Ian's Perception Read online

  Ian’s Perception

  Ilyas Shy Sultanov

  Copyright © 2018 by Ilyas Shysultanov

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

  stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means

  electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Cover designed by Li Aladin

  Translated by Crystal Tarasova www.littleowltranslation.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Ilyas Shy Sultanov

  Visit my website at www.ilyas-shy-sultanov.com

  Contents

  Prologue

  Through time

  New World

  Old Friend

  First Leader

  Truth

  Echo of the Past

  Salvation?

  Commune Hospitality

  Beginning of the End

  Union

  The End

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  This book would never have seen the light of day had these masters of their craft not waved their magic wands: Krystal Tarasova a professional translator who attends to the author’s demands and is simply a kind soul that has become a friend to me in this difficult task.

  Li Aladin is a talented artist, whose view of the world is largely similar to my own.

  Rebekkah, whose sharp eye and deep love for books, stories and new worlds helped make this story better.

  And, of course, my dear mother, father and sister, who gave me the opportunity to soak up essential life experience and generally made it possible for me to exist in this world.

  My beloved wife, Alfia. For me, there is no pillar stronger or more forgiving than her love. It is a blessed weapon in the struggle against life’s hardships and the darkness in my soul.

  Prologue

  “Enough! Stop!” This is what humankind would have said to world leaders and those who had lost touch with the very essence of life, if it had known what the future held. Poverty for some and wealth for others. Lust, greed, death at their brothers’ hands. Rivers, no, oceans of blood spilled over the earth. Our souls weren’t meant for this. What would come to be known as our sacred texts suggest that the appearance of humans came about due to an unsuccessful experiment. They are, in many respects, right. However, getting reliable answers is next to impossible without crossing death’s threshold, which our survival instinct, rooted somewhere in the depths of our consciousness, will not allow.

  I will wander for all eternity in the hope that this scripture reaches reasonable minds, because they are the only ones who will be able to use them to discover the truth. As a humble chronicler, I have been keeping my manuscript since the beginning of time. Now, I will take on the difficult task of narrating one of the myriad stories about the end, which will serve as our beginning.

  Through time

  Ian was having trouble making out the numbers on his wristwatch. He was seeing double and had just knocked over half of his whiskey and coke. New Year’s Eve at the club, they said... what a shit idea, Ian thought. Stepping away from their table and shimmying awkwardly back to the dance floor, the young man tried to find his new wife in the poorly lit room. Flashes of young bodies flickered all around him in time with the strobe lights. Most of them no more than twenty years old, causing Ian’s drunken mind to go off on an internal philosophical rant. Looking at these complete strangers – some intoxicated by the music, others by a harder mix of drugs and alcohol – grinding their intertwined bodies against one another, Ian concluded that the world was completely debauched. What use were all our scientific achievements and technological progress if human decency had already devolved to its basest level?

  Unable to see his wife through the darkness and smoke, Ian sat down on the go-go dancers’ platform to rest a bit. Whores, all of you, he thought as he looked at the hips of the girls on the dance floor gyrating enticingly. He was both angered and excited at the same time, which only made him angrier. Management appeared in the form of a woman in business attire, who immediately rushed over to him and requested he return to the dance floor, explaining that sitting on the stage was not allowed. Oh, fuck off! Ian thought as he rose.

  He wandered through the smoke in a daze, casting his eyes around the room for his wife, the most beloved wife in the entire world. Finally, he spotted the group they had been celebrating with. A group of five young men standing in a circle and one woman. It was she who drew his eye. Adele. She walked away from the circle of her friends and danced, enjoying the movements without reservation. The club was crowded that night and she found herself at the center of a small group of young guys shoving to get close to her. They eyed Adele with appreciation from head to toe as they watched her beautiful, sensual movements, then exchanged glances, nodding approvingly to one another. Ian stood just a few feet away. One of the more intrepid guys moved closer to her and started dancing from behind. Adele turned, apparently sensing a new dance partner and Ian thought he saw her smile at him.

  You trashy flirt! The thought exploded in Ian’s head. Something in his gut and chest clenched. He moved toward them, awkwardly clinging to the shoulders of the breathing obstacles blocking his way. When he reached Adele, he yanked her arm so forcefully that she nearly fell. Ian grabbed her by the shoulder, shaking her, and roared over the music.

  “What the fuck are you doing? We just got married and you’re already acting like a whore!” Even though he was ridiculously drunk, he somehow managed to spit it out without slurring. Or maybe it just seemed that way to him.

  Adele, shocked by her husband’s unexpected reaction, was left unable to utter a single word. She simply stood there with her eyes downcast. The guy flirting with Adele tugged at Ian’s arm. Shouting to be heard, he told Ian he hadn’t known she was here with someone and that it was no big deal, nothing had happened. Ian couldn’t make out what the guy was saying and didn’t care to ask him to repeat it. He trusted his own eyes and, as per usual when he’d had a few too many, he became belligerent. It was too late to stop himself, even if he’d wanted to. He simply had to play this out until the end. So, he clocked the unfortunate bastard, who dropped to the ground. Drunk as he was, Ian nearly tumbled after him. The guy’s friends made no move to help their buddy, just watched as Ian seized Adele’s arm and dragged her down the stairs toward the coatroom. By this point, the entire club was looking on as he spat vitriol at the girl, who could barely keep her balance on the stairs as her heels caught on the anti-slip strips.

