Free The Symmetry Teacher by Andrei Bitov

chamois were, and after that the ape house … I made my way toward them. Most likely the little fool ran first of all to the parrots. Of course there was no Jacko there. Or, rather, there were hundreds, but none of them answered to her call, or else all of them would at once. But just at that moment, several zookeepers ran by in a panic with nets and boathooks, as though a fire had broken out. No doubt they’re after my Jacko, thought crazy Dika, and she dashed off after them.
    “I tore off in pursuit of the invisible Dika. You can see into the future more quickly at a run. The crowd parted silently to let me pass. A doctor in a white coat stood there, smoking indifferently. Next to him stood one of the zookeepers—in a gray uniform, with an inconsolable monkey in her arms. On a stretcher lay … No! Never! What do you mean? You’re out of your mind … Dika! Wake up! It’s me, I’m here … I made it!
    “She had raced right behind the people with nets and boathooks. No one tried to stop her, either because they were too distracted by other matters, or because they took her for a fellow zookeeper, a novice, in their panic. Straight toward Dika, with a shriek, hurtled a monkey—a little chimpanzee, just a babe in arms. Tame, and used to being lavished with caresses … Why did he choose her out of all the others? She so wanted a child. The little chimpanzee so wanted to be saved. Who else would save him? Everyone else scattered helter-skelter to avoid him, as though they were running from the plague or a leper. They knew what was happening. Dika didn’t know. Even if she had known, would she really have jumped aside, turned away from that little tyke hurtling toward her with its terrified shrieks and yowls, desperate for help, for salvation? At the last minute, the little chimpanzee leapt. He flew like a cannonball at breakneck speed straight toward Dika. She didn’t see that behind it, stretching out in a transparent gray thread, something else was flying through the air … Like a goalkeeper, Dika caught the warm, living ball of terror. The little monkey, sobbing and howling, threw its arms around her neck and pressed itself to her, trembling uncontrollably … And the gray unseen thing fell short of its goal and plopped down at her feet with a naked gray thud … and began twining itself around her. And the little monkey kept whimpering and clasping her neck, covering her with kisses. That was her last embrace on this Earth.”
    … Vanoski went quiet. Tears streamed down his face—literally streamed. I had never seen anything like it. An unbroken stream. He didn’t wipe them away.
    Why was I so angry with him? I didn’t know. I wanted to tell him that I had read it already in a book—moreover, his book. I wanted to. But I couldn’t.
    “I know you find it implausible,” Vanoski said with a sigh. “But that doesn’t matter to me. I prefer it this way. She’s waiting for me there. I’ve had a slight delay; but that’s all right. She waited for me here even longer. You’d like to know how it really was? It’s hard for me to remember what I have written and what I have lived. I think it all really happened, because this time I recounted everything from memory. I didn’t invent anything. Perhaps you’re right, I’m—a writer … An unhappy creature! Everyone thinks that choosing what to write about is the hardest thing. No, the hardest thing is to think up the one who’s writing. All the writers we read and revere were able to summon up within themselves someone who writes for them. And who are they, then, besides the ones who write? It’s horrifying to imagine this solitude. Only other people are happy: they labor, love, give birth, die. Those who write can’t die, either. They aren’t cut out for it. They are like actors, only they play one role their whole lives: themselves. For others. Their lives don’t belong to them. They are slaves of others, slaves of those who love them. They