Avertissement: cette histoire n'est pas pour les moins de dix-huit ans. Majeurs, bonne lecture.
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EPILOGUE
l’histoire qu’on pouvait lire
sur le site de Zéphyr
The day Natacha met Boris
This story takes place in one of these remote capitals of the former USSR. Natacha and Boris might have never met if the US Department of Defence had not had the strange idea to develop a revolutionary war network, against USSR, whichvwas called ARPANET in its infancy years, and is now universally known as The Internet, as you have The Tadj Mahal and The Grand Canyon.
It took Natacha a long time to decide to own her own PC as other people own their car. Boris, a scientist in Novosibirsk, Siberia, had always been interested in computing, first with mathematically intensive simulation initially run on early Russian computers, and since the collapse of USSR, on networked PCs. As soon as e-mail became available to scientists, he had made good use of it, for efficient interaction with all fellow researchers of his very narrow field, all over the world.
To understand the event about to happen, we have to go back in time, 4 months earlier. This was during the last beautiful days in Novosibirsk, as well as Slavograd. Soon, the first snow will fall and temperature will drop drastically, forcing people to dress with many layers of winter cloths, and just have their eyes in contact with the outside air. Boris enjoys these beautiful days, the last opportunity for enjoyable cycling, sitting outside, walking in the country side, well living as people do in countries with a temperate climate.
So does Natacha.
Boris does not fear the long winter, ideal for the scientist's monk life of meditation in silence. After all here is one reason for setting up the best research laboratories of USSR outside of the political and cultural turbulence of Moscow, in a remote and quiet place.
Natacha sometimes gets depressed on winter days which are more night than day. Not enough light, not enough possibilities to go outdoor without risking your life. Her chlorophyllian functions suddenly get mad. Get out of the Big Sleep, wake up to life, escape the White Death.
Natacha is a top ranking nurse in the Slavograd Institute for Mental Illnesses. Natacha is dedicated to her patients like no other nurse. She would have obtained the medal of the hospital in the glorious days of USSR, when people still placed serving the community very high in the labour hierarchy. Today, being a nurse, even in a major hospital of Slavograd, does not get you much popular recognition. Business czars are the heros of the day, even if they are sometimes caught at the border of the legally acceptable behaviours. Few among them belong to the mafia, but this is a subject for life-like entertainment in the newspapers, not for the present story. Except that Natacha went to a party during the summer, and met somebody who seemed to her charming, until it became clear to her, that this handsome and elegant man, did not make his money in a completely honest way. She decided to take some distance from him.
She had heard from friends that the Internet was fun, and helped get you entertained through the winter. She started inquiring on PCs prices and features, and bought one. With her friend Alexandra, a younger nurse just arrived from Moscow, she started surfing on the Internet, discovering a wealth and a jungle of information, true and half-true mixed. The special interest discussion groups interested her immensely. She was soon able to discuss anonymous patient cases with colleagues all over the world, get or give advice, always reassuring when you face daily pressure of being kind to mentally ill patients. It felt good being in the club, even if only online, a sense of sharing and community was always there.
She also tried philosophy groups, history groups, and enjoyed them all. However, her favourite was undoubtedly the New Russian Poetry Council (NRPC), which referred ironically to the old Soviet organisation applied to anything, from shoe production to art. The members of NRPC sometimes posted poems mimicking the old-style praise of glorious heroes. They had agreed on a call for poems on most glorious roles in the USSR.
Natacha smiled when she read the call. In no time she had written an enthusiastic text glorifying with humour the coal mining heroes. Now, after having met Boris, she has many times looked back and thought that she had missed the tragic dimension of the mine: the mine accident, this claustrophobic horror seen too many times in any mining country. For her first text on the heroes of USSR, Natacha did not spend much time on read-proofing. She remembered half with pride, half with bitterness her father Ivan, who had been a miner for 15 years.
She did not feel like analysing the reasons for the bitterness associated with the memory of her father. It just was not the right time, maybe later.
