The captivating paths of truth

"Do you think it's easy to always tell the truth?" Aynike asked playfully, giving her leg a little shake.

The gesture turned out to be remarkably ambiguous, as elegant as it was alluring. Kirill couldn't help but admire his dark-haired companion with the wonderful Baltic name, who was half-sitting next to him on the wide bridge railing.

'His' — that was perhaps an overstatement.

Kir himself was essentially no more than a chance companion to this unusual person with the broadest horizons and a wonderfully mixed worldview.

How do acquaintances usually start these days? A couple of remarks on a cyberpunk forum, a couple of remarks on a literary one.

Getting acquainted

with a blog and photos: "Wow, she's a cute girl."

A prolonged chat correspondence: "I dream of chatting with you until my fingers ache."

An invitation to a party for de-virtualization. Besides Kirill, several of Ayni's acquaintances from the World Wide Web were also invited.

Lengthy philosophical conversations.

About what?

About all sorts of things. Ayni was not quite an ordinary girl, introducing into her circle of interests things like Esperanto and alchemy, as well as cyber-goth and Zen Buddhism. What these conversations lacked was romance.

Which, it must be said, he was even somewhat glad about.

An owl like Kirill could still easily and casually pretend to be a bright, original personality in the Digital Web — but in real life, trying to hit on someone or show even a minimum of macho qualities would be too much for him.

Perhaps, before meeting offline, he had even hoped for something romantic or spicy.

Perhaps.

But he very soon discovered that the mere fact of communicating with a pleasant-looking girl — who, moreover, didn't shy away from him — plunged him into such strong stress and such sweet agitation that it was better not to even think about more for now, to avoid blowing a fuse.

So their communication was simply friendly chatter. And this, we repeat, Kirill liked — even this was almost too much for his rather feral psyche.

And, damn, he was genuinely interested in exploring Aynike's inner world, conversation by conversation. Even if he did sometimes get distracted by something else.

For example, by the sight of her lovely swaying leg, tightly sheathed in the black fabric of her trousers.

Ayni generally liked to dress in a business-like manner.

"I don't know," he coughed embarrassedly, looking away. "I've never had occasion to resort to such peculiar and perverted methods of suicide."

She seemed to take this forced joke completely seriously.

"People are just used to hiding behind lies, used to hiding even from themselves, being ashamed of their true appearance. One American psychologist," — Aynike fluttered her long black eyelashes and glanced somewhere towards the clear spring sky — "even calculated that every person lies at least twenty times a day. And the first time or two — even before arriving at work in the morning."

"Naturally," Kirill smiled slightly. "You wake up to the alarm clock. 'Good morning' is already a deliberate lie."

Ayni is so funny. A cyber-Buddhist, zen-terrorist, and idealist all in one.

And she seems to be ch a r g i n g. With something akin to ozone permeating the air around her.

"Look," she gestured in the air. Her already always clear and pure face, framed by a boyishly short black haircut, became especially clear and inspired at that moment. "What will happen if we give up lies and omissions?"

"World War III?" Kir suggested half-jokingly.

Aynike frowned; for a moment he thought he had just lost a couple of points in her eyes. However, it seemed she had just plunged into thought.

"People needlessly overestimate the importance of their own little secrets. At the same time, practically everyone considers themselves much worse than others. In reality," — her voice lowered as if she were simply thinking aloud — "all these dirty secrets and funny fears are worthless."

She raised her gaze to him.

"I once arranged a day without verbal constipation for myself. I generally try not to lie, but that day I refused even omissions, polite rhetoric in response to direct questions, anything of that sort. The result?" — Aynike snorted softly. "People just took it as a joke, or as an extravagant manner of self-expression. It's even a little offensive. No severe consequences worth talking about."

Kirill barely restrained himself from commenting.

Thinking to himself that what saved Ayni was only that she didn't tell anyone about her Day Without Omissions in advance. Otherwise, the girl would have been bombarded with such dirty questions that she would have had to either break the vow she made to herself — something he had already come to understand she took extremely seriously — or reconcile herself with complete and final compromise before the entire universe.

