The guy gently tapped on the girl’s shoulder and left her alone.

‘What are you doing here, Drache?’ the prefect appeared from nowhere, ‘Philippych is calling you. Hurry!’

Victoria took her notebooks and student books and ran to the auditorium.

There were five students let inside. Vic came up to the table where she registered her examination card and with no looking at the questions, sat to the table.

The first question was Scholastics. The basic theses. Representatives. And the second question was Marxism philosophy.

Vic closed her eyes. The first question wasn’t so scared as she thought. There was a couple of opening sentences and then she would be ready to say something next.

The second question caused some problems: Vic didn’t have time to read up to the philosophy of XIX century.

Having sat to the moderators, Vic answered the first question with ease. But then fantastic stuff began.

‘Marxism…’ Vic drawled, understanding more that she was going to celebrate nothing at the party.

‘Yes, Vic, Marxism. Let’s start from the definition of Marxism you are going to give.’

‘Marxism is…’ the girl frowned.

The only thought and words that were in her head was what should I do? You couldn’t be silent in such kind of situation. Never. Only words, beautiful words, perfect settled and chosen ones could get universal appeal. Silence was a bad omen that both parts, taking a share in the conversation, didn’t understand.

‘Marxism…’ Victoria was drawling, obviously being despaired, lowered her eyes, which were going to cry out of frustration.

‘Are you ready to provide an answer, Victoria?’ the moderator asked two minutes later.

The girl looked at the man, sitting near the moderator. It was Philipp Philippych. The professor of Philosophy, who could teach his subject in a very interesting and dexterously way, was sitting in shock. He was ashamed for his students. He lost so much time and efforts to give all the history of philosophy to see during the exam faces, dipped into frustration!

Remorse started torching Victoria step by step. She had really time to prepare her examination and had tried to do until she met him.

What would she say to her mother? What would her mother say? What a shame and take-down! She didn’t have any cheat sheets!

Suddenly Vic heard a clear muttered voice: “philosophical, economic and political study. Friedrich Engels and Karl Marx founded it.”

Vic turned. All the students were busy with their own examination cards and preparation to them, they had no interest in faery failure of Victoria Drache. Then who muttered the answer to her?

The girl looked again at the moderator and, is if she were bewitched, she repeated what someone had told it.

‘Good. Marxism conception?’

Vic lowered her eyes and noticed Philippych’s lips silently moving and then a clear whisper went on: “…political capitalism economy, historical materialism, scientific communism. The philosophy centre is a conception of a human subtraction from own labour products…”

Vic was watching the professor’s lips and understood nothing. The whisper, he was speaking, was a whisper but loud. It was so loud so the person sitting next to Philippych, would have absolutely heard what was going on near.

‘Have you told anything, Professor?’ Victoria asked unexpectedly.

‘I’ve asked you to give Marxism conception. Philipp Philippych is silently waiting for the answer.’

The moderator was speaking, and Victoria saw Marxism conception coming out of his mouth. It was just in tune with his announcements! Simultaneously!

‘What’s the hell?’ Vic asked herself under her breath, touching her hair.

‘I beg your pardon? Are you ok, Drache? You don’t look like yourself.’ Philippych asked quiet. ‘You’re pale, sweated… Shall I let you go to the nurse?’

‘No,’ she whispered in replay kept on looking at the moderator’s lips muttering about Marxism conception. ‘I’ll go on.’

In a trembling voice, Victoria re-told everything that the moderator said and got good mark, and looking round, she left the auditorium.

‘So? How was it?’ group-mates came up to her.

Vic came along the hall, speaking and listening to nobody. She washed her face with cold water, trying to wash off madness that had attacked her. She couldn’t still believe what she had seen was true. How was it possible to believe in such things? And on the other hand, how was it possible not to believe? Knowing nothing Vic passed the final philosophy exam because the moderator himself had told her the examination card! What a nonsense!

Cold water streamed. Refreshing. Victoria refused to believe in what had happened. It was too much. There was no such a thing.

In fifteen minutes, she left the WC room, forced herself to smile. She had to speak a lot about how the exam was, how she was lucky, that she remembered the correct answer, that professors weren’t mean. Vic tried to calm her course mates down, infused hope into them, saying that everything would be okay, and everyone would pass.

‘Vic, have you passed?’ Olga Vladimirovna spoke in a voice touched with emotions on the cell.

‘I have, I got a good mark. Don’t worry.’

‘Oh, thanks god. When are you going home?’

‘In the evening. Maybe at night. We’re gonna to a café with mates.’

‘Okay, try to be at home earlier, will you?’

‘Mum!’ a reproachful note appeared in Vic’s voice. ‘I’m not a baby!’

‘Yes, you aren’t, of course. You’re a child. So be careful. Are you listening to me, Vic?’

Victoria looked angrily at the ceiling, holding the cell away from her ear not to listen to the talk.

‘Okay, mum, okay. I got it. See you.’

‘Vic, I’ve not…’

Her mum was speaking something when the girl hanged up the cell. She didn’t want to listen to any moralizing. After Vic had seen the professor saying her the examination card and nobody but Vic could hear him, she wanted to relax a little bit. It didn’t matter what people it would be around. The main point was not to be alone, especially at home.

After the exam all students went to a café at Sokolniky. They chattered bragging of their achievements and call luck bad names, telling how they had passed.

The moderators turned to be very severe. The Ministry Chairman was almost physio. He failed every student, having fun. If Philippych hadn’t been there, not everyone would have passed. Philippych got it hot and strong – the Chairman made fun of him and of his badly educated students. And if Victoria thought that Philippych answered the question himself, then the moderator wouldn’t have done the same.

She remembered those terrible whispering lips, the blank, whitish look, getting pale skin. She couldn’t get the face disfigured by indifference out of her memory.

Everyone was celebrating the successful examination while Victoria was meditating, making herself sure that her subconsciousness projected recollections in the shape of the whispering professor.

After she drunk two or three glasses the girl started relaxing and losing herself in dreams. If it was madness then damn with it, she could do nothing anyway. If mind got ill, then it was the end. When you were drunk, you better recognized and got over your own hopelessness than when you were sober. It was easier for the girl when her course mate embraced her, laughing in unison with her. It was easier to see his face imagining no Kharon’s face. And, of course, it was easier to kiss him back because there was nothing similar in comparison with the demon’s kisses.

As soon as Victoria felt the miserable embracing with a perishable human body of male sex, being very annoying, pleasureless, she left the café when no one saw her.

There was metro ahead and having gone a little distance towards the underground kingdom of marble and granite, Vic stopped. The big park behind her offensively looked at her. There were fresh young leaves, embracing students and loving couples on benches, drunkards, were going to sleep hat in hand to the strains of tree crown murmurs on the warmed ground. The lanterns were fabulously lightning, along the carefully done paths, giving the atmosphere of Peter Pan fairy tale.