Off the Beaten Tracks

by Irina Bogatyreva

  “You’re right, you know. That’s exactly what it looks like.”

  They approached the building. The surrounding area looked serene.

  “Ufa must be a fairly calm place!” said Vadim, with a dry laugh. “I thought they’d be queuing round the block…”

  “Hey, don’t speak too soon! Maybe they’re all inside.”

  Vadim cleared the blood from his throat.

  But it was just as quiet and empty inside. The only sign of life was a nurse in a dirty robe sitting behind a desk at the end of the corridor. She glanced up as they came in and continued speaking in a bored monotone into the telephone receiver that was clamped to her ear.

  “Just stop it, Gleb. You’re crazy. Gleb, you’re behaving like a child. I’ve told you over and over again, and you never listen, do you? Gleb!”

  Because she was frequently ill as a child, or maybe because she had overprotective parents, Nastya had spent a lot of time inside Soviet medical institutions. As a result, she had come to hate them with a passion. And here she was again! The cheap linoleum floor stained with various bodily fluids, bloodstains on the deathly pale fabric of the bench… But the main thing was the smell, that sickly smell of disinfectant. It was unbearable.

  “I’ll wait for you outside, OK?”

  The nurse looked pointedly over at the door of the doctor on duty, indicating that Vadim should go straight in. Honestly! She couldn’t be expected to drop everything to attend to every long-haired hippy that came wandering in with a black eye… Not when she was in the middle of an emotional crisis.

  Nastya came out onto the steps and spotted a bench. On closer inspection it was spattered with blood, as though it had come from a torture chamber. She had to sit on the back of it and hunch over, with her feet on the seat. So, what was going on? It had been a particularly bad night, and now there was no chance of getting a decent sleep because she’d have to get up early if she wanted to make it to Nizhny before the following night.

  It was that dead hour just before dawn, when you can walk the streets without meeting another living soul and roam the darkest courtyards at your leisure, safe in the knowledge that all the local thugs are tucked up in bed, dribbling onto their pillows and dreaming their innocent dreams.

  There was an apartment block behind the emergency clinic, one of those enormous breeze-block monsters built in the late Soviet period. There wasn’t a single light at any of its numerous windows. Surely someone somewhere was awake… No. The entire building was devoid of life.

  What was she doing here, alone in this strange, hostile city? She was always alone, always running, running away from herself.

  Nastya sat on the bench and cried bitter tears. She felt utterly alone in the universe.

  9

  Vadim’s Story

  I started listening to ‘alternative’ music when I was fourteen. I started with the easier stuff – Mumiy Troll, Spleen, Zhanna Aguzarova’s later stuff, Zemfira’s early stuff. I can remember my mum listening to a couple of songs and saying, “It’s awful! You can’t make head or tail of it. What a load of nonsense!”

  I was deeply offended, even though I didn’t understand the words any better than she did. But I didn’t need to understand them! I just knew that those meaningless words expressed a certain view of life. You didn’t really need words at all. Why not just sing a rhythmic collection of sounds? Or sing in Latin, or something… Why not? I couldn’t believe that nobody else had thought of it. I was a musical genius!

  When I was fourteen, or rather, the day before my fourteenth birthday, we went out to the country. It was a beautiful sunny evening. You could hear the sound of an electric saw humming. I picked a daisy and started pulling the petals off one by one, trying to work out whether or not I would fall in love at fourteen. I remember picking another daisy and doing it again, because I really wanted the answer to be yes. Why? I wish I knew. My head was so full of nonsense back then.

  I think it’s a cultural thing. I mean, just look at the kind of popular culture kids are exposed to these days: 70% of books and 90% of films are about love. Every single pop song is about love, as are most rock songs, and I somehow knew that all the ‘nonsense’ I was listening to was about love too.

  I had such a romantic idea of love when I was fourteen! Now I’m twenty, and I’m standing under a street lamp in a strange city kissing an amazing girl called Nastya. We’re kissing cautiously, because we’ve just been to the emrgency clinic about my nose. It’s not broken or anything, but it’s still pretty sore. We even had to go to a kiosk and buy an ice cream in a plastic wrapper for me to hold against it. So now we’re taking our time, kissing carefully, and our tongues are made for each other.

