The breeze rustled through the leaves. On the ground the first yellow leaflets silently fell. Autumn was coming …
***
Time flew imperceptibly. They left behind not only three days, but ten days. It was difficult for Serge to watch the days fly by, and he didn’t even want to do this—he did not want to leave this carefree life, and there was no reason to speed it up.
Every morning, half asleep, but pretending to be deeply sleeping, Serge waited, laying on his folding bed until the time when her mother would leave the house and go to work. The gate chain was a signal: as soon as its clanking became silent, Janna’s imperious voice called to the sleeper and Serge moved from the narrow creaking folding bed to Janna’s wide and soft bed. They seldom rose until lunch. Only the unique force of famine was able to unclench their embrace. Getting up was always difficult and undesirable. Janna usually rose first, and spent a long time in the house, flaunting Eve's suit, unwillingly leaving Serge’s warmth, but also his sight.
She usually finished putting on makeup and getting ready in about an hour, dressed in clothes, and only then was allowed in the street. At that point, the idea of a meal completely owned Serge. He hastened to put on his clothes, and together, they went out to dine. Sitting down at a convenient little table, they ordered so much food that to eat it all was practically impossible. They became drowsy from the meal and carried their bodies to a small park where they sat full and happy, gradually talking about everything.
By the evening, they again found the ability to move and went to the lake, or to the cinema, or simply wandered on the streets depending on their mood.
Their stormy life began later, closer to the night when a normal Soviet worker gets in a hurry to depart to a dream. The nightlife of our heroes was filled with table-talks with Janna's friends about literature and art. When the attraction to beauty was increased by doses of strong drink, Serge would lose the context of the discussions. But he felt some falseness when everyone sitting around had such smart looks on their faces; it was a disgrace to look that clever when everyone considered themselves an expert in almost everything and with full competence expressed their thoughts on things when they didn’t have the foggiest notion.
Once they were invited by a musician for a cup of coffee and a pair of jazz records. The coffee was tasteless, the equipment magnificent, and the records incomprehensible. In a small room about ten people were placed—all of them passionate music fans. In the corners were hanging speakers. On the floor multi-colored wires that looked like worms crept about, and next to a window stood a second-hand Yennika26 electronic piano. On the old shabby sofa sat the owner, thin and long. His head was moderately shaking to the music on a lean neck. His eyes were closed and he rose into the world of sharps and flats, scales and chords, and from his temple the treble clef spread. His coffee cooled down—he had no time for coffee. It seemed that only he understood this set of sounds and derived pleasure. The others glanced at him with the same spiritualized look, but they did not forget to sip from their coffee cups.
Serge listened to the first side of the record, trying to get into its essence. The end of the second side—he waited with impatience. Brought up on heavy rock rising in popularity at that time, Serge did not care for any other music, just like his many peers—twenty-year-old playboys. All his friends were raised on Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, and Slade, and none dared miss the rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar.
When the player started spinning one more record, Serge felt a loss of energy. Jazz—is a complex genre, and its circle of fans are able to hear something special that is not given to anyone else. It seemed, out of all the company, that only the host could be considered that type of person.
Serge caught Janna's eye, and they began to play ‘viewers’: the one who blinks first—loses. It seems, Janna won. After the click of the record player’s self-locking device, she called everyone to judge who had longer lips, Serge or her. A school ruler appeared, and they began to measure. Janna’s lips appeared to be longer.
The musician was praised for a miraculously spent evening, and the whole company moved to visit one more representative of beauty, a well-known sculpture artist. In her studio, there was a set of hand-made articles from clay, plaster, and stone. Everyone admired her talent, and admired the reproductions of painters, hanging on the walls. But, the table layout was the most interesting …
Here too were fans of music, but as they had only started to love it, they only had one record. Through hissing and a crash the voice of Adamo reached them. It was discovered that everyone loved to dance, and Adamo had to work very hard, and for this everyone loved him too. Serge did not remember how he reached his folding bed. But he reached it, and this happened at daybreak … the next day.
***
Serge woke up from conversation in an adjacent room.
“Janna, it seems to me that Serge is not George’s cousin,” said her mother. “He doesn’t look like him at all.”
Serge never even looked his ‘cousin’ in the eyes, but thought that her mother was absolutely right—Serge could not resemble George in any way.
“Who is he, Janna?”
“Yes, Mom, he is not George’s cousin. But I love him and that makes it a good enough reason for him to be here.”
“Is he a good person?”
“Yes, very much.”
“You sure?”
“Mom, you ask too many questions. I want to sleep. I will tell you everything later.”
“All right, I have to go. Today I will go to my sister’s. Don’t wait for me.”
“That’s good. When will you return?”
“Tomorrow evening or the day after tomorrow.”
“All right, do not worry, Mom. Everything will be ОК!”
The gate squeaked, and Serge got up from his saggy box on the floor.
“For two days we will be alone—Mom left for a visit,” Janna whispered, kissing him. “And now we shall have a sleep. After yesterday, I am absolutely dead tired.”
