Life Stories Page 3

She looks at him, laughs and says: "What nephew, are you kidding? They just got to me, that's all. They come here all the time and beg first for one thing, then for another. I've had it up to here with them. Now he comes in and says, Please, Lady, give me a yogurt.' I gave him the broom. Let him work for it. He has a sister, too."

  I turned around and saw there was a girl at the door. Even smaller than he. And all covered with dirt, too. She stands there and stares at us. Her eyes are shining.

  When I came in, I didn't notice them. Because I wanted very much to find out about the job.

  I bent down to that kid and asked him: "You want yogurt?"

  He stopped what he was doing and said to me very softly: "Yes."

  I say: "Have you ever tried it?"

  His cheeks are all filthy.

  He says: "No."

  He stands there and stares at me. He's shorter than the broomstick.

  I straightened up and say: "Give them the yogurt, please. Here's the money."

  And she looks at me and shakes her head. And smiles.

  I say: "Give them yogurt. I've paid you."

  Then I went outside, stood at the bus stop and began to cry. Because I felt sorry for those kids.

  They're like slaves. Except very little.

  Next day Vovka Spike-Eye came. I didn't even know he was in town. Somebody had told me he and his father had gone to Moscow. They had some business there.

  I opened the door and he was standing there fancy-looking in a shearling coat and a mink hat. Even though everything was already melting outside. I was wearing Mom's old warm-ups. My shirt had a hole on the shoulder.

  And little Sergei crawled out from behind me. Moving sideways, like a crab. First he swings one leg forward, and then pulls the other one up to it. But very quickly. Because he's already a big boy, and he wants to move around quickly.

  I picked him up so that he wouldn't catch a cold from the open door, and we stood there for a while looking at each other.

  At last he says: "I heard your mother died."

  He came a few more times. He brought food, sweets and diapers. He also brought toys, but they were all very strange. He was also a little strange himself. He hardly even spoke. He only explained that they'd flown in for a week to sell his father's dacha, apartment and garage. And that there was nothing more for him to do in this town.

  That's how he put it.

  He said that and stared at me. And then at little Sergei.

  Then he says: "Why doesn't he walk yet?"

  I say: "A trauma at birth."

  He says: "Really? What's that?"

  I say: "I was too young when he was born. My pelvic bone was too small. When he was coming out, they applied the forceps. The head got a little deformed. And the vertebrae shifted a little in his neck."

  He stares and says: "Maybe he needs surgery?"

  I say: "They can't tell as yet. Doctors say we've got to wait. Time will tell."

  After that he disappeared. He stopped coming, and I thought he must have sold his dacha.

  And then I finally found a job. Actually, I wasn't even looking anymore. We were just sitting at home, finishing whatever Vovka had brought us over a few visits. Little Sergei was finishing the sweets.

  At that point, the district doctor comes in and starts screaming at us.

  She is screaming that I'm an idiot and that they should have whipped me more as a child, and that little Sergei needs a totally different diet and that I'm a terrible mother. We sit on the floor and stare at her screaming. Little Sergei is no longer afraid of her. Because he has gotten used to her and no longer starts at the sound of her voice. He just stares, his face upturned and his mouth open wide. His eyes are wide, but you can see that he's no longer scared. He just doesn't take his eyes off of her. I look at him, and I feel sorry for him, because he bends his head to his left shoulder all the time. It takes my breath away, to see that.

  Then she asks whether she can sit down.

  I say that we've got nothing to sit on.

  Because I have sold all the chairs. First the armchair, then the chairs and finally the stools. In any case, little Sergei and I didn't need them. We hung out on the floor most of the time, anyway.

  She says: "I'll sit down on the bed then."

  I say: "Please, sit down."

  She sat down and little Sergei started to crawl toward her boots. I wanted to pick him up, but she said don't. I was surprised, because before she never liked it when he crawled toward her.

