THE STORY

Kostiantyn Kozlov

THE STORY

Dave was returning from a business trip; he was drained.

Not so much that he would stay in that damned city for one more night, but enough that the signs saying “Tiredness can kill” along the highway were causing him concern.

He decided to take the mountain road. It took 20 minutes longer, but the rare oncoming cars saw you from afar and switched off their full beam in time, and the winding road surface didn’t let you fall asleep from boredom.

He turned off the annoying club music that always played on the radio at night and switched on audiobooks from a selection of his favourite writers. Dave loved reading, but since getting this job he never had time for it and survived on audio stories during long business trips.

He listened through the final minute of the story about a time machine and started the next one - about four astronauts who had to save a biological planet from death. The planet’s atmosphere was poisonous for humans, and the astronauts couldn’t remove their spacesuits.

Dave’s thoughts clung to this, and he wondered how they managed to go to the toilet inside a spacesuit.

He also thought that such musings didn’t really suit his image, but luckily no one could read minds.

Mountain roads are wonderful, but they have one significant drawback.

Dave realised why he had been thinking about a spacesuit: his cup of foul-tasting coffee was empty - which couldn’t be said about his bladder.

There were no stops around. The car was starting to feel more and more like a trap.

Sitting was becoming painful. He unbuttoned his trouser belt to reduce the pressure, but it didn’t help much.

“At least I won’t fall asleep now,” Dave muttered, gradually becoming an unpleasant person.

Irritation was filling him just as much as the coffee had.

He tried to concentrate on the audiobook but kept catching himself skipping chunks of dialogue.

He switched off the sound and continued driving in silence.

Ahead, a red glow appeared on the right side.

Dave rejoiced when he saw an old petrol station on the mountain roadside. There was light inside - light that gave hope.

He stopped his car near the entrance to the night shop attached to the station.

If he had had the choice whether to ask or not - he wouldn’t have asked. But he no longer had a choice.

The shop assistant was busy with night bookkeeping and was actively writing something into forms.

“Good evening,” Dave said. “May I use your toilet?”

“Outside and to the left,” she replied without lifting her gaze. “You’ll see it.”

Dave thanked her politely and quickly went outside. A fine rain was falling, creating the sensation of white noise.

He started walking around the building and saw an unusually narrow door in the red brick.

He ran up to the door, tried to push - it did not open.

He pulled - it remained motionless.

He looked at the sign: painted on the door were a symbolic man and woman standing side by side.

“Probably the owners are trying to pass off a lack of money for a second toilet as a gender-neutral bathroom…” Dave thought.

He pushed the door again - and saw it slide to the left.

“Seriously?!” he blurted out, and shoved it aside.

The door turned out to be sliding.

He dashed inside almost at a run.

He hurried along the narrow corridor to the far urinal and finally felt relief.

As the internal pressure dropped, Dave noticed that this toilet was very different from all the others:

• the space was narrow and elongated - more like the corridor of a miner’s house;

• there was no toilet bowl inside;

• two urinals and a sink hung along the wall, lit by small lamps - like an art installation.

Dave quietly rejoiced that he only needed a urinal.

He automatically walked to the far one to avoid standing in the middle, and now stood at the very end of the room.

He was peeing and thinking, “A gender-neutral toilet can’t have only urinals…”

The old extractor fan rattled like a bucket full of nails.

He was almost finished when suddenly the noise of the fan faded - and another man walked in.

Dave felt a bit awkward, but the man smiled kindly and stood next to him.

Dave pretended he was still peeing to buy some time, then zipped up and turned to walk towards the sink.

But the narrow corridor didn’t allow him to pass behind the man.

Dave waited, trying not to look at him.

He searched for something to fix his gaze on - but there was nothing except the extractor fan, which was once again grinding its ancient bearings.

A few uncomfortable minutes passed.

The man continued to pee.

He was tall, with sucked-down hair and clothes mended in places.

Dave wanted to ask whether he could try to let him past, but the man, as if sensing this, said:

“Sorry, mate, it’s been a very long journey.”

They stayed where they were: the man - peeing, Dave - staring at the wall.

Suddenly the extractor fan fell silent again - and the door opened.

Dave had a momentary hope that a third person would help put an end to this awkward madness. But a second later he forgot about it.

Three people walked in:

a man around 35, a young woman holding his arm, and a boy of primary school age.

All of them were dressed in Victorian-era costumes.

The man politely touched his hat.

The boy, though he had no hat, tried to repeat the gesture.

The woman smiled warmly.

She asked Dave:

“Are you going up or down?”

These words passed right by Dave’s ears, but the peeing man replied:

“We’re going down.”

The extractor fan started up again.

Dave looked at the trio through the fog of his tired brain. He couldn’t understand what was happening or why everyone reacted to events incorrectly.

He asked:

“Excuse me, isn’t this the men’s toilet?”

This was a mistake.

The woman flared up like a match. Her eyes filled with fire.

Dave recognised that look - his ex-wife had the same unkind fire in her eyes during their last arguments.

Dave reflexively prepared for the worst, thinking, “Good thing I got divorced…”

But the woman was stopped by the man, who gently said:

“Don’t, dear. Perhaps he’s simply from there.”

He nodded downwards.

The woman cooled instantly.

“Sorry, I didn’t think of that. My apologies again.”

The extractor fan fell silent once more; the trio opened the door and left.

The man who had been peeing also stopped, shook, zipped up, and, extending his hand, said:

“Nice to meet you, mate!”

Dave looked at the dirty hand and remained silent.

The man shrugged in disappointment, put his hands in his pockets and left, pulling the door closed behind him.

The extractor fan hummed again.

Dave walked to the sink and washed his hands twice with soap — as if trying to scrub off the feeling of the incomprehensible.

He went outside. The rain was still falling. There was no one at the station.

The closed shop gave him a strange feeling.

Something was wrong with his car as well, but he was too tired and too eager to get home to deal with it now.

He turned on the audiobook — and again the final minute of the story about the time machine began.

Dave turned off the sound and drove the next two hours in silence.

He parked near the block of flats, thanking himself that he hadn’t fallen asleep at the wheel.

He went up to his flat, opened the door — and smelled freshly cooked food.

Someone was in the kitchen.

He tensed and growled in the most threatening voice he could manage:

“Who’s here?!”

His ex-wife rushed from the kitchen into the hallway.

She looked at him, relaxed, and said:

“Oh God, Dave, you’ll send me to an early grave. Dinner isn’t ready yet, so you’ll have to wait a bit.”

She paused:

“Are you alright, darling?”

Dave stood frozen.

He looked at her.

Looked at his hands.

Then suddenly spun around, dashed out of the flat and rushed to the car.

Dave drove towards the petrol station.

He finally realised what had been wrong.

It wasn’t his floor.