The Androids: #5. Last Evening in Kazan

Last Evening in Kazan

Последний вечер в Казане 

(Originally published May 2013)

“Done sending the video?”

“Minute to go,” Dmitri pointed at his laptop’s screen. The upload’s progress bar was only three-quarters full. Artem only nodded and buttoned up his jacket—he had finished his article and sent it to the board of editors soon after their return from Salikh Saydashev Concert Hall, where Söyembikä International Choir Games had taken place for the past week, also the launch of Tatarstan Symphony Orchestra’s new album.

“Hey, you can wait patiently. Was it because you just got a new fan? Or... oh—your success with the Morozov family?”

“Damn!”

Artem’s face turned red, but he laughed along with Dmitri when that colleague of his couldn’t resist it anymore. Meanwhile, on the screen, the small window with the upload’s progress bar had been closed. With a click, the uploaded video was sent.

“Nah, now we can get going,” Dmitri got up from the small desk after shutting his laptop down, packed the rest of his belongings into his backpack and prepared to leave.

Soon, they left the room with all their goods at hand, checked out from the hotel, and began their trip to Kazan Kremlin, where some of the town’s most famous historic buildings are located, before they return to Moscow with the night train.

They had visited several other places during their stay—of course, after they finished reporting the core events of the choral concourse, also the launch of Tatarstan Symphony Orchestra’s album—like The Millenium Bridge, Salikh Saydashev Museum, Kazan Conservatory, also Shalyapin Palace Hotel. They intentionally spared Kazan Kremlin for the last moments, right before they head home.

Only five minutes passed since they got on the bus that would take them to Kremlin, and Artem’s phone rang. He quickly slid his finger on its screen upon seeing the name Anna Navaevskaya there.

“Artyosha! Mitya! Your videos and articles are here. Well, you know, no comments from Misha, Olga and Nadya.”

As usual, their chief’s voice sounded laid-back, if not borderline carefree. But, before Artem even had the chance to think of what to say just to keep the conversation going, the lady added something.

“Nah, talk about Nadya, how was your personal affair? You managed to do it, right?”

Artem grimaced. He knew, Anna could easily read his personal reason when he immediately proposed to report the two big events in that city. Still, he didn’t think Anna would ask about it again.

“Oh, sure.”

“So—success?”

Artem chuckled. A loud laughter was heard from the other end of the connection.

“Congratulations, Artyoshka!”

“Spasibo ogrom’noe, Anna,” Artem faintly answered. Outside, once more, he could see Salikh Saydashev Concert Hall.

“You guys are getting back tonight, right? Take care. See you tomorrow!”

“See you.”

The call ended. As he put his phone back inside his pocket, Artem looked out the window. The billboards of storefronts along the street glowed in a golden tint under the high spring sun. A jeweller’s shop was seen among the stores. He was reminded of something: he hadn’t fetched the ring he ordered in another jeweller’s shop down Ulitsa Baumana.

Oh—damn it! Is there still time?

He had a quick look at the digital clock above the driver’s seat—4.35pm. The train that would take them back to Moscow would depart about three hours from then. He glanced at Dmitri—he just pulled off his earphones and turned off his music player.

The minarets of Qol Sharif Mosque towered behind the white walls of the Kremlin—they were close. Not so long afterwards, the bus stopped at a bus shelter right next to the Kremlin compound.

Stepping into the Kremlin once again made Artem feel like he was in a foreign land. Just like in Salikh Saydashev Concert Hall, also every other place all over the capital of Tatarstan, there were sign boards in two languages, Tatar and Russian, before every building. The Turkic-Tatar architecture depicted in many of the city’s landmarks, although mostly seen in mosques, also attracted him.

The young men’s first destination—Söyembikä Tower. They stopped for a while to take pictures of the six-tiered tower named after the last queen of Kazan Khanate, who also became the namesake of the choral concourse that made them stay in the city for the past week.

“Hey, Artyoshka—I once heard a legend, Queen Söyembikä refused to give in and marry Tsar Ivan the Terrible, and she jumped off the tower on the Siege of Kazan,” Dmitri commented as he aimed at the tower with his cell phone’s camera.

“As far as I know, it’s just a myth. History noted that Queen Söyembikä was exiled to Moscow, and of course she never jumped off that tower. Kseniya once asked Anna about that.”

