“Hey!” says Mom. “It’s seven o’clock already. You’re going to be late!”

“Just another minute,” I mutter, and turn onto my other side.

“Get up, this instant! The pancakes are getting cold.”

Meanwhile, the bed begins to deflate and sag under me. I refuse to surrender, clinging to the last vestiges of sleep. I had been dreaming something indescribably wonderful.

I’ll have to ask Eve to let me re-watch it.

Eve keeps monitoring my dreams, even though I must’ve asked her to stop a hundred times over. Her job is to identify ideas useful for my work. The rest is mine and mine alone, fantasies and dreams included.

Eve justifies this by explaining that my best ideas often come to me when I’m asleep. Also, it’s easier for her to work with the fully-formed dream imagery. I’m only reassured by the fact that if I’m having a special kind of dream, she’ll immediately shut her eyes.

I wonder how she’ll know which dreams are special.

I get up from the floor, once the bed has fully deflated and the echo of Mom’s voice has ceased to ring in my ears. Of course, there are no pancakes. I live alone, and last night I didn’t program the auto-oven to make any. Also, I don’t know what secret ingredient Mom used to add to the batter in order to make her pancakes so irresistable. I didn’t ask when I had the chance, and now it’s too late.

Had I ever asked, Eve could’ve extracted the necessary information from my memory, even if I forgot it.

“Coffee, dear?” asks Andjey’s voice. “Black, no sugar, as always?”

I nod obediently. The coffeemaker begins to hiss.

“Toast,” I add. “Two slices.”

Andjey clicks his tongue in reproach. “How about oatmeal crackers instead?”

“OK. Just one slice of toast.”

“As you wish.”

The toaster springs to life. A funny metal claw snatches a slice of bread from the middle of a loaf. The thinnest slice, I note sadly.

Poor Andjey. He’d always been afraid that I’d get fat and he’d be embarrassed to be seen in public with me. How he used to stare in anguish at every bite I ate!

There’s no better-qualified guardian of my waistline.

The warm stones of the bathroom pleasantly massage the soles of my feet. The shower knows my favorite temperature at the beginning, in the middle, and at the end. Stray streams of rain fall upon my shoulders while the jacuzzi’s sharp pressure needles my lower back. “Should I rub your back?” Kostya’s voice sounds from behind the wall.

The studio is filled with soft diffused  light, just the way I like it—bright enough without stressing the eyes. “What are we doing today?” I ask Eve.

“Green clouds,” she says, and I nod in assent. I don’t know what green clouds are, but she’s about to explain.

“Do you remember the summer in Demidov, when you lay on the grass? The smell of blooming jasmine wafted over the lake. The grass was so soft, growing over the bed of pine needles on the ground. The air hummed with the sound of high-voltage wires, somewhere far above your head. Grasshoppers chirped, and a diesel engine whistled in the distance. Sunrays danced over your closed eyelids. Your pupils seemed to be staring at the clock in Grandmother’s kitchen, displaying the number six. A jar full of fresh milk stood on the kitchen counter under the clock. Swifts flew outside the window and cast shadows over the glass jar, and in front of your closed eyes floated—”

“—green clouds!” I exclaim. My fingers fly over the keyboard. Strange, transparent spots appear on my screen: mint, aquamarine, the color of a glass bottle, the color of ripe gooseberries, and finally like nothing else at all—a shade of green that can’t be described. My shade, the one I had just created!

“Stop,'” Eve orders. “We’re going to send this out. It’ll be the color of the year—you’ll see!”

“Did someone install the Cassandra functionality into you when I wasn’t looking?” I ask sarcastically, as I finish typing the corporate client’s email address.

The feeling of lightness and freedom that accompanies the creative process is suddenly replaced by melancholy. By fatigue. By the realization that I’ve had it all, and that I will have nothing more.

I’m dizzy and my head hurts. This always happens after these “séances.”

“Take a nap,” Eve suggests as she gently disconnects her sucker-laden tentacles from my temples. “Don’t worry, I won’t peek! You worked very hard today. You can choose any program you want. Two, even, if you like.”

“I like.” I lie down on the couch right there, in the studio. One pillow under my back, another between my thighs, a third under my feet. The cat comes over and affectionately butts my palm with his nose, and purrs as he rubs against my shoulder. I barely restrain myself from petting something that isn’t actually there.

“Are you asleep?” asks Kostya’s voice.

“No. You?”

“How can I sleep when you’re with me?”

It’s dark outside by the time I wake up. These winter days are terribly short! I despise this time of year.

I get dressed and go out for a walk.

“Move your hat up, I can’t see anything,” Eve complains.

“What do you want to see?” I’m indignant. “Watch through my eyes.”

“Your eyes are all blurry. When will you finally get the cataracts removed? You’ve skipped two appointments already. Are you waiting to go blind? A great plan, for an artist. Move the hat, I say! Otherwise, who’s going to catch you if you trip over something?”

“It’s cold outside. You’ll freeze your gears off.”

“I have no gears.” Eve sighs. “You know this perfectly well.”

