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It had been a week since doctor Bormental assisted to professor Preobrazhensky in carrying out a surgery on Sharikov. It had also been a week since Bormental nearly got shot by Sharikov himself and almost got arrested by the secret police alongside professor. Needless to say, it had been a rough week – the feeling of doom hanging heavy in the air like a drenched black greatcoat.
The situation was also very much worsened by the fact that the surgery had to stay completely secret. Zina and Darya Petrovna weren't told what was going on. Professor tried to protect them - in case the whole situation went wrong, at least they wouldn't be complicit. He also tried to protect himself and Bormental, in case Zina or Darya Petrovna ran their mouths to the neighbours. Therefore, the men spent every waking hour looking after Sharikov, witnessing a living nightmare unravel before their eyes, all the while being on the edge of complete debilitation from the gravitas of the situation.
Sharikov's condition was far from stable. Aside from painstakingly checking the bandages on the skull, blood pressure and heart rate, lowering his nearly constant fever and taking care of his general hygiene, there was another major problem. Nearly every day, epileptic seizures appeared. Sometimes they were minor, but the first seizure had Sharikov biting his tongue severely and scratching his body all over before he was bound with ropes to the table.
Those seizures were new, they hadn't been there the last time. Bormental tried his best to not make much of it, but professor worried a lot and often shared his anxiety with Bormental. What if the impact the human pituitary gland has left on the poor dog's brain isn't as easily removable as the impact of the canine pituitary? What if the preservative liquid the dog's gland was stored in damaged the tissue somehow? What if the dog's immune system rejects its own hypophysis? Furthermore, what if the dog dies? What then? Tell me, Doctor Bormental? During these states, Bormental hated himself for not having any comforting words. During these monologues, he could only bite his nails as he watched professor banging his hands on his head desperately.
„Seriously, tell me, Doctor Bormental,“ professor inquired that particular evening.
They both have already had several glasses of Darya Petrovna's vodka and Bormental felt the consulting room ominously undulating around him. This beautiful, innocent room resembled a darkened marsh to him, with thick smoke like a fog and their burning cigarettes like a will-o'-the-wisp, and he could only weakly defy the fact that he will drown in here.
„Tell me, Ivan Arnoldovich, what are our chances. Because if the dog dies, we are doomed, completely and hopelessly doomed. We will be framed for murder, there is no doubt in my mind, and not even all my connections combined will redeem us.“ Professor took a sip of his vodka and pinched the bridge of his nose. His pale face resembled a crumpled paper. „I thought the worst is over when we laid down our scalpels. I thought the surgery, which is very nearly impossible to carry out on its own, will be the most difficult thing about this whole sordid affair. Never, not even in my wildest dreams did I think it would come to this. God seems to be toying with me... Heh! Fever! Spasms! Epileptic seizures! Ivan Arnoldovich, if it is meningoencephalitis or anything like it, we are truly doomed.“
„Philip Philippovich, I beg you,“ Bormental finally spoke, trying his absolute best to pretend hope. „He has already survived this once. You have already made it once, against all the odds!“
„That was a completely different situation,“ professor scoffed and disrupted the smoke around him. „The first time I did it out of sheer curiosity. Academic intentions, research, a mere experiment for my portfolio! Now there is so much more at stake than his own life. Isn't it peculiar, my friend, that the most worthless, scummiest and lowest of all lives requires the most care to be kept alive. Damn the day the dog didn't die under my hands during the first surgery!“
He heaved out a heavy breath, desperation dancing in his eyes.
„I can't believe I'm saying this, but in these past three months I have lost twice as much innocence as I had lost since being born.“
„He won't die,“ Bormental wept resolutely and downed his glass. „You can't lose everything because of this son of a bitch. I can't let that happen.“
Professor chuckled mirthlessly.
„A few weeks earlier you were sitting exactly where you are now, and you were just as resolute, when you offered to kill him for me,“ he noted, his eyes never leaving Bormental's. „A few weeks earlier we nearly plotted his murder without actually harming a hair on his head. Today, we sit here again, plotting how to keep him alive after commiting a deed that will very probably kill him. It would be comical to see how the tables have turned, if it wasn't pushing me to the brink of insanity.“
Suddenly, Bormental himself felt a surge of insanity.
„I would have killed him then. And you know that, Philip Philippovich,“ he stated earnestly. „Until this day I regret that I didn't do it, even against your advice. You knew it back then too, that I had it in me to do it, otherwise you wouldn't have talked to me out of it so vehemently.“
„I know, my dear boy. I know now, I knew then, and I know you know. And it terrifies me beyond reason,“ he sighed sorrowfully as he lit another cigarette.
