When

This story has a good ending.

Sophie found Peter just before the end of the world. 

People were running around, animals were crying out in despair and the vertical world was flattened, cut off at its base by water rushing in.

The ark hadn’t arrived. People sought shelter on the upper floors of houses. Peter was being pushed away from the entrance when thin fingers grabbed him by the wrist. His knee was stuck in the greenery, as were his bare ankles and orange sneakers. He couldn’t look up, hypnotized by the spiraling water. 

“We’re heading there,” said a woman, pointing to a concrete garage with her foot. “That house is safer,” said Peter dragging her to a five-story building. 

Sophie pulled back. After all, panic replaces personal will with crowd instinct. Peter obeyed her with the same indifference that had previously allowed him to be pulled away from the saving door. He followed her as indifferently as he had driven to the seaside that summer. After all, a nuclear physicist wasn’t allowed to travel to distant shores.

They reached the garage. It had a flat, black-tarped roof. Peter took off his sneaker and measured the distance to the water – two lengths of a size 43 shoe. Maybe one and a half. “The water’s coming in,” he said. His companion was stomping around barefoot on the roof that was still warm from the day, as if she was feeling the muddy roof with her toes. 

“We’re going to drown,” yelled Peter. “Don’t look down,” advised Sophie. He raised his eyes and looked at her. Wide-eyed, her dark eyebrows popped out from behind her light fringe. The birthmark next to her nipple looked like a binary star – Sophie was drying her tunic, like a multicolored cloth, breaking her back in two, swinging harder and faster. Her hair, her chest and her shadow that was elongated by the sunset swayed from side to side. Peter turned away. 

The alkaline horizon dissolved the orb of the sun into a ball of orange slime. “We’re going to die here,” he said. “I should have gone home.” “No,” Sophie replied. He stayed silent. “There’s no more home,” she added.

He turned around. Steel framework now stood in the spot where the five-story building was. The water was bubbling. Peter felt numb. The day’s events had exceeded his emotional range. 

Sophie put on her tunic and froze, stretching her arms out in the sun. The wind blew up her billowing sleeves. Her shadow extended over the edge of the roof and hung her head into the water. The sunset faded and the shadow’s neck straightened out into a thin line, no longer creating a break between the roof and the flat world around them.

The floodwater crashed into Peter’s leg. It was only a thin layer of water, but he could feel the power of the ocean behind it, like how hooligans send a kid ahead before laying a claim to a victim. Peter pulled Sophie close. “Don’t worry,” he said.

With a wrinkled mouth, the stream had finished munching on the day’s prey. The water caressed Peter’s ankle: “now it’s your turn.” He spread his legs wider. But the flood pulled harder: “the last word.” The condemned was silent. The flood swept the roof out from under his feet.

Peter stretched his hand out towards Sophie, but she pushed the physicist away. He fell on his back but he didn’t drown. He hit the side of a small boat. Sophie jumped in after him. The boatman had his back to them, sat on a tin. Sophie sank to the bottom of the boat and Peter laid on her lap, pressing his ear to the warmth of life.

It was like a summer’s night. The sky was splashing about noisily between the sides, overflowing with strong gusts of wind. A hole in the patchworked clouds was filled by the moon. Sophie touched Peter’s forehead and the fear melted away. He saw his reflection in her eyes and realized that he was dreaming.

He awoke on a dry shore, bathed in the warmth. The boat had vanished. Sophie was next to him. “How long have I been asleep?” he asked. “Don’t ask me about time,” she replied. She pulled her tunic off of her companion, throwing her arms into the air as she jumped into the water and emerged with tousled hair.

“I’m singing a new dawn for my hero,” she laughed and put her fist to her mouth, mimicking a trumpet. She woke Peter up like this every morning. There were few female things in their city apartment, she didn’t really care for clothes. There was a teapot and a bed. The apartment was cozy, with no conveniences, but the simple happiness of two lovers fit perfectly into this space. At Sophie’s request, the clock had been thrown away. Peter had been sacked. His body couldn’t even handle a binge. He was paralyzed by an unnecessary person.

