Read Online Pushkin Hills by Sergei Dovlatov - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sergei Dovlatov
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do these exotic flowers bloom? Under the rays of which sun?
Some art studios full of junk, vulgarly dressed young ladies… Guitar, vodka, pathetic dissidence… And suddenly – dear God! – love…
How wonderfully indiscriminate He is, this king of the universe!
And then Tanya said, so quietly I could barely hear:
“Let’s talk, just talk…”
A few minutes earlier I had taken off my shoes without Tanya noticing.
“In theory,” I said, “it’s possible. In practice – not really.”
Meanwhile, I was silently cursing the broken zipper on my sweater…
A thousand times I will fall into this pit. And a thousand times I will die from fear.
The only solace is that this fear lasts less than a smoke.
Then it was cramped, and there were words that were painful to think about in the morning. But most importantly there was a morning as such, and shapes were coming into focus as they floated from out of the darkness. A morning without disappointment, which I expected and dreaded.
I remember I even said:
“And morning looks good on you…”
She was plainly more beautiful without make-up.
And that’s how it all began. And lasted ten years. Just short of ten years…
I began to drop by Tanya’s place from time to time. For a week I’d work from morning till night. Then, I’d visit some friend. We’d sit around, talk about Nabokov, about Joyce, about hockey and black terriers…
Sometimes I’d get drunk and then I’d call her.
“It’s a mystery!” I’d yell into the receiver. “An honest-to-God mystery… I happen to call and each time you say it’s already two in the morning…”
Later I would stumble to her house. It visibly jutted out against the rest, as if taking a step towards me.
Tanya continued to surprise me with her silent compliance. I didn’t know what it was a reflection of – indifference, humility or pride.
She did not ask:
“When will you come over?”
Or:
“Why haven’t you phoned?”
She amazed me with her unfaltering readiness for love, conversation, fun. As well as with her complete lack of any kind of initiative in this respect…
She was quiet and calm. Quiet without tension and calm without intimidation. This was the quiet calm of the ocean, indifferent to the cries of seagulls…
Like most frivolous men, I wasn’t a very malicious person. I’d begin to repent or make jokes. I would say:
“Suitors can be in-patients or out-patients. I, for instance, am an out-patient…”
And then:
“What do you see in me? You should find yourself a good man! Someone in the armed services…”
“The incentive isn’t there,” said Tanya. “It’s not exciting to love a good man…”
What interesting times we live in. “A good man” sounds like an insult to us. “But he is a good man” is said about a suitor who is clearly an insignificant nobody…
A year had passed. I dropped in on Tanya more and more frequently. Her neighbours greeted me politely and took messages for me.
I began keeping some personal belongings there. A toothbrush in a ceramic cup, an ashtray and slippers. One day I fastened a photograph of Saul Bellow over the desk.
“Belov?” asked Tanya. “From Novy Mir ?”
“The very same,” I said.
Very well, I thought, why not marry? Marry out of a sense of duty. Perhaps it’ll all work out fine. And for both us.
For all intents and purposes we are married and it’s going well.
A union divested of obligations. This being the guarantee of its longevity…
But what about love? What about jealousy and sleepless nights? What about the overflow of feelings? What about unsent letters with blurry ink? What about swooning at the sight of a tiny foot? What about Cupid and Amor and various other extras in this captivating show? And for that matter, what about the bouquet of flowers for a rouble thirty?
To be honest, I don’t even know what love is. I am wholly without criteria. Tragic love – that I understand. But what if everything is fine?
Some art studios full of junk, vulgarly dressed young ladies… Guitar, vodka, pathetic dissidence… And suddenly – dear God! – love…
How wonderfully indiscriminate He is, this king of the universe!
And then Tanya said, so quietly I could barely hear:
“Let’s talk, just talk…”
A few minutes earlier I had taken off my shoes without Tanya noticing.
“In theory,” I said, “it’s possible. In practice – not really.”
Meanwhile, I was silently cursing the broken zipper on my sweater…
A thousand times I will fall into this pit. And a thousand times I will die from fear.
The only solace is that this fear lasts less than a smoke.
Then it was cramped, and there were words that were painful to think about in the morning. But most importantly there was a morning as such, and shapes were coming into focus as they floated from out of the darkness. A morning without disappointment, which I expected and dreaded.
I remember I even said:
“And morning looks good on you…”
She was plainly more beautiful without make-up.
And that’s how it all began. And lasted ten years. Just short of ten years…
I began to drop by Tanya’s place from time to time. For a week I’d work from morning till night. Then, I’d visit some friend. We’d sit around, talk about Nabokov, about Joyce, about hockey and black terriers…
Sometimes I’d get drunk and then I’d call her.
“It’s a mystery!” I’d yell into the receiver. “An honest-to-God mystery… I happen to call and each time you say it’s already two in the morning…”
Later I would stumble to her house. It visibly jutted out against the rest, as if taking a step towards me.
Tanya continued to surprise me with her silent compliance. I didn’t know what it was a reflection of – indifference, humility or pride.
She did not ask:
“When will you come over?”
Or:
“Why haven’t you phoned?”
She amazed me with her unfaltering readiness for love, conversation, fun. As well as with her complete lack of any kind of initiative in this respect…
She was quiet and calm. Quiet without tension and calm without intimidation. This was the quiet calm of the ocean, indifferent to the cries of seagulls…
Like most frivolous men, I wasn’t a very malicious person. I’d begin to repent or make jokes. I would say:
“Suitors can be in-patients or out-patients. I, for instance, am an out-patient…”
And then:
“What do you see in me? You should find yourself a good man! Someone in the armed services…”
“The incentive isn’t there,” said Tanya. “It’s not exciting to love a good man…”
What interesting times we live in. “A good man” sounds like an insult to us. “But he is a good man” is said about a suitor who is clearly an insignificant nobody…
A year had passed. I dropped in on Tanya more and more frequently. Her neighbours greeted me politely and took messages for me.
I began keeping some personal belongings there. A toothbrush in a ceramic cup, an ashtray and slippers. One day I fastened a photograph of Saul Bellow over the desk.
“Belov?” asked Tanya. “From Novy Mir ?”
“The very same,” I said.
Very well, I thought, why not marry? Marry out of a sense of duty. Perhaps it’ll all work out fine. And for both us.
For all intents and purposes we are married and it’s going well.
A union divested of obligations. This being the guarantee of its longevity…
But what about love? What about jealousy and sleepless nights? What about the overflow of feelings? What about unsent letters with blurry ink? What about swooning at the sight of a tiny foot? What about Cupid and Amor and various other extras in this captivating show? And for that matter, what about the bouquet of flowers for a rouble thirty?
To be honest, I don’t even know what love is. I am wholly without criteria. Tragic love – that I understand. But what if everything is fine?
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