Love Is Never Past Tense...

by Janna Yeshanova

  Well into the night, the two parted on the corner of an empty street. Janna cloaked herself in her shirt again. Serge tied his shirt around his waist in a knot. They said their goodbye for a while, now and then kissing and discussing the next day’s plans.

  Eventually, the distance between them increased as Serge turned the corner. It seemed to him that this girl excited him, and not only sexually …

  ***

  The next morning Serge arrived on time at the agreed-upon location: the corner of Deribasovskia and Soviet Army. He paced around, observing the scurrying pedestrians, finally making out Janna running towards him, slipping her way through the crowd. She was ten minutes late, so Serge, hiding behind the trunk of a tree, toyed with her. She flew by a few meters from him and crossed the street, stopping to look around. Serge left his hiding place, heading in her direction.

  “Hey. Do you normally run in the mornings to break a sweat?”

  “No, I needed to make it to the furniture store on time,” she made up on the fly, although there weren’t any furniture stores in the vicinity.

  “So what, you are late. Is the store closed now?”

  “I saw you. Why would I need furniture now?”

  “What do you say I am—a night stand? A dresser? Maybe a bed. You know, I can be your bed.”

  “What would I do with such a bed? I would fall off or cut myself on your bones.”

  “Just put some pillows around me.”

  “Listen. Now that’s an idea! You’ll lay all covered in pillows, pretending to be my drunken prince.”

  “Why drunken?”

  “Are you ever sober? Could’ve fooled mee-ee!”

  “And what … you’d be the princess?”

  “Yep!”

  “Also drunk.”

  “But of course I’d be drunk … because of you. And I would ask you constantly, how can I serve you, what is your desire?”

  “I think you probably know what I’d like.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not a prince just yet, and you’re not drunk either …” Said Janna, but Serge wasn’t listening. Instead he was kissing her chilly morning cheeks.

  They hugged and set off towards the bus stop, which was located a bit lower on the opposite side of the street.

  ***

  The city had awakened. Southern cities are early to rise. The day began and with it, a new life. The Odessans were already bustling in the streets as if they were preparing for an evacuation. They rushed along, nervously gathering at the city’s public transport stop, storming the trams, trolleys, and buses. Housewives scurried about the stores and shops, searching for the best deals and the tastiest morsels. Visitors, on the contrary, behaved as if they’d decided to remain in the city forever. Draped in cameras with exposure meters, they strolled at their leisure, dallying at the souvenir stands.

  “Dark blues, dark blues, who wants dark blues?”13 Onions, cucumbers, reds!14 Everything fresh—they were just growing! Hey lady, why did you turn away? Look at this beauty … Dark blues, dark blues!”

  “Why are you shouting at the whole street? What kind of dark blue are they—the ones you have are actually yellow,” Janna shot back.

  “Say what, are you color-blind? To color-blind people I do not sell. Depart and do not bother me …”

  Odessa woke up and entered a new day. The colorful public thronged the streets. Girls flitted in short dresses. Old women shuffled in long chintz, and men hid their heads in straw hats.

  Serge was hiding nothing. He had a reliable enough cap of tow-headed hair which was bleached out from long wandering in the southern latitudes.

  A trolley bus arrived at the stop. Serge managed to be one of the first passengers and they sat down on the hot, fried leather seats. Serge delicately sat down next to a window and imagined himself as a cactus in a greenhouse. In a minute the palms of his hands became wet from sweat, and his shirt and trousers stuck to his body. The trolley bus was filling up and someone was constantly pushing Janna. She drew nearer to Serge, and he appeared to be squashed from both sides: the heated covering of the bus on one side—Janna's flaming hip on the other. Serge looked out of the window at the cypresses going past. Janna adjusted her skirt—not downwards, but upwards—which was a mistake. Almost two months and one more night of holding back had taken its toll on Serge. The desire to possess this woman, like a snake, crept into him. In his softened body only one muscle strained. It climbed into his pant leg and hid. Serge understood that it would pursue him all day long … yes, Odessa had definitely woken up!

