Chapter 4
9 Months
Another month of my challenging life had passed. Honestly, if I looked back at where it all started, things were going better than ever. I could control my bathroom trips, I could walk, and most importantly, my diet had expanded significantly. Finally, I was no longer being breastfed. Instead, my meals now included porridge, soups, and even fish fillets. My mother was meticulously following the guidelines from the gifted book, and I had no complaints about that.
On top of all these small pleasant changes, one major, life-changing event occurred. It’s not hard to guess what happened—it was the day. Around seven in the evening, to my great relief, my father came home from work! During dinner, he told my mother about how he had witnessed an accident on his way to work: a ZIL truck ran a red light and crashed into a brand-new Volga. I was devouring my porridge, not taking my eyes off my father, smiling the entire time. One simple word, “Papa,” had delayed him just long enough to save him from death. How glad I was that I’d said it when I did.
My mother then told my father about Latifa’s disappearance. Needless to say, she still hadn’t been found. That day, we had scoured half the city, but that little rascal managed to stay lost. I remember thinking I wouldn’t mind hearing her story about how a one-year-old girl could pull off such a feat. Still, it was painful to see her mother and imagine the suffering she must have endured over the past month.
***
It was now the second half of December, and New Year’s was fast approaching. Feeling accomplished both for my family and my own future, I allowed myself to relax. Cartoons on TV no longer seemed boring or uninteresting. Especially the ones about Transformers—they had been a favorite even in my previous childhood. I savored every bowl of porridge, every bath, every moment, without any fear, calmly awaiting my christening.
My carefree days came to an abrupt end just a couple of days before the worldwide holiday. That evening, we sat down for dinner as a family, as usual. My mother was feeding me with a spoon while discussing New Year’s plans with my father. I wasn’t paying much attention, lost in my own thoughts, until their conversation shifted to a new topic that caught my ear.
"You know," my father began, "what do you think about us buying a car in January?"
"You want to withdraw all our savings?" my mother replied cautiously.
"That’s what we’ve been saving for, isn’t it? We won’t be left penniless either way. We can get a 'Kopeika', and I’ll sell the motorcycle."
"A Kopeika? What’s that?"
"A Zhiguli. Great car. It’ll be our New Year’s gift to ourselves."
"I don’t know, darling," my mother answered, bringing another spoonful of food to my mouth, "Aren’t they planning to transfer you in February? Maybe we should move first, then buy the car?"
"What if the transfer gets delayed? You know how these things can go. Besides, we could use the car to move."
"No way, I can't handle such a long drive. We’re talking about four thousand kilometers, after all. We’ll take the train, and the car can wait."
Their conversation continued, with my father laying out his reasons for buying the car early, while my mother argued to postpone the purchase. If I could’ve joined in the discussion, I’d have sided with my mother. It really made more sense to buy the car after moving to the new place.
***
I knew where they were planning to move because, in the end, we did end up relocating there. Mom later told me the whole story. Her father lived in Ukraine and had a piece of land with two houses on it. One of the houses was kept for my family. My parents had wanted to move there for a long time, but Dad’s transfer kept getting delayed. He didn't make it to that point, and as for Mom… Well, it's still a mystery why she didn't move to my grandfather’s place right away. Maybe she couldn’t leave my father’s grave in another country so quickly, or maybe there was something else. But when the relatives finally convinced Mom to go, disaster struck. The bank froze all savings. Not just hers, but all Soviet citizens’ savings. She was stuck in Tashkent for a whole year, earning money to leave the country. It was a tough time.
And suddenly, it hit me. Mom was wrong! Wrong to persuade Dad to delay buying the car. Any idiot knew the USSR collapsed at the end of 1991. Since I was a bit smarter than an idiot, I also knew when the banks froze all deposits—it happened in January. The next month, my parents had a real chance of losing their money.
Realizing this truth, I almost choked on my porridge. Yes, this time things were looking better: Dad wasn’t dead, he was earning, and was able to support the family. But knowing what was going to happen, I couldn’t just stand by and watch the family lose their means of survival. If Dad gave in, which was looking increasingly likely, he’d end up with neither the car nor the motorcycle, and certainly no money. Just as I was thinking this, Dad shrugged and gave in.
Damn it, I needed to make him fight for his wish. Better for him to buy the car now, which could be sold later if necessary, than to end up with nothing at all. The challenge now was to come up with an incredible plan for a 9-month-old baby to make an adult man withdraw money from the bank and spend it on a car. Or at least just withdraw the money. How the hell was I going to do that?