A man in a baggy gray suit walked past them on the bridge, dragging behind him a strange half-cart resting on a pair of wheels on the asphalt.

A mushroom picker?

"You don't seem to believe me," Aynike glanced sideways at him.

"Why?" Kir was slightly embarrassed. "I do believe, just..."

"Yeah, right. How many times have I noticed this: an absent gaze and an unwillingness to argue with a crazy person. Really, what else is there to argue with me about?"

Ayni's cheeks flushed slightly, a light but angry gleam appeared in her eyes.

"Doesn't know life. An inexperienced girl. Hasn't tasted dark secrets and black abysses."

"I didn't say that," he swallowed a lump in his throat.

"But you thought it."

Kir's gaze awkwardly fixed on the gray asphalt of the bridge. Aynike had never fallen into such a state in front of him. Could he still say anything that might somehow fix the situation?

"It's just," he coughed hesitantly, "what you're saying sounds very unusual... for most people."

Aynike raised her gaze.

"For most people."

The angry gleam was no longer in her eyes. Apparently, she remembered that according to the precepts of her Zen Buddhism, she should love and accept everyone — or maybe, who knows, she urgently applied some of her Eastern practices for instant self-mastery?

Silence could be akin to death.

"Well," Kirill coughed again, "in practice, I really haven't tried such a thing."

"Want to test it practically?" A bitter smirk appeared on Aynike's lips. "Ask any questions. Check for barriers."

"Oh no," he shook his head so hastily that for a moment he was afraid his neck might fall off.

She looked into his eyes again.

"Yes, perhaps. You'd hardly dare. Then you won't understand — because you'll hardly be able to test it on yourself then either."

Ayni looked away, and Kir had a terrible feeling that the strange thread that had arisen between them moments ago was rapidly fading.

"Well, why not," he said hastily. Partly out of fear of changing his mind. "Why not conduct an experiment?"

Aynike's gaze met his again.

"Do you need this?" She examined Kir carefully, as if enveloping him in an invisible blanket of her vibes. "People tend to erect many barriers, both outside and inside themselves. I knew about this in advance. Formulated conditions for myself so as not to leave room for self-deception... not to conceal the truth in response to a direct question... not to remain silent in response for more than three or five seconds... not to go into verbal labyrinths." — Her lips twisted again, forming a strange, absent-minded smile. "I was ready for it. But are you ready?"

She didn't take her eyes off him.

"If not, it's better not to start. Let's feed the birds..." — here Ayni did turn away, paying a little attention to the shimmering river surface under the bridge.

Kirill was struck by a bad feeling that if he refused her offer — or if he failed by her standards? — something might forever change in their seemingly purely friendly relationship.

Or was the word 'seemingly' out of place here?

"The birds can wait," he uttered with feigned cheerfulness. "The experiment comes first."

An Experiment is an Experiment.

"Sure?" Her voice seemed to acquire a slight lilt; her eyes, directed at the sky, reflected transparent blueness. "There's no way back."

"It's not needed."

Ayni rummaged in her purse, frowning slightly. After a while, she pulled out a small plastic bracelet, somewhat resembling a digital watch.

"It might be unusual for you," she threw him an embarrassed glance. As if apologizing. "Especially at first. This device will help you control yourself."

"A polygraph, or what?" Here Kirill couldn't restrain a contemptuous smirk. "There are no reliable lie detectors."

"This one is," Ayni objected softly but confidently. "They say it's based on some new principles — either microlepton or biolocation."

Apparently, the expression on his face eloquently expressed everything he thought about theorists of biolocation, microleptons and torsion fields, as well as phlogiston and caloric for good measure.

"I've tested it," Ayni added just as softly. "You can test it too — for that, you can even lie. Put it on your left hand and think of some number — one — without changing it in your mind."

"Thought of one," Kirill responded, fastening the last clasp of the bracelet.

