***
The past week had been especially gruelling: my wife had fallen ill and was hospitalised, work had consumed every free moment, and money was running out. That evening, having sorted out all matters and visited my wife, I walked along the cooling street, thinking about the distant future. In moments like these, I always do this, and somehow, many things resolve themselves on their own.
The stubble scraped against the collar of my coat; I didn’t feel like going back to the empty apartment. I stopped by a beer hall to sit with a mug of dark, thick brew and give myself over to my thoughts.
It sometimes happens that someone entirely unremarkable, who gives no sign of himself, eventually draws attention precisely because of his inconspicuousness. Apparently, that’s how I caught the eye of an elderly, respectable man sitting two tables away from me. He was looking at me and smiling faintly. When our eyes met, he smiled more broadly, then slowly pushed the free chairs under the table and moved over to join me.
“A strange fellow. Wonder what sermon he’s about to deliver?” flashed through my mind as he clattered the furniture.
“You must forgive me for intruding,” he began, placing his hat on the table before him. “I just wanted to tell you: everything will be all right.”
“Quite a bold statement,” I replied darkly, looking away. To avoid meeting his eyes, I took a long gulp. Something told me it wasn’t that simple, so I decided to take a stance of silent denial.
“Believe me, my friend. I do hope you haven’t lost that ability,” the stranger said with a faint smile.
I finished my beer. He took a cigarette from an expensive-looking pack and began to speak — quietly, slowly, as if tasting each word on his tongue before letting it out. All the while, he was looking somewhere right through me. And strangely, I felt no pressure, no sense of danger from him. I was aware that I could stand up and leave, and then this grey evening would finally blacken, like the screen of a switched-off television. But I stayed and listened, watching how strangely his lips moved, how the bluish smoke, drifting from them, began to live its own life. The man who had joined me began to speak:
“More than thirty years ago, I was a very high-ranking official. Extremely prominent, widely known. I could influence the fate of our country, and through it — the fate of the world. But the point is — I could. I see you’ve recognised me. Yes, I’m that unfortunate president whose career ended almost as soon as it began. A few weeks after I took office, a young man got into my office — got in, I say, because simply walking in was impossible; to this day, I still don’t know how he managed it. Well then, into my office got in a young man of the most ordinary appearance. Yet his proposal was anything but ordinary. You remember the state our country was in back then — war raging in the south, living standards plummeting, crime running rampant... This young man told me straight that he could resolve many of the nation’s problems by sheer force of will, but had no right to do so. I, however, as the people’s elected leader, was obliged to act. He proposed that I make a public statement declaring that the war would soon end, that life in the country would stabilise and gradually improve. And if I made that declaration, he would make it real, with just a flick of his fingers in the air! At the time, it sounded like provocation... To influence the fates of people, to shape the course of events in society, bypassing all natural mechanisms of governance! Utter fantasy! Madness… And yet — a dream. For a moment, I felt as if I’d stepped into a session with a medieval mystic. But tell me, how would you have responded to such a proposal?” asked me my unexpected storyteller.
I confess, only then did I catch myself listening with my mouth slightly open. The disbelief that had first arisen in me had vanished without a trace.
He answered for me:
“Naturally, I demanded proof from this fantasist. To which he replied that, if he so desired, within ten minutes he could become a dictator and unleash such horrors that the Sphinx itself would break out in a cold sweat from sheer terror! But as for me, I’d simply have to believe him on his word.”
A silence fell in the story, and I realised my companion found it unpleasant to recall what came next. He took another cigarette from his pack, gently squeezed and rolled it between his fingers, as if testing it, then continued:
“I stood my ground, and then that man simply turned on the television. A popular entertainment show was abruptly interrupted by a news bulletin. On screen flashed footage of an ambulance, paramedics carrying a stretcher. And on the stretcher, under the mask, I recognised myself, can you imagine? Me! The voiceover announced that the new president had been rushed to intensive care with a severe heart attack... Can you even grasp how that felt? And this odd fellow calmly told me: “Viewers deserve accurate information.” That’s all! I came to twenty-four hours later in hospital. They say I was found lying unconscious in my office, right in front of the TV.”
He fell silent.
Shaking off my numbness, I asked:
“What made you tell me all this?”
“After that incident, I became a different man. I understood much and stepped down from power.”
“But what does it have to do with me?”
“Nothing at all. You looked troubled and deep in thought. But everything will sort itself out. And everything will be all right. I know. Believe me on my word, without proof.”
He gave a faint smile, stood up, and turned his hat slowly in his hands.
“Just wished you good luck,” he said and walked out.
"Really, there’s nothing simpler than that," I thought. Watching the last glow of his cigarette fade, I pushed open the cold glass door and stepped into the street. Life went on. I was walking home, and in the rhythm of my steps, I heard it:
“Wish you luck, wish you luck, wish you luck.”
