Self-discovery

“But what happened with his experiment? And who was that guy who met me at the airport? The telegram really confused me: I thought he was Val! He does look like him — very much so. Could it be? Val obviously didn't sit around all year twiddling his thumbs! Too bad we didn't write. What petty fools we are: each one wanting to prove that he could do without the other, to astound the other a year later with his results. With his own results! The highest form of possession. And so we've amazed each other. We're destroying a major project with pettiness. With pettiness, lack of forethought, and fear. We shouldn't have scattered every which way, but tried to attract people who were worthy and real, like Vano Aleksandrovich, from the very beginning. Yes, but back then I didn't know him, and it won't help to try it now, when he storms past me and gives me dirty looks.”

It had all happened in the spring, in late March when Krivoshein had only begun mastering metabolism in his own body. Busy with himself, he hadn't noticed spring until spring made him notice: a heavy icicle fell on him from the roof of a five — story building. If it had fallen a half inch to the left, it would have been the end of the experiments on metabolism as well as the end of his organism. But the icicle merely ripped his ear, broke his collar bone, and knocked him down.

“Disaster, disaster!” That's what he heard professor Androsiashvili saying as he came to. He was leaning over him, feeling his head, unbuttoning his coat. “I'll kill that janitor for not clearing the snow!” he said, angrily shaking his fist. “Can you walk?” He helped Krivoshein up. “Don't worry, your head is fairly whole. The clavicle will heal in a few weeks. It could have been worse. Hold on, I'll walk you over to the infirmary.”

“Thank you, Vano Aleksandrovich, I'll manage myself,” Krivoshein replied as heartily as he could, even squeezing out a smile. “I'll make it, it's nearby.”

And he moved on quickly, almost at a run. He stopped the bleeding from his ear immediately. But his right hand was dangling loosely.

“I'll call them to get the electric stitcher ready!” the professor called after him. “They'll be able to sew up the ear!”

Back in his room, Krivoshein taped up his ear, torn along the cartilage, in front of the mirror and wiped away the caked blood with cotton. That was easy. Ten minutes later there was only a pink scar where the tear had been, and in a half hour, that was gone too. Mending the clavicle was a lot harder; he had to lie on his bed all evening concentrating on commanding the blood vessels, the glands, and the muscles. The bones had much less chemical solution than soft tissue.

He decided to go to Androsiashvili's class in the morning. He got to the hall early to take an inconspicuous seat in the back and ran into the professor, who was instructing students about the hanging of posters. Krivoshein backed off, but it was too late.

“Why are you here? Why aren't you in the clinic?” Vano Aleksandrovich went pale, staring at the student's ear and the right hand in which he was clutching his notebook. “What is this?”

“And you said it would take dozens of millions of years, Vano Aleksandrovich.” Krivoshein couldn't resist. “You see, it can be done without 'drilling. “

“You mean… it's working? How?”

Krivoshein bit his lip.

“Mmmm, a little later, Vano Aleksandrovich,” he muttered awkwardly. “I still have to figure it all out myself.”

“Yourself?” The professor raised his eyebrows. “You don't want to tell?” His face grew cold and haughty. “All right, as you wish. Pardon me!” He went to his desk.

From that day on he nodded icily to his student when they met, and never entered into a discussion. Krivoshein, to keep his conscience from bothering him too much, lost himself in his experiments. He really did have a lot more to learn.

“Don't you understand that I wanted to demonstrate my discovery — relive my burning interest in it, your praise, fame, ” thought Krivoshein as he tried to justify himself before the invisible Androsiashvili. “After all, unlike the psychopaths I could have explained it all. Of course, this doesn't work with other people yet; they don't have the constitution for it. But the important thing is that I've proved the possibility of it, the knowledge. If only the discovery had been limited to the fact that I can heal my own wounds, breaks, and cure myself of diseases! The trouble with nature is that it never gives just exactly as much as is needed for the welfare of man — it's always either too much or too little. I got too much. I could, probably, turn myself into an animal, even into a monster. That's possible. Everything's possible. That's the scary part.” Krivoshein sighed.