Бесплатный фрагмент - A year of exchange

Chapter 1

I was immersed in my usual work concerns when suddenly the phone rang. The name of Larisa Vladimirovna Lobachevskaya appeared on the screen. She headed a Moscow charity foundation. At the very beginning of my life in the capital, she provided me with invaluable help in finding a job, and thanks to her, I found myself outside the country for the first time. She had not let me know about herself for many years, so her call came as a surprise to me.

“I’m listening,” I said.

— Yulia, this is Larisa Vladimirovna Lobachevskaya. Do you have time to talk? — she asked.

“Yes, of course,” I answered.

— Would you like to take part in an international project? — Larisa Vladimirovna asked.

“What kind of project is this?” I asked.

— The Russian Federation, together with the United States, Great Britain, China and Japan, have created innovative approaches to mastering foreign languages. A recruitment of participants for a one-year exchange program has been announced. You will go abroad, and your place will be taken by a participant from another country. There you will live, work and study the language intensively.

My heart started beating faster. The opportunity to go abroad, and on such an exciting project, seemed simply fantastic. I had been drowning in the daily routine for the last few years, and this offer was a real salvation.

“That sounds very interesting,” I replied, trying to contain my enthusiasm. “What would I have to do?”

Larisa Vladimirovna described the essence of the project in detail. Its goal was to test new methods of learning languages in real life. Participants will live and work in the host country, integrating into the language environment as much as possible.

“First, you need to fill out a questionnaire and go through an interview,” said Larisa Vladimirovna.

“If you are interested, I will send you an application, you will go through an interview, and everything will be explained to you in more detail there. I would be happy to go myself, but, unfortunately, age restrictions do not allow it. People under fifty are needed,” Lobachevskaya explained.

“Can I consult with my family and call you back in half an hour?” I asked.

“Yes, of course,” she answered.

I immediately called my mother. We worked together, but in different positions. I called her to my place and, worried, told her about Lobachevskaya’s call. At the end, I added that I would like to participate in this project.

“I don’t know how you’ll go alone,” said Mom.

“There’s an interview first, maybe they won’t hire me. Is it worth going there at all?” I asked.

“Try it, go,” Mom answered.

I called Lobachevskaya back and gave my consent. She asked me to send her the application documents by email. I sent everything that same day.

A few days later they called me and invited me for an interview. Having asked for time off from work, I came to Moscow-City with my mother.

“Hello,” I said, entering the office where three men and one woman were sitting.

“Good afternoon, come in and sit down,” one of the men replied.

Everyone was looking at me and I was scared. My feet seemed to be rooted to the floor, but I walked to the table and sat down.

— Yulia Valerievna, could you tell me a little about yourself? — the same person addressed me. It was he who had my application in front of him.

“What exactly are you interested in?” I asked.

“We are interested in everything. Tell us the story of your life,” the woman said with a friendly smile.

I began my story. They listened to me very attentively, took notes and sometimes interrupted me with questions.

“Do you have driving skills?” they asked me.

“I got my driver’s license when I was young, but I never managed to overcome my fear of driving. Besides, my license expired a long time ago, and I didn’t renew it,” I answered frankly.

— Yulia Valerievna, forgive me for asking. Do you always walk like this or is it because you are nervous? — they asked me.

— In the last few years, I have had to undergo surgery on my lower extremities, which is why I spent a lot of time with my legs immobilized. Now I have a fear of walking without support. But I do not lose hope that with time this will pass. I am actively working on solving this problem. When I do not feel fear, my gait becomes much more confident, — I explained.

“And what kind of operations were these, if it’s not a secret?” one of those present asked.

I have briefly outlined the essence of the operations carried out.

He kept making notes in his notebook, asking questions and asking for details on certain points.

“What do you know about our project?” the woman asked.

“Almost nothing,” I answered honestly.

“Have you heard about the microchip that allowed a paralyzed man to move his arm?” one of the men asked.

“Yes, they talked about it on the news,” I replied.

— Our team of specialists has already devoted a whole decade to similar research. The microprocessor we have developed is capable of influencing brain activity, stimulating the study of foreign languages, facilitating adaptation to new cultural conditions and helping to overcome phobias. In your particular case, we will not interfere with your manner of movement, but we guarantee that you will be freed from fears.

We are currently testing this chip in Russia, but the immersion in the language environment here cannot be compared to the experience gained directly in the native speaker country. Our transnational corporation unites specialists from the United States, Great Britain, Japan, and China, organizing exchanges between them.

For a year, you will live and work, for example, in England, while representatives of the English side will be in Russia. After this period, we will analyze the speed of your adaptation using the chip, evaluate the successes you have achieved, and track how your life has generally transformed as a result of the expansion of cognitive capabilities, they explained to me.

