– Have you been here before?
– In some sense.
Interesting.
– What are those birds, Roman?
– Harpies, – he answers without even looking. Whoops! and his glass is empty again but he doesn't get drunk anyway.
My, how I hate the mystery covering us! We fear each other. We fear everything.
– Well, but the weather is nice… – I toss in randomly.
– Yeah.. snowy is this summer… – says the Werewolf and looks at me with irony. He recognizes this place, it does stir something up in his soul. It's not for me to know what exactly.
I fill the heavy ceramic cup with mulled wine, sniff the aroma. The snowy summer? Who cares! There's nothing better than a lousy weather.
– Lenia, do you smoke grass? – Roman holds me the cigar-case.
– No.
Maybe he really is alcoholic and drug addict…
– They say it's much more harmless than alcohol and tobacco.
– They also say chicken are being milked in Moscow…
Roman hesitates, but lights the cigarette anyway.
Shit. Nadya's arguments don't seem to me so crazy anymore.
I drink my mulled wine, Roman smokes anasha { marijuana }. In a couple of minutes he throws unfinished cigarette down with a knock and says:
– Kiddies' fun. Lap me some wine.
– It's a mulled wine.
– What the hell is the difference…
Now we both sip the hot wine with spices. Roman nods:
– Rulez… { Note: the same word is in Russian original ;-) as well as 'Sux' in part 2 by the way } I agree. 'Rulez' is something cooclass="underline" a cold beer, a computer of seventh generation, a beautiful girl, a virus killed successfully… a mulled wine.
We sit by the steep and feel good.
– What was in that apple?
– New cold reliever, a very effective one.
Roman frowns:
– This costs six grands?
– This costs a hundred.
– Ahhh… – Roman's jaw drops.
– Let's wait for the buyer.
The Werewolf nods:
– It's your operation, it's you to decide.
The buyer shows up in some ten minutes, when I start to worry already. I knew him only under a nick 'Hardened', and he knows me as 'Gunslinger'. The buyer is tidy and imperceptible, wearing a regular suit, having hard to remember face: a young guy with a briefcase.
– Good evening, Gunslinger! – the voice is too even: Hardened communicates through the interpreter program.
– Good morning, – I answer looking at my watch. Just a small mutual game, to figure out the diver's time, to determine what time zone he's in is not too little to know already.
– Oh, don't I really love your humor?.. – Hardened sits on the third chair, looks at me questionably, – Have the crop ripened?
– Quite heavy did those apples turn out to be, – I take the diskette out and put it on the table, – To be honest, I would expect these troubles to be more appreciated…
– Didn't we have a deal? Six thousand dollars.
I pull my hands apart:
– According to you, it didn't worth more.
– Do you think otherwise?
– Well… You see Mr Shellerbach…
Hardened shudders.
– … You got mistaken for at least an order. Of course the cold is a trifle.. but who would like to lie flat in bed with high temperature and runny nose, how do you think?
– Not me at least, – Shellerbach The Hardened's face changes. Now he's an aged man with the resolute but nervous face. – But I assumed that the diver's word is piously.
– I don't deny it. I'll give you the file, – with a slight knock I send the diskette across the table, – But next time not a single diver will even move a finger for you. You violate our ethics, Mr Shellerbach. Any job must be paid according to it's complexity.
Shellerbach picks up the diskette ans freezes. I drink mulled wine watching him. The Werewolf is silent: this is my operation.
At last Shellerbach have finished the download and his glance becomes sensible again.
– Well? – I ask.
– Fifty, – says Hardened.
– To each of us?
He is silent, for very-very long time. This is Money, alive, real money, not taxable, arrived from nowhere and went to nowhere.
– Your account?
I give him a piece of paper, an account number in Switzerland on it.
– Negative interest… you're very careful Mr Diver…
– I have no choice Peter..
He gives up. I know his real name while he doesn't know mine. The bank will never give me away, even if the International Jury states that I'm a man-eater and is guilty of genocide. That's what the negative interest is paid for: for complete safety.
– Fifty to each of you. I make a gesture of a good will, Mr Diver!
– Excellent.
Several seconds – and a hundred of grands flow into my account. This is much, very much! Many years of serene life in virtuality.
– Will you agree for the further cooperation?
I open my checkbook and look at the figure with pleasure, then I write a check for 50000 and give it to the Werewolf.
– It's quite possible.
– What about a permanent contract?
– No.
– What are you afraid of, diver? – there's a curiosity in Shellerbach's gaze.
What am I afraid of, hmm?
– I'm afraid of my name being known. The real freedom is in mystery always.
– I understand, – Shellerbach agrees and looks at Roman askance, – Are you the diver too? Or just a walking virus deposit?
– Diver, – says Roman.
– Well… Good luck gentlemen… – Shellerbach pads a step away, then stops, – Tell me… how is it: to be a diver?
– It's very simple, – replies Roman, – One just needs to know that everything around is just a game, a fantasy.
Shellerbach nods and pulls his hands apart:
– I can't, alas…
He walks away along the path, we watch him leaving. Then I fill our goblets:
– For the luck!
Roman obviously haven't yet understood the scale of what have just happened, he silently looks at the goblet in his hand:
– Tell me Lenia, are you happy?
– Sure.
– Big money… – he examines the check, then raises the goblet quickly,
– For the luck!
– Yeah, for it… – I agree.
– You won't disappear from the deep, will you?
– No.
Roman nods with obvious relief, makes a sip and says:
– You know, it's interesting to work with you. You're… unusual.
For one moment it seems to me that we're approaching that impossible point when divers open to each other.
– Same here, Roma.
The Werewolf stands up, sharply and quickly:
– I gotta go, visitors…
He dissolves in the air, the goblet falls down and rolls away clinking and bouncing.
– Good luck to you too Roman. – I say into the void.
Loneliness is the seamy side of the freedom.
I can't have friends.
– The bill! – I growl into the void angrily, – Now!
100
The most vexing is that I don't want to sleep at alclass="underline" it was too lucky day probably.
I return to the restaurant. Some guests have left, some new ones have arrived, an American crowd still laughs at their jokes.
I need a walk.
I leave 'Three Piglets', hesitate for a moment: should I stop the cab?
– then decide to walk. I eventually leave the central streets and approach Russian blocks. In my opinion, this is one of the most interesting places in virtuality, the place where one can just chat.