A former teenager’s story. Ch. 21-24

CHAPTER 21

Meanwhile in the house the tables for the bereavement food were already drawn out and covered with white cloth; in the kitchen the women made pancakes in sizzling cast-iron pans, cooked traditional bereavement sweet porridge with honey and raisins, and, chatting lively, they carried to the dining room stacks of plates, bottles of vodka, salads, caviar, sausages and other snacks, hot food. There also were little kids running around, crawling under the tables and popping out, stealing food from the plates and playing in the way of the adults.

“Wait till I catch ya, little buggers!” Aunt Klava snapped at them rather ostentatiously than angrily, as she gave them a slap or two with her floury hand.

Gran Zoya seemed to have forgotten how she had been wailing and wanting to follow her husband into his grave half an hour before; she now was wolfing down an enormous portion of mashed potatoes. Watching this and noting to myself this heinous hypocrisy of adults, I became definitively sure that my decision to spend this day as cool as possible was exactly right. This very thought was taken right out of my mouth by one of my cemetery “suitors”:

“Even though we are here on such a sad occasion, funeral and stuff, it feels like a fucking lot of fun, doesn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve never been to such a super fun funeral like this. New Year’s and birthday parties can go to hell!”

We were lucky not to be heard by the adults preoccupied with snacks and beverages, or we would’ve definitely been in trouble.

The blonde guy caught a toddler hanging around and lifted him.

“Can you ride a bike? No? Alrighty, I’ll teach you how to ride a bike!”

“No, wait! Let me teach him some funny little song!” I cried laughing, “Dima, do you know the song ‘o christmas dick’?”

“Nope” answered the child staring at me with his naive big eyes.

“Well, then, repeat after me,” I said with an important air and began to sing:

“O Christmas dick, o Christmas dick,

You’re in my mouth forever…”

“Are you nuts? What the hell are you teaching that kid? Don’t listen to her, Dima!” cried Tanya putting a hand over my mouth.

But there was no stopping me, and, dodging from her and squealing with laughter, I finished:

“O Christmas dick you get so big,

As thirty dicks together…”

She chased me. I nearly knocked over the table and rushed out in the corridor. And, as I was – disheveled, barefooted and laughing like an idiot – I ran into Shurik in there – quite unexpectedly.

God, he looked just terrific!

How long hadn’t I seen him for? A year? A year and a half? I remembered, I vaguely remembered that he had been a cute blonde, so handsome and muscly like young Van Damme. Only there, in the twilight of the shabby wooden corridor I saw closely for the first time HOW fantastic he looked.

I drowned in his eyes, so blue and deep as two forest lakes. My head was in a whirl like a drunken person’s, and my legs shook and gave way – I probably looked like a cow on ice.

There is a perfect word for it in the English language, defining this state so exactly – to swoon. There is no analogue for it in our scanty Russian language, just like there’s no analogue for many other English words, every translation of any of them may take half a page or even more. I just swooned – I was in such a rapturous, ecstatic state on seeing him – the guy I had such a bad crush on – and I nearly lost consciousness, I was trying so hard keeping my balance and my dim eyes were all hearts. If I had been writing this story in English, all this bullshit for half a page describing the scene of my unexpected encounter with Shurik would have fit in one short sentence: I swooned at the sight of him.

At exactly this moment one of my cemetery acquaintances came up to Shurik.

“Hey! Want me to introduce this gal to you?”

“I know her.” said Shurik, looking at me and smiling.

Curtains.

CHAPTER 22

Yes, there has never been in my life a celebration better and merrier than that funeral.

Whereas I’ve never really liked ‘happy’ events such as Christmas, birthdays, Thanksgiving etc. Because usually these ‘special’ days imply big expectations and wishes which never come true in most cases. And then they give way to bitter disappointment and just as bitter aftertaste – when you realise that the big event you had looked forward to for so long vanished without a trace. Just as bitter and disappointing was my own wedding, where the groom was definitely not Shurick, but I’ll tell you about it later…

Meanwhile I, happy as Larry, was on the phone calling my friends and telling everybody the same funeral story over and over again. My bestie Sue was surely involved as well.

