Spooks and tetrahedrons

August 30, early afternoon. I didn’t sleep well at all. Slowly, I open my eyes. Gosh, where am I? It takes me a few seconds to understand. Years of moving from one place to another, and still I can’t get rid of that uneasy feeling of temporary disorientation. For two minutes I’m just gazing at the ceiling. The thought that was bothering me the whole night is still revolving inside my head. Damn it. Carefully, I extend my hand and grab the TV remote control. Click. I press the mute button quickly, not to wake up my friend, who is still sleeping. French game shows. Bloody French game shows. Bloody-French-bloody-game-bloody-shows. Click. The TV screen goes black again.

Why am I thinking about him? Why am I still thinking about him? Trying not to make noise, I head towards the shower – the tried and tested method of clearing up the thoughts. I turn the water to hot.

Robotov. Where could I hear this name? I am trying to remember the names and faces of the people I met the day before. I give up after a while; it’s clear that the man I am thinking about was not among them. Instinctively, I adjust the water to warm.

“Calm down.” I tell myself. “It’s not the first time you are thinking about a man. It’s not the last one either. There is no reason to worry.” Except for that until now, the men I have been thinking of were the men I knew. Now I am thinking about someone I’ve never seen. That’s the worrying bit. Why is the water so cold? I turn the handle.

Robotov, Robotov, Robotov. I feel the blood rising to my head. Who is he? Was he in my dream? I try in vain to recall my night visions. Nothing. I didn’t have a dream that night. I am positive about it. Then why does this name jump inside my brain with each heartbeat? Why can’t I stop thinking about the person I will never know? Am I getting old? Does my lifestyle start to backfire? Are my nerves about to break down? Why is this bloody water so bloody cold?

No, I’ve got to ask him. I don’t care what he’ll think, but I’ve got to do it. I quickly leave the shower and wrap myself in a towel.

“Dodi, “ I say. “Who’s Robotov?”

“Who?” I hear the sleepy voice of my friend from the bedroom. “What’s the matter?”

“Robotov.” I reply. “I just can’t help thinking about him. Don’t think I know him, though. Do you?”

“Well, I knew quite a few, I guess. What’s his first name?”

“Er… Irvin? No. Mmmmm… Ian. But probably not.”

“Perhaps Ivan?”

“You know him?”

“No. Have no idea. Look, darling, just forget about it. Try to think about something else. Think, for example, about the dinner we’re going to have tonight at my hotel.”

“Well, ‘guess you’re right. Dinner, you say? Have you called your driver already?”