I listened to them, holding my breath. It was incredible and a little scary. Microchip, brain manipulation, getting rid of fears… It all seemed like science fiction, but the eyes opposite said otherwise.

“We need people who are ready to experiment, open to new things,” the woman continued.

“So first they’ll do brain surgery to install the chip?” I said, amazed.

“It’s not really an operation. Have you ever seen a piercing gun?” I was asked.

“Yes, I saw it,” I confirmed.

— So, using a device like this, we will implant a chip in you. There will be something like a stud earring behind your ear on both sides. The procedure is performed under local anesthesia. After three or four days, a program tailored to your needs is set up on the chip. The program is then adjusted once a week. After six months or a little more, the chip is completely removed, and then we observe for several months whether the skills acquired with the chip are preserved, — they explained to me.

“So, there’s a risk that after the chip is removed, I’ll forget the language I learned with it?” I asked.

— No, once acquired language skills will not disappear. Of course, upon returning home, without practice, knowledge of the language may gradually weaken. But our microimplant has a comprehensive effect, including on your stiffness associated with fear. We will study whether this feeling will return after removing the chip, if it weakens it. In general, the chip has a beneficial effect on the body, activating the brain.

In addition, it stabilizes the emotional background, reducing anxiety, which contributes to a freer expression of thoughts in a foreign language. Fear of error, fear of being misunderstood are serious barriers that the implant eliminates.

As for stiffness when moving, the mechanism is more complex. Often it is associated with subconscious associations and past negative experiences. The implant, by affecting certain areas of the brain, helps change these associations, creating new, positive ones.

After the implant is removed, we will conduct tests to assess the sustainability of the changes achieved. Our goal is not just temporary improvement, but the creation of a long-term positive effect. We are confident that due to the complex effect of the implant, you will be able to overcome fears and communicate freely in any language. We believe that in the future, this technology will help in the fight against many dangerous diseases, — the scientist answered.

— Is there a risk that the implanted chip can cause diseases? After all, this is essentially an effect on the brain. Let’s say, the development of a malignant tumor after its removal or other negative effects? — I asked.

— This is impossible. The chip, on the contrary, improves health and rejuvenates. It relieves depression, improves metabolism. Research shows that it restores damaged cells and slows down aging. Users note improved memory, concentration, and a general feeling of cheerfulness. Chronic pain goes away, sleep is normalized, and immunity is strengthened.

Of course, skeptics may say that it is too good to be true. But clinical trials confirm the effectiveness of the chip. The secret is in the unique technology. The chip emits weak electromagnetic waves that interact with cells at the quantum level, stimulating their regeneration.

The chip is absolutely safe for health. It does not contain chemicals or harmful radiation. Its action is based on the principles of bioresonance and quantum physics. The chip is easily integrated into life.

And, most importantly, believe in the power of the chip and its ability to improve your life. A positive attitude and faith in healing enhance the effect of using the chip. Discover new horizons of health and well-being with this invention! The chip itself has existed for more than twenty years. It was tested on animals for a long time. And all the animals in the experiment died of old age, not from disease. It was also tested on people. I tested it on myself more than ten years ago, and, as you can see, I am alive and well. And I get sick very rarely, with a mild cold. Although I am almost seventy years old, — said the woman.

“I thought you were a little over fifty,” I said sincerely.

She smiled and pulled out her passport from her purse, handing it to me as proof of her age. I was shocked.

I mechanically took the document, ran my eyes over the lines and indeed — the date of birth spoke for itself. It was hard to wrap my head around. The skin was smooth, without deep wrinkles, the posture was straight, the eyes were burning with some kind of inner fire.

— The results and effect of using the chip will be individual for everyone. It can be compared to academic performance at school: some grasp everything on the fly, while others find it difficult to study. The chip itself is not a magic wand that instantly changes life. If you simply implant it and hope for a miracle, for example, for sudden mastery of a foreign language, this will not happen. In any case, you will need to make an effort and study. In other words, the chip is a tool that can help, but it will not replace the need for training and practice. Its effectiveness directly depends on the activity and determination of the user. — one of the men explained to me.

“You said that if I suit you, I will be given a job in another country. Does that mean I will have to quit my current job?” I asked.

— Yes, you quit your job, and we accept you into our team. At the moment of signing the employment contract and the agreement on participation in the trial, you receive seven million rubles. Plus, you receive a monthly salary, like all employees of our company. In the country where you go, you will also receive a one-time payment. Its size depends on the country that accepts you. After employment, you will also receive a salary for the work you do there, — they explained to me.

They asked me a few more general questions and promised to call me back after the selection process was over if I was suitable. I left the office confident that I would not be selected and would not be called.

My mother and I left Moscow City in complete silence. Fragments of phrases, questions and doubts were spinning in my head. My mother was the first to break the silence.

“Well, what did they say there?” Mother exhaled impatiently as soon as we stepped outside.

