The Invisible Life of Ivan Isaenko Read Online Free PDF

saw the waterlogged pages, she sighed, walked out, and returned with a flask a few minutes later.
    â€œIt’s full,” she said, while setting it on the table next to my bed. “Don’t even think about asking for more.”
    Spasibo, Natalya.
    Then she knelt down and kissed my forehead.
    â€œYou stayed for me?” I asked.
    â€œMaybe.”
    She combed her fingers through my greasy, unshowered hair, and I let my head fall to the side, feigning sleep. When she left, I took one long, hard sip, waited a moment to evaluate its effect on my brain, and then took another.
    Alex
    Alex looks almost normal from the nose down. However, at his temple region, his head blossoms into a veritable melon at least three times the diameter of the rest of his head. I once asked Nurse Elena why his head was so big. She just said:
    â€œThat boy’s dome is just one big water balloon. Don’t get too close, Ivan. It may pop one day.”
    It is entirely obvious to anyone within a hundred meters of Alex that his center of gravity resides at the tip of his forehead. Consequently, it’s no surprise that balance is a luxury for the boy, making it nearly impossible for him to hold up and control the colossus. As a result, he is constantly bonking his head off furniture, doorframes, and medical equipment.
    Apparently, all that water resting on Alex’s brain results in a variety of neurological disadvantages, including an inability to formulate any words with his mouth except for shoko, * severe limits in the range of motion in his legs, and spontaneous outbursts that have become part of the melodious soundtrack of this institution. Fortunately, his love for shoko often negates whatever irritation is causing his tantrum. At any given time, we are likely to find charming gobs of chocolate smeared all over Alex (primarily on his cheeks and elbows).
    There is a bright spot for Alex: when he is not tantruming, he is smiling. It is an idiotic oaf-like smile, but it is a smile nevertheless, and to be perfectly honest, it is a smile that I would love to have if only my weak cheeks could muster it. Why Alex smiles, I do not know. Maybe it’s the weight of all that water applying constant pressure to the smile real estate of his brain. Or it could simply be one of the more innocuous consequences of the brain damage he suffers due to repeated head collisions.
    Alex once had a mom and a dad. When he arrived a few years ago, they visited him every Sunday morning. Shortly after church hours, the duo would arrive with blank, stoic faces and spend an average of eight minutes making small talk, to which Alex responded with various varietals of shoko, some deep and boomy, others abrupt and shrieky, to which the parents responded by feeding him bar after bar of chocolate. When they were out of chocolate bars, the mother would violently wipe away the chocolate residue from his round cheeks, and you could almost hear the water in his head slosh around.
    The father, who peeled the wrappers off all those bars, was a tall, imposing, and quite fat man with a serious, almost fierce face. He dressed sharply in expensive suits tailored to fit his monstrous stomach perfectly. The mother, who scrubbed the chocolate off Alex’s face, was quiet and aloof and looked like she might have suffered some brain damage herself. She wore frumpy, conservative church dresses, which made it impossible to tell what hid beneath them.
    In all the years of their visits, I don’t believe I ever heard them say a word to each other. Sometimes the nurses would try to say a few cordial niceties or ask questions, but the parents would never respond. When their time was up, they would pack their coats, scarves, and assorted other belongings (faces just as blank and emotionless as when they arrived) and walk out. No hug, no emotional good-byes. And yet they never missed a Sunday.
    â€œWhat’s with Alex’s parents?” I once asked Nurse Natalya