By and large, I immediately realized back then that either I had developed a split personality, or a real adventure had begun. All that remained was to decide which it actually was, because my future actions depended on this decision. If it was a split personality... I don't like running to doctors, and I'm absolutely terrified of psychiatrists, even though I've never crossed paths with one—so I settled on the adventure. Though the thought did occasionally pop into my head: "Now this is a glitch!"
"Thus thought the young rake, flying in the dust on post-horses..." I try to reconstruct in my memory what happened back then, what took place. I remember that I recalled Pushkin on that shore, and his line from Eugene Onegin. Something about it alarmed me that time... no, just caught my attention... ah, yes—the young rake! I mean, the man is still young, but he already has a rake. A tragedy! Though most likely it's purely psychological, so he could skip the meds and just have a chat with a sex therapist.
...Yes, that is exactly what I was thinking about back then! Sitting god-knows-where, on god-knows-what distant shore, in god-knows-what company, pondering what Pushkin meant by the phrase "young rake." What an idiot I am. Truly, one of the trio was right—I have no moving parts in my brain, everything is rigidly set in stone...
"Stop flagellating yourself, you're perfectly fine! Let's get packing."
"What do you mean 'fine'? And how do you... are you reading my mind?"
"Not reading, just assuming. Did you forget we're your casts? Soon enough we'll grow some fat and body hair, but for now we're just as dum... just as human as you are!"
"Alright, packing for where?"
"For a field trip!"
"Where to? And what is there to see here? When everything looks exactly the same, with no end and no edge?"
"Don't be so sure! There must be a Home here!" As he said the word "home," he pointed his index finger upward.
"Home, you say... I wonder what my wife is doing back home right now—it's already morning, and the breadwinner has vanished without a trace? Stuck god-knows-where with god-knows-who!"
"Don't worry, we'll return you later, safe and soundless!"
"You need to go back to school," the second one interrupted him, "you're supposed to say: 'safe and sound'!"
"Knock it off, just put out the fire. Did you dig out all the potatoes?" The third one interrupted them, then turned to me: "Don't worry, you're in good hands with us!"
"Though you'll get a hefty taste of misery," added the first or the second.
"Grandpas, what are your names? And how am I supposed to tell you apart when you all look exactly the same?" I was being a little disingenuous here: two of them were indeed grandpas... surprisingly nimble and muscular pensioners, above average in height, swarthy, either naturally bald or clean-shaven on top, yet sporting long white beards. The third was somewhat younger and bulkier than his companions, and instead of a face, he had a cheerful, unshaven turnip. Moreover, what else set him apart was that his entire visible body also exhibited increased wooliness, covered as it was in a week's worth of stubble.
Though it depends on how you look at it...