Love Is Never Past Tense...

by Janna Yeshanova

The guy thrust the coin into his pants, saying: "This good, dzhenkuju”.11 Moving his face closer to Serge's, he breathed on him with fumes of alcohol.

  "The girl you have is top notch! I feel it! Don't miss it!"

  "All right, pops. Where are you from?"

  Pops didn't hear a thing. All he could do was blankly stare into the distance as he started singing about his enemies burning down his little hut. Slowly, he began to wander back his own way.

  ***

  … On the beach it was twilight and chilly. The wind, though warm, blew in violently from the sea. Serge and Janna settled themselves on a slope. Next to them was a large acacia bush, which provided them a cozy shelter despite the howling wind. The loud, grey sea surged below. It frothed and splashed along the concrete seawall and rocks. The waves hissed when receding back to the sea, fighting with their sisters who rushed headlong towards the coast. The picture was frightening, but bewitching. Serge could have sat like this for hours and watched the surf, that is, if he were able to tear his eyes away from Janna. The waves and Janna were aesthetic equals, and there was no need to spin his head from one to the other.

  Serge placed the bottles on the limestone. He took one and pushed the cork inside. Janna took two sips and passed the bottle back. Suddenly, she became gloomy and pensive. Such mood swings in people always discouraged Serge. He never knew what to do in such cases. There wasn't even a visible reason for change.

  "Want some more?" he asked.

  "Nah," she replied sharply.

  "And why not?"

  "Don’t ask."

  "You want me to finish this all by myself?"

  "At your discretion."

  "Oh yea, then I'll be singing drunken songs, like ole' Pops, and hover over you."

  "I'll run away."

  "What for? You wouldn't want to miss it."

  "Well drink. Maybe then you will start talking and will say something amusing … You mute."

  Serge put the bottle to his lips and sucked down about three-quarters of its contents. He wanted to drink it all out of anger, but it almost caused him to vomit. He put the bottle back on the ground and looked at her. She remained stone-faced. Serge got out his cigarettes, put them next to him, took one up, and lit it. When he put out the butt, Janna was shivering.

  "What's the matter? You cold?"

  "Nah, it's nothing."

  "Are you reminiscing?"

  "Mind your own business."

  "Then drink. In wine is truth, they say."

  She grabbed the almost empty bottle of wine and stared into it, deep in thought. Serge felt his body warm as the first alcoholic fumes weighted his brain. He looked at her drawn-in legs, the arms which clasped her knees, and her face with full lips. No matter how hard she tried to appear boyishly outgoing, it was clear to Serge that next to him sat a woman. Moreover, her womanhood manifested itself so intensely that his body, soaked in the fresh, aromatic wine, wanted so badly to caress and kiss her—just as badly as he longed for the stormy sea. The only thing he did not want to do, however, was to dig into her thoughts and try to understand what was inside of her. Forces of nature drew him to her. He didn't give a damn what she was thinking or what she would think later. How she lives, what are her interests, or who she is in general. Next to him sat a woman—young, attractive, and surely passionate. All passionate types have their sudden changes of mood. It's like the ebb and flow of the tide. If she were half as temperamental, she would still have plenty. But how could he turn this temperament to his favor? …

  Serge grabbed the second bottle, put it between his legs, and turning to Janna, said, "I wouldn't have ever imagined that you'd become like this. We came to have fun, to act up; but if you've had a change of heart we can just call it a night. What’s the point of sitting in silence? It's as if we're dragging our feet … "He stopped short. Her eyes stared into the distance, and her lips began to whisper:

  "Odessa sleeps silent,

  Breathless and warm,

  The night is mute, and the moon adorns,

  A curtain, light and transparent,

  Enveloping the sky. No sound can be heard;

  'Cept the Black Sea's surge …"

  And then she quietly added, "Oh, my precious boy, I know what you want."

  "Of course you know. It cannot be hidden."

  "But it won’t happen!" she sternly retorted, without the slightest hint of a joke.

  "Well, that makes it easier for us to go our separate ways then. And never, ever get together again? You torturer, sadist!"

