Read Online Natasha and Other Stories by David Bezmozgis - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Bezmozgis
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startled.
–Well, boy, what do you see?
He raised himself to a sitting position and looked me over. He put his hands on my shoulders and my arms and gripped for a proper appraisal.
–How many push-ups can you do?
–Twenty-five.
–Only twenty-five?
–I think so.
–For a boy like you, anything less than fifty is a disgrace. He climbed off the bed and kneeled on the floor. He patted a spot beside him.
–Come on, come on.
When I hesitated his hand shot up and seized me by my new Polo shirt. I felt the fabric tear and heard two buttons strike the floor.
–Let’s go. You and me. Fifty push-ups.
At first I managed to keep up with him, but after a while he began to race ahead. I strained not to fall behind, afraid of what he might do to me. But he continued to do the exercise, counting to himself, not minding me at all. When he finished I finished as well.
–See, it feels good.
I nodded my head in agreement.
Sergei looked over at my alarm clock. It read past ten.
–Look at how late it is. Shouldn’t you be asleep?
–It’s okay. Sometimes I stay up until eleven.
–When you were in Riga it was nine o’clock sharp. You remember how you liked it when I used to put you to sleep?
–I remember.
–It wasn’t so long ago.
–No.
–Come on, into bed.
–It’s okay. I don’t really have to.
–Into bed. Into bed.
His tone left no room for negotiation. I kicked off my shoes and lifted the covers.
–Good.
Sergei knelt down beside my bed and gripped the wooden frame.
–Comfortable?
–Yes.
His face straining, he used his legs and rose from the floor; my bed resisting, scratching the wall, but leaving the ground. At first the bed tottered and I gripped the sides, but then he steadied it. Smiling triumphantly, he looked at me. I heard the door opening behind him. I recognized my father’s footsteps. Then other footsteps. My mother’s. Gregory’s.
–Nu, boy, tell me. Who is the world’s strongest man?
Looking past Sergei at my father, I waited to see if he was going to do something. My mother started to take a step forward but my father restrained her.
–Nu, boy? Who is the world’s strongest man?
–Seryozha. Seryozha Federenko.
–Wrong, boy. That was yesterday’s answer.
He laughed and turned to face Gregory.
–Isn’t that right Gregory Davidovich?
–Put him down, you idiot.
Seryozha emitted something that was a cross between a cough and a laugh. He carefully eased my bed to the ground and proceeded to slump down on the floor. Gregory and my father both moved to help him up, but as Gregory reached for his arm Sergei violently slapped it aside.
–You bastard, don’t you dare put a hand on me.
Gregory stepped back. My father carefully took hold of Sergei’s armpits and helped him up. Without protesting, Sergei put his arms across my father’s shoulders.
–Roman, you were the only one who gave a shit about me, and we will never see each other again.
With faltering steps, my father supported Sergei into the hall. I got out of my bed and stood in my doorway. Gregory followed my father and Sergei into the hall and toward the front door. My mother came over and stood with me.
My father offered to drive or call them a cab.
Gregory shook his head and smiled the familiar Soviet smile.
–What for? Have you forgotten? There is always a car waiting downstairs.
Still holding on to my father, Sergei permitted himself to be led down the hall and into the elevator. Gregory said goodbye to my mother as she closed the door behind him. I went to my bedroom window and waited. Below, in the parking lot, I saw a man smoking beside a dark sedan. In slightly more than the amount of time it took for the elevator to descend to the lobby, my father appeared in the parking lot with Sergei clinging to his shoulders. Gregory followed. The man opened the rear door and my father eased Sergei into the car. I watched as my father shook hands with Gregory and with the man. As my father turned back
–Well, boy, what do you see?
He raised himself to a sitting position and looked me over. He put his hands on my shoulders and my arms and gripped for a proper appraisal.
–How many push-ups can you do?
–Twenty-five.
–Only twenty-five?
–I think so.
–For a boy like you, anything less than fifty is a disgrace. He climbed off the bed and kneeled on the floor. He patted a spot beside him.
–Come on, come on.
When I hesitated his hand shot up and seized me by my new Polo shirt. I felt the fabric tear and heard two buttons strike the floor.
–Let’s go. You and me. Fifty push-ups.
At first I managed to keep up with him, but after a while he began to race ahead. I strained not to fall behind, afraid of what he might do to me. But he continued to do the exercise, counting to himself, not minding me at all. When he finished I finished as well.
–See, it feels good.
I nodded my head in agreement.
Sergei looked over at my alarm clock. It read past ten.
–Look at how late it is. Shouldn’t you be asleep?
–It’s okay. Sometimes I stay up until eleven.
–When you were in Riga it was nine o’clock sharp. You remember how you liked it when I used to put you to sleep?
–I remember.
–It wasn’t so long ago.
–No.
–Come on, into bed.
–It’s okay. I don’t really have to.
–Into bed. Into bed.
His tone left no room for negotiation. I kicked off my shoes and lifted the covers.
–Good.
Sergei knelt down beside my bed and gripped the wooden frame.
–Comfortable?
–Yes.
His face straining, he used his legs and rose from the floor; my bed resisting, scratching the wall, but leaving the ground. At first the bed tottered and I gripped the sides, but then he steadied it. Smiling triumphantly, he looked at me. I heard the door opening behind him. I recognized my father’s footsteps. Then other footsteps. My mother’s. Gregory’s.
–Nu, boy, tell me. Who is the world’s strongest man?
Looking past Sergei at my father, I waited to see if he was going to do something. My mother started to take a step forward but my father restrained her.
–Nu, boy? Who is the world’s strongest man?
–Seryozha. Seryozha Federenko.
–Wrong, boy. That was yesterday’s answer.
He laughed and turned to face Gregory.
–Isn’t that right Gregory Davidovich?
–Put him down, you idiot.
Seryozha emitted something that was a cross between a cough and a laugh. He carefully eased my bed to the ground and proceeded to slump down on the floor. Gregory and my father both moved to help him up, but as Gregory reached for his arm Sergei violently slapped it aside.
–You bastard, don’t you dare put a hand on me.
Gregory stepped back. My father carefully took hold of Sergei’s armpits and helped him up. Without protesting, Sergei put his arms across my father’s shoulders.
–Roman, you were the only one who gave a shit about me, and we will never see each other again.
With faltering steps, my father supported Sergei into the hall. I got out of my bed and stood in my doorway. Gregory followed my father and Sergei into the hall and toward the front door. My mother came over and stood with me.
My father offered to drive or call them a cab.
Gregory shook his head and smiled the familiar Soviet smile.
–What for? Have you forgotten? There is always a car waiting downstairs.
Still holding on to my father, Sergei permitted himself to be led down the hall and into the elevator. Gregory said goodbye to my mother as she closed the door behind him. I went to my bedroom window and waited. Below, in the parking lot, I saw a man smoking beside a dark sedan. In slightly more than the amount of time it took for the elevator to descend to the lobby, my father appeared in the parking lot with Sergei clinging to his shoulders. Gregory followed. The man opened the rear door and my father eased Sergei into the car. I watched as my father shook hands with Gregory and with the man. As my father turned back
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