  They rolled on the beach while the sun, tired from work, began to go down to its evening quarters. Janna lay in the sun the whole day, promptly catching up to Serge’s skin color. He swam far way, then flopped on the hot sand. Janna had brought along a copy of Golden Calf, but neither of them read it: it could only lay forlornly nearby, giving nary a moo. Because of the heat, conversation took too much effort. Serge only learned that Janna was a philologist, and she lived in Kishinev. She came to Odessa to rest for five days and to meet some friends. But her friends were nowhere to be seen, and Serge hoped that they not show up at all.

  Janna's skin became red-bronze and they moved under a tree. Here it was cooler, and the important thing, it was far from people. She changed into a different swimsuit, a yellow one. She lay before him easy, shamelessly enough, and unperturbed. Probably she reveled in her authority over him. But only she could know this. No conversations about their relationship took place. Actually no conversations took place at all. Sometimes they exchanged meaningless phrases. But mostly they were silent.

  Serge was constantly struggling with his hormones that seemed to live autonomously and manage his brain, and not vice-versa. Nothing was coming into his mind. Somewhere, Grandpa Freud was celebrating.

  Above her upper lip, droplets of sweat had formed. He got up, and with the tip of his tongue cleaned them off. She did not stir at all. She did not draw him closer and she did not push him away. Serge clasped her lips and gently began to inhale them into himself, and to release them slowly.

  “You kiss well, only your moustache is a little prickly,” she whispered as she raised his head. “Let’s go and drink something. Thirst tortures me.”

  They drank beer, warm and sour. A small little man with a bearded face went around and sold dried up salty anchovies. From him dripped rotten ooze and yesterday's vodka, and nobody wanted to buy his fish. Out of pity, Serge bought a big paper scoop full, but they had to throw out almost all the fish as they were covered in solid salt.

  They went along the park, sat on a bench, ate ice cream, kissed because of Serge’s permanent desire, and talked a little bit about themselves. Serge said that he was an Odessan. More precisely he was born in Odessa, but, unfortunately, did not live in this city. He lived in Moscow, but more correctly, near Moscow. He had a sister. Two, really—one in Odessa, who was actually his cousin, and the other, his true sister, living in Moscow, who would soon arrive with his parents …

  “I only have my mom,” Janna replied. “My dad passed when I was nine and a half. She is by herself now in Kishinev and I need to go to her soon.” Her sad voice immediately became more cheerful. “But I have a lot of friends and acquaintances. Guys and girls. They are like brothers and sisters to me.”

  Near the exit to the park stood a scale, and behind it sat a lean, black as tar, old geezer who took two kopecks from interested people to measure their weight. Serge appeared to weigh 73 kilograms, and noted that he had lost 3 kilograms since the beginning of summer. Janna was a whole 10 kilograms lighter, but to Serge it seemed that she should weigh the same.

  They had dinner in a small green cafe fenced in by a slanting lattice with ivy twisted around it. It was the custom to share tables at Russian restaurants, and a middle-aged couple was brought over to sit at their table. The man appeared reserved. The woman chattered about everything, but basically about herself. She was thirty-five years old and was still never married. And here, at last, she met the person to
whom she will belong to from now on, and this person will belong to her too. The man vaguely assented, but was engaged more in a piece of tough meat, as if it was cut out of a heel. The woman became excited and started to foretell happiness for Serge and Janna. She envied their age, and told them about what unbelievable opportunities were coming for them, and poking her beloved in the side, kept on repeating, “Well, why aren’t we at least twenty-five?”

  Janna was rather bothered, and in a fairly loud voice, she directed Serge’s attention to how the woman chomped noisily and made smacking sounds with her lips and how this provincial holds a fork and that she had no concept about the purpose of a table knife. Eventually, Janna began to scoff frankly at the ignorance of their neighbors, and the man thought that it was necessary to say goodbye and go home.