“So what’s next?” she said skeptically when I reached the ‘happy ending’ at last and paused for effect.

“What do you mean ‘what next”? I asked in confusion.

“I mean, what are you gonna do next? To wait another year until you go back to Kruglovo – to celebrate the anniversary of your grandad’s death? Come on, things change! It’ll be all water under the bridge by that time!”

“No, you don’t understand. I finally got his attention! That means I have a chance…”

“Did he give you his phone number?” asked Sue.

“N-no, but…”

“Then there’s no more to be said,” she cut it off, “If you two had exchanged numbers at least, then yes, it would have made sense to hope for something. But the way it is…”

“Wait!” I interrupted her as I suddenly remembered something.

“What?”

“I think I know how to obtain his number”.

Having said bye to my bestie I grabbed my bag, threw my toothbrush and pajamas into it and darted to Gran Zoya’s place in the next neigborhood. The more so, I had been asked in to help her organize the table for the nine-day wake.

The atmosphere at Gran Zoya’s house was all doom and gloom. All the mirrors were covered with black rugs; all the windows blinded. The rooms were dark and candlelit; a lot of candles brought from church and placed in every corner were burning day and night and made the air stuffy. And there were photos of my grandad all around the rooms – big and small, picturing him old and quite a young guy.

My grandfather at his eighteen had been cute as hell. He had dark curly hair, almond eyes, pretty fine features. No wonder that he had broken many girls’ hearts at Kruglovo in his days. People used to say that one of those girls had actually committed suicide over him, and the lives of many others had been ruined by him forever. My grandma was seven years younger than him; and even her he had managed to be cheating on. Yet she would turn the blind eye to his fornications, saying that it’s only unforgivable for the wife to be unfaithful, but the husband is within his rights to do so, because it is inherent in him. I never agreed with her on this account; even then I knew that infidelity is the one thing I would never be able to forgive…

Who knows, perhaps it was the reason why my grandad had been dying such a painful death – paying for his former sins. It might be proof that God exists, and I really want to believe that such a lot is awaiting everyone who being young and foolish played with words and without regard of responsibility broke a single heart just like my grandfather did.

CHAPTER 23

Grandmother let me in as she stood at the doorway wearing a coat and a bag in her hand. Evidently, she was going to a market for some groceries to the wake table. I declined her invitation to go with her for all I needed was to stay home alone at that moment.

As soon as the door closed on her I rushed into her bedroom; I wanted to find her phone book with a black cover – it might contain Shurick’s home phone number.

It took a while to find the phone book. Fearing every little noise outside, I hectically searched it through. There were a lot of different phone numbers; but how was I to figure out the one I needed? There was not a single mark like “Tolya”, “Kruglovo” etc I could have identified it by.

“So she just hasn’t got his number…” I thought with frustration, putting the book back.

I was completely out of options. It was no use to ask Tanya for Shurick’s phone number: she didn’t know it either, and Sergey wouldn’t have given it to me out of spite.

“Shoot, what do I do?” thought I, scratching my head.

The ringing of the phone interrupted my reflections. The call was from a strange number – my grandmother like everybody else in the end of the nineties, had a telephone with a caller display. I reluctantly picked up.

“May I speak to Zoya Alexandrovna?” said a male voice on the other end.

“She’s not at home” I answered, “What should I tell her?”

“Please, tell her Milyaev the neighbor was calling about the garage”.

The blood drained from my heart.

“From Kruglovo?” I asked.

“Yes, from Kruglovo”.

Oops! Speak of the devil. I hung up anf the caller display showed his number for half a minute. I didn’t know what buttons to press for finding out the history of calls in the phone so I needed to hurry and write down the number right here. But, as ill luck would have it, there was neither a pen, nor a piece of paper around.

“Five-o-one, o-eight, four-one…” I repeated as I ran around the rooms in search of a pen.

Another phone call distracted me. This time it was Sue.

