Tatyana Zlatkova had fled to Stargorod from an ill-fated, cruel love affair in Leningrad. She purposely chose the job of tour-guide. If there was one thing her time at the Hermitage had taught her, it was that the research department was a life-sucking swamp. She’d spent ten years in one of those and she wanted to be free, to walk around, stare, and talk about the things she loved most in the world. She also believed in educating people.
At first things went smoothly. She and the indigenous expert Osokin – short, with a small voice, his eyes completely faded at 43 – were the museum’s two best tour guides. Osokin never changed. Between his groups he sat on the bench in the nook behind the tour-organizers’ kiosk, read Knowledge is Power and delighted in engaging whomever approached him in long discussions about the latest scientific discoveries. Osokin was very good at his job, but at heart he was a rapturous fool, and Tatyana could not stand men like that, not to mention the rest of his ever-humble countenance… No, she could not possibly understand why the girls in the department felt so sorry for him and made plans – smiling but nonetheless earnest – to get him married. Tatyana was stern with Osokin, but, naturally, chatted with the girls, though she tried to avoid their endless tea-breaks as much as possible. She was well respected and a bit intimidating.
Sometimes, Tatyana spent all her time dashing around the city, with one group after another. Other times, when her mood changed, she kept to the museum collection. She was readily forgiven for these sudden swings, since there were never any complaints about her, only thank you’s from her rapt audiences.
Her little Nadyushka, who was just a baby when they moved from Leningrad, grew up in day-care, and later pre-school, but strangely enough, rarely got sick. After work, Tatyana would pick up Nadyushka from extended hours and they’d walk home, where they read books and built a cardboard city. They were happy together.
But then school started, and with it came school infections: measles, mumps, and scarlet fever all in one year. And all that came with bills. Money became short. Tatyana took on more groups, worked harder, and pulled through. In the summer, when the girl got stronger, they went on vacation to Sudak, to the Black Sea, and in the second grade things went back to normal.
Only somehow, after that summer, everything at work changed instantly, as if a veil fell from Tatyana’s eyes; she suddenly felt an all-consuming hatred for the public. She hated people for their pettiness, bad manners, and rudeness. Especially the kids – they were undisciplined, inattentive, and loud. She must have just ignored them before, speaking to those who were listening, but now she was possessed – she could snap, she could even yell at someone. She was also tired. A single vacation was not enough for the year she’d had.
Something was missing. She felt suddenly and completely bored. She was tired of getting up at the same time every day to go to work. Now she looked at Osokin, that meek Stargorod lamb, with a new incomprehension that bordered on envy: how could he do it? He noticed nothing around him, as always. No, she felt no pity for him, only disgust.
It was known that Osokin rose early and before going to work made his rounds in the neighborhood, where he shared a small house with his elderly parents. He scattered crumbs for the sparrows and dropped morsels for every stray cat (who sat waiting for him) – a bone, a piece of fish, a slice of bacon or even some sausage. As if nothing had changed in the stores.
Tatyana once made a caustic joke about him at the office, and then couldn’t forgive herself for it. She should have kept her mouth shut, but no – it was coming after her, the familiar life-sucking swamp. Inexorably. Inescapably. It had been pursuing her for nine years, ever since she left Petersburg, and it was about to catch up.
And that’s when she realized that it was going to be like this forever. Until she died. Because she hated standing in lines; she lost all her dignity there. Because she’d taken on more groups and still couldn’t afford to buy meat. Because she hated her job. She’d even considered asking for a transfer into the Country Painting Department: it was nice and quiet, a cushy gig.
Someone prodded her from behind, “It’s your turn, miss, come on!”
She bought her cottage cheese and felt slightly better: she could fry up a batch of cheese pancakes and not worry about dinner for two whole days.
She picked up Nadyushka at school and, on the way home, now cursing absolutely every bit of her existence, took a spot in a line for frozen pollock. It didn’t look like it would take more than half an hour, but she was still appalled. She wanted to go home, where it was warm, to her kitchen, to her green-shaded lamp. Nadyushka perched on the radiator trying to read The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, clearly with little success.
The child had an idea. A secret. She said so when Tatyana picked her up: “Mom, I’ve got a surprise for you.” And now she kept fidgeting – she couldn’t wait to go home.
At home, when they finally got there, they had no time for surprises at first: they had to change, wash their hands, and make dinner. A school notebook lay on top of Tatyana’s plate. She noticed that her daughter shut her eyes when she opened it.
The title was written in colored marker: “Essay: Why I love My Mom.” A simple piece. Naïve. Written and read a thousand times before.
Everything became clear. They hugged, and the cheese pancakes got burned on the stove. Tatyana made a new batch. She opened a can of condensed milk, and declared a feast. They sat together, drank tea with cheese pancakes dipped in condensed milk, and watched Good Night, Kids!
Then Tatyana gave Nadyushka a bath and put her to bed. She read Huckleberry Finn to her, breaking her own rule: Nadyushka was old enough to read on her own. But they made it an event – and once was okay.
She put her hair in a braid before going to bed, and the braid came out thin as a rat’s tail. She lay in bed, looked at the sleeping Nadyushka and thought about the essay. It was funny, it said: “My mom’s the most loved mom in the world because I love her very much!” But it was still nice.
It was really not that different from one of her tours: “Here’s a depiction of the Savior on his throne, look how detached and lonely he is, but still all-powerful…” She always used the same words to describe the image, the facts were not important – only the intonation was. Such a small thing.
She yawned, but she wasn’t ready to fall asleep yet.
“Yes, the intonation…”
She picked up the day’s Izvestia from the nightstand, skimmed over it, then read:
Facts and Commentary: The Living Well of the Desert. Of course, the desert means sand, first and foremost. Dunes can be as tall as multi-storied buildings. But even here some vegetation persists – camel-thorn and various grasses thrive in the dunes. Could there be a way of obtaining moisture from these living symbols of the desert?
Turns out there is: half a dozen plastic bags, pulled over different plants, could collect from two to two and a half liters of water in a day, as condensation. Of course, the liquid doesn’t taste like tap-water – it’s more like strong green tea.
Salsola Early and Salsola Southern are the best plants for this.
Funny. Tatyana tried to picture these “salsolas” and the dunes… the symbols of the desert. And the life-giving water hidden inside them. Dunes rose in front of her eyes and she fell asleep.
The next day Tatyana found herself on the bench next to Osokin. The spring sun was warm, and the nook between the buildings where the bench stood protected them from the wind. There was decidedly nothing to do. She told him what she had read in Izvestia. Osokin listened attentively, even though he had heard of this phenomenon before. In return, he told her about a new science, synergistics. Tatyana never understood anything related to physics or mathematics, but Osokin made it sound so interesting that, listening to him, she lost all track of time.