  Serge clearly understood that now the day was practically lost. Why should he bother anymore with this strange girl? Now he'd hear some stories about her past romantic mishaps and how she didn’t want to repeat those mistakes. She may even tell him that she has a child (which doesn’t look to be true at all) and that she couldn't be immediately intimate with a complete stranger. And all in all, he was not her type. But glancing at her, he saw tears. Their eyes met; two big drops trickled naturally down her cheeks. But suddenly she began to laugh loudly, and Serge began to feel goose bumps running along his spine. Then, through her laughter she grabbed the wine, focused on the bottle for a minute, and tossed it away.

  "Open the next bottle," she commanded, rubbing her lips, reddened from the last bottle. Serge hurried to hand her the second bottle. She took several more sips, ate a chocolate candy, and began to smoke …

  Serge drank almost the entire bottle, leaving a bit in the bottom, and lay down on his back, attempting to understand something, but couldn’t understand anything. She took the last hit of her cigarette, had a sip of wine, and started down the slope towards the asphalt.

  They went along the riverbank, Janna again holding her silence. Both thought their own thoughts. Actually, Serge really wasn't thinking about anything. He had become a bit down. But the wine had done its job, he felt that emptiness in his head, and he decisively didn't want anything. Even her shapely, firm legs couldn't grab his attention.

  On a stone guard rail sat an elderly woman selling boiled shrimp. Serge bought a bag and walked along eating them, spitting the shells to the side. If she had turned around and left, he would just deliberately walk his way. He cooled towards her. He became indifferent to her.

  He turned on a breakwater where at the end, some fishermen sat covered with tarps to protect themselves from the sea spray, trying to catch smelts. She walked along beside him, but if she had decided to turn around at that very moment, Serge would have hardly followed her. In fact, now she was following him, and he liked it. It was dark on the pier, the wind tossed their hair, and the sea was spraying, smacking into the concrete flood wall. Gazing into the mutinous waves, they had no desire to become better acquainted with them.

  "Are you up for a swim?" suddenly inquired Janna.

  Serge handed her the shrimp and began to tug off his shirt. Janna waited, while he undressed, then grabbed him by his hand and said:

  "Listen, let it go. I was just joking. I forgot that you are a bit drunk.” And then laughingly added, “The sea seems shallow to you now."

  "Where was your pity when I was undressing? What am I supposed to do, get dressed again? What am I, a puppet? If you want—you undress me. If you want—you dress me. And then, what does it mean that I am drunk? …” Serge, considering that he had a fairly firm and sober head on his shoulders, was insulted.

  "I'll drown. Then you’ll bite your elbows.12 Or maybe you won’t. Whatever you’d like."

  And he dove into a rather tall wave. He had a devilish desire to just drown so that his body would be ejected onto the concrete. Janna would fly over; tear at her hair and wail, "Poor me. I brought a poor young boy to his death. Oh my boy, my precious, come back. I beg you! Ohhhh! I fell in love with you! Ohhhh! Someone give him a magic elixir …"

  Serge drew up this scene in his mind, diving through the waves. But the desire to drown was gone. He floated out to open waters, and then returned … but he couldn't see the shore. The next wave picked him up, and th
en the shore came into view. Serge imagined Janna rushing along the concrete shoulder, and he turned back to shore.

  He crawled up onto the wet concrete, almost scraping his knee. Janna was sitting silently. Serge stood by her side, not embarrassed to take off his swimming trunks and wring them out. Then he put his pants back on his wet body. He wanted to move close to her, kiss her, and spit to the side in disdain like they do in the movies, but instead he picked up his bag of shrimp and started walking away.

  Up above, in the shrubbery, was a stone gazebo. It seemed that nobody was there. Serge turned around. For a long time they stared unblinkingly into each other’s eyes. Then he took her by her hand and pulled her along a steep trail. But climbing up like that wasn't comfortable for either of them, so they switched places, and Serge helped Janna up, supporting her by her hand and reveling in this presumptuousness. Soon they reached the stone terrace. The gazebo was constructed in the standard post-war style. Round columns supported the massive roof. The only thing lacking was an alabaster statue of some horn player or a girl with a bowl. Instead, there was a different, live girl. She sat in the depths of the gazebo, on a pile of straw from God knows where, and next to her sat a guy who looked like a gnome in the grass. Serge went up to the edge of the gazebo and stared down into the dark expanse, where below, almost invisibly, hissed the sea. A distant ship flickered its lights, pointing out where the water ended and where the sky began.

