“The second phase of assimilation to start within 10 seconds”
It was a loud voice of badass woman , spreading all surroundings with high volume. Have I lost my rationality, I would have thought that, somebody had been screaming from the sky, hiding behind the “rain-pregnant” clouds. Her voice made me creepy. Numb and confused, I checked my surroundings to identify the source. Not even a soul. Then began this dreadful countdown.
- “Five…Four…Three…- I decided to enter the gate before she finishes on zero, like something bad’s gonna happen…- Two….One.” .
Total flash.
I knew that my eyes were wide open, but there were nothing to see other than complete paradoxal white color. “Is it heaven how they try to describe in cheap American dramas. This fascist voice raped my ears once again…
“Assimilation process. Second phase complete”
Who the fu.k are you and what-da fu.k do you want from me? Hey I cannot see anything, You filthy whore, I’m talking to you bitch.. Where am I?
Zum…Zum…Zum… just like the pixels from high definition screen, I saw allsurrounding white material distort, and transform into different shapes, changing their projection and shadow effects and as my eyes were getting used to this metamorphosis, I found myself in front of the gates of some Institution; school or kindergarten, before this devastating changes had finished.
CHAPTER 4
Return to sources
Pale face of Dr.Jamal , the Pakistani professor of neurological surgery and frequent long pauses in his speech, did its best in terms of making the parents anxiously nervous. As pause lasted almost half a minute, overhead clock inside mosque shaped framework penetrated the silence with its gradually hearable ticking sound.
“Is it so bad, doctor?”- father asked begging for some positive response.
“You see, transplantation of one third of donated temporal lobe and one seventh of cerebellum which mainly serves for body control, motor functions and all- was totally successfully but …”
“But?”
“There’s one but, in his matter. Because of age differences of organ donor and his recipient – your teenager son in this case- how me to put it mildly , imagine that you bought a new memory for your personal computer having old generation motherboard. As a surgeon we did our best for plugging new part into so called motherboard – thereby I try to depict the surgery and transplantation . These are all that we do as a medics. Now it is up to system to decide whether to process or not with new integrated memory, as we turn power on. His body has to form synapses – hook up and communication between existing neurons and implanted brain cells. So it’s almost the same with your son, Me with the help of globally respected, well-trained and sophisticated neurosurgeon team, conducted this surgery following your written consent as legal parents , operation was successful. However its normal that patients fall into temporal comatose condition after surgery is finished, which is result of integration of transplants to a new – alien if you will – body. Now it’s up to God and your son be able to wake up from “dead space”. He must be strong and overcome let’s say visual and projective mind attacks of his donor, ‘cos if you asked me to describe it for your, I would say that his dream is nothing but realistic battleground of conflicting memories and characters. He can lose mind battles but has to win the war for his survival, in order to wake up as your son – totally cured of dementia, not as 45 year old Latvian philanthropist who donated his brain before smashed in car accident.”
“How long it would take?”
“Only God knows exact day…You see, this is an unprecedented turning point in the history of transplantation. We don’t know for sure whether transplanted brain cells – neurons will reverse the damage caused by dementia. Although, I can dare say that, after similar surgeries on clones, it took nearly 2-3 days…” Dr.Jamals face went totally red, and couldn’t complete his sentence
“Clones? What clones?”
“I’m sorry but I must rush to second floor, surgery is waiting for me.”
For illiterate mother of Tural the words uttered by Dr.Jamal, was nothing but bunch of encoded letter combinations, and because of her limited knowledge of modern terminology she confused the word “clone” with a“clown” and therefore couldn’t notice the fail made by surgeon himself. On the other hand, Tural’s father was horrified to hear his son be some kind of first human “lab rat” who underwent first multi-brain transplantation of its kind.
*********
It really was a school – a school that looked like had endured hundred years of solitude and survived nuclear fall-out with ragged asphalt paving commencing from the gates and continuing through left corner to the front door of this old brick-concrete building and running all the way around the school. How did I guess it was school?!
There were bunch of primary students in black-blue uniform rushing to the main vast yard of school with their heavy backpacks and some of them trailing rolling briefcases after them. Other than small play field on the right, the main yard that was enclosed by the section of school building in the shape of Greek letter «П», had been infested with dozens, hundreds of children, standing in a rows, buzzing and vibrating like a bee.
First it gave me expression of some kind of junior demonstration. But as I shaped my observations, it became apparent that, the crowd of same-dressed minors had been waiting for the management of school to start some event. Crowd went totally silent as blond midage woman with short-cut hairstyle and bull-dog facial expression and “telescopic” glasses, wearing long purple dress with white curly ribbon attached to her breast, emerged from the main entrance of the building. Yeah …she must be the badass principal and a tomboy too.
Out of somewhere emerged a kid half my height and in a wild sprint punched my face with his angry fist. It couldn’t be possible boy age of 10-12 hit me in the face while aiming for my stomach. Besides it was totally “terminator” blow as that made me dizzy and hurt badly.
What da f… Next thing I saw, he was atop of me , right fist ready to deliver next blow but temporary compromising his mouth before hitting. At that time I almost weighed 85 kilo, though couldn’t push 35-40 kilo skinny boy off. What a “black and unrealistic day”- I thought, still shocked to fact being kicked by minor.
“Why did you tell the teacher that I stole your stamps, you f…khead?”-he said yet threatening with his fist. – Damn it! He spoke some kind of Slavic language , but I clearly understood what he was saying word-by-word. Hmm…since when I do understand Polish?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about asshole…” My God I fluently answered this boy in Polish too… Other boys who enclosed us to enjoy the fight went giggling as the heard how I called him asshole.