They embraced, and like children who tired themselves out by running, plunged into a deep dream.
Serge woke up first. Janna still slept, breathing deeply and evenly. He began to study her face as if he was looking at it for the first time. Her cute nose was somehow correctly attached. Her lips were full and bright without lipstick. Long eyelashes with mascara covered her eyes. Dark hair fell down on the pillow, and opened up to a high forehead with upturned eyebrows. Soft cheeks looked as if they were only intended for kisses.
“My God, this woman loves me! Have I misheard? Am I happy, or not yet? Maybe she just simply said so, for the sake of avoiding superfluous questions. Really. If I am not George’s cousin and if she does not love me, then why the hell am I sticking around here?” He had to compose something. But to compose with a sleepy head, there was no desire. “Well, she said ‘I love him’—What other questions can follow?”
Serge cautiously moved the blanket and barely uncovered Janna’s breast, crowned with a beautiful brown nipple. He pulled the blanket a little more. The second breast came into view. They were like twins, forever joined in the middle. One came to an end, and at once another began, with the same beautiful, white skin as though the bathing suit kept them pristine.
Serge wanted to uncover her completely, but he was afraid that she would wake up. He cautiously pushed a hand under the blanket and put a palm on her stomach. Then he went further down and felt her soft hair …
“Come to me,” whispered Janna through her dream and Serge slowly, stretching out the pleasure, entered her.
“It feels like you are drinking me.”
“And I thought the opposite—that I am giving you a drink.”
“Today you are prohibited to satisfy my thirst—it’s not the right time.”
Suddenly, because of what he heard that morning, from the tender words she spoke, and the infinite fidelity where she gave him her body—Serge felt an inflow of such force that he barely had time to leave he
r warmth … He lay trembling on her in uncontrollable convulsions. Then he calmed down, barely rising on his elbows, and lowered his head to her breast. She smoothed and fingered his hair, calming him, and suddenly asked:
“Why don’t you ever say anything, when you do it?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t work simultaneously.”
“You still never admitted you love me. Don’t you love me?”
“Who can tell for certain? It can seem like love to that person.”
Serge had read this phrase somewhere and quite agreed with the author.
“And what does it seem to you now?” Janna asked insistently.
“If I speak about this minute, it seems that I love you.”
“And all other minutes and hours—you don’t?!”
“This is not the right case to exercise logic.”
“Then I will tell you directly and concretely: ‘I love you, Serge.’ I love without any ‘it seems’!—Get up, I need to get a shower.” She strongly pushed him away, jumped off the bed and escaped to the bathroom.
After a while, she returned, washed and refreshed. And like nothing happened, she said she was hungry and that Serge had to prepare twenty fried eggs.
Twenty—no, not twenty. About eight eggs were found in the refrigerator …
They ate the sunny side up eggs, dipping their bread in the yolk and washing it down with milk.
“I have an idea!” Janna exclaimed. “We should go to a banya27 today.”
“That sounds like an excuse,” answered Serge with words from a well known joke.28
“No, we need to steam and wash ourselves very well. I have such a necessity.”
“I am not against that.”
The Soviet banyas, as it is known, were segregated by sex because the communist power enforced the chastity of people of the highest social formation. The Russian banyas became a relic. They burned extremely hot while everyone washed simultaneously: men and women, adults and children. The Finnish traditions of unisex saunas, in general, remained in Finland.
Janna declared to the attendant that she was with her husband and thus it was not necessary to have a separate washing cabin. To Serge’s surprise, the cabin was presented to them. They furiously rubbed each other with rigid sponges and with pleasure placed their backs under jets of hot water. Serge noticed a scar on her buttocks and asked where it came from.
“A dog bit me in childhood—does it bother you? Me, not at all. Now it will seem to you that you won’t love me with a defect.”
Instead of an answer, Serge embraced her, soapy and slippery, and kissed, on her wet lips.
“Oh you got scared! Fear not, there are no more defects!” She burst out laughing, and showed her healthy white teeth.
“Hey, newly-weds, time’s up!” called the banya attendant at the door. “Others also need to wash themselves.” The administrator did not lie; she spoke the naked truth. And soon, the heat-reddened and newly named ‘married couple’ Serge and Janna went outside, turning their faces to the warm, but still fresh wind.
They went into a cafe, and ate a sandwich with yesterday's cheese while they drank tea. They had no desire to wander around the city, or to fill the time by visiting someone either. They needed to use the free time given by her kind Mom …
“So, how do we look as newlyweds?” Janna asked, sitting down on the bed and folding her legs under her.
“I think, quite authentic.”
“But in fact we are not newlyweds.”
“Does that matter now?”
“In that case, why are we not newlyweds, if it doesn’t matter?”
“That’s not what I meant. We look like newlyweds, but it is nobody’s business what we are in reality.”
“We are newly-weds for kicks … Serge, marry me!”
He was taken aback. Her gaze was serious and she looked steadily at him. There was no reason to think that she was joking. Therefore, it seemed somehow frivolous to laugh the matter off.