Boris, as experienced as he was with the use of the Internet for scientific purposes, had never thought of it as a medium for other personal use, like entertainment, meeting new friends, having fun, experiencing emotions. Among the scientists, Boris had some good friends. People with whom he could joke and laugh online. They were using a Linux-based instant communication
system for chatting. One of the friends told him about the poetry site with a challenge on the heroes of USSR.
When Boris saw Natacha's poems, he smiled. USSR was there again, with its grand patriotic style, hymns and chants to the glory of the People. The Leninian adaptation of the Marxist theory had created an autonomous language, full of abbreviation for the Central Committee of the Communist Party, the Federations of Farmers and Workers of all kinds. In his own professional field, committees of scientists with newsletters and events had been created by the Revolution and stabilised under Stalin, their skeletons still in existence in the new Russia.
He smiled, but the nostalgic memories were mixed with the oppressive constraints people had to face in those days: every travel needed an approval from a local secretary at minimum, you could not say your opinion, nobody could be trusted.
He read the profile of the author of the poems Natacha: nurse in a mental instution. Immediately he drafted a small comment, half ironic, half supportive:
"O glorious nurse,
who serve our People in a Mental Hospital,
be the sympathy of the comrades active at the cold frontier of science with you.
signed: Boris, researcher, Novosibirsk."
Once he had posted his comment, he thought again about the nurse Natacha, and asked himself how she felt at present, in these post-USSR days where money became increasingly important for maintaining a just acceptable living standard, and was scarcely available to civil servants like the nurses working in hospitals, and the researchers from public institutes.
He felt sad for her, and he understood a hidden message behind the glorifying portrait of a USSR hero: the present, dull, with little hope, lots of worries, white and grey as a winter day. His mind continued wandering. He took an atlas book out of a shelf, and looked for the city mentioned by Natacha: Slavograd. He had never been in that region, but had read reports about it, hence he had some idea of what Slavograd was like: boring, with no pre-Sovietic past, and probably little post-Sovietic future. Stagnation and resignation were the two keywords coming to his mind.
He decided to put his mood in words, in the form of a portrait of a glorious nurse in a Mental Hospital. One hour later he posted a 5 page portrait.
Natacha was online then, and was informed by his favourites links that a new portrait of USSR hero, "nurse hero" had been posted. On the same link page update board, she noted a comment on her Portrait. She went and read the comment. What did this Boris mean to say? He seemed little enthusiastic about her poem, somewhat sarcastic even. She then accessed the poem just posted by the same Boris. The man irritated her to some extent. He made her uneasy: she was the target, it was her portrait. Difficult to look away, think, and consider the poem from a distance. She was the "glorious nurse" and could not help thinking how close she was to the caricature made by this "Boris, researcher, Novosibirsk". He had a point, he had understood how dull her life could be at times, when she stopped thinking about her patients, and the relief she could bring them from the pain caused by their varied mental illnesses. This was a nonsensical nurse life, in a still bureaucratic system, which had lost its glory, its banners and hymns. Long hours, love and friendship given, nothing received, nothing. As if the mirrors would not reflect her image, because she was not worth it. She became very sad. Her eyes could not read for a few seconds. She closed them, in the moral pain of someone who has lost the path in life. She was so depressed, weak, low, immersed in her dark thoughts.
After a while, she recovered enough to post a comment:
"Boris, you have no idea how true your poem is, and how much pain you have caused.
signed: Natacha, nurse, Slavograd"
The presence of a new comment blinked on the display of Boris.
Boris was embarrassed, he thought:
-What have I done? That's me, hurting people's feeling, not being able to sense what aches for others.
-What can I do? How can I explain Natacha that there was no ill intention, and that I guessed she was feeling the same emptiness as me in our futureless situations?
He clicked on the return e-mail, and sent an invitation for a chat.
Natacha thought:
-Who is this guy like? What does he think I am? That I will accept his chat invitation? No way.
Then, her curiosity told her to go and see. Why not? I am in control. He cannot depress me more. Maybe I can have him apologise, and understand why you don't do that.