I recounted the gist of the interview in detail, as if I were playing news solitaire in front of her.

“Well, what do you say? Will you take the risk? Will you dive in head first?” she asked, and there was alarm in her voice.

— Mom, I don’t know. On the one hand, it’s a chance to change my life radically, to see the world, but on the other hand, it’s the implantation of a microchip in the brain. What if something goes wrong? And then, it seems to me that they won’t approve me, — I answered, feeling anxiety creeping up again.

“And thank God if they refuse. The last thing I need is for them to pick your head,” she snapped.

I kept silent. At home I recorded a voice message for Irina, my close friend, sharing my impressions of the strange interview.

“Where are you going without me?” my friend replied with a message.

“Nowhere, I don’t think they’ll approve me,” I answered.

“Don’t rush, they might call again,” she reassured.

A sleepless night, woven from painful thoughts, squeezed all the juices out of me. Dawn found me a tired shadow, dragging myself to work.

Three days of agonizing anticipation of a call turned into disappointment. I waved my hand, letting go of the elusive hope. The unfamiliar number on the phone screen seemed like another annoying offer or a fraudulent trick.

“Hello,” I said with tired resignation.

— Yulia Valerievna, hello, this is Maxim, your exchange program supervisor. You recently had an interview with us. You are suitable for us. Our colleagues from America are ready to receive you. Considering the particularities of your health, you can take an accompanying person with you. The conditions for him/her will be completely identical to yours, — Maxim’s cheerful voice sounded in the receiver.

“Does the accompanying person also have to have health problems?” I asked.

— No, it doesn’t matter. In the exchange group there are participants with and without problems. The main thing is age and desire to participate. The accompanying person becomes a full-fledged participant, gets a job and all the required payments. He is an equal member of the team, just like you, — Maxim explained.

“Okay, but I can’t answer right away, I need to think,” I said.

— Let’s do it this way, next week on Tuesday, I’ll be expecting you at my place. If you’re not ready to cooperate, call me back before Tuesday at this phone number. If you accept our offer, come on Tuesday with a package of documents, I’ll send you the list to the email address specified in the application. Bring the same package of documents for the accompanying person on Tuesday. Copies are fine. Or come right away with the accompanying person. — the man said crisply.

“And if I don’t find an escort, can’t I go alone?” I asked anxiously.

“Accompanying is more of a privilege than a mandatory requirement,” Maxim softened.

When I hung up the phone, I was shaking with conflicting emotions. Joy was fighting with uncertainty. I dialed my mother’s number and told her everything.

“So, are you going?” she asked apprehensively.

“I would go with someone, but it’s scary alone,” I admitted.

“Of course, there is such confusion in the world now,” Mom sighed.

“But at the interview they said that their project has existed for more than ten years, and politics does not affect it in any way, it’s a global science,” I recalled the words of that woman.

“Let’s talk at home,” the mother answered evasively.

But half an hour later she came up to my office:

— Maybe it’s really worth the risk. Not everyone gets such opportunities. Who will you go with?

“I have no one to call except Ira,” I answered, confused.

“And where will she put the children and her mother?” Mom worried.

“And I’m afraid to leave you too. Especially you,” I admitted honestly.

“Nonsense, think about yourself,” she waved it off.

“You’re like little children to me,” I laughed.

In the evening I wrote to Ira:

— Well, my friend, shall we pack our bags?

“Where are we flying to?” she responded immediately.

“They called me back, they’re taking me! And I can take an escort with me. True, the escort will also be chipped,” I typed, holding my breath.

— Cool! — came the reply.

“You didn’t seem eager to let me go alone,” I teased her.

“I’m all for it, but my people will definitely be against it,” my friend sighed.

“And you tell them that you’ll earn money,” I suggested.

“So they even pay you?” she was surprised, because I had never mentioned money before.

— Yes, a one-time payment from Russia, plus a salary from the center, because I will be employed there if I agree. And in the States, they will also pay a one-time payment and pay a salary. The accompanying person will get the same, including a chip in the head, — I explained in detail.

“Not bad,” was all Ira could say.

Then we chatted for a long time about everything under the sun. I understood that she would hardly go, there was no one to leave the children and sick mother with. And she would hardly agree to the chip.

Two days passed, and I still couldn’t make a decision.

— Hi! Have you found someone to accompany you? — Ira suddenly wrote to me.

“No. I don’t even know who to ask,” I answered.

“Should I pack my suitcase?” she asked intrigued.

“Wait, what about the children, what about the mother?” I was amazed.

“Promise not to laugh,” my friend warned.

“Okay,” I answered, sensing something unusual was about to happen.

