"Alexander Abramov, Sergei Abramov. Journey Across Three Worlds (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

"Why do you ask?" I countered, uncertainly. "Of course we have."
"When did you see her last?"
I burst out laughing and blurted out: "This morning. At breakfast."
But I immediately regretted saying it.
"Don't lie. What are you lying for? She's been at the institute from
yesterday afternoon. Worked all night. And she's still not back."
"Can't a fellow joke?" I replied, foolishly, realizing I was getting in
more and more of a muddle.
"Strange way of joking, I'd say."
"Maybe we're not talking about the same person?" I put in, trying to
improve matters.
She wasn't even angry, she merely frowned like a doctor who sees,
without quite understanding, the symptoms of a disease under observation.
"I'm talking about Galya Novoseltseva."
"Why 'Novoseltseva'?" I asked, genuinely surprised.
The cold eyes of a doctor now looked at me with professional interest.
"You've lost your memory, Sergei. They were already registered to marry
when war broke out."
"Never mind," I muttered, wiping a perspiring brow. "I only
wondered...."
"What I'm doing here with the woman who stole my chap, right?" she
laughed, losing for a moment the curiosity of a professional doctor. "Even
then, I didn't feel hurt, Sergei. Imagine the luck - my chap left me. But
now ... why, it's even funny. It was so long ago.... And my next after that
- you know..." she sighed. "I'm not lucky in love, Sergei."
It is hard to map out every step you take in an unknown world. And I
put my foot in it again, forgetting where I was and who I was.
"Who's in your way now, with Oleg?"
"Sergei!"
There was so much horror in that cry, I involuntarily shut my eyes.
"Something's wrong with your memory, Sergei. One doesn't forget things
like that. Galya received the official death notice as far back as
forty-four. You couldn't help but know that."
What did I know, and what didn't I? Dare I really tell her?
"You're either pretending," she said, "or you're sick. And I think
you're sick."
"Then go ahead and ask me what day of the month it is, and the year,
and so on."
"I still don't know what I should ask you."
"So tell me the diagnosis," I shot back, getting angry. "Gone crazy,
that's all!"
"That's not the medical term for it. There are various kinds of psychic
disorders.... What did you want to talk to me about?"
By now I had no desire to. If I told her the truth, she would send me
off to the lunatic asylum at once. I had to wriggle out of this somehow.
"You see, the thing is..." I began a hurried improvisation. "A simply
deplorable thing happened.... The most deplorable...."
"You've already said that. But what?"
"As a matter of fact, I've left home. Left my wife. I shan't go into
the reason. But I need shelter. Just for the night. Nox lodgus, vulgaris, to