She selected accept, and waited without clicking:
-Go? No go? Go?
This went all very quickly. She realised she had ended up clicking when a double banner appeared for the chat.
The Boris line blinked: -Spasiba tovaritch! Thank you comrade.
Natacha smiled, still puzzled, unsure if she had done the right thing.
Boris continued:
-I am so sorry. I did not want to hurt you. Just the opposite, I wanted to communicate to you that someone had understood your mood when you wrote your USSR Glory poem.
Natacha:
Hello. So, you are sorry? I am not completely sure why, but ok. You know, you hurt me, you know that?
Boris:
Yes
Natacha:
Why did you contact me though? To hurt me more?
Boris:
To apologise
Natacha:
LOL, apologise. Do you often apologise?
Boris:
No, no need here: Siberia. You feel sorry for yourself as much as for others It's equality.
Natacha:
Novosibirsk?
Boris:
Great for science, dull for anything else. How about Slovograd?
Natacha:
Nothing for science. Provincial city. Boring overall, but one gets used to it.
Boris:
Yes, winter time anyway!
Natacha:
Winter should sometimes be beautiful! Not this one anyway
Boris:
Right. Natacha, what do you like about winter?
and the conversation continued for two hours. Silver words had replaced an ironed silence. They felt relaxed and comfortable, very curious about the other party.
Suddenly, Natacha's computer was blocked.
How irritating! Boris saw Natacha drop out in the middle of the chat. He thought there must be a reason. So he switched to his e-mail system, and sent her the following:
From: Boris
To: Natacha
Subject: winter
Natacha, meet me tomorrow same time. OK?
Good night
Boris.
Natacha could not connect back. So she gave it up, and went to bed, relieved to have been able to speak to someone, somewhat sorry not to have been able to say goodbye before leaving.
Boris connected on the next day, same time, as he had offered. He visited his favourite sites, and did not see Natacha online.
He thought:
-Maybe she has blocked me, so I can't see her even when she's online? Why did she drop in the middle of our chat? A boyfriend? What could it be?
Boris liked analysing things. While this proved quite useful in science, in life, it created complexities even where things were simple and clear. Typical Boris!
On this very day, Natacha worked the night shift. She had a break around 11pm, and used the break to connect from the nurses' office. She saw Boris online, and said
Natacha:
Hello
Boris:
Hi Natacha. You are there? Have you got my e-mail?
Natacha:
No
Boris:
OK. How was your day?
Natacha:
Well, as usual. I'm on the night shift tonight.
What Boris and Natacha had not realised yet, is that they would connect and meet online virtually every evening. An attachment was born, which grew, without saying its name, and made their winter beautiful. Time went by, and Boris invited Natacha to meet for real, in a spa, in Crimea. Natacha wanted very much to meet Boris. However, at the same time she was unsure. Of course she trusted the man whom she had got to know very well through months of communication. But still, you never know. There was a risk. She had never dated on the Net first. She spoke with Alexandra, her closest friend. Alexandra said:
-You go. You may be disappointed, but at least you'll know. Not going would mean to bear regrets for the rest of your life, having missed a potentially wonderful opportunity.
He may not be the man of your life. But, what if he is?
Natacha agreed, she packed her best clothes, bought some new ones. She wanted to please Boris. Was it about seducing a man? Natacha asked herself all these questions:
-Will he like me?
-Is my body of any interest to him?
-What if I do not match the idea he has built of who I am?
-Is he as kind as he seems?
-Will I like him as much for real as on the Net?
Boris, used to living with theories, and sometimes verifying hypotheses through experiments, had quite an other set of questions:
-Our conversations have brought us so close. Can we get closer in the physical world?
-Aren't words enough? Will we increase or diminish our mutual attraction by seeing each other.
-Does she want to make love? Wouldn’t it be better, to go on a soft date first? Can we resist each other? Temptations, what will they be?
-What does she expect from me?
-Am I enough for her?