— I told my mother, at first she, like a wind-up toy, burst into a tirade. Then I shared with Alexey Vasilyevich, he was speechless from the amount announced. I offered to take the children for a year, and yesterday evening my parents said: “Maybe you really should go, we’ll somehow manage here if your mother-in-law takes the children.” I must admit, I was taken aback. And today I got a call from my mother-in-law… You should have heard her! “Irochka, of course I’ll take the children, don’t even doubt it.” And every other word — Irochka!” she sang, generously seasoning the text with saccharine emoticons.

“And the children agree?” I couldn’t believe the happiness that had befallen me.

“I explained to Nastya that you need support, she doesn’t seem to mind staying with her father if we buy an apartment in Moscow later when I earn some money,” Ira answered.

— I’ll send you a list of documents now, collect them and send them to my phone. It would be better, of course, for you to break away on Tuesday and rush to me, we could complete everything together, — I suggested.

— I’m unlikely to be let go from work. And by the way, when are you going to write your resignation? — Ira asked.

“I’ll go on Tuesday, ask everything and decide. I don’t even know when the flight is. Maybe it’s not soon,” I answered, trying in vain to calm the trembling in my chest.

By Tuesday, my friend had sent all the necessary documents. Unfortunately, she couldn’t come. Around three o’clock in the afternoon, I was already standing in front of Maxim. He, having scrupulously studied my and Ira’s papers, nodded approvingly.

“When will you bring your work books and are you ready to start work?” he suddenly asked.

“We’ll write our resignation letters tomorrow,” I replied.

“This should have been done yesterday, yesterday,” the curator grumbled.

“Who will we be registered as?” I asked, trying my best to hide my excitement.

— International Relations Manager, the entry in your work record will be exactly like this. Fifty-eight thousand will be deposited into your card every month, after taxes, of course. And after employment by the host party, you will receive a one-time reward for participating in the project, — Maxim explained, and his voice sounded confident, as if he were handing out the keys to a safe with treasures.

“Will we also be employed as managers in America?” I asked, hoping to catch at least some thread of clarity in this fog.

— Unfortunately, I don’t know that. Upon arrival, you will be met by a curator from the host country. He will help you with all the necessary paperwork and employment in the company. There, you will receive a salary for the actual work, plus a one-time payment for participation in the exchange from the host party. In the States, this is about sixty thousand dollars. Most likely, they will issue you an American card for calculating your salary and other payments. And, by the way, my advice to you: take with you two or three hundred dollars per person. Just so that you can have a bite to eat in a cafe. The Americans, of course, will not leave you hungry, but on the first day it may well be pizza or some kind of burger, — he said, as if apologizing for the possible prosaic first impressions.

“Where are we going to live there?” I blurted out a question, drowning in an ocean of uncertainty.

“You will be provided with an apartment,” came the laconic answer.

“What city will we be in?” I continued, clutching at straws.

“Bayonne, New Jersey. It’s about two hours from New York,” Maxim replied.

— Yulia Valerievna, as soon as you have your work documents in hand, please come to me immediately, — his voice rang with steel. — Time is running out, in three weeks you should already be in the States. We still have to implant a chip, learn at least basic English. And you, Yulia Valerievna, also need to restore your driving skills.

“Is it really possible to learn English and drive a car in just a couple of weeks?” I asked, feeling a wave of skepticism wash over me. “Besides, my license expired a long time ago.”

— Renewing your driver’s license is not difficult, especially since you can get it in America, and there, without a car, it’s like being without hands. Both you and Irina will have to master American roads. And with a chip, I assure you, in a couple of weeks of intensive training you will master elementary phrases and basic English. I learned Chinese this way myself. Believe me, everything is within your power. In a couple of years, such chips will be in widespread use, and this will become a very expensive pleasure. Use all the opportunities it gives you. Don’t miss the chance to use it to the maximum. Your brain will become a sponge for knowledge, absorb everything new, read, study and forget about fear. By the way, next week there is a medical examination — you need a certificate for a visa and a green card to live and work in the States, — the curator blurted out, as if he had doused me with a bucket of ice water.

“Is there no way to do this on Saturday?” I asked, hoping for at least some mercy.

“I’ll try to make arrangements with the medical center for Saturday,” Maxim promised.

When I left the curator, I was overwhelmed with confusion. Should I even agree to this exchange and drag Ira along with me? At home, I immediately called my friend and told her everything I had learned from Maxim.

“Ir, should we agree to this?” I asked, and my voice sounded like a plea for advice.

“It’s up to you. But Max is right, perhaps in a couple of years this will be a pleasure available only to the chosen few,” Ira said thoughtfully.

“Damn, I’m so scared,” I admitted, unable to hide the confusion that had overcome me.

“And interesting,” Ira added, and there was anticipation in her voice.

“Okay, in short, tomorrow we’ll write our statements at work,” I said decisively, casting aside my last doubts.

