And yet I’ve managed to take off my shoes. I always take my shoes off ahead of time so as not to get distracted later… So as not to have to say: “Just a minute, I need to take off my shoes…” Plus the laces get tangled in the nervous haste. I must have torn a thousand of them in the throes of passion.
“I also met Guryev, a known dissident. You must have heard of him, he’s been mentioned on Western radio stations. Frieda introduced us. We were at his house, on Pushkin Street, talking about emigration. His home is full of icons…”
“Then he must be a Jew.”
“So it seems. But his last name is Russian – Guryev.”
“That’s what’s suspicious. Guryev… Guryevich…”
“What do you have against Jews?”
“Nothing. Especially since this one is Russian. I’ve known him since ’65.”
“So you’re kidding me again.”
“That’s because I’m a kidder.”
“Guryev is really smart. He says that Russia is experiencing a Christian renaissance. That it’s an irreversible process. And that in the cities, sixty per cent of the population is religious, while it’s seventy-five in the country.”
“Mikhail Ivanych being one, for example.”
“I don’t know Mikhail Ivanych. He makes a good impression.”
“Yeah, not bad. Only his saintliness is a bit lacking…”
“Guryev treated us to instant coffee. He said: ‘You’re using too much… I’m not being frugal, it’s just that it changes the flavour…’ And when we were getting ready to leave, he said, ‘I’ll walk you to the bus. There’s some mischief in these parts. Hoodlums everywhere…’ And Frieda says to him, ‘Don’t worry, only forty per cent…’ Guryev got touchy and changed his mind about walking us there. What are you doing? At least turn off the light!”
“Why?”
“That’s what people do.”
“I can drape my jacket over the window and put my hat on the lamp. We’ll have a night light.”
“It’s not very sanitary.”
“You’d think you were from Andalusia!”
“Don’t look.”
“As if I come across beauty a lot.”
“My pantyhose are full of holes.”
“Banish them from my sight!”
“There you go again.” Tanya’s feelings were hurt. “And I came here for a serious talk.”
“Just put it out of your mind,” I said, “at least for half an hour.”
I heard footsteps from the vestibule. Misha had come back. Muttering, he got into bed.
I was worried that he’d start swearing. My fears were confirmed.
“Maybe we could turn on the radio?” asked Tanya.
“There is no radio. But there is an electric grinder…”
It took Misha a long time to settle down. A philosophical note was discernible in his profanities. For example, I heard:
“Eh, swimming upstraddle, up yours, with no paddle…”
Finally it was quiet. We were together again. Tanya suddenly got loud. I said:
“Keep it down. Let’s not wake Misha.”
“What can I do?”
“Try thinking about something else. I always think about my problems. Like my debts, aches and pains, the fact that I can’t get published.”
“And I think about you. You are my biggest problem.”
“Do you want some country salt pork?”
“No. Do you know what I want?”
“I can guess…”
Tanya was crying again. She was saying such things that all I could think of was whether Misha would wake up. Wouldn’t he be surprised…
And then I smelt fumes. My imported cap was shrouded in a cloud of smoke. I turned off the lamp but it was already light. The oilcloth gleamed.
“The first bus leaves at nine thirty,” my wife said. “The next one is at four. I still need to pick up Masha…”
“I’ll get you on a bus for free. There’s a Petersburg three-day tour that leaves at ten.”
“I won’t be imposing?”
“Not at all. They have a huge ‘Icarus’ luxury bus. There’s always a free seat.”
“Maybe I should give something to the driver?”
“That’s my problem. We keep our own tally… OK, I’m off to get milk.”
“Put your pants on.”
“That’s an idea…”
Nadezhda Fyodorovna was already pottering around in the garden. Her blooming behind rose over the potato vines. She asked:
“So that was your gal?”
“My wife,” I said.
“It’s hard to believe. She looks too nice.”
The woman looked me over scornfully.
“Guys got it good. The worse they are, the prettier the wives.”
“What’s so bad about me?”
“You look like Stalin.”
Stalin was not loved in the countryside. I noticed this a while ago. Evidently, they still remembered collectivization and his other tricks. Our creative intelligentsia could learn a thing or two from the illiterate peasants. They say the entire auditorium of the Leningrad Palace of Arts burst into applause when Stalin appeared on screen.
But I have always hated him. Long before Khrushchev’s reforms. Long before I learnt how to read. Political credit for this belongs to my mother. My mother, an Armenian from Tbilisi, criticized Stalin unrelentingly, albeit in a rather idiosyncratic manner. She repeated with conviction:
“A Georgian cannot be a decent man!”
I walked back, trying not to spill the milk. Tanya was up. She washed her face and made the bed. Mikhail Ivanych was fixing his power saw and grunting. There was a smell of smoke, grass and sun-baked clover in the air.
I poured the milk, sliced the bread, and got out some green onions and hard-boiled eggs. Tanya was examining my ruined hat.
“I can put a leather patch on it if you like?”
“What for? It’s warm already.”
“I’ll send you a new one.”
“I have a better idea, maybe some cyanide.”
“No, I’m serious, what should I send you?”
“How should I know what they’ve got in America these days? Let’s not talk about it.”
We reached the tourist centre a little before nine. The driver had already turned the bus around. The tourists were stacking their bags and suitcases in the luggage compartment. Some had taken their seats by the windows. I walked up to the driver I knew:
“Got any free seats?”
“For you, not a problem.”
“I want to send my wife to Leningrad.”
“I sympathize. I’d like to send mine to Kamchatka. Or to the moon, instead of Gagarin.”
The driver was wearing an attractive imported shirt. As a rule, drivers of tour buses were fairly cultured. Most of them could easily have replaced the guides. Only they’d be taking a significant pay cut…
From the corner of my eye, I saw that Tanya was talking to Marianna Petrovna. For some reason I always feel alarmed when two women are left alone. Especially when one of them is my wife.
“OK, then it’s settled,” I said to the driver. “Drop her off on Obvodny Canal.”
“It’s too shallow,” the driver laughed.
I should just get on the bus, I thought, and leave as well. One of the guides can bring my things. Only what will we live on? And how?
Galina dashed past us, nodding in the direction of my wife:
“My goodness, how plain!”
I didn’t say anything. But in my mind I set her peroxide-bleached locks on fire.
The sports instructor, Seryozha Yefimov, approached.
“My excuses,” he said. “This is for you.” And he put a jar of blackberries in Tanya’s hands.
We had to say goodbye.
“Call me,” Tanya said.
I nodded.
“Is there a phone you can use?”
“Of course. Give Masha a kiss. How long will all this take?”
“It’s hard to tell. A month, maybe two… Think about it.”
“I’ll call.”
The driver climbed behind the wheel. The imported motor roared with confidence. I blurted out something unintelligible.
“And I…” said Tanya.