“I know. Your innards are made of silicone. Enough for a pair of fake breasts, with a bit left over.”

“You’re rude,” she says sadly, and falls silent.

Where did the damn walking stick disappear to?

“You could’ve used a mobility scooter.”

“A scooter gets stuck in the snow.”

“That’s because you should’ve called for a snow plow.”

“What, so it could make a racket right under my windows? Why don’t you tell me where the stick is?”

“It’s standing where you left it yesterday. Outside, near a tree to your right.”

“You could’ve told me sooner.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Don’t go wondering off, daughter dear. You have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mom. Sure, Mom. Just to the corner and back.”

The air is crystal clear. Snow crackles under my feet. There’s a smell of smoke wafting in from somewhere. It’s probably Kostya, lighting up the fireplace. How does he have the energy for such things?

I wonder if Kostya has a bear skin rug in front of the fireplace in this house, too? Of course, it’s doubtful the bear skin was real. I’m sure it was synthetic.

The horns hanging on the wall of his cabin were made out of plastic, for sure.

The wires hum up above. I cheerfully turn the corner and march into the forest following someone’s ski tracks. Imagine, what some people are up to. Skiing! I can barely follow their tracks on foot, even with the help of a stick.

“I’ve been saying it’s a shame you quit exercising. You’d feel so fit right now. Really, it isn’t too late. Last week I saw such a wonderful facility for the elderly. You’re capable of so much more, if you only tried.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t want to try.”

“Would you at least begin to take hormones? Vitamins? Antidepressants? Then you’ll want to. You’ll want to do everything.”

“What for? I can finally relax.”

“You’re an egoist. Did you think about me? What will happen to me if, God forbid… If you…”

“Oh, please. They’ll wipe your memory and stick you atop somebody else’s head.”

“You’re so very rude.”

“Not at all. I’m merely a realist. Or were you planning on protecting me for eternity?”

She didn’t respond, but I could hear tears in her silence. She learned that from me.

I have to resist trying to comfort her. I’m not that far gone yet.

“Cheer up, sunshine! They’ll attach you to a good person, you’ll see. He’ll treat you right; dust off the tiniest debris particles, clean you with a goose feather, smooth over the littlest wrinkles.”

“You’re nice.”

“You think?”

“I know it. I see it.”

“OK. Then let’s go home and drink some tea.”

“Tea with what?”

“Just plain tea. Andjey won’t let me eat a tiniest extra bite after six o’clock.”

“Ha! Have you seen his photos online? He really let himself go. His new wife bakes different pies for him daily. She’s complained that she went through four auto-ovens in a year.”

“Must’ve been old, outdated ovens.”

“Ah, but the wife is young. She’ll last for a long time. Andjey will croak first, because of all the weight gain.”

We share a mean, long giggling fit.

It’s getting progressively darker. It’s pitch black by the time we quit laughing. I turn and head back by feel. I have wandered off quite a distance. It’s okay; the important thing is to get back to the corner. Then it’ll be easier, I can see the house windows from there. I just have to keep to the ski tracks.

My feet slide on the icy crust. The stick slips from my frozen hands and slowly rolls out of view. Without the stick, every step is a martyr’s heroic deed. I must hurry. If I don’t make it back in time, “mother” will call the rescue service. The lot of them will descend upon my home and cause a ruckus. They might even question whether it’s okay for me to live in a rural area all on my own—again. Even if it’s in a smart house, with Eve.

What would it all have been for then? Why do I drag myself to the damn computer every morning, like a line worker to their conveyor belt, and spend countless hours at it?

Truth be told, I wouldn’t get much work done without Eve.

“I told you that you should’ve brought a mobility scooter.”

“What for? Can you get through your foolish head that it would get stuck in the snow?”

“It’s your head that’s foolish. Why did you walk so far away?”

That’s when I twist my ankle and spread out on the snow, like a frog. I try to get up. Sharp pain shoots through my foot.

Damn it. I slipped like a clown on a banana peel.

For the next few minutes I curse inwardly and feebly swallow tears in the dark.

“You’ve really done it, this time. Lie still and wait for the EMTs. I told you, I warned you that you shouldn’t—”

“Oh, shut up. You think it’s better if I avoid fresh air? If I don’t go outside? Then why do I live in the country? Why do I still live? Otherwise, might as well climb straight into a coffin.”

“You stubborn mule! You got what you deserve. It doesn’t matter now, when pain exceeds eight points on the scale, I must call an ambulance.”

“Wonderful. The first thing they’ll do is to shut you the hell down. So you wouldn’t mess with their diagnostics.”

Eve sobs. “What else can I do?”

I brainstorm our options. I try to get up again, to no avail. If only I could arrange the wounded leg just so, pull it under me, then I could very carefully try to lean on it…

Ouch! It didn’t hurt this much when I was lying down.

“Fine, go ahead and make the call. But you should know, as soon as they bring me to the hospital, I’ll decline your services. What do I need you for, if I can’t live on my own?”

“But… What about work?”