  Once outside, Ian finally sobered, at least, to his mind, and he called a taxi. His rage had subsided, giving way to shame. Snow was falling lightly, almost floating in the air. Husband and wife stood on the cold street, alone and in complete silence, except for the sound of Adele crying softly. In a hazy sort of way, Ian could feel her misery in that moment.

  When he woke up the next day and recalled the events of the previous evening, Ian realized that he had behaved monstrously. He just knew that Adele would never let him off the hook for it and everything they had built would certainly end in divorce. With this thought, an icy wave rose in his chest, rolled down his entire body to his very toes, then swept upwards again into his stomach, where it settled in a cold, burning lump. Adele walked into the bedroom. Didn’t even glance in his direction. She simply sat on the edge of the bed and proceeded to brush her hair. Ian didn’t even know where to begin. It was impossible not to trust Adele. She had never once betrayed him over the course of their entire
relationship nor ever given him any reason to be jealous.

  “Sweetie... please... forgive me...” Ian picked at a loose thread hanging from a pillow, avoiding her gaze. “My little leaf, you know that wasn’t me. I don’t know what came over me. How can I earn your forgiveness?”

  Adele rubbed her wrist and murmured, “I’m not angry anymore. It’s just best if we don’t go to wild parties anymore. And no more whiskey. It makes you cruel... Now, my wrist hurts and I’ve got bruises.”

  Ian thought to himself that his wife was the very essence of kindness. After a visit to the bathroom, he came back to the bedroom and tried to make amends. She resisted at first, but soon warmed to his attentions. As always after a night of solid drinking, he felt a tremendous surge of energy. Lasting longer than usual, the newlyweds lay on the damp sheet, their bodies cooling, enjoying the incomparable pleasure lovers feel after experiencing a new sensation together. Still sweaty and tired, they crawled out of bed around sunset, basking all the while in the enchantment of the long life together awaiting them. A late, hot dinner and a glass of chilled pale ale helped curb their riotous appetites and calm their thumping hearts. Ian felt refreshed after a shower, but by the time they were ready to go to bed, the post-hangover rolled over him. His least favorite stage after a binge.

  Damn insomnia! Ian thought. Just try a bit longer, then I’ll take a sleeping pill. Although not yet thirty, his health failed him with an annoying regularity whenever he deviated from his usual routine, even just a little. Doctors said it was caused by some kind of abnormality in his nervous system. After yesterday’s whirlwind events, the celebration to usher in 1948 and the “warm-up” party the day before, his biorhythm had gone haywire. Alcohol affected Ian in a bad way and if he drank several days in a row, he could potentially suffer a nervous breakdown followed by a bout of depression. So, he tried to avoid running into his old pal, liquor.

  “What’re you thinking about, sweetie?” Adele asked. His fidgeting and grumbling must have woken her from her dream.

  “Ah... well... just stuff.”

  “Can’t get back to sleep?” she stretched over to the lamp on the windowsill and switched on the light.

  “No, darling.”

  The soft, yellow-tinged lamplight saturated the room, creating a feeling of coziness. Decorated in pastel colors, the bedroom filled Ian with thoughts of freshness and serenity.

  A photo mural hung on the wall over their heads, a reproduction of an antique map of Akriya. In the corner, Adele had written “A heart I” with a lip pencil. The engines of passing cars rumbled outside the window, which could only be blocked by earplugs at times. But, tonight, the plastic double pane muffled the irritating noise. Ian and Adele married in mid-September, after living together for two years under the same roof as his parents. The young man had always been against the idea of marriage. In fact, he’d quailed at just the thought of having to spend an entire day on display before his bride’s unfamiliar relatives. Ah, the things we do for love.

  He rarely saw his own friends and relatives. Not that he didn’t want to see them or that they lived in particularly inaccessible places, he just generally felt uncomfortable around people. Sure, he was considered strange by usual standards, but Adele had seen in him the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. And so, Ian came to the conclusion that he must not be totally crazy. Few were as lucky in life as he had been, but his sensitivity toward most events that brought any form of stress, good or bad, turned life into endless torment. Adele worked as a loan officer at the local bank and Ian worked for the city’s electrical installation organization. Right after their wedding, his parents, claiming “it was time”, moved to an apartment on the outskirts of the city and left their cozy, three-bedroom nest in the center of Beacon – a typical metropolis, with noisy, polluted streets and rude people constantly in a rush – to the young newlyweds.

