A pain was going away. Almost two days it rankled him like rabid beast and suddenly started to subside. Finely, it does not hurt anymore. Is it over, indeed? He opened his eyes and saw himself wounded on a sofa, where he was brought by Nikita.

    - Yes, it is. This is the same sofa. But why is he dressed? A shirt, a frock coat, pantalons, boots. When was he dressed? Or had he dresses by himself? He looked around at bookshelves, familiar furniture – nothing has changed, the same old stuff. Vladimir Ivanovich told him, that the bullet was lodged in the backbone. That why any attempts to move by legs caused a severe pain. He moved by one leg, then by another one. Strange, there is no pain. And what if try to get up. He put his legs on the floor, got up, walked in the room. He touched a door to the kinder room – it is closed. He pushed a door to the anteroom, opened the door slightly and immediately closed it.

   - What’s up? Who are these persons in strange clothes walking in his apartment – men, women, children? The view from the window indicated that outside was summer, although, he was brought during winter, and Moyka was covered by ice, and blizzard howled outside window. He again opened the door and … recognized himself. For sure, this was not him, but someone was dressed like him and was made-up in a way that nobody could distinguish him. Some people were staying near his double person. They obviously performed poses for somebody. He looked around and saw a young man, holding in his arms a small thing, alternatively emitting flashing lights.

     He tried go down – outside, along the main staircase, but his view stopped on the table with inscription that main entrance was closed. Then he entered to the small group of visitors, which was moving to the black entrance. Although, he was not dressed like everybody, almost nobody paid attention to him. And those who met him nodded and smiled. He passed the apartments of ground floor, that had not familiar smell of laundry and kitchen. He got out to the courtyard. Indeed summer. The courtyard is clean, in the center are sheared shrubs and a monument on the high pedestal from white stone. At the foot of the monument are flowers, plenty of flowers. He came up closer.

-       So that, this monument is for me! Here is the notice – “Pushkin”, and slightly below – 1950 year.

-       What is this? I am at 150 years old? But this is rather an installing time of the monument. And which year is now?

He walked around the monument from the right side over paved cobblestone and saw carriage courts. On the gates of one of them was a notice with big letters – “Café”.  He come up closer, slightly below with small letters – “At Biron”. Last year in September, during renting apartment in Volkonskiy’s house, somebody talked that for the first time in this house in the past century settled in Biron. Suddenly he felt hunger.

-       I didn’t eat two days, only drank water.

     He opened the door, the cafe was empty, and just a single visitor was sitting at the left corner table opposite to a bar-stand. He looked around the room: walls, ceiling, tables, chairs – all in white decor, on the right and left walls were lithographs, a room lighting formed with lamps without candles…

     With fast steps, he come to the table. A man sitting at the table looked like of elderly ages with gray hairs and weirdly familiar gray eyes. He stood up with affable smile as if he was waiting him for a long time. A waiter-woman came to the bar.

-       Finally, you have met your friend after a long last waiting, - she said smiling.

On the table were two meals with scrambled eggs in separate plates, bred, kitchen utensils, two glasses either compote or juice, and two cups of coffee.

-       Hello, young man, - a new visitor sits to the chair.

-       It seems to me that I am older than you, - answered host.

-       Really! Considering the year when monument was installed, I am at least 150 years old. By the way, what is the year now according to calendar?

-       Today in the morning was – 2015^th.

-       Then I am more than two hundred years old, not less. Is this all for me?

-       Yes, of course, I am waiting you for a long time, but this is so … surprisingly.

-       Did you wait exactly for me?

-       Yes, he is coming once again and every time orders the same for both. He eats his portion and goes away, - joins to the talk the woman at the bar.

-       For whom is the second portion I asked him? And he answered for comrade. He eats, sits in silence and goes away.

     All these words she says as a patter, but the jumping joy sparks in her eyes tell visitors as if she is participating in some joke.

-       Certainly, someone tries to play a Trick on me, - thinks Gray-headed man, - is it for sure George who has decided to play this scene with an animator? I already have told him a joke about lunch for two persons. In addition, after my second visit this waiter asked me whom I was waiting for. And then I answered as a joke – for Pushkin. But this was already last winter. Yes, indeed, there is something unusual in this visitor, also he speaks with some strange intonations. But also, he does not look like the animators, whom are walking here to earn something on making photos for tourists. Well, if Pushkin was here by himself would the visitors of museum-room recognize him or they would accept him for ordinary animator, as me him now. And where has he come from? If he came from his apartment, but then there were plenty of tourists, the museum staff, guard. It seems, that in my desire to speak with poet I went too far. Of course, that was a joke, and I accept this animator as real Pushkin.

     All these thoughts have appeared in one moment, but somewhere in a corner of the mind lurked a hope of miracle.

-       Who knows maybe he is real… But nobody yet come back from there? And if this is him, then how was he able to come back to our time?

     Meanwhile, the visitor ate scrambled eggs and merrily cast a glance on the neighbor.

-       So many things I wanted to ask him, and can’t call to my mind something worthwhile. No, of course, he is not real Pushkin. Although, here you are the sideburns, and hair style, and clothes – seemingly everything is real.

Well, he will eat now, we start to speak, and everything will become clear.

-       And for me your face is familiar, - suddenly begin to talk the animator. Exactly we have already met each other somewhere.

-       Unlikely, may be the face is simply usual. And you are very look like original. Although, I have seen it only on the portraits.

-       I understand, you can’t believe that in front of you is real Pushkin. Yes, to be honest, I don’t believe what I see by myself. It was the end of January 1837, duel with Dantes, the bullet struck me exactly in the belly, and as then Vladimir Ivanovich said, - it lodged in the backbone. I clear remember, that I shot to this Bonvivant and hit him exactly into the heart, but he for some reason fell to the back, and did not lie prone like me. Almost two days of terrible sufferings and waiting for death. And then, the pain suddenly had gone, and I woke up on Summer in 2015. I went out from cabinet, some unfamiliar people walking in my apartment, and one person among them who is dressed like me and made-up as me – looks very similar. He is surrounded by men, women, children, and opposite to this group a person with strange thing which is lightning by brief flashes. I went out to the courtyard through the back door, nobody paid attention to me. I see a monument – which is handmade and on the pedestal – again me and now in bronze. I saw a cafeteria and entered in.