LATENTIS

"The unconscious does not know the word 'no.' The unconscious

can do nothing but desire."

Z. Freud

Episode One. Sister

— I've heard this story!

She slammed on the brakes, pulling over onto the shoulder of the highway.

Mitya, jolting forward and then back, unbuckled his seatbelt and looked at Oksana Dmitrievna — From whom?

— My brother told it.

Mitya was silent.

— He's much older than me, by nineteen years.

— And who did he tell it about?

— About an uncle. Uncle Petya.

Mitya looked at Oksana Dmitrievna again — Mine is also Petya… Uncle Petya — he paused, remembering how the uncle told it, smiled and added — He told it funnier, of course — sighed and frowned.

— My uncle died when I was six. I never even saw him once. I only learned about him from Romka when he told me this story.

Mitya turned sharply towards her — And how long ago did your uncle die? Well, I can calculate, of course… you're about twenty-five years younger than me… — and fell silent.

Oksana smirked — How… gallant of you, Dmitry Yuryevich. I'm twenty-seven, and you're thirty years older than me… hmm, have I really aged that much?

Mitya was at a loss for words and froze in confusion.

She looked at him expectantly — You wanted to ask something, Dmitry Yuryevich?

— Pasechnik, that's your married name, what's your maiden name?

— Orlova.

Mitya relaxed and sighed with relief.

— That's my mother's maiden name, my father's is Shvetsov.

Mitya jerked and opened the door. He felt hot. He immediately slammed the door shut — Excuse me, Oksana… — he peered into the woman's face — Oksana Dmitrievna, what's your father's patronymic?

— Dmitry Ivanovich Shvetsov. He left us, that is, my mom and Romka, I was born after he left, and I only saw him three times. But he gave me money for the business. The firm was created with his money and my husband's money. Equal shares.

— Why do you ask, Dmitry Yuryevich?

"I didn't ask you to tell me all this. I only asked for your maiden name." — Mitya snapped out of his reverie and looked intently into the woman's face again — I have an uncle, my father's cousin, Dmitry Ivanovich Shvetsov, and he has a son, my second cousin, Romka.

Mitya felt hot again, and he opened the door, feeling her gaze on the back of his neck, giving him goosebumps.

— It's a coincidence — he tried to smile — it happens.

Her small chest rose and fell with her breathing, her little mouth opened slightly, her gray eyes darkened — So you… you are my second cousin?!

— It's a coincidence — Mitya tried to smile, but his lips betrayed him with a tremble — it happ…

— Such a coincidence, and with such a story, doesn't happen! — she took a deep breath and also opened her door and, with a note of resignation in her voice, finished — You are my brother!

Oksana took a cigarette, got out of the car, and lit up.

Mitya also got out and shifted from foot to foot: he had needed to pee for about half an hour but was too embarrassed to ask her to stop, hoping she would want to herself.

— Go ahead! — she looked at him with a smile, holding the cigarette between her fingers, a stream of smoke rising from it — Ah… — she took a drag and, exhaling smoke through slightly pursed lips, finished — … and then me.

It was about two hundred meters to the tree belt. Mitya went down the slope, turned around, and, not seeing her, peed. He immediately felt relieved and ran back up to the highway.

She, crushing the cigarette butt with her heel, said — I won't go down, you can't see from behind the car anyway. Just turn away and step aside.

Mitya stood, trying not to listen to what was happening behind his back, but it was the opposite. As luck would have it, not a single car on the highway, and he clearly heard the sound of streaming urine, and he had to dig his fingers painfully into the palms of his hands to restrain himself and not turn around!

The car door slammed.

Mitya turned around.

She hadn't even stepped aside: right in front of the open door, a yellowish puddle foamed and soaked into the dry soil, and he had to spread his legs wide to avoid stepping in it.

***

Two weeks ago, a woman called his cell phone and offered him a job at a consulting firm. Mitya, who had worked for three months at a firm selling gas pumps and then quit, was looking for work and agreed to go for an interview.

"Consulting" meant nothing to him, but Oksana said the firm had a job for him in his field.

Mitya was a mechanical engineer.

The firm was in a high-rise in the city center; the office was on the first floor.

Tanya, that was the girl's name, greeted him and, confirming he was there for the interview, said — Wait a little, Oksana Dmitrievna should be here soon. You can sit over there — she nodded towards a table in the corner by the window.

— Hello, are you Dmitry Yuryevich?

Mitya stood up and shook the hand of the smiling bearded man.

— Artem Alekseevich — the bearded man firmly squeezed his palm, and Mitya, belatedly, also tried to squeeze back, but the bearded man's palm, wide as a shovel and hard as a log, didn't yield.

— Oksana Dmitrievna is delayed with a client and will be in about… — he glanced at his watch — about ten, twelve minutes and asked me to tell you about our firm.

— Please, sit down — he pulled a chair from the tables pushed together in the middle of the office and also sat down — she'll tell you about the job herself.

Mitya twirled the business card, read: Artem Alekseevich Remizov, Professor at NISI, Doctor of Technical Sciences, Director of LLC "CONSULTING," and slipped it into the pocket of his T-shirt.

"How many directors do they have?" — the woman who called and invited him for the interview was also a director.

— Oksana Dmitrievna, General Director — the bearded man smiled, as if reading his mental question from a monitor screen — I want to explain what exactly our firm does. Consulting, literally translated, is consulting. Consulting in various spheres of entrepreneurship, production, and training. We provide consulting services in IT and training consulting. But the firm's activities are not limited to just consulting: we also sell software products from Autodesk, licensed — he emphasized — and provide a full range of services for supply, implementation, and technical support of software.