  Janna and Serge laughed at them for a long time, copying and mocking them. “I’m already thirty-five, and I still haven’t put out! And it would be so desirable to have children? Yes, swell me up with kids, but my man is only interested in gorging on meat …”

  “But maybe he is not capable?” Janna whispered conspiratorially, with her lips attached to Serge’s ear. Serge did not miss a moment of even her slightest approach, and kissed her. “How did you guess, tell me secretly.”

  “You won’t be able to understand. It is a complex combination of intuition, visual observation and hypnotic penetration into depths of a human being.”

  “Yes, it is more difficult than physics.”

  Suddenly, they saw some people in the street selling milk, and having refused dessert, they ran outside like children. The milk was fresh and tasty. Janna drank directly from the package and large white drops fell on her skirt. She wiped them, laughed, drank again, and the drops fell once again …

  The sun had tiredly fallen down behind the trees when the couple came across an amusement park with loud laughter. There were many adults and children, and everyone wished to receive their share of pleasure. Shouts and shots reached everywhere, and they heard sirens and howls from the attractions. Janna wanted to take a ride on a roller coaster. It went upwards, downwards, zoomed through a tunnel, turned sharply, and everyone squealed in delight. But there was a long line of people waiting for that delight. Janna went to the beginning of the line, chose a very tall guy, and asked if she could go in front of him. When he saw Serge approaching, his face turned to curdled milk, but he shrugged his shoulders and mounted the roller coaster by himself.

  The ride was really not bad. The car sped up and rushed in a circle. When it moved down, something inside your stomach flipped and somehow was squeezed in a special way. It was pleasant. But soon, you get used to the sensation, and you don’t catch your breath in excitement as much. To squeeze out more pleasure, Janna and Serge kissed, and they kept kissing until the car stopped. Leaving, Serge felt many pairs of eyes on him, as he held his head high with pride because of the tan-skinned, graceful girl with a high bust who went with him, and who he had embraced for so long …

  In half an hour, the taxi arrived at her house. She seldom went by public transport. The taxis were at her beck and call.

  “My friend George lives here, but I’m staying at his house. Let’s go. I will introduce you to him.”

  “Now the friends are showing up!” thought Serge with bitterness, and he said that he had no desire to get acquainted with anyone.

  “You’ll see—he is a dear person.”

  “I’m sure he is. But that doesn’t obligate me to meet him. I will wait for you here.”

  She disappeared within a gate, and Serge sat down on a bench. With a worried face, he glanced around. A few minutes passed. Janna jumped back out in the street, grabbed his hand, and dragged him behind her.

  “There is nobody there. I started feeling sorry for you. I won’t change my clothes that fast.”

  Serge entered the darkened premises filled with old furniture. Here everything was in order, like in a crypt.

  “George lives with his grandmother. He is twenty-eight years old. He is like my older brother …” Her voice was coming out from the bathroom, where she was trying to build something on her head.

  “All this is pleasant,” Serge thought. “George, his grandmother … I wonder where they find room for themselves. I would not say there is a lot of space. And this corner probably belongs to George.” There stood a cheap tape recorder, and some scientific works lay upon the shelves. In the same place, there was an armchair-bed—one berth. The second was the ancient sofa but even though Serge did not try, he doubted he could thrust even a folding bed in here. George, he concluded, was probably some extreme ascetic. “I could not sleep in such close quarters with a woman and not become her lover. But maybe … Oh yeah, but the grandmother … oh look what I found to stuff my head with. Isn’t it all the same to you? Soon this wonderful summer romance will end. Enjoy it in the meantime …”

  Serge sat on a chair and inhaled the crude dampness of the room. In the bathroom, some bottles rumbled, and Serge became bored.

  “You keep me waiting, madam!” Serge rose and stood in the doorway of the bathroom. Janna stood in a bra and was angrily washing her face.

  “You‘ll live! Get out of here.”

  Serge left. He took a book from the shelf and flipped the pages. It featured drawings of people’s intestines, from different angles. With disgust, Serge put the book back in its place. Janna came from behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. He turned. Her face smelled of freshness and fragrant soap. It was hard for him to keep himself together …

  “Are you ready?” he asked, tearing himself off her lips with difficulty.