  I didn’t have a clue about kissing when I was sixteen or so. My first kiss wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience. I was acutely aware of my sudden proximity to a gaping void, an alien vacuum… then my teeth caught against hers. It was a girl from my class, a straight-A student. She had curly hair and there was something vaguely ethereal about her, and I was head over heels in love with her.

  I used to wait for her after school. I kept calling her and telling her how I felt about her. I wrote “Good morning, my love” outside her apartment – or rather, I tried to. Now, of course, I understand why we could never be together. I was a gawky teenager suffering from acne, and I had a stammer too – basically, not much of a catch. Anyway, I managed to gather a few crumbs of happiness from the experience, so I can’t really complain.

  One good thing to come out of it was that I suddenly understood all that ‘nonsense’ I’d been listening to! Whereas before I had just liked the sound of Zemfira’s voice, now the lyrics, apparently the same nonsense, made perfect sense. It was quite a shock to realise that every single word was about me, that every word perfectly articulated the way I was feeling. It wasn’t like Latin at all.

  When I look at Nastya – I can’t believe I’m actually kissing her! – my head is full of song lyrics, the kind of nonsense that now makes sense. But the real paradox is that when you’re in love you’re the one who doesn’t make any sense. Your thoughts are all mixed up. Only someone else who feels the way you do can understand the rubbish you’re coming out with, and that’s basically the point of all that ‘nonsense’, the way it all works. Simple, really!

  I understand it, and she seems to understand too. At least she’s thinking along similar lines… She seems to be talking about her ex-boyfriend now, why they split up, all that stuff, but I’m not even listening. It’s a good thing I’m not jealous of the past. After all, she didn’t know she was going to meet me! But still, I’m curious to know how many boyfriends she’s had. Not many, by the sound of it.

  I’ve been with a couple of women – girls, technically, I suppose – but it didn’t mean anything. It was just sex. When we were students it was something you went along with, something you did because everyone else was doing it. Someone’s nicely furnished apartment, expensive vodka poured into a set of matching shot glasses… all very contrived. There might not have been enough snacks to chase the vodka with, but there were always plenty of candles casting shadows that flickered on the walls and made me feel uncomfortable.

  When everyone started to pair off and head towards the beds and sofas, not having sex would have been like an insult to the others. I remember one time… It would have been rude to move away afterwards, so I had to go to sleep with my arm around her and my face pressed against her back. It was July and the nights were unbearably hot and humid, and I spent the whole night covered in sweat.

  No fun at all, but it was a long time ago. And more than two thousand kilometres away.

  Nastya’s walking along beside me in the semi-darkness. The street lamp we’re walking past isn’t working, so I can see her features clearly outlined in silhouette, like a classical sculpture. Her slightly aquiline nose… Her forehead… Her cropped hair…

  She lights a cigarette. I admire her profile with the tiny glowing ember.

  �
��D’you want one?”

  I don’t really smoke but I have the odd cigarette now and then, if I’m drinking. Or if I’m in a really bad mood. Right now I feel capable of rising up above the tarmac and soaring through the sky. At least I’m experienced enough to take a drag without properly inhaling, so that I don’t start coughing.

  We walk and smoke in silence. The city is completely silent. I’m starting to feel a bit rough from the beer, but it’s no big deal – I’m just a bit dehydrated. My mouth feels sticky and I can taste my own teeth. The cigarette is adding an aftertaste of prunes… Sorry! That’s more than you need to know about the state of my oral cavity.

  I kiss her again. She presses herself into me. She runs the fingers of her free hand through my hair, and it feels amazing.

  “So what’s the distance between St Petersburg and Tyumen, exactly?”

  Of course the atlas is in my rucksack, and my rucksack is back at Squire’s squat; I roll my eyes, trying to work it out. I call to mind an image of the Russian Federation.

