“Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under”
The sudden call from “Hermitage Museum” 1 distracted my sleep. The nasty voice of an old woman talked about my resume for the job of a security guard.
“Finally, someone is hiring me,” I thought.
She said to be ready to work tonight.
Within seconds after the call, I grabbed my fur coat, put it on my naked body and went on the balcony of my old apartment to smoke cigarettes. At that moment, the view of a snowy Saint-Petersburg was the only thing that warmed my soul. I checked my phone, the date was December 3, 2014, and realized I was going to turn 39 in exactly one week…
The agenda of the day was to see my old good friend, Dmitriy Rudovskiy, who has recently arrived from Moscow. We have known each other for long 15 years. I respect and love him like my brother. He, actually, used to be a security worker in the same museum, and thanks to his recommendation, I applied to this job.
On the way out of my home, I looked in the mirror and saw a European-looking handsome brown face with tired grey eyes, a big nose and black hair. I briskly remembered my struggles with self-acceptance in high school, where every single boy looked like Ken doll, while my appearance bore the resemblance with Stalin’s.
It was about -30 degrees outside; my cheeks froze, became reddish, and I looked like some cheap Matryoshka2 from a street store. I met Dmitry in front of the Winter Palace3, once the official residence of Russian monarchs, now just an attraction for tourists. Seeing and talking to a close friend is always an extremely pleasant experience. Before I left to fulfill duties of my new job, Dmitry said
“You will enjoy working there, Alexandr”
We said goodbyes. I stepped off the sidewalk to cross the road and went straight to the Imperial Gates of Hermitage Museum. Every time I passed through the old-fashioned buildings of Saint-Petersburg, I could not stop imagining myself living in the 18th century, at a time when Peter the Great founded this incredible city.
By the entrance to the museum, the old lady with deep wrinkles near her eyes and mouth welcomed me above the blue arched door:
“Are you Aleksandr,” she said aggressively.
“Yes, babushka3, it’s me” I replied.
She introduced herself as Tatiana Nikolaevna and, as an ex-guard of Hermitage, explained everything I needed to know in detail. She went out of the building and I could see her silhouette getting less visible after every step she took. Unexpectedly, my curiosity got the better of me. I ran to the exit, to the huge beautiful stairs of the Palace, and loudly screamed the question:
“What pushed you to quit this job, madam?”.
The icy wind made my teeth chatter. Tatiana turned around and peered into my grey eyes as she was trying to warn me about something. A tear was falling down her frozen cheek. My spine tingled.
I went inside and started doing what I had to do. I put on my uniform, yet it was huge for my skinny body. I started to walk around the building. The whole castle was empty, which made me feel like an owner of that big treasure. The high golden ceilings of the Hermitage halls were fully drawn with images of cute little angels. Within few minutes, I was fully surrounded by Romanovs’ exhibitions. My legs led me downstairs, to the second floor. When I got there, I was back to the Romanov’s exhibitions, again.
I ran again and again with a hope that it is just an atrocious dream, but nothing changed. Every time I tried to leave Romanov’s room, somehow I kept ending up there. Suddenly, I got an anonymous note saying, “You deserve it, DR”
Confused, I silently stayed still, looking at the note, somehow trying to make logical links of everything that is happening. Then, when I realized that DR stands for Dmitriy Rudovskiy, suddenly, a disgustingly strong masculine voice screamed out of nowhere,
“LEAVE”.
I ran wherever my eyes led me, trying to find a hidden place. The scream was so loud; my ears were beeping. After moving few meters, trying to escape, a ghost with imperialistic torn custom appeared right in front of me. He had accurate facial features, brown hair, a gigantic beard and sea-blue eyes.
I could feel how my face became pale, my heart pounded like a drum and the blood actively started circulating throughout my whole body. I lied down on the shiny floor, closed my face with hands, and started begging it to keep me alive. He was like a vapor, half-invisible. I could not believe in what I saw.
Within the next minute, the familiar black leather shoes approached my head. Dmitriy stepped on me with his one leg as if I was a soccer ball. I looked into his eyes that fired with furious flame and asked,
“Why? How? What is happening”, crying, confused and scared.
He laughed and said,
“That is for Anastasia. She deserves me, not you”
I could not comprehend what Dmitry has shouted whatsoever. While I was processing the absurd I just heard, the bearded man with elegant clothes, serious face and blue eyes from pictures that I had seen in history books and museums cut my head off. My round-shaped skull, covered with black hair, rolled over the stairs. Dmitriy Rudovskiy — my buddy, best friend, compatriot — had killed me because a girl, that he has a crush on, turned out to be my wife.