Curiosity, mutual attraction, and an abstract form of distance love, were mixed in a magnetic force which was now pulling them together. Each one flew to Crimea thinking about this, reviewing his/her own life so far. It was felt to be a new page in their life story. Was it to be a new start, a new birth?
Boris was not religious, he was a real scientist. He believed in the power of the mind, and in the mastering of nature by man using mathematics and all the other sciences. When he started his journey to meet Natacha for the first time, no relief could be found in science. He was on his first pilgrimage. Crimea was his Mecca, his Promised Land. More precisely, he felt he was to walk barefoot, purify his body in a sacred river, be dressed in a simple white robe, repentant of his past, made of missed opportunities, wrong decisions, failed actions. He was to go to a fountain of youth.
This is where he imagined Natacha would be. Ideal woman? Real woman, with a shared ideal? A bit of both.
He knew he was not able to comprehend what would happen. He expected to fill his eyes and ears and mind with memories, which could take a whole life to analyse and understand.
He was ready for Natacha.
Natacha's flight came first. She sat in the airport cafeteria, and had a pea-soup. It was so cold, no perceivable heating. She kept her two layers of coats and her hat on. She knew she did not look as great as without the coats and hat. That worried her, but the cold was there to stay. It had been agreed that they would meet in the cafeteria. They did not expect much of the cafeteria, and they were right. There was a mixed smell of vegetables, coffee, and cigarette.
Natacha and Boris had exchanged some id pictures on the Net. Natacha knew vaguely whom she was expecting. Each man entering the cafeteria woke her attention. None could have been Boris. When Boris entered, she was sure it was him. Her heart started beating faster. Boris was looking left and right, as someone who is late, and tries to catch up. His eyes met Natacha's. They smiled at each other, surprised, and pleased. Boris' hands were cold. Natacha took them between hers, and warmed them. Boris had been uncertain how to behave. Should he leave some distance between them, to avoid shocking Natacha by too quick an approach? Would he seem open and cheerful enough? Everything was different from the plan. He had known it would be different, but still was surprised how unexpected everything turned out to be, how much nicer in fact.
Natacha had warmed his hands in hers. They were sitting, having tea, the usual drink to get warm in winter. Their eyes did not stop meeting. It felt good. All worries and questions were abolished. They were sailing on a quiet sea. As the warmth was entering their bodies, they felt the need to stand up, and be outside of this place, walking together. Outside meant facing the cold evening. The bus terminal was on the other side of a big parking lot, full of lorries. They got lost in the middle of this vast parking, between two tall lorries, and took the time to hold each other, softly insert their hands in each other's coats, closer to the body, yet still not touching the skin. Their embrace lasted a long moment, long with no notion of time any more.
The night was young. They took the bus and arrived at the best hotel they had been able to find. It was a holiday resort. It must have been used formerly by the senior members of the Communist Party, and later was not maintained with the required efforts. Never mind, it was still better than the average, and the magic of Crimea could operate. Natacha and Boris carried their happiness in their coats.
Natacha was not as shy as she feared when they stopped at the hotel reception for the keys. Boris spoke with the receptionist, a 50 year old woman, who had probably seen many big shots of the Old Regime. Boris wanted to bring a smile on the face of Natacha. So his intonation started imitating in a credible manner the tone of a Party executive. He had taken his model in the director of the Research Institute where he was working, an old timer. This worked well, and brought a positive feedback from the receptionist, who answered in the old respectful comrade tone.
They got their key. On the lift, Boris opened his hand to show Natacha the key. A question to her? An invitation? She took the key laughing. She opened the room, their first room. They already knew it would be so much more, so much farther than anything they had expected. Their hearts were beating in tune. The luggage were left in a corner. Undressing started. It could have been clumsy, each one wearing two coats, as a symbol of the heavy winters of Siberia.
Boris felt the body of Natacha shape under his fingers, as he carefully unbuttoned the outside coat of Natacha. She looked pleased and was giving her body to his touch, slightly shivering as one button after the other was opened. Her head went back. She released her long hair from the hat and said:
-Boris, please...
encouraging him with her hands on his shoulders.