  “Ooh, quite.”

  She put on shoes, put her handbag on her shoulder, and they left.

  Outside, it was stuffy. The setting sun shone on the roofs of houses, and on the asphalt long shadows were crawling. Janna ran out in the street and immediately stopped a taxi, then climbed in the front seat. She never sat down in the back seat if a front seat was available. Having taken her seat, she turned to the driver and asked, “Is it OK to smoke here?” She never received a negative answer. She always knew where to go, where to get out, and what to talk about with the driver, and found out all kinds of interesting information from him. Serge looked at the nape of her neck and felt safe.

  The driver appeared to be garrulous and with an amusing Odessan accent told them what sites to see, what cafe was the most popular, what was happening at the opera theatre—it seemed he knew all about the city and loved it very much. (Although, you will never meet an Odessan who does not love and is not proud of the city.)

  The taxi stopped at Deribasovskia Street, at the big glass shop where jewels were sold. Serge rushed to jump out of the car to open the front door for Janna. She loved it when men took care of her, and considered it ground rules for good manners.

  ”Why do you give me so much, citizens? You won’t have enough for ice cream,” the taxi driver said sarcastically, recounting the money. With a feigned feeling of pity, the driver pretended to be on the verge of tears. “Oh, will it be enough? Then give me more, please, that I could also get some ice cream.” In this way, he extracted twenty extra kopecks, and they did not mind at all giving him the extra. Everybody laughed, waved to each other, and the taxi driver got his next passengers.

  Deribasovskia Street is the most animated spot in Odessa. Every tourist, knowing nothing about Odessa, will ask where to find Deribasovskia—the central street of this distinctive city. Every person in the USSR knows about this street, because if a person talks about Odessa they will necessarily mention Deribasovskia. Or they will talk about it in their next joke: “We asked an intelligent passer-by wearing glasses carrying a thick portfolio, ‘How do you get to Deribasovskia?’ He carefully put his portfolio on the pavement and pronounced, ‘I wouldn’t want to confuse you, but you are standing on it.’” Kotia, Monia, and Spirah, Serge’s best friends from his Odessa childhood, often invited him to go watch the crazy tourist characters on Deribasovskia. Really,
would the founder of Odessa, the Neapolitan Deribas, expect that he would become an eternal contemporary of the people working on the street named after him!

  Here were all kinds of people, small ones and big ones. Nimble, swarthy children darted between the legs of adults; respectable old men sedately walked with their elbows intertwined. Cars continually approached the curb of the roadway. They left with elegantly dressed youth: girls in long dresses, wearing big round sunglasses in a silver frame, and young men in stylish Finnish15 trousers and fitted multi-colored shirts.

  Serge’s clothing did not differ in its richness. His trousers bore the stamp of time: the light, bright green colors made by Azerbaijan craftsmen. Externally, they looked exactly like the foreign models.

  The walk started. Or, it would be more correct to say, Janna and Serge crawled into every open door. It didn’t matter if it was a store, or a café, or just simply a place to munch. When they came to a clothing store, they just looked at the togs. But from all the ice cream and soda water they consumed, by the end of Deribasovskia Street, their stomachs were truly thoroughly bloated. But they had to do this to drink and get cool, anyway: the scorching walls of the houses breathed out heat.

  On both sides of the street neon fires shone. Multi-colored patches of light lay on the roadway. They lit up the laughing faces of walkers. Their bright outfits, with a range of colors, rippled in the eyes. From the nearest small restaurant, a noisy band of students ran out. Girls flashed bronze legs. The young men, who were a little tipsy, tried to get into the middle of the female bodies, which radiated with health. One blonde diligently shook her head, knowing that her soft wavy hair moved in different directions … This action deeply moved a guy who painfully wished to kiss her, but each time he tried, he came across a dexterously placed little elbow.

  Serge passionately wanted to be with them. He also wanted to chase girls, embrace them, shout nonsense related to someone, it didn’t matter to whom …