Hour by hour, it got more complicated.
***
My first New Year in this new life mostly passed me by. After midnight, Mom put me to bed—and that was the end of the celebration. Even in prison, they let you “celebrate” until one o'clock. But I wasn’t too upset. For the past few days, my mind had been consumed with this new problem. And thinking was easier at night, in the silence.
By January 2nd, I had to admit I was stuck. Every new idea was crazier than the last, and even the somewhat decent ones were unbelievably dumb. Sometimes I wanted to just give up, grab a pen and paper, and shock Dad with a detailed letter about why he should immediately run to the bank for the money. But that could mess with their heads, so it was not an option. Talking heart-to-heart with my parents wouldn’t work either. Even if I could manage to explain things clearly, the mental blow would be too much. They might even call a priest to exorcise the “evil spirit” from me.
No, I had to stay a baby in their eyes and come up with a clever plan without giving myself away. The problem was, I wasn’t coming up with anything good. To illustrate how bad my ideas were, my best one involved faking my own kidnapping. I seriously considered creating a ransom note, cutting out letters from a newspaper and pasting them onto paper. My parents would get the letter, withdraw the money, and wait for further instructions, and then I’d pop back up at the right time. Result: money not in the bank—mission accomplished. But I’d have to pull off a disappearance like Latifa, hiding out for a few days, not even knowing if my parents followed through. Plus, Mom would go nuts, and I promised myself not to upset her.
In general, there were no reasonable or feasible ideas. I was about to explode with frustration when my dad’s visit interrupted my daydreaming on the bed. He came into the room and started dressing me in silence. Apparently, he decided to take me out for a walk, even though the weather wasn’t exactly warm. On the other hand, fresh air might do me some good; who knows, maybe a brilliant idea would come to me.
But once we got outside, Dad didn’t set me down and headed toward the garages with Mom. They were discussing inviting someone over for the evening but didn’t mention where they were headed. It clearly wasn’t just a walk. When we reached the right garage, Dad pulled out his motorcycle with a sidecar. Mom got into the sidecar with me in her arms, and Dad jumped on the bike and revved the engine.
In fifteen minutes, we arrived at an unfamiliar apartment building and stopped in the yard. The next moment, out of the entrance came… my godfather. He was Dad’s friend and coworker. I hadn’t seen him since I was a child—about twenty years ago—but I recognized him immediately by the distinctive scar on his brow and his mustache.
A bad feeling started creeping in. I’d always trusted my intuition, which once saved my life in prison. An idiot had lost a pack of cigarettes to me in a card game and decided to get revenge. He sharpened a shank and sneaked up behind me. I sensed something wrong and turned just in time to avoid the blow. The shank ended up in his leg instead of my kidney, and he decided not to mess with me again.
My intuition didn’t let me down this time either. When my parents and godfather circled the building with me, I saw a church in the distance. Then it all became clear. My end was near; we were in deep trouble.
At the church, my godmother was already waiting for us, wearing a headscarf. I never really noticed how sweet and pretty she looked. I hadn’t seen her in years, and then, when I was twenty-six, she went on vacation, and the plane crashed. Everyone on board died. Or rather, they would die, because no one would stop it.
I wasn’t afraid of what was going to happen and accepted the rules of the game. There was a time when I came to terms with my fate, believing I had accomplished what I was reborn to do: save my dad, fix my destiny, and there was no need to stick around.
But damn it, everything changed! I wasn’t ready, not now! I had a mission, unfinished business, and my parents deserved a better life than the one that awaited them. Only I could provide that.
When my godmother took me in her arms, I started resisting. I wriggled, screamed, and flailed my arms. My parents tried to calm me down, but I wasn’t giving up. Forget pride, it was time to show what a real baby looked like. The priority was, no matter what, to postpone the christening. But my godmother held me tightly, turned, and walked into the church, leaving my parents behind.
Inside, the priest was already waiting for us and quickly took me over, starting the ritual. I wriggled as much as I could, but he held me firmly and began reciting the prayers.
“…bless this oil with the power, action, and inspiration of Your Holy Spirit…”
They say that before death, your whole life flashes before your eyes. I didn’t experience any of that. All I felt was rage! It seemed so unfair that I got a chance to relive my life and it was all ending so fast. I realized too late the privilege I had; I had complained about my situation most of the time, but it turned out it was not a curse but a gift from above! I could influence my destiny, make changes in situations I knew from my past life. I had what no one else had—knowledge! And now they wanted to take it all away from me.