  Janna approached Serge, resting her elbows on the fence, which was thick as a boa. In the dark, her shape seemed timid and even tender, although, he certainly hadn't noticed any tenderness coming from her the whole day. She abashedly looked at the ends of her fingers. She clenched them together as if she were asking for forgiveness for their unwarranted interruption of the sentimental couple below. Serge sensed a timid request to leave. But he knew he wouldn't leave. Now, he felt a power over those bodies hiding in the shadows. He felt a power over Janna, remembering how they reached the gazebo, how he touched her firm legs with his head, and how carefully and quickly she planted her feet on the sharp stones of the trail. She hadn't left or deserted him. Recalling this, he experienced a new sense of security. How the hell could they have known that this place was occupied? After all, there was no sign.

  The straw rustled. Serge turned around, pulled a cigarette from his pocket, and asked for a light. Darkness responded—no matches.

  “Well, I guess I’ll have to use my own then,” Serge replied like a high school sophomore. He took out his box of matches and struck one, lighting up the gazebo. On the straw sat two offspring of humanity: a man of about forty, with a large belly and the pitiful countenance of one of Chekhov’s officials, and a woman of about the same age. She quickly shuffled her skirt up to her knees, moving farther off into the shadows. The match’s flame exposed those guilty eyes, and it seemed the couple would get down on their knees and pray: “We are sinners, father. Sinners. May our souls repose …” Janna sputtered with laughter. Serge made a supercilious grimace and lit his cigarette. He wanted to shout, “Get out of here you shameless! …” But turning to Janna, he took hold of her elbow, gently pulled her close to him, saying: “Let’s leave them.” They took a few steps before noticing two silhouettes slithering through the shadows, abandoning the solemn spot of straw.

  “Well isn’t that nice of them,” Serge said, sitting down on the warm straw, leaning up against a column. Janna mirrored his actions.

  “Give me a cigarette!” The word “please” was clearly not part of Janna’s vocabulary.

  Serge handed her the pack. While Janna tapped her cigarette, Serge watched the match burn his fingers; finally Janna lit it up:

  “Well that was amusing, wasn’t it?”

  “Yep. We’ve been amusing others all day. Now it’s their turn to amuse us.”

  “So you were watching how others were staring at us, getting a kick out of our antics? I was hoping that you were only staring at my legs!”

  “I won’t hide the fact that I was staring at them. I’m no worse than the others, who you were teasing all day. You were glowing so much I swear you could’ve blinded someone.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself. But did you know that your jeans are torn a bit in the back?”

  “And is it that noticeable?”

  “Why, does it bother you?”

  “Taking an example from you—not at all. Everyone’s been getting pleasure out of your little black panties.”

  “Hah, well what if they did. At least mine are in one piece. Your butt is full of holes, you ragamuffin.”

  “Then why are you dealing with ragamuffins?”

  “Oh dream on …”

  “You’re just kissing up for another smoke, you little beggar.”

  “Yea … like I really need to smoke your smelly cigarettes!” she retorted, tossing away another butt. Looking at him victoriously, she opened a caramel and placed it in her mouth. Her lips were right next to his, and he kissed them easily.

  “Let me finish chewing it, you overzealous …”

  He squeezed her tighter. Her head swayed from side to side, and her full lips poured a blissful aura across his body. His hand crept up and grasped her breast. It was big and firm. “And she hasn’t even had a child yet,” Serge confirmed in his mind. But Janna commandingly moved his hand away. Then, he clasped her face, peppered her with kisses, swept her up off her feet, and placed her down upon the straw. He pressed her tightly in a fevered embrace. She threw back her head, exposing her neck for kisses. Serge grazed his nose into her shoulder, smelling the scent of freshly tanned skin still holding the sun’s rays. His excitement grew quickly. He rolled on top of her, giving her the full brunt of his weight. Her breathing became irregular and short, but to Serge it seemed to burn, turning him into an animal. He didn’t even attempt to undress her. That sweet moment had almost arrived, threatening to spill out all over the place, just seeking some release. Janna felt his hardness on her stomach, sobering her up, and so she began to tug at his jeans, attempting to slide out from under him.