  “About three thousand kilometres. Maybe a bit less.”

  “That’s a long way,” she sighs.

  “Tell me about it!”

  “And think of all the people in between – millions of them! It’s amazing when you think about it, we might never have met.”

  Instead of answering I just hold her more tightly.

  “You know,” says Nastya, suddenly pulling away from me. “One of my friends married a German guy two years ago. Seriously! She moved to Germany. I can’t remember which city. She writes to me quite often. She misses it here… The German guy came to Tyumen specially to meet her!”

  “Bit weird, was he?”

  “Why do you say that?” Nastya is offended. “There was nothing wrong with him. He was about eight years older than her, but basically just a normal bloke. He was a bit bald, though… Actually, I’ve noticed on TV too, German men always lose their hair early. Why is that? Is it because of the radiation, or something?”

  “Maybe it’s their hormones.”

  “German hormones? Don’t make me laugh! Anyway, when this guy showed up he was beside himself with excitement. ‘Siberia! Siberia!’ he kept saying. I’m surprised he didn’t bring a fur coat with him! It was summer, and due to the hole in the ozone layer over Siberia it was about thirty-five degrees. Probably not quite what he was expecting…”

  I suddenly become aware that I’m smiling indulgently and quickly straighten my face before Nastya notices. Tyumen was pretty remote, and it must have been the first foreigner they’d ever seen. An understandable reaction!

  The ice cream that I’m holding to my face has almost melted and is sloshing around inside its wrapper. Tracing an arc, it falls to the tarmac and lands wetly, like a frog. It occurs to me belatedly (as usual) to offer it to Nastya.

  “Don’t worry about it. I don’t eat sweet stuff.”

  Just like me. We’re very similar. I keep thinking that. Both inside and out. You can’t really see it right now in the pale light of the street lamps, but the right-hand side of her face is tanned from standing on the side of the road. The unmistakable hallmark of a hitchhiker.

  Nastya lights another cigarette. She smokes too much.

  A car drives past us on the avenue. It might be the first one we’ve seen the whole time we’ve been walking. The wide avenue is generously illuminated by the street lamps and completely empty. It would be a good place to come rollerblading in the middle of the night, or early in the morning. This vast expanse of smooth tarmac, completely deserted, the wind whistling in your ears and not a care in the world.

  “Wait… Let’s just stand here for a bit.”

  “Why?”

  “Just because.”

  I stopped obediently, although at first I didn’t understand why. Then I realised. It was so that this magical night would last as long as possible.

  We put our arms around one another and kissed. Nastya buried herself into my embrace, her whole body shivering, and I warmed her up. With her face muffled in my arms, she still managed to cover me with frenzied kisses – my neck, my chest (through my T-shirt), my shoulders. When her lips touched my arm above the elbow, I remembered the conversation over the table at Squire’s place (just a few hours ago, but it seemed like a hundred years!) and tensed my bicep slightly. She kissed it.

  “I thought I wasn’t your type! I don’t have ‘wings’…”

  She burst out laughing and bit my arm.

  “That’s not true. I was just being stupid. You do have wings… The best kind.”

  The city sky above us was as full of stars as a city sky can be. My head was full of song lyrics, all jumbled and chaotic… I was happy. I’d found my happiness here, in this strange and distant city. So my journey hadn’t been in vain, after all. After all that travelling, I’d finally found it.

  10

  Just before sunrise everything in the city faded to grey and seemed to swell up and fill with shadows. Even Squire’s apartment was full of transparent silhouettes and unreliable outlines. Everything seemed exactly as they’d left it a few hours ago. They tiptoed straight into the kitchen, so as not to wake the others.

  Nastya poured herself a glass of cool water from the kettle. She was dying of thirst. It was the dregs from the very bottom, and lime-scale deposits swirled thickly in the glass. She would have been able to see them if it hadn’t been so dark.

  Vadim went over to the window.