She started touching his face with her palms. Boris was on fire. He proceeded with all the care he was still capable of, and the second coat fell on the wooden floor as a signal, announcing the body of Natacha. Natacha could not wait. She hurried sliding her gown down, and opening the trousers of Boris. Her hands moved with precision, as if she had known him forever. At no point did she have to think before acting, everything came by instinct. She was amazed at the ease of every step leading to their first eye contact with their most private parts. Boris touched her breasts through her red silk bras. Natacha felt a growing wave of pleasure shake her. She felt the stiffness of his shaft by inserting her hand in his trousers. It surprised him, and made him kiss her, a long and deep kiss. Their tongues rotated and mixed, up/down, down/up. She wanted him in her. She had waited so long, desired him so many nights.
Boris knew what Natacha expected, at once he was sure of what to do and he did it. He had left every inhibition, he was exploring Natacha's body completely, with a growing heat he could not resist. He smelled her, and was filled with the joy of worshipping his Goddess of love, smelling this magic incense. His tongue followed his nose, and he tasted her clit and cunt. The clit became swollen, calling his shaft. They were rubbing against each other, in a passionate embrace, and soon Natacha pushed him slowly and made him lie on his back. She watched him up and down, with no shame, and impaled herself accurately. Their eyes kept an intense contact, and intensified what the skins conveyed.
She came looking at him, and he joined her, releasing months of accumulated desire. She felt the intensity of his orgasm, and was again agitated by a huge wave of pleasure which made her moan very loudly through the night.
The morning came, with dim light. They woke up, looking at each other in astonishment. How marvellous! Could it be half true, as this half morning with half intensity light? The hated winter had transformed itself in the wonderful moment celebrated in traditional songs: the time for love and heat, on a white background of snow and ice.
Natacha closed her eyes for a minute, daydreaming she was skating with Boris, and that both had become extraordinary skaters, as in this old movie she had watched so many times: “The winter of Macha Alexandrovna”, a black and white movie of 1962. She was really the Macha she had always wanted to be, and this winter was her winter. Never in her life had she felt as close to a man: Boris. She knew that whatever might happen -and many things could happen in Great Russia- this first night together would stay on her mind as long as she would live -which may be short, she told herself by experience, having seen so many health tragedies in her life as a nurse-.
Boris did not close his eyes. He was full of the light of the clear skin of Natacha. He was not able to think very much, but was very focused on recording every sensation of this time with Natacha. He was filling his brain with memories, with not time or capacity to analyse them yet. He knew the time would be plenty when he would think again and again of this night. He felt the hours, the minutes, the seconds multiply themselves, amplifying their meaning in the galaxy.
When they had to part, of course they felt sad, but they knew that this sadness was negligible with regard to the huge fulfilment of having met each other.
Natacha's eyes had the time to become wet and red, to dry again, and to be covered with tears once more before she arrived home in Slavograd.
Boris, the scientists, for once could hardly reason, and let the flow of thoughts take him drifting on an ocean of stormy passion, during his home journey. He landed, or rather was stranded, on his bed instead of a deserted beach, when the waves weakened. The exhaustion overwhelmed him and he slept a deep and long sleep.
International tensions around energy will crystallise into a huge war. Boris and Natacha will be separated. Will they ever meet again? When and how?
As news agencies kept saying, the tension had kept increasing in the region. In the background was:
-Afxxxxxxxx
It had all started as a huge political catastrophe for USSR. This war of guerilla had broken the hopes of an entire generation. Bonfires were still burning, wounds had not healed yet.
-USA-Ixxx
The claim which had triggered the invasion had never been confirmed. Western troops had died in numbers after the invasion was completed. Ending clean was less easy than starting brutal. Politicians were under increasing stress to finish this… but how?
Oil, weapons, religions, civilisations, in a greasy mix nobody really understood.
-Gas shortage
A Russian pipeline crossing Ukraine stopped delivering gas to Ukraine, less able to afford the price than Western Europe.