“…and of Your Good and Life-Giving Spirit, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages…”
The priest held me firmly with one hand and poured water on my forehead, chest, ears, arms, and legs with the other. I screamed like a banshee, but it was all in vain. He picked me up with both hands and brought me to the bowl of water, intending to dip me. I grabbed the edges of the bowl with all my limbs, but I didn’t have the strength to resist an adult.
“The servant of God, Leonas, is baptized in the name of the Father…” – he dipped me in the water.
“Please rise and welcome the Supreme Judge of all that exists…”
I frantically turned my head searching for the owner of the voice that seemed to be whispering directly in my ear. But there was no one around except for the priest and my godparents.
“…and of the Son…” – the priest dipped me in the water again.
“…as well as the higher powers chosen for this session by the great and almighty…”
Panic engulfed me. I clearly heard voices but couldn’t figure out where they were coming from. Was this what death was like?
“…and of the Holy Spirit…” – the priest dipped me in the water for the third time.
“…let the righteous judgment begin.”
I wasn’t an expert, but it clearly seemed to me that my soul was leaving my body. No one was touching me anymore, or dipping me anywhere. I just opened my eyes and saw, below, the priest holding a one-year-old child over the bowl of water. I saw my godparents peacefully waiting for the end of the christening. I was rising higher and felt an unusual lightness. The visibility gradually faded, covered by a misty veil until it dissolved into a bright white light. From the beyond, the priest’s voice echoed to me:
“Now and ever and unto the ages of ages. Amen.”
Chapter 5
Leo woke up, slumped over a table. He barely managed to lift his head, his eyes struggling to open, as if he was coming out of a long coma. When his vision and mind finally cleared, he stared down at his hands in disbelief. These were the hands of a grown man, a sensation he'd already given up hope of feeling again. He touched his face, running his fingers over the stubble, confirming that he was no longer a child.
Looking around, Leo quickly realized he was seated at a table in an enormous courtroom. The floor, walls, and ceiling gleamed with a bright white light, as blinding as snow on a clear day. Behind him, a crowd of spectators murmured excitedly, while to his side, a dozen figures in white robes stared at him with judgmental eyes. The jury, Leo thought, realizing this must be what awaits at the end of the line — judgment, even here.
"Order in the court," a booming, bass voice echoed from the judge's bench.
Leo turned to see a stern-looking judge in his sixties, wearing an immaculate white robe and holding a gavel. He banged it several times, but the noise in the room persisted.
"Silence!" the judge thundered, his voice shaking the room.
Instantly, the murmurs ceased, and all eyes turned toward him. The judge, his face twisted with disgust, locked his gaze on Leo.
"Leo Rutis," he began, glancing down at his papers, "yet another failure who flushed his life down the drain. A brute, a drug dealer, a thief, a murderer, and overall, a despicable human being," the judge raised his eyes again, now burning with disdain. "You didn’t accomplish a single good thing in your miserable existence."
Leo shot a venomous look back at the judge. He wasn’t proud of how his life had spiraled, but he hated when anyone pointed it out — especially with such open contempt. The judge flipped to the next page in the stack of papers and continued.
"Let the esteemed higher powers take note of some of this defendant's numerous vile actions," the judge declared.
All twelve jurors turned their eyes toward the judge in unison.
"The first recorded offense occurred on the second day of your sinful life being counted, after reaching puberty. At fourteen, you assaulted a classmate for showing interest in a girl named Alice. You broke his nose and arm, forcing the boy to quit boxing, which ultimately cost him the chance of becoming a world-renowned boxer."
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Leo remembered the incident, but he didn’t feel guilty about it. And since he had nothing left to lose, he decided he would speak his mind whenever he disagreed.
"He was harassing her!" Leo shouted. "Refused to back off when I asked nicely, and he threw the first punch!"
"Curious, considering that girl would later become your first love," the judge squinted at Leo. "Though, you ruined her life too."
Leo glared at the judge, battling the urge to jump up and beat him to death. A quick glance around the room showed security guards, burly and alert, watching him closely. He wouldn’t make it two steps from the table before they’d have him restrained.
"At fifteen, you started dealing drugs," the judge continued, "which eventually killed two people and left three others in the hospital."
"What else was I supposed to do after my mother died?"
