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Authors: Olga Grjasnowa
Tags: Contemporary
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quickly: her father had been a partisan, fighting against the Germans in the Ukrainian forests. Was it too much to ask to take care of a veteran, or was my husband a Nazi? Or maybe he wasn’t even my husband? Maybe that was the reason why he hadn’t married me yet? If I had the irrepressible urge to complain about an honorable man, I should talk to his nurse, Bella. Thereupon the daughter left. Her perfume remained.
Bella grinned. She wore brown leather shoes and a beige suit. A butch through and through.
The yellow eyes of the old lady glowed maliciously. The diamonds sparkled in her old ears. She, too, berated me. We should be ashamed of ourselves, unmarried, fucking in her husband’s room as if it were nothing. She actually said fucking . I blushed and wanted to reply something, but the nurse laughed, shot her a stern look as if she was her property, and whispered to me: “No worries, she’s a slut herself. I had to take her to the gynecologist countless times. And the things he excavated from her—rags, bottles. For her, only size matters.”
Suddenly the old lady started yelling at me: What kind of a woman was I? How dare I talk to her, the wife of a partisan? My husband must have ordered me from a Ukrainian catalog. Did I have no manners at all?
I left both of them alone.
10
This afternoon Elias was to be released from the hospital. I had spent half the morning painstakingly waxing hair from my body. Then I cleaned, swept, mopped, and went shopping.
At the entrance to the supermarket I took a basket in due form. Then I stood around indecisively in the vegetable section before finally moving to the aisles, where I started filling my basket with random items. I would squeeze oranges, caramelize pears, cut and steam vegetables, stay clear of the pork, knead dough, then roll out and bake it. I just didn’t know how to do all this and therefore added a few housewifey magazines to my shopping basket. Another woman alsostood indecisively in the aisles. She had soft features, wore no makeup, and had on flat gray velvet shoes with a little bow on each rounded toe. She studied the small print on the boxes, wheezed, then lunged at a supermarket employee, waving her tote bag threateningly. “That’s just not possible. The organic lettuce can’t be sold out. Just like that? You’re hiding it. The other one is no good, you understand me? No good. All that stuff comes from America!” And then she broke out in tears. The undercover security guard and I looked at her, stunned.
At the cash register I got a pack of cigarettes and smiled. My fingers drummed a march on the conveyor belt. The female neck on line in front of me was so perfect, so slender and white, that it immediately sparked a desire in me.
Elias filled the bed again. I was grateful that he lay there, on his back, his arms spread wide, breathing calmly and regularly. The comforter wasn’t big enough to cover his feet, arms, and shoulders at the same time. So I covered him with my half and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water and cigarettes. Then I sat down on the windowsill. The bedroom seemed somehow bigger now, and the sticky, grayish layer of dust that covered the white wood of the shelves now rested in the dark—colorless like everything else. The morning air was fresh. I stubbed out my cigaretteand crawled back into bed. In his sleep Elisha turned to me and kissed my shoulder and continued sleeping peacefully.
His absence had come as a shock. It was almost like back when Sibel left. The apartment had been too full of emptiness. Elias hadn’t been there to eat, to sweat, to sleep, to breathe, or to look at me. Everything in our apartment belonged to him. Most of the furniture, the kitchen, the table, the bookshelves. Elias had built our bed himself.
She said she was from northern Germany. She said Rügen, but I didn’t believe her. Her family was Turkish, and very traditional. Three older brothers—all born in Germany, equipped with an
Bella grinned. She wore brown leather shoes and a beige suit. A butch through and through.
The yellow eyes of the old lady glowed maliciously. The diamonds sparkled in her old ears. She, too, berated me. We should be ashamed of ourselves, unmarried, fucking in her husband’s room as if it were nothing. She actually said fucking . I blushed and wanted to reply something, but the nurse laughed, shot her a stern look as if she was her property, and whispered to me: “No worries, she’s a slut herself. I had to take her to the gynecologist countless times. And the things he excavated from her—rags, bottles. For her, only size matters.”
Suddenly the old lady started yelling at me: What kind of a woman was I? How dare I talk to her, the wife of a partisan? My husband must have ordered me from a Ukrainian catalog. Did I have no manners at all?
I left both of them alone.
10
This afternoon Elias was to be released from the hospital. I had spent half the morning painstakingly waxing hair from my body. Then I cleaned, swept, mopped, and went shopping.
At the entrance to the supermarket I took a basket in due form. Then I stood around indecisively in the vegetable section before finally moving to the aisles, where I started filling my basket with random items. I would squeeze oranges, caramelize pears, cut and steam vegetables, stay clear of the pork, knead dough, then roll out and bake it. I just didn’t know how to do all this and therefore added a few housewifey magazines to my shopping basket. Another woman alsostood indecisively in the aisles. She had soft features, wore no makeup, and had on flat gray velvet shoes with a little bow on each rounded toe. She studied the small print on the boxes, wheezed, then lunged at a supermarket employee, waving her tote bag threateningly. “That’s just not possible. The organic lettuce can’t be sold out. Just like that? You’re hiding it. The other one is no good, you understand me? No good. All that stuff comes from America!” And then she broke out in tears. The undercover security guard and I looked at her, stunned.
At the cash register I got a pack of cigarettes and smiled. My fingers drummed a march on the conveyor belt. The female neck on line in front of me was so perfect, so slender and white, that it immediately sparked a desire in me.
Elias filled the bed again. I was grateful that he lay there, on his back, his arms spread wide, breathing calmly and regularly. The comforter wasn’t big enough to cover his feet, arms, and shoulders at the same time. So I covered him with my half and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water and cigarettes. Then I sat down on the windowsill. The bedroom seemed somehow bigger now, and the sticky, grayish layer of dust that covered the white wood of the shelves now rested in the dark—colorless like everything else. The morning air was fresh. I stubbed out my cigaretteand crawled back into bed. In his sleep Elisha turned to me and kissed my shoulder and continued sleeping peacefully.
His absence had come as a shock. It was almost like back when Sibel left. The apartment had been too full of emptiness. Elias hadn’t been there to eat, to sweat, to sleep, to breathe, or to look at me. Everything in our apartment belonged to him. Most of the furniture, the kitchen, the table, the bookshelves. Elias had built our bed himself.
She said she was from northern Germany. She said Rügen, but I didn’t believe her. Her family was Turkish, and very traditional. Three older brothers—all born in Germany, equipped with an
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