„What about it distresses you so much in particular, Philip Philippovich?“
„What exactly?“ professor scoffed, dissatisfied. „What about this – my colleague, the first follower of my school, my true friend, willingly trades his life for death of a vile, depraved creature that I myself created. What about the fact I would let you sentence yourself to execution? All in the name of cleaning my slate and keeping my career, which wouldn't work anyway because if you actually did it, I couldn't let you take all the blame and would have turned myself in anyway. What about the fact that I, a scientist with interest in rejuvenation, would have personally created not only a Sharikov, but also a Raskolnikov? In the name of eugenics, I would have created a Sharikov out of a nice dog and a Raskolnikov out of-“
Clearly in anguish, professor didn't finish and downed his glass of vodka instead. Bormental's heart clenched and he finished his glass too.
„And, if that scumbag doesn't survive now, we'll find ourselves in this exact hot water," professor continued a little moment later. „Except now you won't even have the satisfaction that you had your revenge, that you did the right thing. No, we would both be left feeling only deeply incompetent - all because we couldn't save life of the worst filth that has ever graced this earth. Should I go on about what else distresses me about it?“
Bormental knew he wasn't supposed to answer that, he didn't have any words for Philip Philippovich anyway. Heavy silence reigned in the marsh. Portraits of professor's colleagues stared at them apathetically through the thickening fog. The crystal glass ashtray on the table wasn't far from overflowing. Bormental realised he is tipsy and decided to do something about it. He leaned forward to refill both of their glasses with vodka, his moves a tad uncertain.
„But there is still hope, Philip Philippovich,“ he exclaimed weakly to break the silence as he stood up shakily, holding his full glass. „Maybe Schwonder is too mad at him for stealing from him and he won't look for him. Maybe nobody misses him at work – certainly not that poor wife of his. Maybe he eventually transforms back into a dog and we'll just make something up, like atavism or something, we can't bend natural laws to our will, the smallness of a man against evolution, you name it. Maybe... maybe it won't be that bad, Philip Philippovich, I beg you for the love of God...“
Professor watched him hopelessly from his armchair. If there was pity in his eyes as well, or something completely different, Bormental couldn't tell. He forgot why he was standing.
„My dear Ivan Arnoldovich, if I still had strength to pray, this would be my prayer.“
„I haven't prayed in years,“ Bormental suddenly admitted, a little perplexed by the fact. Before he realised what he was doing, he got down on his knees in front of Philip Philippovich, still trying to hold up his glass of vodka.
„So... let's toast, Philip Philippovich. Let's drink to... let's pray for the dog's life.“
Professor stared at him unbelievingly, his cheeks flushed, as he clinked his glass with Bormental's and downed it in one gulp, contrary to his custom. Bormental mimicked him and his head swam. He swayed on his knees backwards a little and started praying aloud.
„Ave Maria, gratia plena, dominus tecum... uh, benedicta tu...“ Bormental suddenly stopped reciting. „How does it go, Philip Philippovich?“
„Oh, I don't know, my dear,“ professor admitted quietly. „My father was an orthodox archpriest. I don't know catholic prayers.“
After a few unfruitful attempts to summon the right words, Bormental gave up. Exhausted, he rested his forehead against Philip Philippovich's knee which jerked a little at the sudden contact. He didn't know what he expected to happen. Maybe the drowning he envisioned an hour ago, so long ago.
In a matter of centuries, or so it seemed to Bormental, a tentative hand appeared on his head. It caressed him lightly, as if not to mess up his pomaded hair. The less he expected it, the more he apppreciated it.
„I meant it, Ivan Arnoldovich.“
„What exactly?“
„That I would pray for a happy ending for us,“ professor sighed deeply, „were I strong enough to do it.“
„Philip Philippovich, please tell me...“ muttered Bormental into the professor's shin as the hand continued caressing his head, „is there anything I could possibly do?“
„I would love to, my dear boy. But I am at loss.“
A few moments later, another hand appeared on Bormental's shoulder. Its thumb slowly stroked the side of Bormental's neck. The other hand was still cradling his head and he was sure the carpet was about to swallow him. He tentatively embraced Philip Philippovich's calves for support and closed his eyes.
Exactly in that moment, a barking shriek came from the operating theatre and echoed through the flat like a gong.
Their time was up.