Vita Nostra by Marina Dyachenko, Sergey Dyachenko Page B

in front of the main entrance, by the statue, there is a small staircase, you’ll see. Hello, who’s next? Come in!”
    “Where is the dorm?” Sasha asked, regaining her senses.
    ***
    The dormitories were buried inside a courtyard, accessible only from the Institute itself, or from a narrow, dark and smelly alley off Sacco and Vanzetti. Peeking at the alley from a distance, Sasha vowed to avoid it entirely after dark.
    From the outside, the dorm appeared to be a long, peeling, run-down two-story barrack. The main door was locked. Kostya knocked with a bent finger, then banged on it with his fist, then kicked it rather gingerly.
    “That’s strange,” Sasha said. “Are they asleep? What time is it?”
    Kostya turned to answer her, but at that moment the door squeaked and opened. Kostya stepped back, nearly falling off the steps.
    In the doorway stood a tall, basketball player-sized guy with a black eye patch on his right eye. He was painfully thin and sort of lopsided, as if the entire half of his body was crippled by a permanent seizure. His blue eye looked at Kostya and immediately switched to Sasha. Sasha shrank back.
    “First years?” the guy asked in a hoarse strained voice. “Moving in? Got the assignments? Come in…”
    He disappeared in the dark, leaving the door ajar. Sasha and Kostya exchanged glances.
    “Are we going to be like him?” Kostya inquired with an exaggerated meekness. Sasha did not respond; she found the joke uncalled for.
    They entered the barrack, which from the inside was not much more exhilarating than from the outside: brown linoleum, walls painted blue on the bottom and whitewashed above eye level, a staircase with metal railings. Steam rose from somewhere, accompanied by the hum of water in the shower.
    “Here,” the one-eyed guy appeared at the reception desk, over which hung a plywood board with several sets of keys. “The girl is going to Room 21, second floor. The boy, Room 7, it’s down the corridor, to the right. Here’s the key for Room 21. There are two second year students in Room 7, they have already arrived.”
    “Do you work here?” Sasha inquired tentatively.
    “I’m subbing for someone. I’m a third year, actually. Name’s Victor.”
    The guy winked with his only eye and laughed. Half of his face remained immobile, and only the corner of his mouth slid somewhere down. His laughter was so frightening to observe that Sasha barely managed not to burst into tears.
    She yanked her heavy bag up the stairs, along a similar corridor, floor covered by the same dull linoleum, with room numbers barely visible on the doors painted white. Sasha reached the number 21, fumbled with the key, her hands trembling, and, after a short struggle, managed to open the door.
    Three wire bed frames with striped mattresses. Three desks, three bedside tables. Built-in dresser. A large window, small hinged pane slightly ajar, dusty windowsill. Sasha hauled her suitcase inside, sat down on the nearest bed and wept.
    She had about five minutes to lament over her life and her troubles, when she heard steps in the corridor. Sasha barely managed to wipe her tears; there was a short knock on the door; almost immediately the door opened, and two girls walked in. Sasha had seen them briefly in the hallway, on her way from the dean’s office to the dorm. Both were about seventeen, a blonde in a blue denim outfit, and a brunette, plump and round, in a knee-length skirt and a jersey top.
    “Hello,” the brunette had a low basso voice.
    “Hello,” said the blonde; with one quick glance at Sasha’s red eyes, she inquired: “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing,” Sasha looked away. “Homesick.”
    “Right,” the blonde threw a disinterested look around the room. “Got it.”
    “I kind of like it here,” the brunette said, pulling her luggage closer to the window. “Freedom of living, with no one hanging over your shoulder. Do whatever you want.”
    Sasha thought that she would not be able to