Perhaps, if Aleksandr Sergeyevich was unhappy at the time, he thought that risking his life was worth a shot and that, whatever the outcome of his duel, at least things would no longer be the same.
48
BEING ON THE TOP floor, on summer days my flat was always hot. I had left the balcony doors open and now flies were circling in the middle of the living room. Except they weren’t exactly circling. Moscow flies had a peculiar way of moving around — they flew in straight lines, turning in sharp corners, drawing geometrical figures in the air, as if avoiding walls that were invisible to my eyes.
Vika and I lay sweating on the couch. I was observing the flies, trying to remember a passage from Turgenev’s Nest of the Gentry, where Marfa Timofeevna, the bitter old lady, says something about envying the simple life of flies until she’d heard a fly complaining in a spider’s web.
Vika was breathing into my neck, her hair all over my face. She felt unusually warm, her skin sticky. Once naked, her petite body was somewhat softer than I’d expected. Unlike Tatyana’s, Vika’s thighs were round and fleshy.
I was hit by a sudden urge to leave my flat.
‘Let’s go and grab some lunch,’ I said.
‘Now?’ She kissed my neck. ‘Maybe we can stay here for a little while, eat the watermelon.’
‘It’s too hot in here,’ I said.
The voices from Scandinavia’s terrace came over the balcony. I could recognise some of the brothers’. If only Vika would leave now, I thought, I could go down and enjoy a cold beer and a hamburger with the brothers, then come back for some sleep.
I felt dark clouds forming in my head. I stood up and went to the shower. It was that time of year when my building had no central hot water — the profilaktika, they called it, about three weeks every summer during which, I was told, the hot water of entire neighbourhoods was cut so that the pipes could be serviced. It was a collective purifying ritual of sorts that Muscovites seemed to endure without much protest.
The icy water washed away some of my sorrow, brought me back to life.
Back in the living room, I slipped back into my jeans, sat next to Vika. She lay inert and naked on the couch. I placed my hand between her legs — she was freshly shaved, the skin of her pubic area reddish and irritated. She smiled, placed her arms around me, kissed my ear. I concentrated hard on pushing Tatyana’s image out of my mind. Vika was a wonderful girl, I told myself, and, for the few seconds I could maintain the fantasy of Tatyana’s non-existence, I enjoyed Vika’s company. But as soon as Tatyana forced herself back into my head, my chest tightened and Vika’s presence in my flat felt oppressive.
Vika stood up, walked into the bathroom, washed herself. Back in the living room, she let her yellow dress unfold over her head and cover her body. We went down to the street.
‘Why don’t we just have something to eat here?’ Vika said, pointing at the tables of Scandinavia. The waitresses, who knew me by sight, carried trays with grilled burgers, fresh salads, cold beer.
‘I feel like walking,’ I said. ‘Let’s go somewhere else.’
We strolled down Tverskaya, turned left at the end and crossed the street into Teatralnaya Ploschad. We sat down at a summer terrace with orange plastic tables, next to the Metropol hotel.
When the waitress brought our food, Vika was talking about her family, something about a brother, or a cousin — in Russian you never knew. I wasn’t really following what she was saying. At a nearby table a group of foreign businessmen, guests at the Metropol, I figured, were drinking beer and talking loudly, in English. They were accompanied by three young Russian women, who laughed wildly at each of their stupid comments.
I was overcome by a wave of exhaustion. I didn’t feel like talking. It was as if all the anticipation, all the hunger, had evaporated in a matter of seconds on my couch. All I wanted now was to be left alone.
I thought about Tatyana, about how she gave me space, even when she was in my flat, about the unobtrusiveness of her presence. Tomorrow evening she’ll be back home, I thought.
‘Do you have brothers or sisters?’ Vika was asking.
I cut open my chicken roll, melted butter flooded my plate.
‘I think I’ll go home,’ I said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m tired, I need some rest.’
‘But you wanted to get out. You can’t go home now, with such nice weather. Let’s finish eating. Then we can walk towards Aleksandrovsky Sad and have ice cream.’
I ate some chicken in silence. Vika said her salad was very nice.
‘I’d rather go home,’ I said. ‘I’m meeting some friends tonight.’
Vika looked at me, perplexed.
‘I can come with you.’
‘I need to rest, I’m quite tired from last night.’
She placed her fork facing down on her plate — her face suddenly transformed, her smile gone. Her brown eyes looked somewhat menacing.
‘So you want me to go home now? Is that what you are saying?’
‘Vika, I’m just saying I need to meet my friends later on and I would like to rest.’
‘I can also meet your friends.’
‘Not tonight,’ I said. ‘Another day.’
‘Martin, you asked me to meet you today.’ Her voice sounded now coarser. ‘I want to spend time with you.’
‘But we have spent time together. We met at eleven, it’s four o’clock. That’s five whole hours we’ve spent together.’
‘You’ve been silent for the last hour,’ Vika said.
‘I need to be alone for a little while, that’s all.’
Vika took the sunglasses out of her handbag, placed them on her head as a hairband. Then she grabbed the fork and started picking at her salad.
I tried to finish my chicken as quickly as possible.
‘I shouldn’t have slept with you,’ she said.
‘I’m just tired. We’ll meet another day.’
‘You wanted to fuck me, that’s all.’
‘Vika, please.’
She now put her sunglasses on. They were far too large, the sunglasses. They made her look like an oversized insect.
‘Why don’t you want to spend more time with me?’ she said, softening her voice again.
I searched for something suitable to say, but at that moment the image of a fly flashed up in my head. Vika, with her giant sunglasses, transformed into an enormous fly.
‘We just met,’ she continued. ‘There is so much we can talk about. I don’t know anything about you. On Wednesday when we first met, you were talking all the time, it was so nice. I had a great time. And now you ask me to leave?’
‘Those glasses are too big for you,’ I said.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Vika, I had a great time with you today. But I’m just not in the mood. ‘Ia-ne-v-nastroenii,’ I said, probably raising my voice above what was appropriate. ‘Let’s meet another day.’
‘Why another day? I’m here now. Let’s spend this weekend together.’
‘But my friends—’
‘I can also meet your friends.’
‘Vika.’
‘If you don’t want to spend time with me, what’s the point?’
‘The point?’
Vika lowered her voice, looked at her salad. ‘The point of us being together.’
I stood up.
‘Are you married or something?’ she asked, gripping my arm. ‘I saw women’s stuff in your bathroom. If you are married, just tell me, but you should have told me before. I wouldn’t have slept with you.’