Chapter III.XII

Trying to calm down and collect his thoughts, Galbraith lowered his hands to his knees and only now discovered that all this time the same cardboard that was in the envelope along with the ill-fated letter had been lying on them. The inspector grabbed it and brought it to his eyes. He's already seen what's on it were listed the letters of the English alphabet in two rows, under the huge red letters of which there were numbers in small print - index numbers. Then, as soon as he opened the envelope, it seemed to him like a funny mistake by the postman, but after reading the letter, this modest accessory of a preschooler acquired a strange and meaningful significance in the inspector’s eyes.

Galbraith was so engrossed in his little investigation that he didn’t even notice that at that time the radio was playing in the cabin, which the driver turned on so as not to drive in dead silence with a taciturn passenger. Only when Galbraith began to look at the children's alphabet did the words that were heard from the speakers reach his ears:

- Hello! Now you are listening "Dom-I-Double" broadcasting service, announcer О'Girard is with you, - the voice of a mature man spoke with a Swiss accent.

The inspector could not help but notice that this O'Girard spoke with such glee, as if this announcer had just returned from some kind of feast and had not yet completely sobered up. But most likely, it was simply difficult for him to hide the joy that overwhelmed him, which was felt in his every word. But why? Galbraith, who involuntarily became curious about this, listened to the radio more closely

- It's no secret that yesterday, the twenty-sixth of December one thousand nine hundred and ninety-one, Supreme Soviet of the Soviet Union adopted A Declaration on The Demise of Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. Our radio station believes this is A Day of The Great Triumph for all...

The announcer's voice was drowned in the noise of applause and joyful screams of the crowd - it was obvious that salute had started in the studio. Galbraith even thought he heard the pop of a cork and the hiss of foam - apparently, someone opened a bottle of champagne right next to the microphone. But this festival of life was put to an end by the taxi driver, who on this cheerful note reached out to the radioreceiver.

- Smile nice, mister Capitalist.... - he said, addressing someone unknown.

The taxi driver didn’t finish his sentence - he simply switched the radio channel and took the wheel. The sounds of jazz were heard inside the car. However, the inspector, who managed to hear the news, was involuntarily stunned. The point was not that he was worried about the fate of some state - Galbraith was amazed that, according to the announcer, today was the twenty-seventh of December.

- It's only mid-October now.... - the policeman puzzled muttered to himself.

He couldn’t understand what had happened - is that really time flown faster for no apparent reason and ended up jumping ahead two months at once?

- This is clearly someone else's mistake... - the rational inspector repeated to himself.

He had two assumptions about this. The first was that it was possible that announcer O'Girard had misspoke when he announced the date. Galbraith rejected this idea immediately - he rightly believed that it was unlikely that the radio would so blatantly misinform its listeners, passing off black as white.

The second hypothesis that the inspector put forward was that it was a trick of the taxi driver. If this were really the case, then it would be outright paranoia - why would some random driver suddenly gather a bunch of people in one room, give them pieces of paper with a script and, having recorded it on some audio cassette, put it in the tape recorder of his car and play it at the right moment to the right passenger? Against this assumption was the fact that Galbraith clearly saw that the driver had switched the radio, and not pressed the tape recorder button - unless it was an optical illusion. Anything, of course, could have happened, but the inspector did not consider himself the navel of the earth around which the whole world revolves. Galbraith decided not to torment himself with meaningless guesses and turned to the driver, who, after changing the radio channel, continued to drive the car in silence.

- Sorry, can you tell me what date it is today? - he asked politely and even meekly.

This simple and innocent question caused an unexpected reaction in the man - he instantly turned around and stared at his passenger. Galbraith involuntarily staggered back - it seemed to him that the taxi driver had suddenly gone crazy and was about to tear him into pieces. But the next second the driver realized what was going on, and he smiled widely.

- Ah, good sir, you look so intelligent, but... - he began.

- What do you mean? - Galbraith's fear gave way to discontent.

- I'm talking about the fact that it's not proper for a man like you to drinking into oblivion, - the man said reproachfully.

- How do you figure that? - the policeman frowned.

- How else did you manage to forget that today is December twenty-seventh? - The taxi driver winked and finally turned to the windshield.

- You have got to be kidding me... - this answer stumped Galbraith.

- Nothing of the sort, - muttered the taxi driver. - Check it out for yourself, if you do not believe me! - and he made a gesture with his left hand.

The inspector, who had already lost his temper, obediently followed the man’s instructions and looked out the side window - they were driving along a straight road, on both sides of which stretched snow-covered fields, behind which rare buildings were barely visible. The only source of light was the headlights of the car, which illuminated the road ahead, and in their light it was clearly visible how rare snowflakes were swirling in the air and slowly falling onto the snow-covered asphalt. Galbraith was confused and grabbed his head with both hands. The view of nature outside the car window silently made him understand that there was only one way to explain what was happening - a miracle happened, and the policeman inexplicably moved in time.