The judge skipped ahead, turning several pages, glossing over years of Leo's sinful life.
"Age twenty-five," the judge went on. "While working at a factory, you broke into the director's office, beat a security guard within an inch of his life, cracked open a safe, and stole a significant sum of money. This theft left two hundred employees without their wages. You tried fleeing the country, but you were caught at the border."
Leo sighed in frustration. He wasn’t proud of that, but at the time, he saw no other choice. Drowning in gambling debts, the options were either to steal or die.
"Yeah, I wasn’t the model citizen, but—"
"You can be sure of one thing: Hell's already holding a spot for you," the judge quipped sarcastically, flipping through the rest of the papers. "I can only imagine the things you got up to in prison," he added, stopping at the last page.
"I did whatever I had to do to survive," Leo muttered quietly.
"And even after your release," the judge continued, "you got involved in another criminal scheme, during which you killed three people with a firearm."
"That was self-defense!" Leo retorted.
"Leo Rutis," the judge set the stack of papers containing Leo's sins aside. "Before sentencing, are you ready to repent for your actions and accept a just punishment?"
“No punishment!?” Leo shot up from his seat, his irritation exploding into rage. Every word from the judge had been like a dagger, but the final statement was the breaking point. The guards immediately tensed, though they stayed in place. “I’ve served my punishment! Five years of maximum-security prison! My whole life has been a punishment! So, shove your sentencing up your ass and get this over with!”
The jurors raised their hands one by one, making a slight twirling motion. A faint murmur rippled through the room, as if they were playing invisible musical instruments. The judge grasped his gavel, pointing it at Leo, savoring each word that followed.
“Leo Rutis, by unanimous decision of the higher powers and the will of the Almighty, I sentence you to eternal torment in the deepest pit of Hell. This sentence is to be carried out immediately. Burn in Hell!”
“Screw you!” Leo yelled. He was done. Whatever was going to happen, he didn’t care anymore.
The judge raised the gavel high, preparing to bring it down with a thunderous strike, when suddenly, the courtroom doors burst open with a resounding crash.
“STOOOOOOP!” A thin man screamed as he rushed into the hall.
The gavel hovered mere inches from the block—the final touch that would have sent Leo straight to Hell. The intruder halted by the entrance, clutching a folder in his hand. He was incredibly lean, with slicked-back hair, dressed in a white suit and slacks.
“How dare you!” the judge bellowed.
“Your honor!” the man shouted back, “Permission to approach urgently!”
“This court requires no assistance from a lawyer, Rion.”
“I have directives from the Almighty,” Rion lifted the folder slightly. “It’s ordered to be delivered to you personally, for immediate review!”
The judge hesitated for a few seconds, then reluctantly placed the gavel next to the block and nodded. Rion quickly made his way down the aisle, locking eyes with Leo for a moment before reaching the judge's bench. He handed over the folder, from which the judge retrieved a set of papers and began reading.
“You’re mocking me, Rion!?” the judge yelled, his face inches from the lawyer's.
“No, your honor, I’m not.”
“So, you’re telling me,” the judge seethed as he flung the papers onto the desk, “that this worthless piece of trash”—he jabbed a finger at Leo—“deserves something like this?”
Leo stared daggers at the judge, not breaking eye contact. Rion leaned in closer, whispering something into the judge’s ear. No one else in the room could hear what they were discussing.
"This hearing shouldn’t have happened at all," Rion whispered urgently. "He was registered in the White Archive from birth. His name is alongside the likes of Tesla, Einstein… uh… Gates. Leo’s appearance here is a monumental error. Someone failed to check the right box, and that’s why we’re in this mess. The responsible party has already been punished."
"Is there really no one else in the entire world who could do his job?" The judge’s voice dropped into a growl, bordering on fury.
"You already know the answer," Rion replied calmly. "People from the White Archive are irreplaceable. If it’s not him, then it’s no one. And that cannot happen."
"Noah wasn’t the first one asked to build the Ark," the judge said, clinging to a faint hope that his example might sway the situation.
"That’s more of an exception that proves the rule," Rion smirked slightly.
The judge closed his eyes in reluctant resignation, bowing to the higher directive. He lingered as long as he could, then straightened, took the gavel, and gazed at Leo with a distant, hollow expression.
"I’m sure we’ll meet again," he said, before slamming the gavel down with a deafening thud.
Rion quickly turned and approached Leo, leaning in close to whisper, his tone laced with a subtle warning, "Stop messing around. Everything depends on you now. Do what you must."
