The button

It happened at the end of August 1977... I was eighteen then. I dreamed of fame. And
I knew that it would come. It was not about a temporary ascent to some kind of
pedestal in the narrow space in which I lived at the time. Not about the applause of an
audience that forgets about you the very next day. No. I felt that I had a destiny, the
secret of which I had yet to unravel. Meanwhile, it was brewing somewhere deep
inside me, like a bean ripening in wet gauze - an experiment we did in biology class
at school. All thirty-five students germinated beans on the windowsill at home, and a
couple of weeks later brought the results to school. I remember very well that my
sprout was bigger than the others. It was a long time ago, in the sixth grade. But after
these experiments, I realised what was developing inside me and how it was
developing. And I waited patiently. So patiently that I tried not to draw attention to
myself once again - I didn't need it for now. For now.
I graduated from high school and easily entered the film department at the
screenwriting department (my exam script was better than the opuses of experienced
and much older applicants, and it was kept at the department for a long time as a
good example). When I learned about the result, I went to the mountains for a little
rest, to a tourist base at the foot of the Carpathians. Actually, it was a
"cinematographic" campsite where all my future classmates went - an announcement
about unused student vouchers hung in the lobby of the institute. We didn't know
each other well yet. We were united by the common spirit of the recent exams, during
which we all jostled together at the doors of the classrooms and loudly congratulated
each lucky student.
All this was already behind us. We arrived at the campsite gradually, without any
prior arrangements, and were overjoyed to see every familiar face. We were settled in
small wooden houses, and we immediately began to discover the territory, finding out
where the dining room, swimming pool, cinema and the nearest "silpo", which sells
cheap port wine "777", were located.
We felt like adults and experienced. We tried to communicate as casually as possible
and spoke the names of our idols through our lips. We called each other by Western
names, so I was immediately nicknamed "Dan". My roommate, accordingly, was
called Max.
Dan and Max - two cool guys, future geniuses - quickly ran to the village store and
loaded up on a few bottles of strong "ink". We drank it in a black and... childish way
from our school days - nothing more expensive than port. Frankly speaking, a little
later I regretted coming here...
The mountains were heavy blue in the far away and seemed to shimmer, wrapped in
the torn white silk of the evening haze. And I was forced to sit on a hard bed, sipping
port and listening to my mates' chatter. When we all started to feel nausea (of course,
no one complained and tried to behave with dignity), we took turns going out to "get
some air". I finally managed to escape from the smoky room and walked around the
territory on my own, no longer in a hurry.
It was a rather quiet place. Or so it seemed at the end of summer. Behind the curtains
of the cottages, a dim light flickered, some holidaymakers sat on the verandas, and
the sounds of music from a film were coming from the open "green" cinema. I think
it was "Yesenia". In general, it was a mess and desolation. Only behind the old-
fashioned white fence in the pseudo-baroque style, the shaggy black forest was
making an attractive noise, and a powerful wave of freshness and anxiety rolled over
me. It was already quite dark.
Naіve sculptures of girls with oars and other bodybuilders glowed white along the
alleys like ghosts. Almost all the benches were "toothless", and all the lanterns "were
blind". I reached the end of the alley, sat down on a bench, and took a cigarette out of
my pocket. And almost immediately I noticed a flash of red light opposite me...
If I hadn't been drunk at the time, if I hadn't been intoxicated by the euphoria of
entering a new life, nothing would have happened and nothing would have set off a
chain of events that have haunted me all my life.
But I was drunk. So I saw something... A silhouette outlined by the moonlight, which
in the pitch black looked like an empty, disembodied outline. The woman was
smoking a cigarette inserted into a long mouthpiece. She slowly brought the red
ember to her invisible lips, inhaled, and the silver smoke filled the entire outline for a
moment, as if drawing the body from the inside. And then, with the last wisp of
smoke, it, this body, melted back into the darkness.
It's bullshit!
I strained my eyes and waved my hand in front of my nose, trying to shoo the vision
away.
- What, are you scared?
The voice was hoarse, but so sensual that I felt goosebumps all over my body, as if
the woman had said something obscene (I couldn't get used to her voice even then: no
matter what she talked about - the weather, books, films, food - everything sounded
sweetly obscene, like frankness).
