Boredom

It was night. And it was a dark night. No moon bathed on the windows of a couple hundred wretched houses. No star glistened for the lovers. And no lovers waited for stars to glisten. The folk was as dead and as routined as the lonely light poles that shone at exactly 9pm, with such low dimness that the moon felt offended. In this mundane certainty a certain young man strolled on the sidestreet, and the white dim light glowed his dark hair. He looked left on the familiar five floor building, and saw dark windows everywhere, except for the fourth one.

His hands in his pocket he thought: “Artur is flying today…and he can’t sleep?..” Then he froze to the ground, and looked deep at the bright litten window. “Finally they are flying, unlike me, who can’t fly to his homeland…”

Before he stood there frozen, he had been kicking a small rough rock, but now out of sheer discomfort, he kicked it away, lost it and broke rock’s heart. In his mind, one thing still whirled: “Artur is flying…and I can’t, I only fly with my mind, but it isn’t enough.” The young man left the street fading away into darkness.

Light on the fourth floor still burned. In there, a curved back of a person faced the table. He was sitting on the chair, and was covered with a fluffy blanket. His eyelids down, he looked at the linoleum of the table, and thought: “Why can’t I sleep?”

After thirty monotone mundane minutes, he risked it, and went for his bed again.

Before his eyes saw light, his ears heard his mothers cry: “Hour left, hour left - Artur wake up! Taxi is here in an hour…Artur!”

“Let me first wake up, let me Mom!”

“We don’t have time, we don’t! Your baggage…where is my toothbrush, agh here! Did you take yours?..”

Artur leapt up, cleaned himself, wore clothes, sat on his bed and thought of his homeland. He was absent for seven years in his homeland. And it ate him within, for he didn’t know what awaited him.

Slow heavy steps got louder and his dad towered him: “So…driver is here, help with the luggage.”

Artur nodded, got up and helped with the luggage. They sat in the car with fear, and drove to Frankfurt, 100km away. In Frankfurt they checked in, waited for their zone, and after an hour entered the bird with wings and motor.

Artur didn’t wonder at all why his parents were tense and stressed, he thought: “Who would not be on a foreign soil?”

The plane carried 100 souls. Arturs dad sat first, by the oval window on the right, then his mom in the middle and then he on the edge. His dad Grisha frowned: “Wings…the worst place.”

“A place is a place honey…” His mom calmed him down.

Plane crew was grinning and showing clean teeth, like the billboards of a politician. With their grin, they stuffed down all the minds' wonders a human had, which were dark, negative, creative and uncensored. More passengers entered, sat on their seats, took a deep breath and tightened their belts. None of them yet knew what awaited them, nobody.

On his left Artur saw a lady by the window, and the seat next to her was empty. “Can they fly with empty seats?” he wondered.

His mother disturbed his wondering with: “Can you tighten the belt?”

“For you mom?”

Grisha heard and scowled: “Every god-damn time, you never learn Asya, never!” 

The nervous air, led for both of his parents into endless loud arguments, so that both sweated and many heads started turning and looking at their direction with disgustful aristocratic faces.

Another 30 minutes died on the clock, as both parties almost wanted to leave the plane. Artur crossed his hands, his eyes sharp, and brows stiffened down, he took a glance on his left, and on the empty seat, he saw an old man. The latter wore glasses and had a clean shaven wrinkled face. He looked rich and had a black walking stick with him. The handle of the stick was fused with gold and on the stick, someone's signature was carved.

An hour passed. The plane didn’t move. And with it, the wonders of mind, that is of passengers, started creating dark narratives, so that even grins and white teeth couldn’t counter back. They now could have been near clouds, reading their books, doing their homeworks, listening to Mozart’s Sonata No. 12 Adagio, or finally finding God, and praying not to crash. But unfortunately, even the air didn’t move, even the air got bored.

The pilot finally announced: “I apologize for such a long delay, but we are not capable of flying as all the servers got shut off,  so the flight is canceled, and also…the doors, they are closed shut and won’t be opened until servers turn on…I please for your patience and understanding as we are going to solve this challenge.”

What madness to witness. 

Arturs dad breathed heavily and had a tight face. His wife tried to calm him down. “Grisha, you okay, Grisha Grisha Grisha…” Oh not only her voice was loud, but the whole plane. Some mocked the crew, some said: “My wife died, I have to fly” 

Some smart-intelligent people frowned: “They are experts, you have to agree with them.” Heads from seats popped up, small buggages got rattled and grabbed. People looked left and right. Some sat still and said: “I will not go out, I will not, no no!”

What was then left of the calming grins and white teeth? 

At the peak of the nervous breakdown, Artur didn’t know where to look at, what to hear, what to believe and what to do. So he looked at the old man on his left, who read a book in deep focus. And Artur, seeing it, doubted that the man wasn’t deaf. “Old man…” Arturs voice was rough and trembling. “What are you reading?” 

Old man turned his head right and it turned out he wasn't deaf. He gave his dear attention to this young man, while wild passengers disturbed eyes, walking rapidly between the old man and Artur. “Anton Chekhov…” answered the old man. “Do you like to read?” 

Artur, almost in guilt, replied: “I don’t. I don’t know why I should.” 

The old man fixed his glasses and said: “Why you should? It’s not a problem of ‘should’. ”

Artur squeezed his eyes, wondering what the old man meant. 

The old man continued: “Your answer lies in front of you, young man.”

Artur felt betrayed. He waited for the punchline, so he asked: “Where?” and looked in front of him, turned his head right to left, but it seemed he couldn’t find his answer.

The old man put down his glasses on the opened book and said: “Look at the passengers, running wild, sweating, fighting, screaming, and for what? For only, because they can’t bear boredom. Reading a book is a boring job, nobody reads here really, and those who do, are like people who pray loud in public, or wear the cross over the shirt - they do it for the public not for them. So…your boring reading will bore you, but only now, as you are not used to the boredom.”

The old man stopped his speech, wore back his glasses, and continued reading, while Artur looked at him with wonder. Madness continued, but Artur at least got to have perhaps the most important conversation in his life.