Until the age of thirty-six, Gennady lived calmly and even thought he was doing quite well. Wife Lyusya, daughter Dasha, a three-room Khrushchev apartment with windows on both sides, a perfectly respectable job as a middle manager with a salary of thirty thousand and even, sometimes, quarterly bonuses.
Every morning, after eating his traditional fried eggs with sausages and drinking instant coffee with four spoons of sugar, fresh, lively and quite content, Gena set off for work.
That day something went wrong.
The water at home had been turned off; he could not wash or shave, and accordingly could not drink coffee either.
Unwashed Lyusya led their capricious daughter to kindergarten, grumbling from irritation at the disrupted morning routine and recalling all her old grievances. Gennady’s mood was vile. But he too had to go to work.
A phone call brought him back from the front door.
Gena put into his “Hello” all his anger at the utilities and irritation at his wife.
“Good morning,” murmured the receiver. “Our center for the study of public opinion is conducting a sociological survey. Could you give us a couple of minutes?”
“No,” barked Gena. “I have no time.”
“Please, just one question: do you consider yourself a genius?”
Gennady, already about to slam down the receiver, stopped and grinned.
“A prank,” he thought. One of his classmates was fooling around.
It had all begun more than thirty years before (he considered the numbers 3 and 30 mystical in general, because they had pursued him all his life), when his mother first brought the boy to kindergarten. Before that, Gena had been raised by his grandmother, but closer to school they decided to send him into a group. Not so much for socialization as for the development and correction of speech. The thing was that Gena pronounced some letters poorly and often mixed up sounds in words. And the kindergarten had as many as three speech therapists!
A plump, smiling teacher, like a fairy-tale sorceress, met Gena at the entrance:
“Hello, dear. My name is Marina Valentinovna, and what is yours?”
“I’m Gennyus,” lisped the boy, pronouncing his name even more indistinctly from agitation.
“Oh! Children, meet him, a genius has come to us,” the teacher rejoiced.
And so the name Genius stuck to our hero.
The kindergarten stood next to the school, and many friends from the same kindergarten group ended up a couple of years later in the same class. And Gena’s new name went with them to school.
Gena did not object: Genius, then Genius! It was not offensive at all. Even flattering.
Thanks to the persistence of the teachers and speech therapists, Gena learned to speak quite decently, and not even an offending trace remained of the memories of his poor diction.
Thus he studied all eleven years under the name Genius. And as people say, words are material. Even if no signs of genius were noticed in his studies, it put down strong roots in his consciousness.
After school, to his regret, his ordinary name returned. And for many years, until that morning’s phone call, Gena did not remember that he was a Genius.
“Karina? Is that you? Katya? Olya?” Not a trace of irritation remained.
“No, no,” the receiver hurried to respond. “My name is Ksenia, I am an employee of the Intelligence Development Sector.”
“Who is this?” Gennady did not believe it. “Rita, is that you playing a joke on me?”
“Please answer our main question: are you certain that you are a genius?”
“Of course,” Gennady laughed. “That is definitely me! Are we meeting somewhere? A reunion? A collection?”
“First we must establish the authenticity of your genius,” the receiver became slightly confused. “If you can confirm that you are a genius, we shall invite you to the first founding congress for the creation of a society of creative and successful people. A kind of local Silicon Valley. And this movement will be headed by a universally recognized genius. How can you prove that you are precisely a genius? Do you have certificates?”
“I have witnesses,” Gena continued to play along with the presumed prank. “As many as thirty-eight people! And earlier, twenty.”
“Excellent,” the receiver burbled happily. “For two weeks we have been trying to find a genius, but so far we have gathered only a couple of hundred capable and even talented people, but not geniuses. Although, to be honest, not everyone agrees with our opinion. Almost every other person imagines himself a genius. Only you have convincing proof and witnesses. When did you first learn that you were a genius?”
“I was about five. They called me Genius as soon as I entered kindergarten.”
“Excellent,” the receiver repeated. “And who was the first to grant you this title?”
“The teacher.”
“Oh! Teachers immediately determine the degree of giftedness of their pupils, unlike parents, who are one hundred percent convinced of the genius of each offspring. Tell me, were you treated the same way at school?”
“Yes, my classmates and teachers called me Genius throughout my studies. Don’t you remember yourself?”
“Excuse me. Then the next question: do you agree to meet us?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes! Of course! With pleasure! Where will the meeting be? When? How much are we contributing?”
“You will be informed of the place and time additionally. The entrance fee is three thousand, the annual fee thirty, and for the genius certificates another three hundred...”
“That comes out rather expensive,” thought Gennady, adding it up in his head and not hearing the quiet end of the phrase: “thousand euros.”
“Well, never mind. I haven’t seen the guys for so long. I’ll be Genius again, like in childhood!”
“I’ll definitely come!” he shouted. “We’ll call each other!” And smiling, he put down the receiver.
In the toilet cistern, water joyfully began to murmur.