  "My husband found a job for you," she said. "You'll do the cleaning and wash the floors at his bank. They pay very well. In any case, more than your mother earned at her school. But you'll have to promise me that you won't let us down, because my husband vouched for you. They have a very strict employee selection policy. They have to trust you. Can you give me a promise?"

  "What promise?" I said.

  Because I really didn't understand her completely. Even though I wanted to. Very much.

  "You're really an idiot. I'm asking you—can you promise me that you won't let my husband down. He asked them to do you a favor."

  Then I said: "Sure. Sure I won't let your husband down. I'll do everything they tell me to do and I'll wash all the floors very thoroughly. And throw away all the papers."

  She said: "Good girl. Finally you figured out what is required of you. The day after tomorrow go to this address at five o'clock. You'll work evenings. Do you have somebody to leave your boy with?"

  She gave me the paper.

  I say: "Yes, yes. Everything is alright. Don't worry about Sergei. He's a big boy now."

  She says: "Very well then."

  Then she got up and went to the door. At the door she turned back.

  "By the way, how is he doing?"

  "He is doing very well," I said. "Thank you very much."

  When she left, I began to cry.

  The next day toward evening Spike-Eye came again. I thought he had already flown off, so I was a little surprised. I was also caught off guard. Because they'd started drinking upstairs and I had to take Tolik. Otherwise he would have been screaming all over the street.

  Little Sergei crawled to Vovka's bag right away. He'd already got used to expecting candies in there. But this time Vovka brought him nothing. He kept staring at little Sergei and Tolik crawling around the floor and said nothing.

  Then he asked me: "Can he at least talk?"

  I figured out he wasn't asking about little Sergei. Because about little Sergei he had asked everything there was to know already.

  "He can't," I said. "He can only scream when he is afraid. But he recognizes me."

  "What about others?" asked Vovka.

  "I don't think so."

  He stared at Tolik a while longer and then sat down on the bed. The same place where the district doctor sat the day before.

  "You know," he said, "we need to talk."

  "About what?" said I.

  Because I saw that he was nervous. I was a little nervous myself, too.

  He says: "Tomorrow I'm leaving for Moscow."

  I say: "Moscow is cool."

  I'm watching to make sure little Sergei and Tolik don't upset his bag. They got too close to it.

  He says: "We must decide about something."

  I turn to him and at that moment everything in his bag tumbles to the floor. I try to run over, but he grabs me by the hand and says: "Wait. It's not important. There is nothing important in it. We must talk."

  Then I sit down on the bed. While little Sergei and Tolik laugh and toss his things about.

  He says: "He can't stay here."

  I understand that he is not talking about Tolik. Because he saw Tolik for the first time five minutes ago and maybe didn't even remember him at all.

  But I did remember.

  He says: "In short, I've figured it all out. This is what we're going to do."

  I look at them, how they are playing over there by the door and worry they would cut themselves on something. He might have so
me sharp objects in there.

  He says: "So, do you agree?"

  I say: "To what?"

  He stares at me and says: "I've just explained it all to you. Were you not listening?"

  I say: "I was listening, but I'm a little tired. I have a bit of a headache today."

  He says: "The most important thing is, you must sign this paper, which says that you make no claims that I'm little Sergei's father. I asked a local lawyer. He says we can draft a paper like that. Then I can take you with me. We'll rent you an apartment. One room, but it's okay. The most important thing is, I'll be helping little Sergei. Except there is no need to tell my father anything about it for the time being."

  I turn to him and say: "You want us to come to Moscow with you?"

  He says: "Yes, sure. Except you need to sign that paper first. So that later there won't be any mess in court."

  I say: "What court?"

  He says: "Well, what if you decide to sue me. Meaning that I'm little Sergei's father."

  I stare at him and say: "But you are his father."

  And he says: "I know. Except it's not important."

  I say: "What do you mean, not important? He's your son."

  He says: "I know."