“Do you feel bad now?” wondered Sophie. Squishing his cheek, Peter examined his companion’s binary star up close. “Now I’m good,” he replied. “You have to live in the now.” “A man must be able to provide for the future,” she said in retort. “Did it ask you to do that?” he asked.

Sophie was living one day at a time, but it seemed as if this day was endless. Peter couldn’t remember her sleeping, or even being tired. Sometimes she sat frozen in the lotus pose for hours. She hardly ate. Even he forgot about food when he was with her. She had saved him from living a half-life.

Sophie often went out for a walk alone. “Will you be long? asked Peter. “I’ll be nearby,” she replied. Sometimes that meant five minutes, sometimes an hour. But she always came back. She raked bills for hotels in Leningrad, plane tickets to Rome and the smell of the sea out of a brown paper bag. Peter had no clue where and how Sophie was collecting this rubbish – you couldn’t get to St Petersburg in an hour, let alone the train station. In any case he was jealous.

“How many men have you been with before?” he asked. “None,” she replied. “That’s not what the evidence says,” he contradicted her and she retorted by saying “and there won’t be another after that.” Sophie had the superpower of never getting offended.

If the food ever ran out, Peter went bombing. He destroyed two cars. He borrowed the ancient rusted Ford from a friend, and then another. The Ford turned out to last much longer, even though the foreign one cost the same as an apartment.

But before Peter could open his mouth, Sophie blurted out “we’ll finally get a new place.” “You’re joking! I’m a bum,” Peter said collapsing onto the sofa. He didn’t have time to be surprised by his companion’s suspicious knowledge. That evening, he packed up his things.

“Are we moving?” Sophie asked excitedly when she saw the boxes in the corridor. Peter was quiet. How could he explain it all to a woman who lived without her feet on the ground? “Let’s go here,” Sophie said showing him an array of glossy magazines. “It’s free. Look at the picture on the wall.” Peter groaned. “Are you kidding? Look at the price.” Sophie looked at the magazine, “one treasure.” She went silent and looked out of the window like she always did. An hour later she said “we’ll go digging tomorrow.” “Help me carry the boxes,” Peter asked.

They took the lift down. The battered car was filled to the brim with junk, the car had to be repurchased. That night they slept on the floor. Peter tossed and turned, making the floor creak, until Sophie put his head on her lap. Everything was just as calm as the day they met.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked half asleep. “There is no tomorrow,” she said. But she had lied again. Dawn came and Peter threw the key into the postbox. Sophie got in the driver’s seat. He didn’t even bother to ask where they were going. He just quietly did as he was told, like when they first met. 

He’d made up his mind that Sophie must have had relatives with a spare room. They left the city, passing by Volokolamsk, slipping through a hole in a fence of an abandoned manor house. They went down to an unkempt park and Sophie stuck a shovel into the ground. “It’s here. I saw it,” she said. “A long time ago?” he asked? “107 years ago according to you.” “Well, what do you think?” “I think we’d better dig.” 

The ground was soft. They found enough money to buy a two-room apartment and a garage. The guards for the condo didn’t allow the old “Fords” to enter for a long time. She found a job in her homeland’s scientific research center as a warehouse worker. The country didn’t require reactor specialists and auxiliaries were paid regularly. After all, a salary that’s enough to pay rent was better than nothing.

The paupers invested their surplus in hope. Peter developed a scientific approach to sports betting. He won, of course, thanks to Sophie who found a ticket that had fallen underneath the sofa. “Now the wedding,” said Peter. “Why?” Sophie asked confused. “To be with you forever,” he replied. “Be with me know, it’s much longer,” she retorted. But Peter pressed the matter. He asked her to think about having children. “Eventually,” she agreed. “Not today?”

Peter changed the calendar in the hallway three times since he asked that question. “Today, but not right away,” Sophie eventually said. “A son, a daughter, a happy family, photos in chronological order. Let’s start right away.” “I’m ready,” said Peter in error.

