Ecclesiastes is the only author in the Old Testament I have any regard for. But, to tell you the truth, I’ve always regarded him as a great lyricist and viewed this passage as lyrics, not as physics. You seem to have a physicist’s point of view on everything, resorting here and there to physical terms, did you study physics?

Victor: On the contrary, the education I received two decades ago graduating from a conservatory is rather of a lyrics than a physics nature. Until my enlightenment I used to be a musician and played with the

Moscow philharmonic orchestra.

Andrei: Why did you quit? A musician in a philharmonic orchestra is an excellent job.

Victor: Because «no one lights a lamp and puts in under a bushel; instead he puts it on the lampstand, where it gives light for everyone in the house.»

Well, concerning my choice of physical terms, I must stress that if you seek to explain something, you should choose the language which can offer us its most succinct description. And physics can offer us the most precise picture of our present-day reality. Of course, this language should be comprehensible to the audience you address. But you seem familiar with physics’ basics?

Andrei: Yes, quite. I simply cannot understand how a musician…

Victor: could grasp the language of physics? It’s the result of lengthy practice of yoga, of work with one’s own body and mind. You see, neither our body nor mind differs in any way from the rest of physical instruments, except that they are more complex. It’s only natural that I in my work come to the same conclusions which physics make, that’s why I use their language.

Andrei: Funny thing: yoga has always been regarded as an idealistic, religious teaching, while you are proving to be a rabid physical materialist.

Victor: I’m neither. Idealism – materialism are simply points of view, instruments, say, kind of glasses we use to look at the world, some glasses we select are good for reading newspapers; others are good for watching TV. Religion starts where knowledge in its impotence gives way to faith, reason to morals and ethics; the borderline between them is always relative and conditional.

Bachkov, approaching: Sunbathing?

Andrei: What else is there to do? I guess we’ll have to spend the rest of the holiday season here.

Bachkov: Well, it’s not up to me to decide who or what time is spent here, but I’m sure they won’t release you until the festival ends and its foreign guests leave the country.

Dandelion, an old man about 80, addressing Bachkov: Anatoli Sergeevich, could you please give me the keys. I want to weed this flowerbed with dahlias, time permitting.

Andrei: Time is no problem here.

Dandelion looks peevishly at Andrei, without saying anything.

Bachkov: Here they are, Evgeniy Pavlovich. Watch out for the sun: they say it will be hot today.

Andrei: How did this Dandelion come to be here?

Bachkov, taking a seat: His sisters handed him over. He has two sisters in Moscow, and he lived with them…

Andrei: Is he single?

Bachkov: He is.

Andrei: Well, what’s the story?

Bachkov: The story is the usual one: either he got on their nerves, or their children wanted more living space…

Andrei: Well, he seems mentally quite sound.

Bachkov: You’d better ask Miroshkin, the late head of the hospital.

Andrei: Which Miroshkin? Do you mean Professor Miroshkin?

Bachkov: Yes, professor Miroshkin, our former head of the hospital. Did you know him?

Andrei: I surely did. He was my forensic expert, diagnosed me as schizophrenic and certified me as non compos mentis, in short, signed and sealed everything the KGB used to frame me.

Bachkov: Well, it was either him or somebody else: you wouldn’t have avoided it anyway.

Andrei: Maybe. I’ll only say that prior to Miroshkin they took me to Serbskiy Institute and asked their academician to diagnose and certify me. And he refused…

So, you say the old bastard has kicked the bucket?

Bachkov: He died four years ago.

Andrei: And what did he send the Old Dandelion here for?

Bachkov: I don’t know. Maybe for a bribe, or maybe he just did a favor. Anyway, during his term the

Dandelion received sanatorium-like treatment, and had free to access to Miroshkin. The present head of the hospital treats him well too. After all, he’s harmless, poses no problem to us, and he likes flowers. This garden is the result of his work here: those gorgeous flowerbeds under the windows, and these lilac bushes. Incidentally, I put my nose into his case file just to find out something about his background. Well, in his early twenties he graduated from Moscow University, after which there’s not a single record of his work, or anything.

Andrei: Oh, so the Old Dandelion is a veteran loafer? Why didn’t they try him for parasitism? The first frame they tried to put on me when the authorities decided to put me away was a little charge of parasitism.

Bachkov: I don’t know. He doesn’t have any criminal record either. Just no record of anything which could tell what his life was. Of course, it’s not as if it were my business. But, it’s curious.

Andrei: Yeah, if this regime survives after all, my prospects seem as bleak as those of old Dandelion: either take up arms, or live and die outlawed, behind barbed wire.

Bachkov: What’s wrong with barbed wire? As far as I know, you’ve been living in your Star City behind barbed wire all your life, without any objections.

Andrei: How do you know? Did you read it in my case files?

Bachkov: I was taken on a guided tour to your Cosmonaut’s Training Center. I used to be on the all-Russia boxing team, and as a champion was given a chance to see how you live there. I must say lots of people would envy the life behind barbed wire you have!

Andrei: Oh, really? So what did you find so tempting there? Sausage or foreign-made garb in our shops?

Bachkov: Well, if so, what’s wrong with it?

Andrei: Good question. I hope you, as a sportsman, should know that no one gets such things free: some pay for them with their health, some with their lives, and there are some who would readily sell their souls for those comforts. When our commanding fathers decided to lock me up, and ordered criminal charges brought against me, the investigator from our special prosecutor’s office, a rare species of a bastard, told me frankly: «You know I don’t have anything personal against you, but you see, I, too, have health problems. I have gastritis and I need a special dietary country cheese, which I can buy only in Star City, you understand?» I told him sympathetically that oatmeal boiled in water is quite good for the stomach, and he said «Ok, wise guy, I’ll see that you have plenty of it, and for a long time».

Bachkov: I’d rather move under the shed and play dominoes with the boys, it’s getting too hot here.

Exits.

Andrei, grinning: I guess it’s the topic which got too hot for him.

Victor: He’s the most decent male-nurse we have here. He studies at a medical college, incidentally. There are also two drunkards from the nearby alcoholic ward; as for the third one, I have no idea who he is, but he has the manners of a criminal, and he associates with Sasha’s sort.

Andrei: To tell you the truth, of the three types you’ve mentioned it’s the «decent» type I trust least. When I got in a psychiatric hospital for the first time and they certified me as non compos mentis, I went on a hunger-strike, demanding a court trial. On its seventh day, the hospital administration ordered me force-fed. And there were two male-nurses on duty that day: a «decent» one, as you say, incidentally, a college student too, and the other, an ex-convict, with two prison terms for burglary. And it was this guy who refused to take part in my force-feeding. So they asked for volunteers among the patients – about two thirds of our ward were criminals, brought either for forensic examination or transferred from psychiatric prisons. Well, none of them volunteered. The two who did came from a «decent» background. So your thesis that morals and ethics begin when scheming ends, I can confirm by my own past experience.