  “That’s enough Serge,” she whispered insistently.

  One more minute and his volcano would have erupted. Then a faraway thought came to him, whispering, “Well, I will have to go to the sea to wash out my pants …” He promptly rolled over to the side, breathing heavily and feeling his pulse pound through his body … His volcano calmed itself; the eruption didn’t happen. He lay for a few more minutes, now feeling his bladder might erupt instead. He excused himself and went off into the bushes. The evening lingered with freshness. Cold stars hung in the translucent sky, lighting his path. They also seemed fresh. Feeling relieved, Serge returned to the terrace, but Janna was nowhere to be found. He wanted to call out to her, but he could hear a steady stream literally steps away.

  “What? Am I not a human being,” shouted Janna, laughing with her startling, vibrating laugh. She emerged from the bushes fixing her skirt, which was clinging to her panties from behind, and Serge collapsed onto the ground from laughter. She plopped down on his stomach.

  “Why are you laughing?” she asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I laugh? Now it appears that urine is bringing us closer, but I was hoping that something else would.”

  “Wow! What haven’t we done already! Ha, ha, ha!”

  “Well, it may be enough for you to go pee into the bushes, but it’s not enough for me.” Serge raised himself, crawling up underneath the fringe of her skirt.

  “That’s to be continued, but not now,” she said gleefully, pulling his hands away again.

  “How old are you?” she asked unexpectedly.

  “Why? Are you afraid to seduce a minor?”

  “Well, I’m waiting.”

  “Twenty-one and a half,” Serge lied, having only turned twenty a month ago. “And you?” he asked automatically, immediately realizing how impolite that was.

  “You’re not supposed to ask a lady that sort of question, but I’m older than you.”

  Serge figu
red the difference was about two or three years, maybe a bit more. Good lord, what a ripe woman! She wasn’t a girl who had never been kissed. What would it cost her to snuggle up to a guy with a burning sexual desire? She can see that I am burning. She wants it, too, but is shying away. Light her a smoke, or don’t even speak to her—she’d do anything to run away from her responsibilities. She’s not a fool; she actually understands everything.

  A slight chill came over her body.

  “Are you cold?”

  “A little bit.”

  Serge quietly took off his shirt and covered her shoulders. Her hands were folded around his waist.

  “Are you freezing?”

  “It’s completely up to you, mademoiselle.”

  “At least put my tee shirt on.”

  “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

  She tossed his shirt aside, crossed her arms, grabbed the sides of her shirt with her hands and pulled her tee shirt over her head. Serge was stunned—maybe it was happening. Her hair got caught in her collar, and she struggled to free it. Yet Serge couldn’t take his eyes off of her body, its tan lines noticeable from underneath her bra. He held her gently and unfastened the hook. His heart pounded at his ribs like a sledgehammer. He wanted so badly to envelop her half-naked body but restrained himself, falling back down onto the straw. Now, the initiative was up to her. She could pounce on him like a panther. Oh, how badly he wanted that! Instead, she crawled deeply into his shirt and shriveled up. Serge wasn’t very comfortable lying with his naked torso on the prickly straw. He got up, came up to her from behind, lifted her up and placed her feet on the ground. Holding her by her hand, he led her back down the pathway from the gazebo. They quickly descended to a well-lit alley and walked along towards the park’s exit like longtime lovers. Serge threw her tee shirt on, and Janna, chuckling, poked at his bellybutton with her fingers. He took her up into his arms, carrying her a few steps, and then lowered her back to the ground, pressing his face to hers and kissing her gently. They walked through the park, exited onto the street, and trudged toward the city.