Sophie took him to the other side of the planet. The physicist followed her once again. By road, by plane, hitchhiking across Europe. Sophie the tour guide new every painting, every artefact. She cited her sources: “I saw, he said…” She was told these things by Shaw, Hugo and Constable. The brilliance of the Sun King, the construction of the pyramids and the death of Judas were reflected in her eyes. It’s easier to show someone than to tell them how Cleopatra seduced men and how Elena the Beautiful drove them mad.

Peter believed her. He didn’t call his companion out when she contradicted herself. He only asked once one morning when Sophie-Delilah stole all his strength: “How old are you?” She replied with an absent-minded caress. Peter pushed her away and propped himself up on his elbow. He had never seen his companion’s passport. It just so happened that they even had to go through border control separately. Sophie simply vanished and then ended up next to him on the plane.

“How old are you?” he asked again stubbornly. He became visibly anxious and hopeless. “Eighteen.” “You’re lying,” Peter said shaking her by the shoulders. “Why do you always lie?” “I’m not lying,” said Sophie sitting down into the lotus position, her back straight, knees apart and her cupped hands filled.

“Can we finally have a serious talk?” Peter said, not letting her leave. “Sorry, I don’t have time,” she answered. “Don’t have the time? For me?” he said taken aback. “I meant in general,” she said. “I’ve been living outside for a while. Like the first person in Heaven. The snake didn’t give Eve an apple. He whispered the word ‘tomorrow’. The myth is that everything will be better later. And people rushed to the next thing, abandoning what they already had. Behind her was another and then the endless ‘after’, twisted into a wheel of desires with a man running in it since, like a greedy squirrel.” “It’s a myth,” Peter said pulling away. “I’m asking seriously.”

“If we’re being serious then time is an extra dimension. Subjective time does not exist, just like there is no subjective length or width. You do not get older by moving along the axes of the physical world, do you? You can go from A to B and back again. On the axis of time you can only see ‘tomorrow,’ just like a donkey can only see a carrot held on a stick in front of its face. A person’s inability to realize their current happiness makes them a slave to the wheel. But I managed to stop the cycle. It’s like jumping off a fast train and seeing the world as if its frozen.”

This conversation happened in a hotel in an equatorial country early in the morning an hour before an important meeting. Peter didn’t really know how they got here. “Work,” Sophie explained, “for you.” 

The physicist looked at the city rising out of the sand and didn’t think that he could live here. Besides, he didn’t even like shisha. But the employers, two European men, one with grey hair and one with a beard, both in golden suits, didn’t insist. One was a very accurate translator. He prepared a copy of the contract for Peter in Russian. At first he refused, as the law doesn’t allow that kind of money for that kind of work. 

“Do you want more?” asked the grey-haired man. The bearded mean waved his hands about and spoke angrily while the translator looked at him questioningly. He shrugged and translated. He had to agree. Anyway, there wasn’t a choice. The physicist had been removed from ten countries and nobody was going to look for him here. It was for the best.

Peter glanced at Sophie. She froze with an absent look on her face, as if she had nothing to do with the conversation. After he signed the contract he was given a credit card and a very expensive watch. “Who’re you?” shouted Peter. “Where are my documents?” He grabbed Sophie’s bag, the only thing that she had lugged around with her all the years that they had known each other. Out fell papers, passports and photos. Peter picked them up. Case number, his photo, a list of achievements, dissertation topic, several sheets of paper with the heading “top secret.” If they were detained at the border, it would be for life.

“You stole me?” he said sinking wearily into the bed. “Do you work for the intelligence agency? Don’t lie to me. It’s clear now why you chose me, why they sent a boat for us. You waited for the security to be lifted and took me.” “Calm down,” Sophie said. “I wasn’t joking. I live outside of time. Try to understand. The day we met and today are the same moment for me. I only just met you and brought you here because an ancient reactor in the sand is on its last legs. One wrong move and it will explode. It will be the end of the world.”

“You want me to believe you? Me? A doctor of science?” he said. “I know it’s hard for you as a doctor,” Sophie agreed. “You believe that distance is a function of time, that a straight line is the shortest distance between two points. But from ten-dimensional space your straight lines look like scrawls. If you weren’t a doctor you could have walked off the flooded roof right then and there. But you’re too smart for that.”