“Five-o-one, o-eight, four-one!” I cried out in one breath, picking up the phone.

“What?” she was actually shocked, “Are you nuts?”

“Shut up, don’t confuse me! Five-o-one, o-eight… and something-one… Shoot, you’ve messed me up! I forgot the phone number because of you!”

“Can you just tell me what’s going on? What the hell phone number? Whose?”

“Three guesses whose number it is!” I answered angrily.

“Ah, it’s your Shurick the frick’s…”

“He’s not a frick!” I yelled.

“Okay, okay, just calm down” said Sue, “We already know the six figures. Six-o-one, o-eight and one.”

“Five-o-one…”

“So much the better,” she said, “So, according to the law of probability we have 10 per cent of hitting the point. And probably even more…”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked in confusion.

“Look. Let’s put the missing figures in the gap. Does one fit?”

“Eleven in the end? Definitely not!”

“Well, that narrows it down. Does nine fit?”

“Not either.”

“Not either. So… So we’ve got only five options left. Twenty one, thirty one, forty one, fifty one and sixty one. Twenty per cent hitting the point…”

“Man, you are a genius! How do you know all that stuff – per cents, the law of probability? We haven’t even learned it at school!”

“Well, we have. Can’t you remember my grandad pushing me around to study math on holiday? Okay, screw that rubbish… When are you gonna call him?”

I got this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Fuck, I don’t know… It’s so embarrassing…”

“Oh come on!”

“What do I tell him anyway? Maybe he won’t even talk to me…”

“Oh my gosh! I can call him if you want me to!”

“You? So what are you gonna say to him?”

“What do people say in such occasions? Hi, how are you…”

“But I won’t be able to eavesdrop from here”

“Let’s meet at Leshka’s tomorrow, and call him together…”

CHAPTER 24

Leshka was a longtime admirer of Sue’s. Their mothers were best friends, so the grown-ups, as was the custom, had decided their kids’ destiny long ago. Leshka didn’t mind it for he had a crush on her, but Sue wasn’t that into him – she would call him “dain bramaged” and push him around like a mop. Yet she wouldn’t cut him loose either – he came from a wealthy family and not only did he own an apartment in Moscow city and a S.U.V, but also a villa and a fashion clothing shop in Italy he would regularly bring Sue fancy exclusive rugs from. His mother had married a rich Italian man and moved over to his country when Leshka was only three years old. So, as it usually occurs when a kid grows in a strange country and mostly speaks the foreign language – Leshka had gained a foreign accent he spoke Russian with. His mentality, his manners were also too different from our Russian mindsets and behaviour usual for all of us, and calling this refined and, pardon moi, a bit retarded young man Leshka doesn’t feel quite right. So, for this story, let’s name him Alexis.

So I headed for his place the very next day, fully neglecting the wake at my grandmother’s.

“Won’t you stay for the nine-day wake?” grandmother asked me reproachfully.

“Nah. I’ll be back tonight” – I slammed the door and rushed down the stairs not even waiting for the lift.

In Alexis’ apartment we were met with a very special and rare back those days European-like interior. The inner doors with golden knobs were all pickled oak; the kitchen set with lights and frozen glasses was made with the same material. The jacuzzi bathtub made of acryl and shining-white sink lit by the bright lamps in recessed light fixtures seemed real luxury to me. I couldn’t, for the life of me, comprehend Sue rejecting poor Alexis since he was so rich (if the reader excuses me this pun). And I can’t even now, to be honest – even though I haven’t heard from her for ages. For the thirty years of my life I’ve had many dates and many affairs – but I have never – I mean, NEVER – dealt with a wealthy, successful man. Fate has always brought me together with sheer cheapskates, pardon my French – who would never give me a thing, and sometimes actually tried to rip me off. Those who were not “cheapskates” either stayed away from me or just never intersected with me as parallel lines never do.

But, perhaps, it was just me finding the wrong men in the wrong places…

Now, for my story, it doesn’t really matter, though. Both Sue and I didn’t care a bit about her rich admirer on that day; all that really interested us was his home phone. Alexis was more of a hindrance to us, and we, after a small conferring, decided to send him away.

