6:42. I wake up. I feel physically rested, but I still can’t shake off those annoying emotions. My anxiety gradually grows along with my hunger. I make myself a large coffee with sugar and milk and fill the bathtub.
6:57. I drink coffee while lying in hot water and fluffy, fragrant soap suds. Why not the fresh shower? Why not the green tea? Did I have the free will to do everything as usual? Or, on the contrary, to change everything? Or are all my actions simply determined by my inner state, which I cannot analyze?
– What would you say, sis?
And what would Sartre say to that? And why am I even thinking about all this now? Soon I’ll be talking to imaginary friends. Am I turning into a schizophrenic? Definitely, I am controlling myself much worse than usual. Maybe it’s just a matter of random events that change the usual order of things? Like, for example, the sudden sound of a fight behind the door…
Or a knock on the door… Someone is really banging on the apartment door, and it brings me back to reality. Strangely, I already know who it is, but I ask anyway:
“Who is it?”
“It’s me,” Jean-Pierre’s voice replies.
“Yeah, come in!” I answer, trying to sound casual and hide my sudden joy.
“Aren’t you going to lock the door?”
“Who am I afraid of?”
“True…” Jean-Pierre follows the voice and, turning around the wall, appears right in front of me. “Oh! Your bathroom doesn’t have a door?!”
“I’m glad to see you too,” I smile. “Now, if you don’t mind, of course, go to the kitchen and pour us another cup of coffee.”
“I… I don’t mind,” the Frenchman retreats awkwardly.
“Tell me… Where have you been?” I ask, turning on the shower and washing off the soap.
“It’s a completely crazy story. You’ll kill me if you find out…” Jean-Pierre replies cheerfully.
“Really?” I shout over the noise of the water.
“Yes… It’s all because of my journalistic instinct. I’ve never been able to shake the desire to stick my nose into other people’s business.”
“Go on…”
“I won’t hide it, you made a big impression on me. I was very intrigued. And although you categorically refused to give me an interview… I still couldn’t deny myself the satisfaction of satisfying my curiosity…”
“What’s happened?” I come out to the Frenchman in a terrycloth robe, wrapping a towel around my head as I walk.
“I did some research on you,” Jean-Pierre replies, looking at me and sipping his coffee.
“It’s all like…”
“Like a journal-whore?”
“Exactly,” I sit down at the table opposite the Frenchman, “So what did you find out in my dirty clothes?”
“Show some respect for my hard work,” Jean-Pierre replies. “I had to scour various archives, sift through and compare dozens of documents, put pressure on my hacker friends, and even break the law a little.”
“I’m impressed,” I reply sarcastically.
“Me too. By your biography. Libya, Somalia, Iraq, Syria… Each time, daring operations behind enemy lines as part of small mobile groups. But I wasn’t interested in your exploits, but in your earlier past,” he paused and looked at me intently, “You mentioned your sister…”
“Did you find out anything? Tell me.”
“Not much. You don’t remember exactly where you were brought to the orphanage from… But I found out. Then I spent almost a hundred euros on practically hopeless international calls using an old phone book. I found some old woman and, pretending to be a relative of her neighbors, found out that twin girls had lived on their street for a while.“ Jean-Pierre takes his smartphone out of his pocket, opens a map on it, and shows it to me. ”Here’s the address.”
“I chose a nice place to be born,” I say with a grim smile. “They’re still shooting there…”
“When I started digging deeper, some strange stories began to surface with hints of biological weapons development. Horror and conspiracy theories about KGB experiments. I would have thought I was reading a creepy urban legend if I didn’t know where I got this information from…
“It’s a murky story…”
“I thought so too. That’s why I got to myself two press passes: Associated Press and Reporters sans Frontières.”
— Are you really going to do that?
— Yes. We’ll go and find out everything on the place.
— Are you an idiot?! Do you think it’s so simple? What do you think it’s going to be? A tourist trip? We don’t have any units there now. No one is going to cover your skinny French ass there. And for your two fucking pieces of paper with the word “press” on them, you’ll get exactly two bullets. But one will be enough for you! I get up and start nervously and almost senselessly washing my cup under the stream of water.
“The so-called ‘Hungarian Brigade’ is operating there now…”
“An unofficial organization fighting against NATO forces? Almost terrorists. Great idea! They’ll drive a third bullet into the back of your head.
“I thought you would cover my back and my… nut-hard French ass. But if you don’t want to, I’ll go alone.
“That’s where they’ll crack your nut, you idiot…” I turn around and look sadly at Jean-Pierre, realizing that he still doesn’t understand what he’s getting himself into. “Okay… Let’s assume you’re ready to die there. But you understand that we’ll have to prepare seriously, think through the route, the cover story…
“Of course,” the Frenchman replies happily, “I already have two tickets to Budapest for tomorrow. And they’ll meet us there.”