The next day, to the considerable amazement of my colleagues, I put my resignation letter on the table. My disability gave me the right to leave without working it off, but my conscience wouldn’t let me leave everything to its fate, and I devoted a week to handing over my affairs. True to his word, Maxim arranged a Saturday visit to the medical center. And so, full of quiet determination, Ira and I set off to meet the inevitable medical tests. However, only the standard set awaited us: a neurologist, an ophthalmologist, a psychologist, a therapist, and, of course, blood tests. After the therapist, we had a visa application in our hands.

The week flew by, and I found my long-awaited freedom. Ira, on the contrary, was obliged to work the required two weeks. I preferred to hide the real reason for my dismissal. The chip was installed in me, as Maxim promised. The procedure was almost painless. In the same medical center where we underwent the examination for the visa, under local anesthesia, with a tiny puncture behind the ear, the device was implanted in me. The chip was almost unnoticeable, and after a couple of hours I stopped feeling it at all. I felt great. The next day, the phone rang, inviting me to Moscow City. An English teacher was waiting for me there. I spent four hours poring over the language, and another four mastering the forgotten driving of a car. At first, the changes were barely noticeable. With the teacher, we painstakingly went through the basics: the alphabet, counting, the basics of grammar. But soon I was amazed to discover that letters and numbers flew off my tongue, like old acquaintances. Counting to a hundred and back was effortless, as if I had been doing it all my life. English grammar was conquered with extraordinary ease, words and phrases instantly etched into my memory, as if imprinted on wax. At home, I immersed myself in the world of English-language audiobooks. So far I understood only fragments of phrases, but I listened with pleasure to the melody of other people’s speech, trying to catch the slightest nuances of pronunciation. But the greatest joy awaited me in something else: I felt that it became easier for me to walk. I no longer concentrated on each step, I walked freely, without constraint and fear of falling.

A whole week passed in an instant. On Sunday morning, I went to pick up my friend with an instructor. It was a kind of test for me. My driver’s license was restored, and I drove the car myself the entire way. At first, I was very nervous, my palms were covered in sweat, but after about forty minutes this feeling disappeared. The road stretching into the horizon seemed like an endless canvas. We joked, laughed, and there was an atmosphere of carefreeness in the air. Vadim gave clear and calm instructions, instilling confidence and helping me cope with nervousness behind the wheel. A break at a gas station became a short respite in our trip. We drank coffee, had a snack and hit the road again. I felt that this experience would be an important step for me on the way to overcoming my fear of driving.

After picking up my friend, we stopped by my family for a short while to say goodbye before leaving. On the way back, Ira also tried her hand at driving. She, like me, had a license, but driving was not easy for her, and she only drove on the familiar streets of her hometown. Driving on a major highway was her debut. Our instructor Vadim, as well as Ira and I, saw this trip as the beginning of a new stage in our lives. It was Vadim who persuaded me to make this trip, having learned that my friend would have to travel from another city with luggage.

By evening we returned to Moscow, tired but in high spirits. On Monday, Ira also had a chip implanted, and the next day she began training. Now we took turns: in the morning one went to driving, the other to English, and after lunch we swapped. One day we were released early, and the three of us, with Maxim, went to the US Embassy. The interview with an officer of the American Embassy in Kyrgyzstan was held via video link — after all, the Russian consulate still did not issue visas. Maxim explained that the documents were sent to Bishkek, but in order to save us from a tiring flight, the embassy generously agreed to an online format. As if by magic, a couple of days later a diplomatic courier delivered our passports with the coveted visas to the Moscow embassy. We were called again, and the young man with a smile handed us our passports, and along with them — green cards, the keys to a new life. The plane tickets were paid for by the embassy. An attentive employee recommended choosing seats with increased comfort, at least until the transfer in Istanbul. We devoted the weekend before the flight to feverish packing, making a pilgrimage to the Sadovod boutique. “Some things” turned out to be four heavy suitcases that fell on fragile girlish shoulders. The only hope was the news from the guy from the embassy: a “special person” would meet us at the airport who would relieve us of the burden of luggage and formalities. We were given mysterious certificates stating that we had microchips implanted in our bodies. Our parents saw us off to the airport. Mom couldn’t hold back her tears, and I was holding on with all my might. My parents were reassured by two facts: my suddenly acquired confidence in movement — undoubtedly due to the chip — and the fact that we were flying with Ira. As promised, a man was waiting for us at the very entrance to the airport. The trolley with suitcases migrated into his hands. The farewell to my parents at customs was short. Less than half an hour later, we were already languishing in anticipation of boarding. Tired of waiting, we went to a café. With the meager travel money, we allowed ourselves a coffee and a croissant, deciding to save our own savings for the future. Finally, boarding was announced. Having boarded the plane, I could not stand it and burst into tears. Only now did it dawn on me that I was flying into the unknown, for a year that could change my whole life. To what and to whom would I return in a year? Ira was also crying. We did not exchange words of comfort — they were unnecessary. The lights of the night city flickered in the porthole, gradually turning into a scattering of tiny diamonds on dark velvet. Tears flowed by themselves, without requiring my control. A kaleidoscope of memories was spinning in my head: familiar faces, familiar streets, cozy evenings. All of this remained down there, and ahead was only a hazy prospect, woven from hopes and fears. A year is an eternity. Anything can happen in that time. I was afraid of change, afraid of not recognizing myself upon my return. Ira, sitting next to me, squeezed my hand, and this was the only thing that connected me with reality. Taking a deep breath, I leaned back in my chair. The year will fly by quickly, I know. You just need to believe in yourself, in your strength. You need to remember those who are waiting for our return. And then everything will definitely be fine.