“Go, my dear sweetheart, to the store, and buy us…” Sue rolled up her eyes in thought, “Yes; buy us some cannolis… my favorite ones, you know. A big box.”

“O-okey” Alexis replied with his ridiculous accent.

We exchanged chuckles. Alexis went to the store, while we rushed to the phone and began to try picking the right number.

It wasn’t as hard as we had thought it to be. At two of the projected phone numbers we were told the number was wrong. The third was unanswered; at the forth our request to get Sasha on the phone was answered by a girl whose name was also Sasha. Only the fifth attempt was successful, and the phone was answered by the requested young man.

“Hello” I said shyly into the phone.

“Hm. Hello there. Who is it?”

I gave him my name.

“I’m your friend’s relative… from Kruglovo…”

“Ah, ok. I see.” he replied with obvious disappointment. “Did you want to ask something?”

“Me? No… I just wanted to have a talk…”

“About what?”

He didn’t even try to hold the conversation. I was of no interest to him and he made it clear. But, like any silly schoolgirl in love, I preferred to turn a deaf ear to it. So I just sat there trying hard to find common ground with him.

“Nothing, just… What are you up to now?”

“Watching a football. Why?”

“Just asking… Which channel?”

“The second.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Give it here!” Sue commanded as she pried the phone out of my hand. “Who talks to guys like that? Look and learn!”

Embarrassed, I let go of the phone. She took the reins quite unexpectedly, and, absolutely confident, like she had known him for ages, Sue talked to him:

“My bestie is a bit too shy a girl… So, let me say hello to you. My name is Sasha. Yours? The same? Cool…”

I darted out to the next room for the parralel phone – to eavesdrop. And, to my complete surprise, I noticed that Shirik’s voice, so listless and apathetic when talking to me – now sounded a lot more animated. The conversation with Sue he was evidently willing to keep on.

“Describe yourself” he said to her.

“Well, I have long wavy hair, blue eyes… Also, I am wearing very sexy lingerie…”

“Give me the phone back, you idiot!” I yelled as I rushed in.

“Aw, I guess we are not going to talk properly tonight,” muttered Sue before I snatched the phone from her and pressed the ‘off’ button.

“Why the hell were you doing that? Who asked you to say such things to him?!” I attacked her.

“What’s wrong with these things? Everybody talks like that nowadays! Really, you are like a dinosaur with your stupid timidity!” she said tossing her curly hair, “Okay, relax. I don’t want your Shurick or what his name is. Although, I must say, he’s got quite a sexy voice…”

We heard the frontdoor go – that was Alexis coming back with the promised cannolis. But Sue’s mood was so ruined that she was really fit to be tied and she nearly flung those cannolis right in his face.

“You blockhead! Can’t you see you’ve brought the wrong cannolis?!” she yelled at him. “I told you to buy ones with cream, not hazelnuts! Have you got a mind like a sieve or what? Now get out, you blockhead!”

Alexis left for the kitchen without a word.

“The way you talk to him!” I said to her, “What was really that wrong with the cannolis? I think, hazelnut ones taste even better than the cream…”

“So eat them if you want to. You can also keep Leshka along with the cannolis. I’m giving him to you!”

“Thank you for the gift, but he wants you, not me.”

“I know that”.

Really, Sue’s mood had taken sour turn. And the cannolis had nothing to do with that. I was vaguely aware that the real reason was Shurik. Or rather me not letting her have a good talk to him.

But that instant I was more concentrated on the way she had talked to Alexis. And the way he put up with her antics and was quite okay with it!

On the one hand, I really felt for Leshka, but on the other – I was just freaking jealous. I would have liked to have such a lovesick slave at hand, too, so I could have been taking it out on him every now and then, and calling him a blockhead for buying the wrong cannolis.

I’d have paid anything at that moment to possess at least half of the ability to enchant and the power over men my friend Sue had.