Weightless white smoke was slowly escaping the decaying cigarette and drifting upwards. It seemed as if it was absolutely unreal and it would easily abandon this rapidly evolving earth and disappear in distant clouds. Gray ashes were piling up on a vividly dark ashtray and were only occasionally disturbed by a light breeze from an open window. Tiny, yet insatiable cigarette flame was slowly reaching the yellow paper of the filter. Soon enough, it as well started to die under the inevitable heat of the fiery monster… Another moment and the smoke was gone… it became history… and nothing could be changed…
They were a strange couple and everyone knew that . No one would ever try to guess how long they had been together and why… Her name was Kate. She worked as a journalist in a for local newspaper. In fact, it was her first job as she had just graduated from university. She was twenty three. Many people around her thought she was strange or even bizarre. Her obsession with academia and constant hunger for knowledge dated back to her first years as a student. Now it got replaced with absurd career goals, which became her highest priority. Work supplied her with a certain type of incomprehensible energy, which could not be understood by others. She was very different from other women of her age. Perhaps that is why she was with him. His name was Dima. She had no idea how old he was and for some mysterious reason she never wanted to ask. Perhaps it was not important… He was a one of the most popular DJ’s in town. He played Trance. Music was his job and his life. It lived with him, ruled him and fed him.
They were different. They had nothing in common but the fact that they lived together and they were together. It seemed like they were simply satisfied with each other . He did not want commitment; she did not have time for it. However, the fact that there was always a person who you could talk to or meaninglessly sleep with after another party was convenient for both of them. Most of their common friends were long gone and lost under the burdens of marriage, kids and family. Not them. They had never talked about marriage. They both thought they didn’t need it. Even if they did, they were too scared to admit it. No one around them knew if they loved each other, neither did them. Their mysterious coexistence was a riddle that no one cared to solve. They both had a goal in life that they tried to accomplish through suffering and pain. From the early childhood she wanted to work with people from all over the world. He had been obsessed with electronic music since the second grade, when he first saw a personal computer. One might say that their devotion to their careers was the only thing that made them a tiny bit similar.
The Night was his time – one of the specifics of his job. Tonight, just like always, he was sitting behind the wheel of his old Beetle – the car that he got from his dad, who once saved up a fortune and bought it. He was speeding down the busiest city avenues, which were slowly getting lit up by the mysterious yellow street lights and filled up by long lines of determined club crawlers. Everything around was becoming alive and moving. He loved this time. Street intersections and traffic lights were flying by in front of his eyes in the quick rhythm, which matched the bass of the blasting stereo. He had never listened to his own sets by
himself, and so now the car’s CD player was spinning the music of the famous hard trancer Bruno Fergani. Everything was quite usual for Dima, except for a strange fatigue that has been bothering him since the morning and making him sleepy.
Tonight Dima had a set at one of the city's hotspots, a club called Starter, and that is where he was heading right now. When he drove by the main entrance, it was still quite early and only a couple of eager teenagers were hanging around the club’s front doors. A big flyer on the wall of the building read: “Only tonight, mega-trance party with special guest DJ Fake”. Yeah, Fake, that was his alias. That is how he was called by his friends, partners and fans. That is how he was called by everyone. Everyone, but her…
Dima walked inside the club, where he was immediately greeted by the general manager Gena also know among other sharks of the city club scene as Kecks:
— What’s up, Fake! So are you gonna set this place on fire tonight or what?
— Not much, Kecks. How is it going? The place is gonna be hot tonight. Who else is playing?
— Stas and Max. You are the main event, though. That’s why people are coming tonight. Other guys are just here to warm it up for you.
— Perfect. I’ve put a couple of people on the guest list. I hope that’s cool.
— No problem. By the way, when you are done tonight, don’t take off right away as usual. There is someone who wants to talk to you.
— Fine. I’ve gotta go get ready.