During dinner, having recovered from our tears, we wolfed down potatoes with chicken breast and cabbage salad. We spent the rest of the flight watching a movie, trying to calm our anxiety. Five hours later, the plane landed in Istanbul. There, too, a “special person” was waiting for us. We were not even allowed to leave the plane until they came for us. He helped us with our luggage and through security for the flight to New York. His English was like gibberish to us. Only fragments of phrases allowed us to guess the meaning of what was said.

Imagine our amazement when we were escorted to the holy of holies — the business class lounge. Left alone with our delight, we immediately connected to the life-saving Wi-Fi network and shared our joy with our parents via video link. Time flew by in the cozy cocoon of the business lounge, and now we were invited on board. This was our first experience of flying business class, and our hearts sank with anticipation. We were especially pleased with the opportunity to recline our seat and forget ourselves for a while in the arms of Morpheus, because the long journey had only just begun.

New York greeted us with the gentle breath of early spring. We were picked up right off the plane by a caring airport employee, who led us through the maze of customs control and helped us find our luggage. Then he led us to the meeting hall and brought us to a tall, red-haired giant. His smile was shining as if he had met long-lost relatives. In broken Russian, he burst into a fiery speech, from which we understood that he was James, our curator, who could be trusted two hundred percent. Then came the parking lot and a spacious car. The road to Bayonne stretched out for a good two and a half hours. All this time, James generously shared with us stories about the area, the culture, the peculiarities of life. His Russian was as far from perfect as our English, but by combining efforts and resorting to the help of both languages, we somehow understood each other. It turned out that James, like us, was “chipped” and had only been studying Russian for a couple of weeks. He explained that the first thing we would do was stop by the research center to sign some papers and check the chip settings.

“And then we’ll go and choose a place for you to live,” James concluded.

The scientific center was located practically in the very heart of the city. They were already waiting for us there. The first to receive us was the head of the center, who spoke Russian with a slight, barely perceptible accent. He was a pleasant, slightly gray-haired man of about sixty. He bombarded me with questions about my activities in Russia, about my feelings about the chip. Ira received less attention.

“Are you friends?” Mr. Olviren suddenly asked, as he introduced himself.

“We’re cousins,” I lied, afraid that our friendship might be misinterpreted.

“I’ll think about what kind of work I can offer you, but for now you have a day off today and tomorrow. You need to rest from the road and get your life in order,” the head of the center concluded the conversation.

After our audience with Mr. Olviren, we were taken to the chip setup room. Everything there was painfully prosaic. The chip was connected to a computer using a special device, and the employee simply performed the necessary settings. The entire procedure took no more than fifteen minutes. Then we were taken to the top floor of the building, where we were given a contract to sign, prudently written in Russian and English.

Having signed all the papers, James took us to the bank, where we received the coveted cards. Each of them had the sum of five hundred dollars on it.

“This is for the first time, for food and settling in,” James explained, as if reading our thoughts.

Then the housing saga began. America greeted us with its idea of comfort: residential areas, comfortably located far from the bustling center. After driving for about twenty minutes, we found ourselves in one of these complexes — a world of two- and three-story houses, each of which kept its own stories.

“You’re lucky, you’re one of the first new arrivals,” James smiled, “so let’s see everything before we make a choice.”

The first thing he did was take us to the nearest house. The doorbell rang. A Japanese woman opened the door, her face expressing mild surprise. James exchanged a few phrases in Japanese with her, and we entered. The house turned out to be spacious, with six bedrooms, but the air was filled with a suffocating smell — it seemed as if a whole plantation of some herbs were being cooked in a saucepan on the stove.

“What other options are there?” Ira couldn’t resist, pinching her nose.

We quickly retreated into the fresh air.

James led us further down the street, and soon we were climbing the stairs to the second floor of another house. The key turned in the lock, and we found ourselves in a small but cozy apartment. A kitchen-living room, a modest bedroom with two beds and a combined bathroom — everything was sparkling with fresh repairs.

“I like it here,” I said quietly, feeling the tension ease a little.