The populations started to protest, and rebel here and there, against a winter with insufficient heating, recalling the worst days of Stalinism.
The “boiler” was ready to explode at any time. Boris was fully aware of it. As in the old days of USSR, his department had received more visits from Moscow civil servants in the recent weeks. They were asked about contingency plans for converting their research to nuclear energy production technologies.
Slavograd, Institute for mental health, February 1, 11:00
The nurse supervising the admission of patients calls her colleagues who are not busy with an urgent task. They gather briefly in the break room. The chief nurse reads a fax paper:
“-ITAR-TASS, Moscow, February 1
The energy tensions have resulted in mobilisation of reserve soldiers and officers of the first group. The active troops have already been deployed at our borders and on strategic sites, awaiting orders from the Chief of staff.”
The personnel of the hospital is worried. Someone turns the radio on. The speaker has a smiling voice:
“-Our troops are ready, no reason to worry. Life goes on as usual. Let us behave as dignified citizen of our beautiful country and everything will go fine. Our country is a world power and will behave as such.”
The chief nurse comments unconvinced:
-Sure, sure, that's what we'll do. Will it be enough to resolve the situation?
Everyone gets excited, aware of living a moment to be remembered, a turn point in their personal lives, as well as an event of unforeseeable consequences for the country.
Novosibirsk, Institute for nuclear research, 11:30
The chairman of the Institute is addressing all staff, researchers and administration, in the main auditorium. Today, silence is complete. Nobody dares to continue or start a private conversation with their neighbours. For once, everybody is listening to the boss:
“-Dear colleagues, you have read the press announcement. We are entering a period of uncertainty. This uncertainty concerns our environment, it concerns our private lives, but in no way will there be any uncertainty on our duties and on the tasks our countrymen expect us to perform. Our Institute knows what it has to do, the goals have been discussed and agreed collectively. We need to continue, accelerate and intensify our research, and put together a new family of nuclear power plants. We had a 3 year target to complete the currently engaged projects, recent events force us to reduce the time to achieve technology testing and transfer. In one year from now, the gap in energy production needs to be filled. Peace and the integrity of our country are at stake. Comrades -I measure my words, counting on you, each and all- comrades, we'll do it. Together we'll do it. As you will understand it, the current situation forces us to take additional measures:
-all holidays are suspended until further notice. Week-ends shall have similar working hours to week-days except for a doubled lunch break. Everyone gets 4 hours military & fitness training per week. Our Institute has become a strategic target and from now is receiving reinforced military protection. We are living in an electronic and radar detection bubble. Any aircraft entering the bubble will be destroyed immediately.”
Boris and his neighbour, the Chief Scientist of the Institute, Professor Andrei Bolkonski, exchange a puzzled look. Both know that they have just lost any control on their private and professional lives. They are now military scientific personnel, with total confidentiality constraints, and are banned from any unsupervised contact with the outside. Bolkonski will not give his yearly conference on advances in field theory at the Max Planck Institute for some time. Boris will not attend his workshop on theoretical physics of Les Houches, in the French Alps. More importantly he knows that communication with Natacha will be blocked most of the time, and messages going through will be filtered and altered.
Boris and Bolkonski comment briefly:
-We're trapped like rats. Probably like the Los Alamos team of the Manhattan project, when they developed the American nuclear bomb during World War II. The German scientists working on the V1/V2 missiles and the Me262 jet aircraft must have gone through this as well. At least we can see our objective as a civilian, non-destructive one.
-Nevertheless risk is not absent. The more so if we have to rush the project. Safety will be the first feature to receive cuts. Furthermore, the objectives of the big projects you mentioned were known to be reachable. It is less clear in our case.
-There is only one way: we need to work backward. We first have to build scenario, imagine the possible consequences and risks. Work on reducing them, and work back there on the development scheme.
In addition, our managerial assignment goes beyond the development of the new nuclear power plant family. We need to provide the political decision makers with guidelines on how quick the energy production gap could be filled. When will the “winter effect” be completely offset again?
TO BE CONTINUED