“You’re a spy,” Peter insisted. “Your colleagues organized the disaster. You even knew about it before I told you.” “I knew at that very moment that there was no one else for me,” she said. “You buried the money for the apartment ahead of time so that I’d be in debt,” he said unraveling her secrets.

“The manor’s previous owners buried it. It’s not hard to see if you move away along the axis that’s perpendicular to time,” she said. “And the lottery?” he asked. “How did you predict the five numbers? I think I must have bought the winning ticket for a high price. That’s how people launder money after all.”

“I know the results of every lottery,” Sophie explained. “I don’t believe you,” he said. There was true pain written on his face. “The worst thing…” he said before falling silent, deciding not to express himself, but then gathering his strength and continuing, “the worst thing is that you never loved me. You looked after me like a lamb for slaughter. I would forgive everything right now for a chance at believing you. Sell me into slavery but help me believe you,”

“I love you,” declared Sophie. “I’m happy to love the man who saved the world.” “Don’t be silly. I haven’t saved anything, not yet at least. You couldn’t have loved me years ago for something I would do in the future,” he said.

“You haven’t understood anything,” Sophie sighed. “First you fixed the reactor then I fell in love with you. More specifically, these two events continue to happen but you can’t see it. But don’t be afraid. We’re currently hugging on the flooded rood. I repeat: do not be afraid.”

Sophie froze, her gaze locked on the far sand. “Come back,” Peter said grabbing her by the shoulder. She flinched. “Where were you?” “Everywhere,” she answered. “Where are you now?” Peter asked changing the question. “Helping one person.” “Why?” “Because I can see,” explained Sophie. “A three-dimensional world looks flat from a ten-dimensional one. I can see a bird flying over the plain. The seeing are compassionate and we must help.”

“Are you with another person now?” asked Peter. “I’m with everyone,” answered Sophie. “With a man,” specified Peter. “Do you love him?” “I’m saving you. It’s helping you,” she replied. “You lied to me the entire time,” he said. “Let’s wait,” she said. “You’ll fix the reactor and then you’ll believe that I love you. We’re married. We have beautiful children. You’re recognized throughout the world. No more failures.” “When?” he shouted. “When?” He tapped the face of his new watch. Sophie turned pale. “I asked you not to use that word!” she said, running into the bathroom and thrusting her hand under the cold stream of water. “Don’t touch me with the watch. Throw it away,” she asked. “When?! When?!” shouted Peter vindictively, like an evil man taunting his victim.

The door slammed shut. Sophie disappeared. Life was a whirlwind. Monday-Friday. He met a normal woman at a New Year’s party. His employers turned out to be sane people. Peter spent a long time trying to find out the truth about Sophie but they only looked at each other in surprise. 

Once he’d completed his contract, Peter returned to his homeland. He became enthusiastic about the physics of time and proved the impossibility of a woman living outside of it. But strictly speaking time has proved Sophie right. String theory and the ten-dimensional space theory have long been recognized by the scientific community. The principle of superposition allows an object to exist at multiple points in the space-time continuum. The heroic worker Peter agreed with this. He almost believed in Sophie’s life outside of time and that she really loved him. The latter was significantly more important to the physicist.

However, despite advances in technical fields, modern science is still not able to overcome the psychological paradox of the timeless theory. It’s obvious to physicists that a rational person cannot physically sympathize with all of humanity and is hence doomed to ruin when looking at the world from a hypothetical axis that is perpendicular to the time line, just like how an astronaut’s internal pressure ruptures if they leave the space station without a spacesuit. 

Once he’d proven his theory, Peter categorized his adventures with Sophie as a banal spy story, and then forgot all about them. He vaguely remembered the flood about 40 years after the postponed end of the world.

He was watching TV. Reporters like to show people running around, in another country, hitting the cameras, the victims up close and personal. A woman was leading a wounded man away, pulling him against the general flow of people, without bumping into anyone, as if she knew their movements in advance. They showed her face. She looked an awful lot like the spy. People were suffering all around her.

Peter, the reasonable man, turned off the TV. This story has a dramatic beginning no matter how you read it.