“What friggin’ work? Everything’s free at the senior center—the bed, the drawers, warm oatmeal, they change your diapers three times a day. It’s all very civilized. I’ll just lie there and stare out the window until I go crazy. It’s true, I’m overdue for retirement. I’ve worked enough.”

“And me? What about me? Are you tired of me, too?”

What a foolish, sentimental machine. A special model with heightened emotional sensitivity, designed for artists. She’s found a perfect time to hash things out.

Eve is excellent at telling shades of colors apart, reacting to rhymes, rhythms, and harmonic consonances. But everything has its price.

“You don’t want to help me.”

“Me? I don’t want to help? Me?! You can’t get up! Should I let you freeze in the snow?”

“You silicone fool! One doesn’t have to get up in order to move. Look at the worms, they crawl their entire lives. My great-grandmother told me about a World War II pilot, Maresyev, who crawled through the forest for eighteen days with crushed legs. Eighteen days, can you imagine? I’ll rest a bit, and then I’ll crawl. You’ll see how well I can crawl! You and me, we’ll get home real fast. No one will even notice.”

Crawling quickly was, of course, an exaggeration. But I was managing. My arms were strong, one of my two legs was healthy. My body, thanks to Andjey, was light and lean. My diet had proved helpful, after all!

My gloves ripped, the frozen skin of my hands cracked, scraping against the ice. I won’t touch the computer tomorrow. That’s okay. I’ll just have to apply an ointment for burns to my hands, as soon as I get home. It says “for burns and frostbite” right on the package. I’ll test it out. It really works for the burns. I know, because I keep forgetting how quickly the lid on the pressure-cooker gets hot, and how slowly it cools down. I wish I knew for sure that I was crawling in the right direction. I take off my hat and let Eve look around properly. Eve assures me that she can already see the corner. It’s no more than a hundred meters away.

I wonder how long it took great-grandmother’s pilot to crawl one hundred meters.

Finally, I reach the corner. I see lights in the distance. I can relax now, let myself rest a little, chew on some snow.

“You’ll catch a cold!” Eve is horrified. “Pneumonia! You’re all sweaty out here in the cold!”

“Calm down. It’s just a little bit.”

“I can’t let you—”

You can. You know you can. I do what’s strictly prohibited by the manual: flip the tumbler behind my left ear.

Finally, I’m at peace, surrounded by the blessed quiet…

I open my eyes because someone pokes me with a stick. A sharp ski pole.

“Are you crazy? What are you doing? I’m still alive!”

“Lena?”

“Kostya?!”

“My god, what are you doing here?”

“Can’t you see? I’m having a lie-down.”

“I can’t see, Lena. I’ve been blind for a long time. Wait, let me activate Ahmet.”

With Kostya’s help and much cursing, I manage to get up on my feet. On one foot, to be precise, because the other foot stubbornly refuses to serve me. We amble toward my home.

“Mother” is obviously livid. Fortunately, “mother” can’t see me, she can only feel me with her sensors. I manage to cancel the EMTs at the last possible moment. But they’re not so easily fooled; they realize something is off and demand that I put Eve on the phone. So she’d confirm that everything is all right.

Sure! I reanimate Eve with a flip of a switch.

The EMTs know my model, so they don’t let her talk their ears off.

“Life signs? Pulse? Blood pressure? Temperature? Breathing rate? Pain scale?”

I’m good. I’m home, I managed and overcame, and Kostya is here with me. The pain scale approaches negative ten.

I drown in euphoria.

I lie in bed, with an elevated leg, my ankle on ice. I drink herbal tea made from the recipe Ahmet fished out of Kostya’s forgetful head. Kostya is on his knees, gently checking the sore spot on my ankle with his long, sensitive fingers.

“You pulled a muscle.”

“Are you sure?” Ahmet and Eve ask in unison. I have no doubts. I’ve known Kostya for a long time. “Maybe she should get an X-ray?”

“I’m sure. After forty years working in an ambulance my fingers are better than any X-ray.”

To be honest, the leg looks pretty bad; swollen and blue. It’s good that Kostya can’t see it.

“Are you in a lot of pain?”

“I feel great. Just don’t leave!”

“Why would I leave you?” The voice doubles, like an echo bouncing off a wall.

The real Kostya shudders. “Jesus, what is that?”

“A bed. I based it off of you.”

The bed hugs me, cradles me, presses me close, whispers “don’t leave” in young Kostya’s enamored voice.

“I’m gonna go. Please call a doctor tomorrow.”

“But you said it’s not too bad!”

“Just in case. The leg may be fine, but you could’ve caught a cold. And Ahmet says—”

“Ahmet is right,” Eve cuts in.

We laugh. Kostya gets up, leaning heavily on his cane. He kisses my forehead.

“It’s so great that they settled us next to each other.”

“You think that was a coincidence?”

Kostya chuckles, and leaves. I’m left lying there alone, staring into darkness.

“Are you asleep?” the bed asks in Kostya’s voice.

I don’t respond. Atop a pillow behind me, a cat begins to purr.