UNDERGROUND

100

The nightmare disappeared into the dark corridors of the subconscious, leaving only a scream in the memory, like a pulsation of drug-blunted pain. All the senses at once let in a new reality. There was no more smell of sweat and stale underwear, the creak of sand in wet boots, dirty damp clothes, cold walls and the smell of engine oils. A clean pillowcase pleasantly cooled my left cheek, an unobtrusive breeze blew in my face, flowing from somewhere above along with the muffled voice of Nikolai Karachentsov, singing about a maple leaf. But the main thing is daylight. Yes, yes, curtains behind which are sun-drenched snowy valleys, although Pustovalov has already realized that this is just an imitation in the form of light panels.

For Pustovalov, the serenity of such awakenings, possible only in a childhood unfamiliar to him, was a curiosity. And therefore he was in no hurry, enjoying the comprehension of the sacrament, although he felt persistent pressure in the region of the bladder. M