Save the Last Dance for Me [Vrochek Shimun]

[thejojo]

Several days ago, I decided to reread my favourite short stories, and found this one.

One of the most tragic things I ever read.

Note: This story doesn't belong to me, it belongs to Vrochek Shimun. I'm just a translator, who thought it would be funny to train my skills and translate a story.

Chapter: One and Only

Actually, I've already died.

Yesterday.

Or today...

Or Monday last week.

My communicator was still working – green incomprehensible numbers were slowly counting down: hour, a year, forever... Minute – was it a lot or a little? What about eternity?

When the father hadn't returned from the jump – time became jelly; jelly, in which like flies stuck us with mother. Father "jumped into the eternity" – as they said about pilots.

Mom never forgave him for it. She didn't know how to forgive pilots, jumping into the unknown...

She only knew how to love them.

– Center six-one-eight. Locator center is waiting for your answer. This is a second operator speaking. Anyone here?

Silent. They all are silent; and the weapons, and the engine bay, cockpit, and even the galley... At first, I called them using emergency chanel, but now I use the regular one… this was not an emergency comm, so every compartment had their separate code.

– Central six-one-eight, over.

Silence. Next compartment.

– Weapons two-eight-three, over. Two-eight-three, do you copy? This is a Locator center speaking. Anyone?


…Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey hugging each other to the "Hungry Eyes". I've seen this scene dozens of times, but I'm still watching it, mesmerized. Long days (years, eternities, minutes?) after the accident, I tried to dance... An old movie, from the days when people didn't know a damn thing about three-dimensional shooting, point-to-point editing or contact transmission. Flat film. Ancient and naive, like jet propulsion…

Magnificent.

...Actually, we're all dead.

But when I watch this movie, I start to believe again: someone was still alive…

– Weapons two-eight-three, over.

Silence. Next compartment.


...What makes pilots jump?

I always dreamed of being a pilot – just like my father. Why didn't I become one? You might wonder. Well, let me answer that for you. I'm in no rush. I have a lot of time now... Methodically calling the compartments and watching old movies on the only remaining screen – it doesn't take much from my remaining eternity. My silent eternity…

Especially since I have only one movie on the disk.

"Dirty dancing".


…Turns out, I love to dance. I realized it after the explosion: apparently even the highest protection spacesuit wasn't enough to save my left leg. Knee gone, the locator compartment crushed, and two operators, Captain-Lieutenant Shklovsky, and a comm technician shredded. Usually so talkative, now they're silent…

Everybody is.

But I continued to call out to the compartments.

– Central six-one-eight, over…

Sometimes I realize how terribly lucky I am. If I am the only surviving officer (and judging by the radio silence, I am the only survivor at all), then I can congratulate myself on my promotion. Lieutenant Gorelov, commander of the destroyer "Selfless", home port: New-Mehico, Jupiter; Military Space Forces. At your service! Some healthy criticism is welcome. Very welcome, because the ship under my command is drifting in an unknown direction at an unknown speed. Moving away from the jump point. Still, I'm the commander of a destroyer…

At the age of twenty-three.

It's hard not to call it devil luck...


…Not everyone can be a pilot. The moment before the jump – is a special psychological state. The pilot is required to be calm, collected and…

Yes. And. Something that you couldn't detect by any devices. Big Bang, as my Father called it. At first, the head becomes empty and ringing, goosebumps run down your back, and then the back of the head aches so painfully and sweetly...

Nonsense. The usual near-death delirium.

Because I'm not a pilot. Because the jump point is so far behind it's not even funny – some, according to rumors, managed to take the ship away from several thousand kilometers – but only some. Pilots. People of special talent. Like my father, who jumped sixteen years ago into eternity…

Sometimes I wonder… What Viktor Gorelov, the master pilot of the Albatross mail carrier, was thinking about before that fatal jump? Has he ever considered exchanging his wife and seven-year-old son for the eternal high of the Big Bang? I don't know. Maybe, maybe not…

However, eternity welcomed him with open arms.

How do you like it there, Father?

Not too cold, huh?!

Turns out I don't know how to forgive you either...

– Engine eight-two-eight. I repeat: Engine eight-two-eight, do you copy? This is Lieutenant Gorelov speaking. Oleg Viktorovich Gorelov. As the senior officer, I assume command of the ship... Report any damage. Pay special attention to the condition of the jump and shunting engines. I'm waiting for your report within an hour... Over.


...I've never imagined that dying was so boring.

To diversify this process, I was forced to resort to little tricks.

