Fall in love in a weekwe get by

It would be better not to ask. The Sydney of this world was beautiful. A white-green city on the shores of a blue-blue ocean. The famous opera house seemed a little different, but also impressive. And the damn too smart unit brought it closer and showed the portal platforms, so I probably could even now take a risk and open the portal. No airline tickets or long flights. You can generally spend the evening there, and go to work from there tomorrow. What's stopping me? Fear of getting confused with a portal halfway around the world? So I don't lose anything. Absolutely nothing. The remaining four days are such a small thing compared to the whole life that could still be lived, is it worth taking them into account at all?

Leaving the TV to show the beauty of Australia to the empty room, I went downstairs to get a beer. I had a picture of Circular Embankment in my mind's eye. Skyscrapers are reflected in the blue water, and someone waves from the side of a snow-white boat. And really, what is it worth to move there? One hand movement, one step. It couldn't be simpler.

But I don’t know if it will be as easy to open a portal halfway around the world. I don’t know anything about the visa regime and how they ensure border security here, if every child is able to open the portal. Maybe some kind of anti-portal “iron curtain” is standing, and without a visa it will smear it like… unappetizingly, in general, it will smear it. Or it will immediately transfer it “where it needs to be.” I mean, to the “competent authorities”. I just didn't have enough problems like this.

In four days I’ll take the risk, then it won’t matter.

Tears welled up in my eyes. Beer, TV and thoughts about a possible imminent death – a wonderful evening awaits me.

I wonder what Norwood is up to?

No, what’s interesting is that after Elsa, with whom he remained friends, did he have someone? Is there anyone now? Sabella probably knows, but this is where she could have been lying and remaining silent. Although, since he still believes that I will be able to interest him… I will assume that he is free now. So there remains at least some hope.

The TV showed a bird's-eye view of Sydney while I drank beer and tried to imagine what Norwood was like with women. It seemed like a slightly softened version of the usual poisonously ironic mode. “Saber-tooth driftwood” and “almost-evening-dress” are even cute, if you don’t expect any special tenderness from a man. Because Norwood seems to be capable of tenderness only in relation to the purple girl. “Look, baby”… on the other hand, if he called me “baby”… well, no, don’t!

But he also only has four days left, although he doesn’t know it yet. It's probably bad that I didn't tell him. Not fair. What if he also has some kind of dream that it would be a shame not to fulfill? You never know… maybe grow some more super turnips? Or take a yacht ride to the Great Barrier Reef – why not, after all? Should he have some hobbies besides science?

I would even keep him company. Surely it would be interesting. Although it is unlikely that he dreams of spending his last remaining days with Charlotte.

It's a pity.

Stop. What happens – I would like to spend these days with him? Not because it is necessary, but…

And because it would be nice for me? Am I suddenly attracted to his company? Are his sarcastic remarks interesting?

I finished the bottle and immediately opened another. It turns out that pirogues and swamps are very easy to bring together. Or rather, swamps and pies, but who cares. This kind of news definitely needs to be washed down.

And eat it. Beer is good, but beer with pizza is better. Down again. There are definitely some restrictions on moving the portals back and forth; it’s not for nothing that in Sabella’s house, like Charlotte’s, the portal leads to the living room. So for Sydney you will have to find out how things are with visas here.

I placed my order and sat in a chair to wait for my delicious pizza. She took another sip of beer and closed her eyes…

The lacy arc of the Harbor Bridge was reflected in the blue bay. Large and small boats cut through the blue surface, yachts were white, tourists were noisy around. And there is the roof of the Opera, looking like sails in the wind.

I jumped into a nimble boat standing at the pier, and it rushed across the bay, leaving a white foamy trail. The wind tried to tear my wide-brimmed hat off my head, I held it with one hand and grabbed the handrail with the other. She breathed the salty and iodine freshness of the ocean, so different from the musty air of the swamps, and regretted that Norwood was not nearby.

The boat brought me to a beach with white coral sand, and from the beach I was somehow carried into a bar, for some reason with German cuisine. Charcoal sausages and cold beer… isn't that enough beer for me today? I want some wine. Definitely Australian. I read somewhere that it is even better than Italian. It turned out to be true!