- No... I'm fine... – I mumbled.
The damp night and the view of the mountain peaks blackening in the distance, that
red light, and the air itself, so rich and fresh, sobered me up. I tried to see the woman
sitting across from me. But I couldn't. Apparently, even then I was completely blind
to her. This happens, for example, with mothers who are unable to really appreciate
the beauty of their children, or with an artist who thinks his latest canvas is brilliant.
- Do you also live in this boarding house?
I couldn't think of anything more idiotic! It's like asking a traveller after take-off:
"Are you also flying in this plane?" But I wanted to hear that voice again.
- Do you like it here? – I continued.
The light flashed brighter (she took a drag) and slid down (she lowered her hand).
- Do you know where I like it? – I heard (goosebumps! goosebumps!) after a
rather long pause.
The flame soared upwards and leaned back towards the forest.
- I have not been there yet... - I said. - I arrived only today...
- Weirdo! - The flame flew into the bushes and went out. There's a hole in the fence...
By the rustle of her clothes, I realised that she had stood up and taken a step towards
me.
- Give me your hand!
I reached out into the darkness and came across a cool palm. Her hand was vigorous,
not soft.
- "You're completely drunk!" she laughed.
I stood up, trying to keep straight. We were the same height. I could see a little
something more or less definite: an elongated figure, dark, possibly black, a shawl
that wrapped around her shoulders... But nothing else. I also smelled something. At
that time, I did not know the smell of expensive perfumes - they were taken out of the
shelves, my friends mostly used the stuffy "Scheherazade" or concentrated "Lily of
the Valley". And then a wave of fragrant aroma hit me - tart and dizzying. I
involuntarily gritted my teeth and squeezed her hand tighter. Obeying her, I moved
swiftly towards the dead end of the fence. There was indeed a large black hole in it,
which I did not notice at first. Without letting go of her hand, walking behind her, I
tilted my head sharply, and we found ourselves on the other side of the campsite on a
wide plain covered with tall grass. We walked, knee-deep in it. I tried again to see the
woman who was leading me by the hand as if I were a child. A long black shawl
wrapped her from head to toe, the length of her hair was incomprehensible to me - it
merged with the shawl and was obviously just as black and long. She never turned to
me. She seemed to be completely indifferent to who she was dragging behind her.
I was trying not to fall and not to fall behind, so I often looked down at my feet, and
the wild vegetation reminded me of the sea, which was rolling powerful fragrant
waves and was about to drag me to a depth from which I could not swim.
My head was spinning. Night, a thin sickle of the moon above the clouds, mountains,
goosebumps, hops, a stranger... Everything seemed like a phantasmagoria. I adored
such adventures. I had no idea what could happen next! Who is this woman? Why
and where is she taking me? How old is she, what does she look like, what does she
want?
We came to a hillside covered with trees that towered over the clearing like columns
at the entrance to a pagan temple. The gloom swallowed her again, and a special thick
smell of oleoresin wafted from the forest. The woman took me behind the fence of
the first row of large pines that began the forest and leaned her back against one of
the trees.
- It's great, isn't it?
I could barely shake it off. And looked around. Indeed, it was wonderful! It was as if
we were inside a large living organism, some kind of fabulous fish. The trees were its
twisted muscles, it breathed through the crowns, and somewhere inside, deep down,
its heart was slowly pulsating. I even heard this rhythmic, disturbing sound.
- It is alive. Can you feel it? It's not like this during the day...
She flicked the lighter, and for a moment I saw the semicircle of her cheek and the
glint of a black pupil. And then the red light danced in front of me again.
- What is your name? – I asked, thinking hard about how this strange adventure
could end.
- What does it matter? Especially now...
The light made an arc and disappeared. And I felt again that I was taken by the hand
and pulled somewhere higher. We were walking as fast as if we were running away
from a chase. I could hear her intermittent breathing. At some point, I felt
uncomfortable. The branches of the trees, which I did not have time to dodge, slapped
me from time to time.
Finally, we got even higher and stopped. Everything happened again - her merging
with the tree, the light...