But now, suddenly, everything was becoming more complicated. And ironic, too – as if it were not the devil but God Himself directing temptation! He had replaced the indifferent, cold Madam Ira in that bed with a woman who was tormented by her work and frankly had ultimately been driven to it, and whom he had almost raped… The shame of it… A woman who, as he languished fretting next to her there in that bed, radiated enticement and purity at once… He had never felt that way about a woman before, felt that he wanted just to embrace, stroke, caress her – especially caress – and then sleep with, oh yes, of course that’s what his body wanted, but more powerful was another feeling that he had never felt for a woman before, or anyone else – to embrace, to caress, to protect, just hold in his arms, holding himself back…
He didn’t know what was going on or what might happen when he set off to visit Natalya Filippovna with his book. Clearly they would drink tea. Then he would let Natalya Filippovna look at the pictures and explain them. The pictures were so pure and beautiful in themselves… But then… Yes, fortunately, Natalya Filippovna had a daughter – and she said that she lived with her and hopefully her daughter would be at home. So in fact nothing could happen… So what was his real reason for going there? If the only talking he’d be able to do would be to explain the pictures? He would actually have liked to make a clean breast of everything to this woman, to tell her everything he felt and what it was that perplexed him and that he wanted to sleep with her but never there in that defiled bed. And that most of all he would like to buy Natalya Filippovna her freedom, including her freedom from himself, tell her that never again would she have to feel forced to sleep with someone, provide sexual satisfaction, not to anyone. Tell Natalya Filippovna that he could pay even for her not to have to sleep with him, however difficult that might be for him. But his earnings wouldn’t stretch that far… the whole thing would be pointless. So it would be better if the daughter was at home. And it was much better to explain the pictures there than sweating and fretting as he languished in that sordid bed. Surely the fairest thing to do might be just to back out? Not to call, not to make an agreement, and just back out of the arrangement with Vova too? How simple it would be.
That night Dmitri Dmitrievich had dreamt of a huge Russian fireplace, broad and tall, with a sleeping area on top. The sleeping area was so high you could stand in it without any trouble. On it stood a long, simple, stout table. And in the dimness, on chairs around the table in the sleeping area, a council of some kind was in session. A ladder reached the sleeping area from the floor below. The ladder stood very upright and there were wide gaps between the rungs making it fairly tricky to climb. But he, Dmitri Dmitrievich, needed at all costs, for some reason, to climb it. No doubt it wouldn’t have been so very difficult if he had held the rungs with both hands. He would have had no problem then, but one hand was full – in one hand he had the book, eternally thick and heavy, and getting heavier and heavier… The council watched him climbing and one of them said… or rather they were discussing him up there among themselves and asking, “Why is he holding that book under his arm? It makes climbing so much more difficult…” But he wouldn’t let the book go, because without it he wouldn’t have been fit to go visiting. He simply had to deliver the book…
Sofia had to go to Zhanna’s for her birthday. Actually, it wasn’t Zhanna’s birthday but her rat’s. The rat’s name was Johnny – in honour of Johnny Depp. He was Zhanna’s third rat already – the other two had both died when they were barely two years old from cancer. Zhanna said that actually the rats sold in pet shops were all lab animals bred with delicate, weak immune systems that made them all prone to cancer. When Zhanna explained this, the boys teased her that her rats had AIDS, infuriating her. She said that if Johnny also died aged two, then there was no way she’d be getting another, but added quickly that what did she or anyone else know: she had said the same about the previous one too… Anyhow, Johnny appeared to be a completely different kind of rat. She’d never seen such an intelligent creature before, not even a dog, to say nothing of cats. And come what may, they had to mark its first birthday, because there just might not be a rat to celebrate with in two years’ time.
Another reason why it was a good day for a celebration was that Zhanna’s parents had, admittedly with some misgivings, gone to St Petersburg for the weekend taking her younger brother with them, leaving her at home alone with dire warnings. In any case, Zhanna couldn’t have gone with them because she had a dance performance on the Sunday morning. Not that she’d have wanted to – in St Petersburg they’d be staying at her grandma’s in the city outskirts, drinking tea all the time, talking non-stop, never going anywhere interesting and afterwards, on the way back, would be amazed at how the time had sped by so quickly that they’d not been able to get anywhere…
“Bring what you can,” Zhanna had told Sofia, “everyone’s bringing what they can…”
Sofia knew, obviously, what that meant. That if anyone could get hold of some alcohol, then to bring as much as they could. She even had money to buy some with now that the braces had already been fitted and her mum had that horrible job that seemed to earn her perhaps even more than her work at the electronics factory had. And Sofia was earning too, from reading to Rael’s grandma. What a good feeling that was. Now she could go shopping and ponder what to buy. A bottle of wine would be cool. But who would sell one to her? They’d definitely want to see her passport. They’d definitely not believe her if she claimed to be eighteen… And they’d definitely not sell her even a beer. Anyway, she didn’t have a taste for beer. In the end, after a great deal of indecision, she loaded her shopping basket with a packet of fudge, a packet of sunflower seeds for the rat and two mini-cans of gin and tonic. She shouldn’t spend any more than that. The cashier didn’t so much as give them a second glance; apparently she didn’t regard the cans as alcoholic drink.
The party was very civilised to begin with. Zhanna gave a warning that no one must drink lying down or throw up on the carpet and at first they were all sober, no one was smoking even though there were ashtrays in the kitchen and the living room, and Zhanna had said that her mum smoked like a chimney and that her dad had a ciggie once in a while, so smoking wasn’t a problem. They’d never twig when they got back… It looked like nearly everyone had managed to bring something with them. There were several sorts of wine and even a couple of bottles of vodka, as well as cream liqueurs. Sofia’s two metal cans seemed paltry next to all this bounty, but they were immediately mixed with vodka and offered as aperitifs, just until the sandwiches were ready.
There was music of all kinds, although Zhanna said that they mustn’t play heavy stuff at full volume. If they did, the neighbour, an old witch from hell, would come up to complain and might even call her parents, which would be the end of parties for good, because there’d be no skiving off trips to St Petersburg any more… The good news, she said, was that the old cow turned her TV up to full volume so she must be half-deaf… And the other neighbours underneath were always yelling at or scolding or beating their kids so someone was always screaming the place down…
As the evening proceeded the drink began to take hold. Everyone became jollier and tried to talk over the music and writhed to the beat. Fortunately no witch came up from below to put a stop to it – perhaps she’d taken a sleeping potion or was holding her own party, seeing as it was Saturday night. Sofia didn’t like parties. She enjoyed them at first, but from the moment that the booze went to people’s heads, their eyes would glaze over and their chatter would lose its meaning. They would talk about something that was on their mind, perhaps something important, but it was impossible to understand them. Perhaps she should have got herself drunk as well, but she had to be home by midnight at the latest – before Mum got back – and she didn’t want her mum to realise she was drunk, or that she was coming home so late – Mum would go ballistic. Mum was permanently afraid of what might happen – that someone might murder her or rape her, or worse – that she might get AIDS… Her mother’s fear was forever ringing in her ears – she always had the feeling that something might be about to happen and that the thing that might happen would be something sordid and shameful. Being run over or meeting with some other kind of accident wouldn’t be so bad…