“Hi, Alex. Long time no see. How are you?”
I felt a lump rise in my throat and couldn’t say a word.
I hadn’t seen my father for seven years, and he hadn’t changed a bit — as if we’d parted only a week ago. The same gray hair, the familiar slightly squinting look, the kind smile. On the screen behind him I could see a green lawn, the edge of a white house, a few trees. Obviously, he was sitting on a veranda.
“Hi, Dad. I’m okay. And how are you there?” I finally managed to pull myself together. My voice hardly trembled, though it sounded a little hoarse.
“I’m doing well. Very glad to see you. Good job calling. I see you still haven’t moved?”
I was sitting in an armchair in the living room he’d been in a thousand times — talking to me and Lenka, later sitting with Misha when he was born, coming over for holidays. Everything like everyone else’s.
“No, Dad, never got around to it,” I cleared my throat. “We’ve gotten used to it here. There were options, but Lenka didn’t like some of them, and for others we didn’t have enough money… And I don’t really want to get into a mortgage.”
“Yeah, I get it. Maybe that’s the right choice.”
He looked at me with that same gentle smile, as if saying, Everything will be fine, don’t worry. I cleared my throat again. Time to grab the bull by the horns — no point dragging it out.
“Dad, I wanted to talk to you, like before. Maybe you could give me some advice…”
“Of course. If I can. Let’s talk.” The same warm, familiar look.
“Well, here’s the situation… Lenka and I live okay, more or less, but somehow everything’s grown stale. Misha’s already grown up — he’s twenty now, practically his own man. He turned out to be a good guy, studies at university, lives separately with his girlfriend, they rent an apartment, he earns money on the side, we hardly help him.”
“Really? That’s great. I remember him as a little boy — and now he’s grown up! At university! Good for him.”
“Yeah, no complaints there. And Anya, his girlfriend, is good too — we like her. Calm, polite. They’re doing fine. But for us… it’s gotten kind of empty. And… well… I’ve met someone else.”
Finally, I said it out loud.
“And I’ve gotten a bit confused. I don’t want to divorce Lenka — I feel sorry for her. But Katya is just different. Active, cheerful. She doesn’t demand anything from me… at least not yet. I feel great with her, but at the same time I’m uneasy — I keep thinking about Lenka. And she probably suspects something… So things are complicated.”
My father sighed.
“Well, looks like you take after me. And my experience wasn’t the happiest, as you know.”
Yes, I knew. My father had another woman once too. Eventually, of course, everyone found out — friends, acquaintances, and my mother. “An open secret,” my father would say sadly. He knew everyone knew. But they didn’t divorce. Even though I was already grown up. That neither here nor there dragged on for years.
“I can’t really advise you here,” my father continued. “You’ll have to rely on your intuition. The only thing I can say is — if you decide something, do it now. Don’t drag it out. Otherwise it’ll be like it was with me.”
Intuition? Yeah, he was probably right. We’re not given the ability to see our future. You don’t always understand what to decide, what’s right and what’s wrong. Making decisions under uncertainty. Some part of our brain analyzes the information without us even realizing it — subconsciously. That’s intuition. Or as they say, listen to your heart. Your heart? That’s just an internal organ. It’s probably more accurate to say — listen to your soul. What the soul is, nobody really knows. But somehow you have to manage to hear it.
“Yeah, Dad, I get it. I’ll probably try.”
My father raised his thumb — like, go for it, don’t panic. Everything will be fine.
“Dad, there’s something else I wanted to ask about… Sasha’s offering again to open a restaurant together. Says there’s a good space, cheap to buy, busy location, a chance like this comes once in ten years, this and that… Basically, like back then. You remember. Eight years ago. He’s done really well there, everything’s still running, people know the place.”
“Yes, I remember. You didn’t decide then.”
“Yeah, I didn’t. Just helped him a bit with the design. He says he used a bunch of my ideas. Fed me for free many times as thanks. And now he’s offering to start together again. What do you think — should I go for it? But that means pouring my savings into it and quitting teaching.”
My father gave a quiet chuckle.
“Do you like teaching?”
I paused. Did I really?
“It’s okay. I’m used to it. Same courses, I know them by heart. Students respect me, the administration values me, the salary’s decent — Lenka and I aren’t struggling, she works at the same place too. Everything’s not bad, really. But it’s probably boring. And there aren’t many prospects. I’m unlikely to become department head anytime soon.”
My father chuckled again.
“I might disappoint you, but I’ll say the same thing again: listen to your soul — what is it telling you? And again, if you decide, do it now. How old are you? Forty-five? Yes, now is the time. And there’s another saying I like — better to do something and regret it than not do it and regret it. My father once told me that. You remember those words?”
I remembered. But it’s not always easy to live by that principle.
My father went on.
“Sasha seems like a good guy to me. You’ve been friends since childhood — I remember him as a boy too. I think he’s someone you can trust.”
