The Separated One

“Cold pierced him to the bones. He didn’t know how, in the darkness, he would descend from the ice-covered mountain—but he didn’t think about it. The last ray of the setting sun lit the landscape below and touched Tokmakov’s head. ‘I am a stone among stones! I am eternal!’ he cried to the city and the world. His words were repeated many times by the echo.”

I’m happy. Great fir trees hold heavy slabs of snow obediently and devotedly, like Atlas the sky. A fox flashes soundlessly between the dark trunks—a fiery zigzag on a white carpet. A pearly sky is heavy with an abundant, gentle snowfall. I’m warm and cozy beneath this grand canopy of snow and fir needles. Warm fur boots leave behind me a snow-white furrow of my steps, but soon the first snowflakes are already swirling in the air—and very soon my path will be as smooth and clean as my past life.

And I’ll keep going deeper into the forest until my bear coat and mink cap resemble a festive cake dusted with powdered sugar—just as my dear hostess recently treated me for my fiftieth birthday. Honestly, it was an discovery—that I’m already fifty—yet she said so, and even brought me my biopassport from some of her own ledgers. When I pressed my finger to it, the date of birth lit up—February 6, 2039. There’s no arguing with that. And the cake was delightful. I ate two slices even though it’s harmful for me, and washed it down with a small glass of wonderful Armenian brandy—a rarity these days.

The snow began to fall more often and in huge flakes. The path of my footprints vanished before my eyes. But I wasn’t afraid of any incidents—soon I’ll reach the fence of live barbed wire that surrounds my large plot of forest. And then—unexpectedly—a sliver of sunlight burst through the blanket of clouds and reflected off the lens of a video camera cleverly hidden in the fir branches…