  The street lamps were waning against the sky, which had started to grow pale. There were no lights on in any of the windows. It was just after 5.00 a.m.: the deadest hour. When it grew a little lighter, the birds would all start singing simultaneously and then it would seem strange that anyone could sleep through such a racket. But this moment was yet to come. For now, silence reigned and the only movement was the swaying of the trees in the grey half-light before dawn.

  “It’s so strange…” began Vadim, clearly unable to get over the way fate had brought them together. “Meeting you here, in this random city… In the Urals, in Asia…”

  “Actually, we’re not in Asia,” laughed Nastya. “Ufa’s still in Europe, but tomorrow – today, I mean! – on the way to Chelyabinsk, about two hundred and fifty kilometres from here, you’ll pass a funny monument. It’s like a massive slab of stone, saying Europe on one side and Asia on the other. It’s so weird! Wait till you see it. It’s really off the beaten track. The Ural Mountains… The road twists and turns like a snake – it’s all rocks and ravines, and you won’t come across another living soul. The enormous electricity pylons are the only sign of civilisation. And then all of a sudden, out of the blue, you’re at the border between two continents! It’s like something out of a sci-fi film.”

  Vadim stood at the window, crushed and helpless. He was barely listening to her inspired speech. It wasn’t her description of the Urals that had this effect on him…. “You’ll go past,” she’d said. “You,” not “we”.

  “So you’re saying that tomorrow – today! – we’re going to go our separate ways?”

  This was followed by an awkward silence, during which Vadim couldn’t bring himself to turn away from the window and Nastya couldn’t work out what to say.

  “Well… you’re travelling from St Petersburg to E-burg, right? And I’m travelling from Tyumen to Moscow. Neither of us is going to change our plans. We’re each going to stick to our own path. It’ll be better that way. Trust me.”

  “But why?” He turned to her, distraught. “Why does it have to be like that? I’ll change my plans for you, if you want me to! I’d be happy to turn around and go to Moscow with you. I don’t care where I go…”

  “But what about your friend?”

  “What about him? He can go to E-burg by himself.”

  They fell silent. Desperate to find a solution, Vadim found himself clutching at straws.

  “Or we could stay in Ufa together! Why not? It’ll be like, I don’t know, a kind of impromptu honeymoon! When we got here yesterda
y evening, we didn’t know any of this was going to happen… Then we found each other.”

  “And you got your nose broken.”

  “Well, at least you’re wrong about that!”

  A forced smile. They can still bring themselves to joke about it! The human spirit is truly remarkable.

  “The thing is…” Nastya’s voice suddenly sounded extremely tired and hoarse, from all the cigarettes. “I split up with someone recently, you know. Someone who meant a lot to me. I thought I meant something to him too, but he turned out to be a total bastard. It’s… I don’t really know how to explain it, but it’s like everything inside me is scorched and barren. I felt as though I had nothing to live for! I tried to slit my wrists and cried for months. I can’t go through that again. Getting involved in another complicated relationship right now would be like throwing myself back into the fire! I simply don’t have the strength to fall in love again. Can you understand that?”

  Vadim didn’t know whether he understood or not. He didn’t really have a clue what was going on. Since yesterday evening nothing had made any sense.

  “See, you say that you’ll go with me to Moscow…” Nastya suddenly became animated, her words tumbling out erratically, emotionally. Her cheeks may well have been flushed; it was impossible to tell, because it was still quite dark. “I don’t care about Moscow! I just want to go somewhere, anywhere! It doesn’t matter, as long as it’s away from home, as far as possible from everyone I know! I need new places, and I need to keep moving… The main thing is not to get attached to anyone. I know I’ll meet people along the way, and that’s fine – I just don’t want them to stick around! I need to be alone. It’s my way of healing my broken heart. And I can only be truly alone when I’m out on the road. Drivers don’t count – they pick you up, they drop you off, and you never see one another again. But I don’t want anyone else trying to get to know me, asking me who I am or where I’m going. Freedom and solitude – yes, that’s what I need right now. Nothing else.”

  Vadim didn’t respond. He rested his head on his arms, and to anyone else it might have looked as though he were sleeping. Nastya had nothing more to say either, so the dawn broke that day in complete silence.