  The white, dead hands of frost strained against the window. Winter was abnormally cold this year, but the radiator flooded the room with heat and it was broiling. When her eyes had adjusted to the light, Adele turned to face her husband, throwing the light blanket aside and lying there naked. Her thick chestnut hair, with soft highlights at the ends, made Ian fall in love with his wife again and again. Alive and playful, her hazel eyes held a charming magic. She and Ian exercised regularly, so she had a figure that would make many jealous. Adele smiled kindly and, in the most tender, loving voice in the world, said, “Imagine if a tiny person were to crawl under the blanket with us right now and tell us he was too scared to sleep.”

  Ian tried to picture it and a smile slowly blossomed on his face.

  “You know... maybe you haven’t noticed, but I haven’t drunk alcohol in a year and I’ve been taking some medicine. What do you think, is it time?” Adele asked, pleased by that smile.

  “Yes, my nutlet, I think it’s time. I want this,” Ian embraced his wife. He called her “little leaf” and “nutlet” for her chestnut brown hair, but didn’t really want to call her a tree.

  “Hold on there, sweet cheeks,” Adele purred, “first we wait for the alcohol to completely leave your system. Come see me again in a couple of days and we’ll review your application.”

  “I hate bureaucracy,” Ian growled and kissed her. It wouldn’t have ended there, but he was already spent from earlier.

  “You’re thinking about the past, aren’t you? That’s why you can’t sleep. There’s a simple remedy for this problem, you know...”

  Ian unlocked the screen of his push-button phone and glanced at the time. His home screen wallpaper was a picture of the happy newlyweds. Ian had always felt that his eyes were somewhat vacant and it was a sore point whenever he saw himself in photos. Adele, though, told him that he was a paragon of manliness, that a brunette with blue eyes was a rarity and a beautiful one at that.

  “Dear, maybe let’s not? Oh, you and your remedies...” Ian didn’t much care for his wife’s metaphysical, philosophical, and esoteric nonsense, but knew already that his pleas would fall on deaf ears.

  “Just imagine you’re lying on a cold, smooth watery expanse, sucking air into your lungs and paddling with your hands and feet to keep yourself afloat. But once you stop doing one those things, you begin to sink. There’s a beach nearby – land, salvation.

  “Now, the water symbolizes your past, in which there is no truth or life, only misery... and death, of course, if you let yourself drown. The divide of water and air, where you’re trying to survive, is the present. This is the only place you can exist, albeit with hardships and loss. Land, that strip of life-saving earth you’re heading towards, that’s the future. You don’t know what awaits you when you set foot on solid soil, but you have to try for it. Whatever’s there has to be better than floundering in the water, letting the cold sap you of your energy. Don’t let yourself drown in the abyss of your memories. Move toward that brighter future with a smile on your face. The past is gone, hidden somewhere in the depths.”

  Listening to Adele’s words, Ian began to drift off. Half-asleep, he saw strange images, as if several years were passing by before his eyes. People he’d never seen before. Places he’d never visited. Wars and disasters. Then the images became completely incomprehensible and indescribable.

  ***

  Finally, tired from an apparently restless dream, Ian’s consciousness burst into reality. Lying in total darkness, he realized that he was indeed awake again and sighed in frustration. The room smelled odd. What time was it? Ian thought, feeling as if he’d been lying still for ages. His legs were stiff and he could barely raise his arms. After taking a few seconds to collect his thoughts and shake off his drowsiness, he listened more closely to what his senses were telling him. What they told him was that the surface beneath him didn’t feel anything like his bed. Gotta turn on a light. Ian pushed up from the hard, cold floor, then plopped back down. His arms wouldn’t obey. They felt like his muscles had atrophied. After several attempts, he managed to get to all fours. His head
, his whole body, in fact, ached wildly. He was incredibly thirsty. Shit! What is this, a stroke? Ian worried.

  “Adele? Adele?” The only answer was an echo, his own voice barely recognizable.

  Dread began to creep into his soul and invisible hands squeezed his throat.

  “Adele?! Hey! Anybody?” no answer, just as before, except for a dripping sound somewhere nearby giving off an echo.

  Ian began nervously sucking in air, like a fish cast ashore. His heart rate sped up and his limbs that barely obeyed before were now trembling in fear. Without the strength to stand to his full height, he crawled on all fours and groped at the space in front of his body. After pricking and cutting himself several times on sharp objects hidden in the darkness, he found something resembling a door. It felt like it was made from steel and had no handle, but there was a wheel in the center, like a hand wheel inside a submarine or ship hatch. Desperate to do anything else, Ian tried to turn the wheel, but it was apparently rusted to the point of immobility. There was just no room in his head for any other ideas. He kept at it and, finally, the mechanism gave way. A few turns, and a few seconds of awful screeching, and the door swung open. A stream of water burst into the room and swept his feet from under him. The poor man could only flounder as he grasped for something to hold while the water tossed his body from side to side, like a rag doll. Everything went dark after his head struck a third, and the strongest, blow against a hard object.

  ***

  “Hey, looks like he’s alive.”

  Ian broke into a coughing fit before he even managed to open his eyes, and when he did, he nearly howled from the burning pain.