They took turns and had a picture of themselves in front of the tower with their own cell phone cameras before continuing their journey, strolling along the Presidential Palace of the Republic of Tatarstan’s walls, and made a short stop near Qol Sharif mosque.

Looking at the mosque’s building, Artem felt he was pulled into a fairytale, although modern architectural influence was tangible. The towering white marble minarets, like many other mosque minarets he could easily spot around town, also the crescent moon on each minaret’s top, reflected a golden glow. The silvery waters of Kazanka river, unfolding behind it, seemed like a fatamorgana.

“Hey,” he muttered, “are we really still in Russia?”

“You don’t believe it? Look back there,” Dmitri chuckled and pointed back towards Söyembikä Tower—behind it were the blue and gold domes of an Orthodox cathedral, still within the Kremlin. “This is just the beginning. All Religions Temple is still under construction.”

“Yeah,” Artem grimaced. He could imagine how it would be when All Religions Temple would finally be completed—the town would be even more like a fairytale.

“Okay, where next?”

“Out—that way. But, one last picture by the Spasskaya,” Dmitri answered as he put his phone back into his jeans’ pocket. He just took a picture of the monastery and Tatarstan governmental offices not so far off the mosque.

Kazan’s Spasskaya Tower was very different from that of Moscow Kremlin. If the one in Moscow looked bright red, soaring high with a two-headed eagle on top of its green roof, Kazan’s Spasskaya Tower was all white, from its peak—topped with a silver star—all the way to the base, didn't stand out, and more angular. It looked more like a part of the Kremlin walls than as a separate feature.

Again, they took pictures of each other under the white tower, although the results weren't as stunning as their pictures by the Söyembikä tower.

Artem glanced at his watch again. Five o’clock.

“Mitya ... we’re off to the station now?”

“We’ll make our stop at Ulitsa Baumana. I haven’t bought anything for Masha and Sashenka. Moreover, oh—don’t tell me you almost forgot your order at the jeweller’s yesterday?”

Turned out Dmitri remembered his order too. He grimaced. His face turned a little red, but he only nodded and trailed behind Dmitri as they head to Ulitsa Baumana, while they still could. It cost them about eight minutes on foot to reach the street from Kremlin—the street is pedestrians-only—while the shop where he ordered the ring would close at about six, less than an hour from then.

Making way along the colorful bricks of Ulitsa Baumana, Artem spared his glance at the tower of Bogoyavlenskaya Tower, standing out among the shops lining the street. On the first glimpse, the tower’s color looked similar to that of Söyembikä Tower.

“Are you looking for Shalyapin’s statue near the church?”

Artem turned his head. Dmitri was ready with his cell phone’s camera again.

“Uh, Mitya ... you mean, we take pictures there too?”

“Come on, one last time,” Dmitri chuckled. “Let’s get there anyway. I think there’s still time.”

Artem grimaced and trailed behind Dmitri again to the statue of Fyodor Shalyapin, the famous singer, near Bogoyavlenskaya Church. Many people took pictures around the statue, and it took them several minutes to get the right moment and a good enough picture without having other people’s pictures intrude theirs.

“Nah, Artyoshka, now go get your orders before the shop closes! I’ll be here soon.”

They parted ways in front of the jeweller’s shop where Artem ordered the ring—Artem rushed into the shop to get his order, and Dmitri casually walked into a souvenir store close by.

When the ring finally was in his hands, Artem smiled to himself. The silver ring looked very simple, as it only has a small line of gems on front without intricate ornaments, but he sure hoped the recipient will love it. On the inner side of the ring, two names were engraved: Artem & Nadezhda.

Ten minutes later, Artem walked out from that store, but Dmitri was still in one of the souvenir shops.

Oi, Mitya! Where are you?

Seconds after he sent the text to Dmitri’s number, that comrade of his appeared by the door of a store three buildings from there. Artem rushed to follow him in.

“Gosh, took you quite long,” Artem teased as he had a look at goods displayed on the rack right next to the cashier.

“I couldn’t decide what to buy for Sashenka. So I got her this,” Dmitri pointed at a doll depicting a girl in Tatar traditional costume as it was being put into a shopping bag by the store clerk. “I bought something for Anna and Mikhail too.”

“Mikhail? He’s in Peterburg, isn’t he?”

“Well, we promised to exchange souvenirs when he’s back,” Dmitri laughed.