Chapter 6
“What am I supposed to do?” I yelled, but suddenly realized that the courtroom didn’t hear my question. I barely opened my mouth when the scene before me abruptly changed. My shout, now a mere baby babble, was heard only by my godmother, who was carrying me in her arms. She looked into my eyes and smiled sweetly:
“It’s all over, little one. Everything’s fine.”
I craned my neck as much as I could and looked around. I saw the ceiling of the church, and the next moment, the clear blue sky. My godmother carried me outside and handed me over to my overjoyed mother. It took me a few seconds to realize—
I didn’t die!
What a twist.
I hope this baptism didn’t turn me into a poet—that’s the last thing I need. But better that than being dead. And what the hell was that with the trial? Did I almost go to hell? Or was my brain, in a state of shock, conjuring up that bizarre scenario?
Let’s assume the worst. Heaven and hell exist, because the trial felt way too real. More real than those dreams you wake up from thinking they were so realistic. In that case, I could be engulfed in flames right now if that skinny guy hadn’t shown up just in time.
Funny, but we’re only assuming.
"Do what you must." Hmm. That could’ve been said by either the skinny guy or my own subconscious. No specifics, and honestly, nothing I didn’t already know. The judge listed my sins, but my subconscious could’ve done that too. Man, I just don’t believe in this deity nonsense.
Suddenly, I thought of Latifa. Maybe she shouldn’t have run away. I mean, I didn’t vanish after the baptism. What if she’d stayed? On the other hand, our situations were different. She was stuck in a body that wasn’t hers.
Okay, fine. It’s easier to believe someone up in the sky is controlling us when you remember that after 2020, I was suddenly sent back to 1990. I didn’t put myself back into childhood. But if Latifa had her own solid theory about her case, what about me? Why was I sent back? To "do what I must"? Interesting… and what exactly is that?
Save my parents!
Damn it… um, no, wait, don’t! I’ve got unfinished business! Very soon, my parents might lose their savings. That’s probably not what the skinny guy was hinting at, but saving them is my top priority right now. I’ll use all my toddler strength and every spare moment, but I’ll figure out how to make Dad pull the money out of the bank. I came back from the dead… allegedly… and now nothing will stop me from creating a new future.
I’ve got this!
10 months later
I don’t got this. Things are an absolute mess.
As soon as my parents brought me home after the baptism, I started working on my plan. And now, two weeks later, I’ve got nothing. Zero progress. Nada.
Even those guys in the sky, if they exist, can’t say I didn’t try. I started my preparation by learning new words. “Papa” and “Mama” came out easily, followed by the brilliant word “gimme.” By the way, thanks to this word, I could practically choose my food whenever I wanted. Within reason, of course. When my dad was drinking beer in front of the TV and I yelled “gimme,” he just laughed. But when Mom tried to feed me that gross oatmeal, and I resisted, pointing at the fruit and saying “gimme,” she whipped up a very acceptable fruit puree for dinner.
The next word I picked to learn was “car.” I nailed that one pretty fast. Even though what my parents heard sounded more like “саy,” they knew exactly what I meant. I didn’t choose this word randomly. It was the key to executing my not-so-genius plan—a mental assault, if you will. Not on my brain, but on theirs.
“Саy” became the most frequently spoken word of the last week. It started my mornings and echoed through the house before bed. When Dad picked me up, he heard nothing but “саy.” A hundred times in a row. I’d only go silent when my mouth got too dry. But as soon as I drank some water, “саy” returned.
One day at home, I grabbed a toy car and a toy motorcycle, waited for my dad to appear, and put on a little show. The motorcycle in my hands was calmly cruising down the road, when out of nowhere, the car crashed into it, sending the bike flying to the other corner of the room. Proudly, I held up the car to my dad and shouted, "Cаy!"
The scene was meant to subtly suggest that a motorcycle wasn’t the safest mode of transport compared to a car.
On another day, during a walk with my parents, I spotted our neighbor pulling up in his old "Kopeika" (a classic Soviet car) near the entrance to the building. While he was busy rummaging through the trunk, I bolted towards his car. The neighbor had left the door open, and I seized the opportunity. Before my dad could reach me, I was already sitting behind the wheel, yelling, "Cаy!"
No matter how hard I tried, none of my brain attacks seemed to work. But I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. As much as I was sick of saying that word, I knew what was at stake.