Ira was silent, and I saw James sneaking glances at her. The long journey and the change in time zones were taking their toll. It was deep night in Moscow now, and only about five in the evening in Bayonne. We had managed to call our parents at the airport, reassuring them.

“There’s another option worth looking into,” James suggested, as if sensing our hesitation.

We walked out onto the street and turned the corner. A street lined with townhouses that looked like they had come straight out of an American movie opened up before us.

“Just like in the movies,” Ira joked, and the corners of her lips twitched in a weak smile.

James smiled widely. We approached one of the houses and went up to a small porch. As we entered, we smelled the smell of a long-abandoned house. The cold penetrated to the bones — the heating was apparently turned off. We found ourselves in a cozy living room, smoothly flowing into the kitchen. The stairs led to the second floor, where there were two small bedrooms and a bathroom. For the convenience of guests, there was a toilet on the first floor. It seemed that time had stood still here, leaving only echoes of the past. We began to examine the house in more detail. In the bedrooms there were wrought-iron beds covered with knitted blankets. In the bathroom there was a cast-iron bathtub, evoking nostalgia for a bygone era.

Despite its abandonment, the house had a special atmosphere. It seemed to be waiting for someone to breathe new life into it, fill it with laughter and warmth.

But the main surprise was a small but real fireplace, which promised evenings full of warmth and coziness. “The fireplace will definitely become the center of attraction for us,” I thought.

“Is the fireplace working?” Ira asked, looking around the massive portal, gaping with a black void.

“I’ll bring some firewood by the weekend, then we’ll see if the fire’s still alive in its belly,” James said, throwing open the door to the back yard. “We can have a barbecue here.”

“It’s chilly in here,” I shivered. The wind, like an uninvited guest, burst into the house, causing goosebumps to run across my skin.

— Oh, that’s no problem! I’ll be right back, — James grabbed the phone, hopefully, as if he was afraid we’d change our minds. — I’ll call now to turn everything on. You’ll stay, right?

We exchanged glances, and Ira nodded almost imperceptibly. James immediately started chattering into the phone, and about ten minutes later two men entered the house. They busily set to work: they clicked switches, the pumps began to hum, and water began to run through the pipes. Having made sure that everything was in order, they also silently left. We asked our red-haired guide to help us order dinner. He willingly helped, then carried the suitcases into the bedrooms and, having said goodbye until the morning, disappeared.

While we were waiting for the order, we began to inspect the house. Time had left its mark on it: dilapidated repairs, darkened furniture — everything indicated that the house had not seen the owner’s hand for a long time.

“Yeah, it could definitely use a tidy up,” I remarked, running my finger along the dusty mantelpiece.

In the basement there was a tiny room with an old washer and dryer. Directly from the kitchen there was a small garage, piled high with boxes with unknown contents. After checking the locks on all the doors, we made sure that everything was locked. Finally, dinner was delivered. But before we started eating, we went upstairs to take a shower. There was clean bed linen in the closets of both bedrooms. At least it looked clean and did not smell of anything. After making the beds, we got pajamas, towels and a bottle of cognac from the suitcases that we had brought from home. Having gone downstairs, we opened the cognac and slowly drank a little with pizza and salad. Having put the remains of food and alcohol in the refrigerator, we turned off the light and went to bed, although the clock did not yet show nine. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I fell asleep. Almost thirty-six hours without rest made themselves felt. But after a few hours I woke up. The room was pitch black. After trying in vain to fall asleep, I picked up my phone and checked the time: a quarter to four in the morning. I got up carefully and headed to the toilet, and on the way back I looked in on Ira. She was sitting on the bed, staring at the phone screen.

“Can’t sleep?” I asked.

Ira shuddered sharply.

“You scared me,” she breathed out.

“Sorry, I thought you heard me go to the toilet,” I said, embarrassed.

“I was so engrossed in reading it that I didn’t hear anything,” she replied.

— Haven’t slept for a long time?

“It’s been about twenty minutes already,” she admitted.

“It’s unlikely that sleep will have mercy on us today, this mess of time zones has confused all the cards,” I muttered, settling down next to Ira.

We lay there for an hour, immersed in quiet chatter about everything that had happened to us in the last few weeks.

“What if we get up, have some coffee and visit the garage? James said that the treasures of the old owners are there — things doomed to oblivion. If we like something, we’ll take it, the rest we’ll send to a well-deserved rest in the trash bin,” I suggested.

— Coffee? I doubt there’s any here. I think the kitchen cabinets are just filled with centuries-old dust, — Ira responded.

“I have some 3-in-1 bags stashed away, just in case,” I retorted.

After washing up, we went downstairs. There was no point in making the beds — the blankets were begging to be washed. Having boiled the kettle, we created a coffee drink and warmed up yesterday’s pizza.