Dmitri took all his goods—paid for even before Artem’s text came into his cell phone—and walked with Artem along the road, and then to the bus shelter at the crossing of Ulitsa Baumana and Ulitsa Chernyavskaya. From there, at 6.30, they both got on the bus number 5, heading for Kazan-Passazhirskaya Station.

On the way, Artem kept staring out the windows. He was already accustomed to the sight of sharp minarets adorned with crescents towering on the horizon, in-between houses and golden domes of Orthodox churches. It was too bad that he had to return to Moscow exactly by then.

Perhaps after this, I shall return again to Kazan, whatever the reason.

The two reached Kazan-Passazhirskaya Station slightly sooner than Artem estimated. The red station building contrasted the green shade from the park right in front of it, also the inscription on the roof in serif letters and matching colors.

“We’re going home,” Dmitri muttered.

Artem turned to Dmitri and smiled as they walked to the platform. The 001G fast train had arrived, and they decided to board the train immediately.

“Hey, your luggage increased,” Artem teased. Dmitri’s shopping bags were too obvious a sign of their extra luggage. Dmitri only chuckled as he put his backpack and shopping bags overhead—the TV station’s camera would be stored under his seat.

But, just as Artem put his own backpack on the overhead rack, a small plastic tube similar to a facial cream’s container and a small red velvet box slid out of his jacket’s pocket. The two items dropped down onto the floor and rolled across, ending up under a seat on the other side of the cart.

“Oh, boy,” Dmitri dashed to get Artem’s dropped goods while Artem was still cramming his backpack onto the overhead compartment. The red velvet box—containing the ring—was soon inside Artem’s pockets again, but the tube made him curious.

Dmitri was stunned. On the front label, N-1 Coating Compound was clearly inscribed. The description of its contents was printed on the back—special skin coating material for N-1 androids, complete with its composition and directions of use.

Artem’s bag was safely contained, and when the young man turned, his eyes were soon directed on the coating tube, which had somehow ended up in Dmitri’s hands.

“Mitya—“

“Bozhe moi! Sorry,” Dmitri blurted. “This is yours, eh? It fell off your pockets—under that seat.”

“Oh,” Artem nodded and sighed with relief when Dmitri returned the plastic tube to him. He swiftly kept the thing in, and then he took his seat by the window, followed by Dmitri, who took another seat across. A beat occurred between the two until the announcement echoed, signifying the approach of departure.

“Hey, what did you buy for Anna and Mikhail?”

“Söyembikä Tower miniatures—one for each. Oh, and a set of matryoshka for Anna. Just to add up to her collection.”

The train began to move away from old Kazan-Passazhirskaya Station. The scenery outside began to rapidly change, lit up under the spring sun which wouldn’t set until midnight. The minarets reaching out from the horizon shrunk, and slowly dissolved away from sight.

Yes, I will visit Kazan again.

Dmitri yawned. He looked tired. He leaned over to the window and prepared for a nap. Yet, he was still struggling to get over his curiosity on the tube that fell off Artem’s pockets.

Who knows if Artyoshka only changed the labels to make it look cool. Maybe it’s just sunscreen. Or maybe even after-shave lotion. Or...

He still couldn’t get rid of the possibility that the labels were telling the truth, although a significant part of his mind insisted impossible. As far as he knows, Artem was completely human, and he didn’t think an android, no matter how advanced, would be so capable a reporter, let alone a talk show host.

In the end, just to speak out his mind, despite his tired, fatigued voice, he made his question be heard before he closed his eyes.

“Artyoshka, do you think... it’s possible that an android can appear completely human? In appearance, actions, thoughts, feelings—you know, just like in science fiction movies?”

Artem was stunned for a short while, but soon he got hold of himself. He sighed, smiled, and kept staring out the window as he answered, “Yeah, certainly... possible.”

In a minute, Dmitri was sound asleep. For a moment Artem turned away from the window and snapped a picture of his sleeping comrade with his cell phone. He chuckled at the outcome, and followed suit, leaning onto the windowpane as he enjoyed the scenery outside. The train kept moving away, passing the borders of Kazan.

Moscow, twelve more hours...

*Author's note: June 2013, research began in my university, and it also meant I had to put everything else aside. I've left Goodreads since, and this was my last entry into its Cerbul program, as far as I can remember.