One evening, I walked up to my dad, holding his savings book in my hands. I handed it to him and said... well, you guessed it, that same word.
"How did you even get this?" My dad was shocked as he grabbed the book from me.
" Cаy!" I shouted again.
He glanced at my mom.
"Hey, do you think Leonas is actually hinting that it's time for us to buy a car?"
No way, I thought. Progress! Could it be that all my efforts were finally paying off?
"Nice try," my mom said, unimpressed. "You taught him that word just so he could annoy me into agreeing to get a car?"
"I didn't teach him anything," my dad protested.
"Sure, he just learned it on his own. Not happening. We’ll get a car after we move."
I was so furious at my failure that I yelled, "Shit!"
But what came out was "Hit!" My parents stared at me, their eyes wide in shock.
"What did he just say?" my mom asked, alarmed.
"Uh… gimme... Mama..." I stammered, trying to cover my slip-up.
My parents calmed down after that, but I didn’t. The assault had failed, and continuing seemed pointless. Two weeks wasted!
I started to panic when, a few days ago, the finance minister announced on TV that there were no plans for any monetary reforms. That very announcement was supposed to trigger the reform, which would quickly fail. That meant my parents were just days away from losing everything—less than a week, to be precise.
I kept thinking. Every day, I begged to go outside, despite the chilly January weather (8°C). Walking in the fresh air helped me think more clearly. And yet, no good ideas were coming to me.
On what was essentially the last Sunday for everyone’s bank accounts, I took my parents out for another walk. While they watched me from a bench, I played with a stick, poking at the ground, pretending to be busy. Not far from me, two little girls, barely a year old, were having what seemed like a very serious conversation. They took turns babbling to each other, waving their arms around with great enthusiasm.
Watching them for a while, I lost my train of thought. Their chatter was distracting. It’s true what they say—women start gossiping from a very young age. I thought to myself, if I were a regular child, I’d probably understand what they were talking about. But instead, I could only guess and make up dialogue for them in my head. That’s what I did to entertain myself and take a break from all the overthinking.
“I was sitting on the potty once, and out came this huge thing!” said the chubby girl in the pink hat, spreading her arms wide.
“What are they feeding you? You're gonna end up with a massive butt,” said the girl in the blue hat, pointing down, though I imagined she was talking about her butt.
“I had six chicken legs for breakfast. Hopefully, it all goes to my chest,” the chubby girl poked her friend in the chest.
“I only had boiled water for breakfast. When I grow up, I’ll be slim. I’ll become a model.”
“Or a prostitute.”
“They both pay well.”
“I’ll work at a slaughterhouse, killing cows and eating them.”
“Great plans.”
Finally, their conversation ended. The chubby girl then noticed the stick I was holding. She ran over, snatched it from my hand, and started playing with it. How inappropriate that might have sounded if we weren’t kids.
The girl in the blue hat ran off to her father, who was sitting on a bench, talking to another man. Both looked to be in their thirties. I overheard their conversation.
“My advice—convert everything to foreign currency,” said one to the other, who I later found out was named Rustam. “I don’t trust the bank at all. I withdrew everything and exchanged it. I’ve got a feeling this system’s going to collapse soon.”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” replied the father of the chubby girl confidently. “And how would I even exchange it? I’m not going to America. The bank won’t just convert it for no reason.”
Ah, the Soviet Union, where they only allowed currency exchange for those traveling abroad.
“That’s what the black market’s for. I’ve got a couple of contacts, I could hook you up,” Rustam said, glancing around just to make sure no one overheard.
“No thanks. That’s all illegal, and I don’t need any of it. The ruble isn’t going anywhere. It’s always been stronger than foreign currency,” replied the chubby girl’s father confidently.
Sure, I thought to myself, naive as ever. And Rustam, as if reading my thoughts, continued, “You’re naive. The country’s going to hell. I’ve talked to people who know their stuff, and they say we’re heading straight into a crisis. While the ruble still holds some value, you should be ditching it. I don’t regret getting out of here and heading to America one bit.”
Rustam was a smart guy—he was making sense. If only my parents could think like him. I’d have loved to tip them off, but I had no idea how to convince my dad just to withdraw his money, let alone exchange it for foreign currency. He’s the typical military type—upright, responsible, law-abiding. He could’ve raised me well in my previous life. Maybe he still could in this one?
“So, have you found a buyer for your ‘Kopeika’ yet?” asked the chubby girl’s father, nodding toward Rustam’s white VAZ 2101.