“We need to stock up on supplies at the store today: washing powder, dishwasher capsules, carpet cleaner. Let’s polish it up. When we get back, we’ll do a general cleaning,” I said.

— You can’t do without a whole arsenal of cleaning products! And, you know, I would hang curtains on the windows. There are curtains, but instead of them there are some sad blinds, — Ira supported.

“I’m afraid our finances can’t afford curtains,” I sighed.

After breakfast, we went to the garage and, with much effort, turned on the light there. The boxes were small. Two were filled to the brim with unnecessary junk and broken pieces of things. We had already decided that in front of us was old trash, worthy only of the trash heap, but, having opened one of the boxes, we found curtains that once decorated the windows of this house. Frayed and torn in places, they could still be saved — mended and washed. In the next box we found dishes, also not the first freshness. But, having sorted through them, we selected plates and cups without chips and cracks, deciding to keep them for ourselves. In the last box rested old newspapers. But, having pulled out all the contents, at the very bottom we found a beautiful photo album. There were almost no photos left, but it was a pity to throw away the album.

— Let’s get rid of the old photos and turn it into our joint album of life here? We’ll take pictures now in the house, then — when we wash and clean everything, and so on. We’ll take pictures for a year, and then print the photos and paste them into the album. When we return to Russia, we’ll show it to our relatives. It will be a memory, — I suggested.

We were constantly documenting our journey from Russia to Bayonne, with the goal of eventually editing a short film to send to Russia. To realize this idea, I ordered glasses with a built-in, discreet camera from a Chinese online platform. The advantage of such a camera was that it freed up our hands from the phone; we simply used the glasses one by one to film.

The initial shots, captured at the Moscow airport, were a bit blurry due to emotional farewells with parents. Then, unintentionally, the camera captured our tears already on the plane — I simply forgot to turn it off. The business class lounge in Istanbul was also captured on camera, but rather due to idleness, since the layover was very long, over five hours.

The footage also included James, who met us, the process of choosing a place to live, and finally our new house, which still needed to be put in order. By the time we arrived in Bayonne, we had accumulated a huge amount of video material. Now we had the laborious work of selecting the best moments, editing and soundtracking. We sincerely hoped that our short film would not only describe our journey, but also become a kind of greeting to those who remained in Russia.

It was a bit of a surprise, I must admit, that James brought us to a house that looked completely unprepared for occupancy. The mess that reigned there indicated this. Besides, the first place he offered us seemed much more modern and comfortable. At least it had been renovated.

“I have a feeling that this house was never intended to be occupied,” I said.

“Here at least we will live together, without any Japanese or Chinese women who are cooking up God knows what,” Ira answered.

— Yeah, and there will be something to remember when we return home in a year. I was shocked by the stench in the first house, — I remembered.

— Will we come back? I don’t like this red giant. Wherever I look, he stares at me. It’s annoying! I just want to say: “Maybe stop staring?”, — Ira muttered.

“That’s what I would have said,” I muttered.

“If only I knew how to pronounce it in English! But in Russian he’ll just smile, as if he doesn’t understand anything,” she retorted.

We burst out laughing at this phrase. We decided to take the things we had decided to keep into the house. The rest had to be put in a container and wait for a special truck. James explained that the garbage truck came every two days. All you had to do was roll the container out to the road, having first sorted the garbage into bags and boxes. When we were done with the things, we returned to the garage and put the junk back into the boxes, and the boxes into the garbage bin. Suddenly I noticed a rolled-up rug leaning against the wall. We unrolled it. It was old and faded, as if it had been storing the dust of decades.

“Should we throw it out or try to clean it and put it in the living room by the fireplace?” I asked.

“Let’s leave it for now,” her friend answered thoughtfully.

“What was wrong with the apartment we looked at after that horrible, smelly house?” I asked as we dug around in the basement.

“Well, you see, the beds there are a bit small. Of course, if there was nothing at all, it would be better there than in this huge bedbug-infested place,” she explained.

We managed to vacuum the first floor of the house. More precisely, Ira was using the vacuum cleaner, and I was dusting the cabinets and unpacking things from the suitcases. James came to pick us up around eight in the morning. He brought coffee and corn dogs in dough on a stick. Having found out the price, we paid right away.

“James, explain why the house is in such a mess, as if it was not going to be used?” I broke the silence in the car.

“This house is company property, and we really had no plans to move in anytime soon. Or at least not at first. Don’t you like it? Yes, it may not have the most modern interior, but it has all the amenities for living. I can offer you another option, but it will be a huge house with nine bedrooms. I think you two will be more comfortable living in this house. And a house is better than an apartment, there is more space in it,” James answered.

“We’re happy with everything, we just became interested,” said Ira.

We made it to the store while talking. James managed to tell us that there were twenty-eight people in our group. And that I was the only one with an escort, and that Ira and I were the most attractive of the entire group. This made us smile.