Dima has never admired Kecks, but occasionally he had to put his feelings on hold as Kecks was an important man in this business. After all, he decided whether Fake could play in the club or not. Moreover, sometimes Kecks actually managed to be a nice guy. However, that happened quite rarely and only with Dima, as he was quite famous in town.
Dima went upstairs to a small room, where he kept all of this equipment and his computer, on which most of his sets were composed. Fake plunged into his favorite chair and started thinking. He was trying to figure out who would want to have a meeting with him in the middle of the night in a club. This question had been torturing his brain matter for a couple of minutes, but soon got phased out by another one…
She acted strange today. She didn’t go to work like she always did, even when she was sick. He had asked her in the morning why she was home, but she had just turned her eyes away and said that she was a little out of it. It worried him then and now his heart was beating twice as fast again, as if it wanted to jump out of his chest. Everything seems very weird. He had never worried about her before as he had always thought of her as a strong woman who always managed to deal with her problems on her own.
Suddenly, it all stopped. It felt like his heart had just ceased to exist or went into cardiac arrest in the hands of a surgeon. The same fatigue that kept bothering Dima in the car came back and started slowly putting him to sleep. Within five minutes he had passed out, strangely curled up in his comfortable chair…
— Are you absolutely insane? — Kecks’ loud voice interrupted Dima’s midnight nap. — You need to set up, man, and you are sleeping.
Dima didn’t want to answer. He slowly got up from his chair, walked passed the door and slammed it right in front of Kecks. Today was not his best day, but he still needed to play. Though, he would never say No to music anyway, as it cured him from all diseases.
People, people, people – they spread everywhere like an enormous colony of fearless ants looking for their prey. They filled up all available space like water in a bottle. All of their five senses are climaxing as never before. Their sweaty bodies are seizing in the sharp variations of the beat. They are blinded by numerous colorful lights speeding across endless ceilings. Their eardrums are pushed to the limit by unbearable explosions of Trance. Their lips are frantically looking for a significant other, recognizing the sweet flavor of passion and craze. Their entire existence becomes unstable as it desperately struggles to level itself with Music, which materializes into a mystifying substance and gets absorbed by air, walls, people and everything else around. Here rules his highness Rhythm, but it rules under Fake’s control. Set after set, beat after beat – all of it is his doing. He is swallowed by the four dimensional space. He feels nothing, but music, he becomes an irreplaceable part of it. Everything is forgotten, all worries and troubles, all fears and disappointments, all love and life. There is nothing here now except a thousand of dancers, who in this very moment think of Fake as God. Think of him as a creator of their destines, that Supreme Being that could do anything to them, could cease their existence and torture them to death by the terrifying serenity of quietness…
…Fake loved people. He loved them, because they have strength. The strength that one else has… Alone in the dark they are vulnerable and week, but when they come together, they shine the light into the darkness and become invincible. They start to emit energy that surrounds you. It makes you leave this senseless life, this rapidly rotating earth, and flee to the endless infinity of space, where you meet happiness, love and her majesty Music…
… Fake had never liked to perform all night. Around 5 am, he gave up his warmed-up turntables to Stas and Max, who we in fact identical twins as, thus, earned an alias Dj Twinz. Dima quickly left the DJ booth, greeted the brothers, and started quickly walking towards his room. Suddenly he heard Kecks’ voice behind him:
— Hey Fake. Don’t forget, I need you stop by my office to talk to some people.
— Yes, Kecks. I’ll be right there, — said Dima and kept walking without even turning around.
His heartbeat was usually fast again. He entered his room, grabbed his car keys and his bag and quickly went back downstairs. A strange sense of anxiety rushed through his mind. Something in chest was nervously shifting around, just like back in his childhood days, when he hesitated over calling a new girl that he met at the movies. He stopped for a second in front of the door to Kecks’ office and then walked in. Kecks was sitting behind his desk and talking to a talk, skinny man. Fake immediately thought that the man looked somewhat odd and seemed to be a foreigner to this city. Dima was just about to close the door, when the tall, skinny man asked:
— Yes. How may I help you?