"Is it greater than thirty?"

"No."

"Greater than twenty?"

"No."

"Greater than ten?"

"No."

The bracelet's display flashed scarlet, accompanied by a quiet metallic jingle.

"Is it greater than fifteen?"

"Yes." — He forced himself to shudder imperceptibly all over, to feel fright, like being caught red-handed.

The bracelet didn't react.

"Is it sixteen?"

"Yes..."

Another red flash. Aynike smiled slightly.

"Seventeen?"

"Yes."

The bracelet was silent.

"That's not proof," Kir said, nevertheless glancing at his left wrist with slight fright. "I didn't even have time to really get into it."

Judging by the absence of red flashes, he really believed what he was saying.

Aynike raised her bushy eyebrows impassively:

"We can repeat the procedure. Think of a new number. Or — come up with something else."

Kirill thought hard.

So hard and so deeply that fifteen minutes later he felt a slight pain in his head and glanced at the plastic bracelet not with slight fright, but with superstitious horror. Somehow the mysterious device saw right through all his tricks, bypassing all the methods of deceiving lie detectors he knew from literature, and inexorably revealing his thoughts with scarlet flashes. Neither self-hypnosis, nor holding his breath, nor a special movement of his secret navel helped — nothing.

Aynike was now smiling quite openly, clearly enjoying his futile attempts.

Unable to bear it, she threw her head back and laughed loudly, slightly arching her body, which was half-leaning on the railing. Kirill couldn't tear his gaze away from her palms, which for a moment ended up right between her thighs.

"Well, what?" Ayni inquired, looking into his eyes with warm mockery. "Are we convinced?"

"Hmm..." Kir swallowed his saliva. "Apparently."

He had little to counter with.

"Don't be so afraid," she stretched out her hand and encouragingly flicked him on the nose. "There's nothing scary about it — living a little by the truth."

"Yeah..."

The bracelet beeped. Ayni shook her head ironically.

"If it scares you so much, we won't experiment for long. Just wear the device until the end of the walk, then take it off. You haven't lied to me before, right?"

With an exaggeratedly naive look, she batted her eyelashes.

"Of course," Kirill uttered. Throwing a panicked glance at the bracelet, which sometimes gave a few moments' leeway, he hastily added: "Most likely. That is, in general."

Her eyebrows rose:

"And in particular?"

"Well..." he hesitated. "It depends. Sometimes..."

"Three seconds," Ayni reminded.

Her voice remained just as soft, her eyes warm. She examined him with curiosity, as if he were an unknown little animal.

"I..." — Kirill's cheeks desperately flared — "don't remember all our conversations verbatim, after all. Well, if I lied about anything, it was only about trifles and purely reflexively. As is usually accepted."

The last part — about "accepted" — he added specifically, remembering Ayni's condescendingly-disgusted attitude towards the human anthill, thereby shifting the blame from himself to it.

The bracelet apparently didn't consider this a lie.

"Allah be with you, infidel," she playfully patted him on the shoulder. "Shall we go feed the ducks?"

With difficulty tearing his backside from the railing, Kirill followed his guide to the northern end of the bridge, after which they were to descend the embankment to the very bank of the river.

The area, whatever anyone said, was wonderful for Kirill. Industrialization wasn't too great, and nature allowed fishermen to periodically lay out their rods nearby. He was lucky to find out that Ayni loved provincial corners and wasn't at all against a tour of one of them.

"I hope you're not offended that I'm laughing," said the beautiful alternative to Virgil, sitting down on a small earthen mound. "I'm just so amused by all these conventions."

She looked at him attentively, crumbling a sweet raisin bun in her palms.

"Not offended?"

"Nah," Kirill shook his head, glad that at least here there were no ambiguities. "Rather, I felt relief."

Ayni snorted softly.

"How interesting. And what did you think then?"

"That I was thoroughly tired of trying to lie to this device and that it was time to stop," Kir admitted with a laugh. "Well and... I just felt somewhat freer, there was a slight tension