The rations issued by the spacesuit were completely tasteless. Nutritious, but bland, like the priest's life.

A grounded knee should hurt terribly. But the suit was barely damaged, so with the first aid kit working, I didn't feel any pain. Just overall weakness and constantly dry lips. When I try to smile – and sometimes I do – the skin breaks and blood comes out. Not much, just a couple of drops. Just enough for a flavor. But these drops awaken in me a visceral appetite. And that's it. Just look at what weird entertainment your commander has...

I won't die of hunger.

I won't even be able to die from blood stasis. Electrical stimulators inside the suit won't allow the muscles to atrophy.

It'll be a long death...

Long and boring.

– Cockpit one-one-two, over. This is your captain speaking. Be ready to jump: ETD twenty minutes.

I was watching "Dirty Dancing" for the hundredth time.

For the hundredth time, Johnny and the Baby were dancing for me. For the hundredth time, my shoulders and arms move in time with their movements: by now I know all the steps by heart, I remember all the words from all the songs, and I can quote any phrase of any character offhand. I know the cameramen and extras by name, the release years of the songs and the brand of the film...


...I know the movie better than the one who made it.

And I am dancing.

I'm dancing with my eyes closed.

Damn suit! My salvation, my prison, my cinema. It was hard to say what I felt more – love or hate. Was I mad enough to consider a spacesuit a living being?

Enough?

No... and yes.

Because the spacesuit no longer restricted my movements. He became my second skin, flexible and warm. Not much can hinder a great dancer, and to become one, you need two things: watch Dirty Dancing a hundred times and lose your left leg. Mambo, cha-cha-cha... Oh, rumba! I love rumba.

One-two-three, one-two-three... turn!

Bravo, Johnny! Bravo, Oleg!

I was dancing.

A great dancer is required to be calm, collected and…

My head becomes empty and ringing, goosebumps run down my back, and the back of my head aches painfully and sweetly...

I was dancing.

– Engine eight-two-eight. Engine eight-two-eight, anyone? Somebody answer me, motherfucker!

Please.

Silence.

Not the quiet. Quiet was the field chirping with dozens of voices, it was the wind in the crowns of a birch forest, thick dark foliage that whispers... It was the blue sky that made your head spin. It was the crimson Jupiter in the porthole, the watch when you and she were alone...

Quiet.

Her Majesty...

Quiet was life, silence was death.

– To hell with you all... Engine eight-two-eight, it's your captain speaking. Be ready to jump: ETD ten minutes. If you're even a moment late, you'll be scrubbing the latrines until the end of time. I promise you that. That's all. Capitan out.

When Father was jumping into Nirvana, did he remember Mother's face? My face?

Or was eternity worth any faces?!


...The jump was such a strong experience, that the pilots after experiencing it…

Maybe they just don't want to leave? Having tasted eternity, they became similar to drug addicts, living from dose to dose... But why similar? Nirvana was the same for everyone. It's just that someone enters it by meditation and jumping, and others – from the back door…

What could be more gratifying than the sensation of death – while still alive?

The Big Bang. The Jump. The Dance.

...What makes pilots jump?

Nirvana.

– Navigation one-one-six. Be ready to jump: ETD one minute. Course: Zenith-north-east-east. Trampoline point: Alpha Antares, landing point: Solar System. Prepare the calculations for the contact. That's all. Over.

The voice, cold and even. Why do you keep your back straight, Lieutenant Gorelov? In front of whom, I wonder?

We all have died.

Yesterday.

Today.

Last week...

– Everyone, everyone, everyone! This is your captain speaking. Forty seconds until jump. The crew are recommended to take their seats according to the staffing table. Let's go home, lads... We're going home...

Do you hear me, eternity? The pilot's son has grown up – he's old enough to invite ladies to dance...

Or will you invite me yourself?

– Everyone, everyone, everyone! The countdown begins. At zero, I recommend you close your eyes. Eight. Seven. Six...

The moment before the jump – is a special psychological state. The pilot is required to be calm, collected and…

Well, eternity, shall we dance?


… and something else that you couldn't detect by any devices. The Big Bang, as master pilot Viktor Gorelov called it. The head becomes empty and ringing, goosebumps run down your back, and then the back of your head aches so painfully and sweetly…

One-two-three, one-two-three... turn!

– Five. Four. Three...

Will the Father even recognize me when I fly through Nirvana? Would I recognize him? Do we even want to get to know each other?

– Two. One. Zero.

Mother!

Was eternity worth any faces?

The Big Bang.

Jump.

Eternity.