— My name is Alex. Alexander Strancev, if you wish.
— Nice to meet you. So how may I help you?
— You are good at what you do.
— So I heard, — Dima started getting annoyed by this stranger, who kept ignoring the only question that mattered to Fake.
— You are quite famous in this city and elsewhere.
— So I heard, but what do you mean by ‘elsewhere’?
— Ok, and I’m not from Moscow. What’s your point?
— Look Mr. Fake, don’t get angry. I guess, I should stop beating around the bush.
— Look Mr. Strancev, you are quite right about that. So what brings you here? — Fake was seriously considering walking out of this conversation.
— I’m a manager at the trance-club “Speaker” in Moscow. Have you heard about it?
— Yes and not once. It’s proven to be quite popular.
— Indeed and our owner wants to see you play there on a regular basis.
— You are kidding? — nervously said Fake desperately trying to control his mixed emotions. A part of him always wished for an opportunity like this. Another never expected it.
— No, Mr. Fake. I’m not kidding. In fact, I’m quite serious. If you wish to accept our invitation, you have to pardon us for its conditions. We have to leave for Moscow at 7 am. That means you have about an hour and a half to get ready. You don’t need to take anything extra, everything will be provided to you. Any questions?
— …. — Dima did not know what to say.
— Well. It is up you. Remember – 7 am. If you are there, then you are there, — Strancev got up from his chair and walked towards the door, — Don’t worry about Kecks. Everything has been worked out.
Fake sat down on the couch and could not move a muscle. It seemed as if his dream was coming true. He quickly imagined the moments of future – new clubs, new music, new sets and people, people and people. Everything now seemed so real and so close. There was only one thing, that slowed down his train of thought. Her… The one that has always been beside him. The one that always helped him with an advice and provided a shoulder to lean on in a hard situation. What was he supposed to tell her…. This last thought instantly killed all the previous ones and sent Fake back to earth….
He quickly jumped up from the couch, picked up his car keys that he dropped earlier, and rushed outside of the club. He had never driven this fast in life. He couldn’t quite comprehend himself why he was in such a hurry. He was speeding across the city without noticing any traffic lights and intersections, early hour pedestrians and cars. It seemed as if everything around him had stopped in daze, anxiously trying to figure out what is on the mind of this handsome man with a strangely sad face.
Finally, the old red beetle pulled up to a 5-story apartment building and rapidly stopped with a squeak of the breaks. Dima quickly got out of the car and ran upstairs to the third floor.
The front door opened with an unfamiliar creaking noise. Dima walked in the living room and immediately noticed a strong cigarette smell. He couldn’t have mistaken it with anything else. He missed that smell for a quite a while, since he quit smoking a couple of years ago. He couldn’t wait to walk into the bedroom and tell her everything that happened earlier. He wanted her to help him build the next stage of his life… He knew that she was still sleeping, since today he returned home unusually early. Dima opened the bedroom door and he saw Her…
… he saw Her lying down on the chest of an unknown man. His keys slipped out of his hand and loudly fell on the wooden floor. He leaned over to pick them up, but when he looked back up he saw her eyes that were innocently staring back at his face. He didn’t say anything, neither did she. Dima left the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Passing by through the kitchen he noticed a pack of her cigarettes on top of the refrigerator. He grabbed one and lit it using the gas stove near by. After taking a couple of drags, he threw it in the ashtray. There was no time to smoke, a long road awaited him. It was 20 minutes to 7.
Weightless white smoke was slowly escaping the decaying cigarette and drifting upwards. Gray ashes were piling up on a vividly dark ashtray and were only occasionally disturbed by a light breeze from an open window. Tiny, yet insatiable cigarette flame was slowly reaching the yellow paper of the filter. Soon enough, it as well started to die under the inevitable heat of the fiery monster… Another moment and the smoke was gone… it became history… and nothing could be changed…
Translated from Russian – December 2007
If you would like to read the original Russian version, email me.