  Then he gets up, walks up and down in the room and says: "In short, you decide. Either you come with me to Moscow or not."

  I look at little Sergei—how he crawls around Tolik, and then at Vovka, how he stands in our room in his shearling and hasn't even removed his mink hat—and say: "We're going to France. Pretty soon now. We'll probably take Tolik along."

  Vovka keeps staring at me, and then laughs.

  He says: "You're an idiot, just like your mother. You have gone nuts too. Wake up, she's gone."

  Then I went to the kitchen and picked up a letter from the windowsill. I gave it to him and said: "There is no envelope any more. But all the official seals are in place. Look for yourself, if you don't believe me."

  He read the letter and his face became very different. Like in childhood, when he used to fall from his bike and the kids used to laugh at him.

  I even felt sorry for him.

  He says: "When are you going?"

  I say: "I don't know yet. I've got to sell the rest of the things. Also sort a few things out."

  He says: "I see."

  Finally, he removes his hat. His hair got all stuck together under it. And sweat is running down along his temples.

  I say: "Thanks for the offer. Maybe we'll meet again someday."

  Then he began picking up his things. Tolik and little Sergei crawled around him and bothered him a lot. Because they thought he had started playing with them.

  Finally he put it all together, straightened up and pulled a small phone out of his shearling coat.

  He says: "Take it. Press this button and you get connected to Moscow right away. I live separate from Father; you can call me at any time. I pay for the calls."

  I say: "What for?"

  He stares at me and says: "I don't know. Who knows what might come up."

  Then he looked at little Sergei and Tolik, stepped over them and went out. I shut the door behind him.

  I stood still for a little while and calmed down. But then they began to carry on. Because Vovka took away their toys, they liked to play with his things so much.

  I crouched next to them and gave Tolik the phone. I also gave the letter to little Sergei. To keep them quiet.

  They did get quiet. Because kids like to break everything. And little Sergei likes to tear paper.

  I watched Tolik smash the phone against the floor and thought of nothing at all. I just liked watching him. I also liked watching little Sergei. How he shoved the paper into his mouth, spat it out and laughed.

  Then he crawled to the bed, grabbed the headboard and got to his feet. He stood upright for a moment, then let go of the headboard, swayed and suddenly took a step toward me. I froze so as not to frighten him, and stretched out my arms. Then he took another step. I couldn't move; I just kept staring at him. He swayed again and took another step.

  Then I said: "Come to me. Come to mama."

  Translation by Alexei Bayer

  Notes for Joan

  1. In the original, Gelasimov uses the word trushchyoby, translated here as "projects," which sounds similar to the word truby—pipes or chimneys. The narrator also mentions how the word trushchyoby sounds unpleasant and coarse, like the letter shch.

  A Short History of Amateur Performing Arts Groups on the Ships of the Caribbean Pirate Fleet in the First Half of the 17th Century

  Boris Grebenshchikov

  As Ludwig Mies van der Rohe said, "Interesting simplicity is a precious thing that is most difficult to achieve."

  Captain Samuel Bellami was called "The Prince of Pirates." He was also called "Black Sam" because, unlike other pirate captains, he disdained the powdered wig, tying instead his long black hair into a ponytail. And even though his pirating career only lasted a bit under one year, Bellami became famous both for his luck and for his unusual generosity to the crews of the ships he captured.

  It was on one of his ships that the only attempt (known to history) to create an amateur theater in a pirate fleet occurred.

  One of his crew members had an artistic vein. Once, in his former, land-treading life, this gentleman was a tramp in Yorkshire. But since, as he put it, "vagrancy did not reflect the grandeur of his soul," he became a Collector—that is, he borrowed from someone an excellent Horse, stuck his Pistols into the saddlebags, and set out in search of Adventures. When he met other travelers, he challenged them to a duel, and if they sought to avoid the combat, he lightened their purses and implored them to give themselves up to the mercy of his Dulcinea. This would have continued for a long time, but "a certain Enchanter, who had magically foreseen that one day he would have to surrender his dominance, made it so that our Hero found himself chained in Shackles and shipped to the famous island of Jamaica, where, after a few spins of the fortune's wheel, his destiny became entwined with that of the Sea Soldiers, Whips of Tyranny and fearless Defenders of Freedom" gathered under Captain Bellami's leadership.