— Hello!

He heard the approaching shuffle of heels behind him but didn't turn around, listening to the bearded man.

A tall woman, a head taller than Mitya, young, with long light-brown hair falling over her shoulders, all as if sculpted, in a short skirt above the knees, smiled as she walked around the table.

Mitya stood up following the bearded man.

— No, no, please sit… I'll be right there — she put her purse on the windowsill and, sitting at the table and rolling her chair back to the wall, changed her shoes.

— Excuse me, Dmitry Yuryevich — she stood up and approached the bearded man — Artem Alekseevich, I persuaded the general director, he agreed to meet and discuss the terms. Take Kostya and tomorrow at 10:30 they'll be waiting for you at the checkpoint. Don't forget your passports, they'll issue temporary passes. Immediately discuss the possibility of issuing permanent passes.

The bearded man smiled, extending his hand. Mitya stood up, shook his hand, and the bearded man left.

— Excuse me again, Dmitry Yuryevich, I need to go there — and she, walking around the pushed-together tables, opened the door to the room behind the wall, went in, and closed the latch.

"The toilet?" — Mitya was surprised, sitting on the chair and looking around the office, listening. But no sounds came from the toilet.

She came out and, walking around the tables, stopped and said something in a low voice to the girl.

Mitya, sitting with his back to the window and scanning the office with his eyes, lingered on Oksana: she was standing, her long and thin, stilt-like legs spread wide.

A lustful thought stirred — "From head to toe!" — and Mitya looked away.

She sat in the chair — Did Artem Alekseevich tell you about our firm?

— Yes, but I've never done anything like that.

She nodded — I know. Here, about you — she ran her finger over a sheet of paper — I printed out your resume, it says you worked at a plant — she paused her finger — Is this a plant?

Mitya leaned closer: "a barely perceptible, bitter-smoke aroma, a thin gold ring on her ring finger, dark gray, attentive eyes, deep neckline of her blouse, small, undeveloped breasts, a bra strap on her left shoulder…" — Yes.

— What software did you work with?

— At the plant, I started with KOMPAS, and then mastered and worked in SOLIDWORKS.

— And here — she moved her finger lower, to a line underlined in black — here you write that you can work in Inventor.

— I've been working in Inventor for two years now.

— And where did you learn to work in this program?

— Taught myself — Mitya straightened up.

— Also, you wrote that you write poetry — Oksana looked up at him.

Strangely, in the chair, she seemed so petite and was looking up at him.

Later, already working at the firm, he understood why: Oksana had disproportionately long legs, and her butt seemed to transition directly into her head.

— I read your poems. I really liked them…

And again, a lustful thought stirred — "Did she also read 'Angle of Incidence'?"

— I have a young team, average age thirty. The oldest is Artem Alekseevich, he's two years younger than you. All are very good specialists in their programs, but none of them have production experience.

It was becoming clear where she was heading.

"Talented writer" — was clearly flattery.

— I suggest you try yourself as a specialist in the Inventor Professional software product.

— And what would I have to do?

— You'll develop a training course for this program, Sergey will help you, and you'll conduct training in groups recruited from enterprises. You'll take the certification exam — virtual — at Autodesk and receive a certificate giving you the right to teach the Inventor Pro course.

She looked at him.

Mitya fidgeted on the chair: he needed to ask the main question, but he hesitated.

— Oh yes, about salary; you indicated thirty-four thousand in your resume. Your salary will be thirty-four thousand.

"Fuck, I should have asked for more!" — but out loud, getting up from the chair, he said — But can I think about it?

Oksana also stood up and smiled — Of course, but I'll be disappointed if you refuse.

He was already saying "un…" when she asked another question.

— Do you write stories?

— Yes.

— I'd like to read them, but there's no link in your resume. Will you send me a link? — she pulled out a desk drawer and handed him a business card.

— On any of them.

— I can send a collection of stories, it was being prepared for print.

— I would be very grateful! — Oksana came out from behind the table and stepped towards him — And I also have a secret desire — she spoke in a lowered voice — I'd like to be the heroine of one of your stories…

Mitya was embarrassed, not knowing what to say.

— Just don't tell anyone about this — she touched his shoulder with her cold fingers — I'm waiting for the collection and your call.

***

— So, tell me! Was the trip wasted? — Tanya was standing in the hallway, apparently she was on the balcony and saw him.

— No! — Mitya took off his shoes and went into the room.

— Tell me, tell me! Where's the firm? What's it called? What's the salary? Is there a delay or not? Come on!

— Tanya — Mitya took off his pants — let's go have tea, and I'll tell you.

— Go wash your hands and put the kettle on — she followed him.

— The firm is in the center, got there in fifteen minutes, no transfers. It's called consulting…

— What's that?

— Something like trading.

Mitya didn't want to give a lengthy explanation of the term. Tanya didn't like it when he used many words. For some reason, she believed that any word unfamiliar to her, Mitya, firstly, should know, and secondly, explain its meaning using no more than two other words that didn't require additional explanation. If he exceeded the limit, Tanya would wave him off — Oh, okay, enough! You've completely forgotten how to talk.

— And what do they trade?

— Software.

— Will you be selling software?

— No, I'll be teaching how to work with this software.

— But you have no experience.

— Why do I need experience? I know the program, and that's enough.

— You haven't been able to teach me to use a computer for two years now!

Mitya silently sipped his tea. The conversation was slipping out of his control and becoming unmanageable.

— Did you ask about the salary?

— Uh-huh — Mitya took a sip of tea.

— Well, tell me, why are you dragging it out? How much!

— Thirty-four — Mitya straightened his shoulders.