“If only! I’m running out of time before the move, and I’ve even lowered the price to five and a half. Seems like everyone either already has a car or no money. You don’t need a second one, do you?”
I stopped paying attention to their conversation as my gaze fixed on Rustam’s “Kopeika.” It looked like it just rolled off the factory line—new and shiny. What if my parents were interested in the low price and bought it? It could be a way to save most of their money.
Just as this thought hit me, my parents stood up from the bench.
“Leonas,” my father’s voice called from behind.
I turned around to see him walking toward me. My parents were wrapping up the walk. I froze in place, torn. If I didn’t act right now, I wouldn’t get another chance. With no better ideas, I made my move.
Instead of running toward my dad, I bolted in the opposite direction—straight toward Rustam.
“Leonas!” my dad yelled, taking off after me. I darted across the short distance and grabbed onto Rustam’s leg, shouting, “Cay, cay, cay, cay, cay!”
How else was I supposed to connect the seller with the potential buyer when I was only ten months old?
My dad tried to pry me off Rustam’s leg while apologizing profusely. Rustam seemed amused by the whole scene. Finally, my dad managed to detach me and scoop me into his arms. I grabbed his cheeks with both hands, trying to turn his face toward the car for sale.
“CAAAAAAY!”
“Sorry about this,” Dad said to Rustam again, “He’s obsessed with that word. We have no idea how he even learned it.”
“Maybe he’s destined to be a race car driver,” Rustam grinned.
“Maybe,” my dad replied with a chuckle.
He started to walk away, and I grabbed his cheek with one hand while pointing at the Kopeika with the other.
“Papa, cay!” I pleaded desperately.
“Yeah, we’ll have one like that soon,” my dad said dismissively.
“Sure you will,” I thought with disappointment. If he didn’t want to listen to the sage advice of his ten-month-old son, it would be his loss. Someday, when I’m older and they tell me how the evil government wiped out their savings, I’ll remind him of this very moment.
“Excuse me, are you planning to buy a car?” Rustam called after my dad, snapping me out of my thoughts. I couldn’t believe my ears—did he actually ask that? My dad turned around.
“Yes, hopefully next month, if all goes well,” he replied.
“I’m selling mine, right over there,” Rustam said, pointing to his Kopeika. “I bought it just a month ago for seven thousand, but since I’m moving to America for good, I’ll let it go for five and a half if you can decide within the next six days.”
I looked at my dad hopefully and saw the thoughtful expression on his face. A good sign. But then my mom walked over.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“This guy’s selling his car,” Dad began, glancing at the Kopeika. “He’s asking five and a half.”
“Rustam,” the man introduced himself, pointing to the entrance of our building. “I live in the first entrance. The car’s in perfect condition, all the paperwork’s in order, and—”
“Sorry,” Mom cut him off, “we’re planning to move next month and thought we’d buy a car once we’re settled.”
“Mama!” I shouted. I was practically ready to add, “What the hell?” It’s a strange feeling when your own mother regularly tries to sabotage every plan to secure her future.
“We’ll go home and have some food soon,” Mom responded, likely assuming my outburst was from hunger.
“Cay!” I yelled again. No, I don’t want food! I want you to buy this damn car!
My parents turned to head back toward the building, but to my delight, Rustam wasn’t ready to give up so easily.
“I’ll let it go for five flat.”
Mom started to politely decline, but Dad interrupted her mid-sentence.
“Listen, we won’t get a car like this for less than seven anywhere else.”
“You’re a young family, raising a child,” Rustam continued his pitch. “You’ll need the money for other things. Why overpay?”
“You were worried we’d blow all our savings,” Dad added, “but this way, we’d have plenty left over.”
Mom hesitated.
“How long have you had it?” she asked.
“It’s just a month old,” Rustam said, sensing victory. “I got it through a special deal. You won’t find a newer or cheaper one anywhere.”
In these times, cars were practically nonexistent in regular sales. To buy one, you had to go to a dealership and get in line—a line that hardly ever moved. The only way to get a brand-new car was through good connections. So, people often turned to reselling, sometimes even paying more for used ones than for new models. Rustam's words rang true.
When my parents exchanged glances, I realized they had come to the same conclusion. This was it. Success! I had actually pulled it off! All I needed was that final confirmation of my hunch. The next second, Dad provided it.
“What if I swing by in about an hour to check the paperwork?” he asked Rustam.