “We demand freedom!” Finally he say Moopechka. There were so many athletic boys dressed in tight red trousers, their faces almost completely hidden behind BigBen sunglasses. Moopechka stood in the shade of a wide-branched evergreen tree, holding two pink, heart-shaped balloons, clearly chosen to match the color of his shoes, which were generously festooned with rhinestones. Spotting Tiberius, he broke into a blinding smile and waved the balloons. Tiberius felt a painful tightening in his heart. Two balloons was bad. It meant…
“Tibby, dear, it’s for you!” said Moopechka, happily handing Tiberius one of the pink monsters.
He unenthusiastically accepted the gift and asked:
“Where did you get this… this marvellous thing?”
Moopechka beamed.
“I was at an anti-government rally. Everybody got one.”
“And what, my dear, do you have against the government?”
“Um, I don’t know,” grinned the empty-headed member of the opposition. “There were such nice, handsome boys there, and they called me over. We laughed, talked a bit, nothing serious. Look, they gave out pins.”
He started to look for the pin, but then, stung by the mocking glance of Tiberius, he said in a serious tone of voice:
“Well… the government… It infringes our rights… “Moopechka fell silent, then suddenly remembered something and came to life again.
“Stipends are small! And benefits. Yes! Benefits should be greater.”
“Have you tried working? Thirty-three years already.”
Moopechka took offense.
“I haven’t decided yet what I want to do in my life. And, by the way, I’m studying.
“In your sixth academic program so far. You enroll, go to a few lectures, but you haven’t finished a single one.”
“Did you meet me today to hurt my feelings?” Moopechka’s lips started to tremble precariously.
“No,”