  As on any vessel, periods of frenzied activity were followed by long spells of idleness, when the ship was quietly carried by the winds, and the crew was left to its own devices.

  During one of these quiet spells, the maestro whom we described above wrote a play that he called "The Royal Pirate." Among the characters in the play were Alexander the Great, probably some other historical figures, and, of course, pirates. Many crew members agreed to participate in the staging of this opus, and, after a proper period of rehearsals, they performed at quarter-deck, to a storm of applause addressed to the Author and the Actors.

  An accident was to turn this make-believe drama into reality.

  At the moment when Alexander, in the course of the play, was interrogating a pirate, the ship's gunner, who had avoided participating in the show, was drinking peacefully with three friends in the gunpowder storage room under the deck. When he came up on the deck to answer the call of nature, he suddenly saw a bound comrade of his being threatened by some unknown and strangely dressed individuals, and on top of that, one of the individuals, apparently the one in charge, was saying:

  Thus you should know that death is the reward

  For all your despicable deeds,

  And, come morning, you will hang from the noose.

  The befuddled gunner, not recognizing the thin line between Art and Life, decided that while he was engrossed in the conversation with his three friends, something terrible must have happened to the ship. Back in the orlop, he summoned his buddies to come immediately to the aid of their brethren.

  "They threaten to hang the honest Jack Spinks; if we don't do something they'll hang all of us, one by one. I swear to God, I shall not let this happen!" was his fiery appeal. Taking a swig of his punch, he grabbed a grenade, lit the fuse, and rushed back to the top deck, his buddies with bared sabers on his heels.

  O
nce on the deck, the gunner threw the grenade into the huddle of the actors; his friends slashed left and right with their sabers. The stunned audience, which had not expected this turn of events, dispersed at first, but then attacked the rescuers. The sailor who played Alexander had his left hand cut off, and the poor Jack Spinks, caught by the blast of the grenade, broke his leg. In the ensuing chaos, the crew caught and shackled its clueless rescuers, all but one, whom Alexander killed on the spot, avenging the violated art and the loss of his left hand.

  The following morning, when passions subsided, the captain called the crew to court and questioned all parties intensely. Having heard the gunner's version of the story, the court unanimously found him and his friends to be not guilty; moreover, the court praised their vigilance. In the end, even Alexander, despite the loss of his hand, had to forgive his injurers. However, to avoid future misunderstandings, the Captain ordered no more plays to be staged aboard his ship.

  Such is the short history of amateur performing arts groups on the ships of the Caribbean Sea pirate fleet.

  Translation by Nina Shevchuk-Murray

  Serenity

  Yevgeny Grishkovets

  It was the kind of weather where you couldn't be sure of anything. Summer had come to a close. Yet for some reason there was no real yellowing of the trees. Still, the wind was already driving dead, green leaves into corners and under fences. Outside the city, the grass was high and somehow unclean. Summer was ending, or more precisely, all indications were that it had already ended. Only a few more days of August to be endured, and...

  Almost all his friends, buddies, comrades, acquaintances and colleagues had returned from somewhere tanned, and they wanted to get together, to share stories. But Dima had sat out the summer in the city. Of course, he had not sat all summer long, it's just that if a person spends the whole summer in the city, even if not without some pleasure or benefit, it is nonetheless said that he "sat it out." So this is what Dima told everyone: "Whaddya mean how was it?! I sat out the whole summer in the city!" After which Dima sighed, gave a brief, dismissive wave, and made a sad face.