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Cicadas
Soviet kopecks.
berth
alloy.
to her, life “with a mommy and daddy” symbolized true happiness.
She wanted to tell him it was too late. He himself was a closed book, and yet one she’d peeked into.
brass,
awnings.
The smell of men’s cologne overpowered all the other familiar smells.
got the lion’s share.
aerodynamic
Strangely enough, the absence of her morning runs proved to be excruciatingly difficult. It felt as if life had lost meaning.
Are you afraid of changing things?”
“Just stop crying. I’m ashamed of you, honestly.”
What if Lisa, unlike Sasha herself, is not mad? What if she applied to the institute like a normal student? What if she wants to be here? Who knows what she wants? Maybe she ran away from an odious family situation? Or maybe she’s hiding from a scandal? Or something else, something normal, human, and here was Sasha with her fairy tales?
Gaudeamus igitur, Juvenes dum sumus! Post jucundam juventutem, Post molestam senectutem Nos habebit humus!
Vita nostra . . . “Our life is brief, / It will shortly end; / Death comes quickly.”
Vivat Academia, Vivant professores! Vivat membrum quodlibet, Vivat membra quaelibet Semper sint in flore!
“When a toddler is being potty-trained, no one asks his or her opinion, right?”
“Hand, Kovtun—first get your hand up, then share your thought. In the future, a breach of discipline results in an extra Specialty assignment.”
“Prefect,”
No, he never threatened me openly. He just allowed my fear, all by itself, to break loose and spread all over me. All of me. And my fear brought me here—and is holding me down. And will continue holding me.”
can you really turn reality into a dream? Or is it hypnosis? Or some other trick?”
“The question is”—Kozhennikov glanced at her—“what should be considered a tragic accident, and what should be considered a happy occurrence? And this, my friends, you cannot possibly know.”
Lisa herself said that this was not education and not any kind of science, but instead a clear case of shamanism, hypnosis, psychosis, and whatever else.
“Your words are trash, garbage . . .” Portnov was right, Sasha thought. Words did not matter. Glance, inflection, voice—all these thin threads, the antennae pointing into space, informed people of indifference or empathy, calmness, anxiety, love . . . Words did not. And yet, without the words it was much harder.
Sisyphean
Danaides.
That which we are forced to learn has meaning. We do not comprehend it. But it is not just brainwashing, not just cramming: meaning seeps in through this sluggish mess just like a three-dimensional image rises out of dots and squiggles; it is not a “horse,” and definitely not a “fir tree.” Chances are this science cannot be described by a single word. Or even two words. Perhaps words that describe this science, this process, do not even exist.
“Sunlight speaks to you . . .”
Simians
preamble.
You don’t want to learn? But what do you want? Look into your soul, and you will realize: all you really want is fun and pleasure. Any instance of learning is coercion. Any form of culture must be enforced, alas. You are immature internally, and you must be forced, and forced cruelly.
“Apologize. Now, in front of everyone. You accused me of theft.”
“Mom,” she wanted to say, “don’t let me go back to Torpa. I can’t go back. They are doing something with me, I don’t know what. I can’t go back, I am scared!” But she said nothing.
it is highly desirable for you to part with your virginity. It is becoming a serious impediment in your development.”
She used the first years as a mirror. She saw her own reflection in their eyes: broken, twisted, and fully submerged into herself.
“Nothing corporeal has any significant value. Anything that is truly valuable is beyond material substance . . .”
The only nuance I must warn you about is the following: any student who gets pregnant before graduation will end up having an abortion based on medical grounds, because any child conceived during the program will have grave birth defects and a life expectancy of zero.
vociferous
simply did not grasp what exactly he was offering to Sasha, shuffling alongside her under the same umbrella. It certainly wasn’t freedom.
insipid,
It feels as if this something is knocking, knocking, trying to enter . . . and I’m not letting it in.”
“If you had a day that would never count for you, that would never be recorded anywhere, what would you do?”
“You are resisting. You are fighting for yourself.”
“He used her fear,” Sasha said. Kostya looked up at her. “Yeah. He uses everyone’s fear. Yours. Mine.”
tauten
paroxysm
Sasha felt happy. She threw her head back and looked around; she wanted to possess this city. She wanted to absorb it into herself, make it a part of her. She threw herself open and began to grow, rise, expand, and inhale outlines, smells, and the texture of the stone . . .
The more she took, the more impatient she felt. She knew she would not stop until this city had become just as much a part of her as her hands, her chin, her hair . . .