“Do you want to become my wife?”
“Wouldn’t you wish to have such a wife?”
“I did not think of it,” Serge lied for some reason. “I feel good with you and in my opinion we are not going to part.”
“You will leave soon.”
“So what?”
“This means, that we will part.”
“For some time—yes, but in fact not forever.”
“It won’t be like this, Seriozha. You will start your life. And I will continue to live mine. After a while, the need to meet will disappear.”
Serge was not at all ready for such a conversation. He again studied her—to look at her was true pleasure. He remembered the morning closeness and decided that they needed to shift away from such a theme.
“You know,” he said slowly, sitting down next to her on the bed, “I don’t have anything at all against marrying you. More than that—I want this. But, let’s agree. Today we decided to get married! And that’s it. These are quite enough decisions for today. We will discuss the details another time. Does it work?”
“That’s good. And when will the other time come?”
“Soon. Tomorrow, perhaps.”
“Well, tomorrow we discuss details.” She laughed and became clearly cheerful. “Hell, we should have a drink for this!”
But there was no drink, and Serge had to gallop to a shop that was already closing. Back then, by the rules of socialist service, ten minutes before a shop was closing, a worker stood next to the door and explained to everyone who was coming to the door that the shop was already closed. “We will finish servicing those who are inside!” the worker told him. Serge smiled sweetly, bent towards the saleswoman and explained that he was in the middle of getting engaged, and there was not enough wine for the guests … Compassionately, she congratulated him and allowed him to come in through the door. “And why are you shoving? I told you, the shop is closed!” she yelled at the next person who tried to squeeze himself through the treasured door. Serge bought two bottles of Moldavian red wine. It seemed the evening promised not to be boring …
When he returned, the table was laid out with cut tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, greenery, and two opened containers of canned fish. Janna was dressed for dinner, which is to say she removed all her clothes and threw a light robe over her naked body.
“Take off your clothes. It is hot!” she ordered. It was not necessary to persuade Serge. He quickly pulled off his trousers and ripped off his shirt, and remained in his underwear.
“I asked you to undress. Here, you see, this is how it needs to be.” She opened her dressing gown, and stood before him in what she was born some time ago.
“Well. You will be in a dressing gown, and I will be stark naked. No, it won’t work.”
“And how will it go?” The dressing gown was thrown on the couch.
They opened a bottle and poured some wine.
“Let’s have a toast,” Janna offered, and they intertwined their arms in the manner of a bridal couple toasting each other. Then they began to kiss. Janna sprayed some wine into his mouth that she had not yet swallowed. He did the same and the sweet red jets dripped down their chins onto their naked bodies. The canned fish in a tomato sauce looked in surprise at these strange eaters, not understanding when it would be their turn. They poured another glass. Janna drank half, the rest splashed out on Serge’s chest and she began to lick him.
“Did I choose a good way of consuming alcohol?”
“We need to patent it,” answered Serge, trying to think up a sophisticated response. He wanted to break an egg on her stomach, but remembered that they ate all the eggs. Then he sat her on a chair. On her ears he hung the green onions, on her head he put parsley and celery, the tomatoes he spread over her breast, and in her mouth he thrust a cucumber. He stood to one side, evaluated her and pronounced: “You know, I had some doubts in the morning, but now, none at all. Only a fool would not marry such a bride.”
Janna was lop-sided in the mirror. The cucumber
jumped out of her mouth, she fell to her knees, and she could not overcome an attack of laughter. As always, she did not care how she looked when she laughed.
Then they grabbed the fish with their teeth, right out of the can, and fed each other. When the wine was finished, they ran out into the courtyard and began to pour water over each other from a hose, washing off the rest of their solemn supper …
The first rays of the sun found them sleeping, barely covered by a bed sheet. The table looked as if it was ravaged the evening before by squad of hussars.29 Married life began …
“The husband, and the wife!” The newly-awake Janna sat on the bed and took a look at him with wide-open eyes. “You left your passport in Odessa.”
“So what?”
“How will we submit the application for our marriage license?”
“We will submit it in Moscow. You are going to come there.”
“In Moscow, it will take three months. Why should we lose that time? Collect yourself. We’re going to the railway station.”
“What for?”
“We’ll set off for Odessa.”
Serge began to strain his still sleepy head. He had no desire to be dragged somewhere.
“Now it is eight in the morning, and we will already be back here by the evening.”
“Maybe she is right. To submit the documents for the license doesn’t mean to marry yet. Still, there will be time to weigh it all out,” thought Serge.
The taxi quickly brought them up to the station. But the train departed only in the middle of the day. It meant that it would not be possible to return today.
“We will go by taxi.”
The long-distance taxi made trips from Kishinev to Odessa for twenty rubles. The driver carried four passengers, took from each of them five rubles, and barreled along for 170 kilometers.
“Why would you go, and spend extra money?” Serge tried to dissuade her. “I will go alone.”
Love Is Never Past Tense... Page 7