Vita Nostra by Marina Dyachenko, Sergey Dyachenko

“Hurry up.”
    The first years began to move, exchanging glances, slowly creeping up closer to the stage. Sasha and Kostya found a spot at the end of the second row, and everyone trying to get to the center seats kept stumbling over their feet.
    The man on the stage waited. He looked nothing like Sasha’s image of a college professor: instead of a suit, he wore jeans and a striped sweater. His straight blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, and he wore glasses, long and narrow like razor blades, that seemed especially designed to allow him to look above the lenses.
    “My name is Oleg Borisovich. Oleg Borisovich Portnov. Young man in the fifth row, yes, you. Don’t be shy, come closer. There are not that many of us, we have plenty of space. I would like to extend my congratulations to you, ladies and gentlemen, on this significant event in your lives: your admission to the first year of Torpa’s Institute of Special Technologies. You are to expect an interesting life and plenty of hard work. Miss,” his finger pointed at Lisa who leaned over to whisper something to Oksana. “When I speak, everyone else is silent. Please remember that in the future.”
    Lisa choked. The room was very quiet. Portnov took a few steps along the platform, his eyes traveling from face to face, slowly, like a ray of a flashlight.
    “Thus, you are students. In honor of your initiation, the student hymn will be performed. If you know the words, please sing along.”
    A triumphant chord burst out of the sound system. Portnov motioned for everyone to rise. An invisible chorus sung with an appropriate solemnity:
    Gaudeamus igitur,
    Juvenes dum sumus!
    Post jucundam juventutem,
    Post molestam senectutem
    Nos habebit humus !
    Sasha quickly observed the audience. Only a few people were singing along. Lisa stood with her lips tightly shut. Oksana strained to hear the words—her Latin did not seem very strong. Sasha herself knew the text, she learned it a while ago in her prep course. The translation of this seemingly joyful song never struck her as happy:
    After a pleasant youth
    After a troubling old age
    The earth will have us.
    Such a lovely beginning.
    Vita nostra brevis est,
    Brevi finietur;
    Venit mors velociter,
    Rarit nos atrociter,
    Nemini parcetur!
    This part she particularly disliked: in this verse, all men were promised an imminent death that spares no one. Vita nostra… “Our life is brief, /It will shortly end; /Death comes quickly.” Maybe the medieval students didn’t give a hoot, Sasha thought darkly. Maybe if I were listening to Gaudeamus at home, at our university, I wouldn’t give a hoot either, and I wouldn’t have any of these thoughts. But I am in Torpa.
    Vivat Academia,
    Vivant professores!
    Vivat membrum quodlibet,
    Vivat membra quaelibet
    Semper sint in flore!
    The song ended. The students sat down, as if ending a minute of silence. Portnov stood at the very edge of the platform, hanging over the first rows, studying their faces. Sasha caught his gaze and lowered her own.
    “And now we’re going to watch a short film—our school’s official presentation. I would like to ask you to pay attention, refrain from talking and interrupting your neighbors’ viewing. Enjoy the film.”
    The light went out. The dark curtains on the windows twitched and moved closer. Behind the stage, a light rectangle appeared on the screen, reminding Sasha of newsreels of her early childhood: something very archaic was in the black and white image displayed on the screen.
    “Welcome to the ancient town of Torpa,” announced the deep voice of the narrator. “The Institute of the Special Technologies salutes you!”
    A bright logo swam out of the darkness, a rounded symbol, the same as on the front of a gold coin. Sasha stopped breathing.
    Last night she analyzed everything. She whispered: “I want it to be a dream,” squeezing her eyes shut. She lay staring at the ceiling. She seriously believed that she’d been taken into a secret