My father is always like that — gentle. I think… It seems to me… He never forced his opinion on anyone. But there’s a core in him — I know that. And determination. And persistence. If he has a goal, he’ll move toward it, overcoming difficulties. It’s just all inside. And I probably lack that. I’m always doubting.
A small message lit up at the top of the screen: “According to your plan, you have 5 minutes remaining.” The session was ending.
“Dad, thank you.”
“No problem, son. Don’t worry — everything will work out.”
“I wanted to say, Dad… Everyone here still remembers you. As soon as they see the last name on my business card, they say, ‘Krymov? Are you Dmitry Lvovich’s son? Ah, you are? You have a great father, I studied with him.’ Dozens of people, literally.”
“Really? Well, that’s nice. Although I don’t even know — I didn’t do anything special. It just sort of happened.”
“And when you… left… everyone said too, ‘Well, he couldn’t have acted differently.’”
“Yeah, probably. That’s how it turned out. I miss all of you, and the students too. But I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
Seconds started blinking on the screen. Time to say goodbye. I wanted to say something special, but didn’t know how. We’d never spoken lofty or overly intimate words to each other — everything was always simple, everyday.
“Well, Dad. Time to go. I’ll call again.
If I earn the money.”
“Bye, Alyosha. Of course, call. Glad we talked. Say hi to Lenka and Misha. Everything will work out — don’t worry.”
My father smiled and waved. He looked calm.
The screen went dark. Then a screensaver appeared — a picturesque mountain landscape.
I leaned back in the chair. I was home alone — today was my day off, a “library day,” Lenka was at work — and I could calmly think over the conversation. It cost me a pretty penny, but it was worth it. Dad was right — I can’t keep dragging things out. I have to decide something.
Katya? Yeah, she’s great. It all started fast and fiery, sparks flying — and it’s still going. When we don’t see each other for a while, I miss her and all that stuff… men will understand. But do I want to live with someone like that? Oh boy. I can’t really imagine it. She’d pull me into her orbit, and I’d lose myself. And I’m always split — whenever I meet Katya, somewhere in the back of my mind there’s Lenka’s image, as if she’s watching.
I stared blankly at the screensaver, trying to understand what my “heart” was telling me. Mountains… Maybe Lenka and I should go on a hiking trip somewhere, like we used to? For a whole month. She could take vacation, and off we go. Why not? She’s still in great shape, no extra weight, I’m okay too — we could handle an easy route. Suddenly I saw my wife in hiking boots with a backpack — smiling, waving me along the trail, just like twenty years ago. And I felt that I wanted to follow her without looking back, into any caves and cliffs.
The phone rang. Sasha.
“Yeah, hi… Yeah, I’m fine. No, I’m home. Yeah, sitting alone — Lenka’s at work, and I’m thinking about my life…” I figured he was about to start grilling me about whether I’d decided or not. And I was right. “Yeah, I remember, I remember. Just wait — I need details… When to get involved, when and how much money… all that. So yeah, I’m probably in, but we need to plan it. It’d be good to take a vacation first, and then quit. Why, why… I talked to someone… they say it might be worth trying. Okay, come by, we’ll talk — tomorrow’s better.”
And today I’ll talk to Lenka.
The screensaver changed to a questionnaire.
“Hello, Alexey Dmitrievich. The company NeuroArt thanks you for your order. Our neuro-intelligence Arseniy worked intensively to recreate the image and informational essence of Dmitry Lvovich Krymov based on the materials you provided. Our company asks you to share your impressions of how your conversation with Dmitry Lvovich went and to complete a short survey…”
Questions followed. But I couldn’t even fully grasp the first one. The “impressions” were obviously too strong. I’ll answer later. Maybe tomorrow.
I’d been collecting and preparing those “materials” for months — photos, videos, emails, paper letters, academic works, surveys of my father’s colleagues, stories from my brother… everything imaginable. And the case files. Seven years ago, on the highway, my father saw a boy run onto the road and managed to jerk the wheel… the car flew off the road and hit a tree. The earthly journey of Dmitry Lvovich’s body ended there. But the “informational essence” remained. The very thing people, before the age of AI, called the “soul.” And if you save up enough money, you can place an order with NeuroArt, the leader in soul restoration. “When your heart is heavy and your chest is cold,” you can talk to your father — and he will help, just as he always helped me throughout my life.
I felt calm enough to take the survey and began answering.
The last question was: “Would you like to place another order? If yes, please specify the name of the person whose informational essence you would like to recreate.”
I thought for a few seconds and typed: “Darya Sergeyevna Krymova.”
Why not? It wouldn’t hurt to talk to Mom too. She passed away two years after Dad. Maybe she’ll have something to advise as well. And I miss her, I feel it. And she probably misses me too. Oh — what am I thinking?
I’ll earn the money for that with Sasha. Hopefully.
Loading...
