Solar Plexus

ONE Alik-4

Of course, if he had had his way that evening, everything would be different now — John Agaev wasn’t hiding from anyone, was he? But even if nothing had happened, why had he run away? That was the shameful part! At least he’d had the wits to pretend he was angry. At least he’d slammed the door behind him. And telling John to go to hell, that had been the right thing too; it was a pity of course, but it had been right. After all, he had never liked him, and Alik could easily have punched him in the face for the shameless way he had behaved that evening. “What’s wrong? Where are you going? Wait!” Only a cheeky swine like John could have run out into the courtyard in nothing but his underpants, and then grabbed him by the arm and shouted at him. Alik ought to have given him a real earful, but instead he had just fallen quiet. But then, it was a good thing after all that he had managed to control himself and not punch him. He had really wanted to! For everything: for that Boston wool jacket, and that Italian accordion, Valya Guryanov’s submissiveness that evening, and his own failure.

Although, of course, you couldn’t call John a total rat. All those times he came round afterwards, trying to persuade Alik to come back to the drama group. Alik’s nephew and his friends begged him to go back too. The poor kids just couldn’t understand. It was only when Maya asked them to say hello to him from her — he didn’t understand why she’d done that — that they started to get an inkling. But even so, they were upset. He had quit rehearsals so unexpectedly, just before the opening night. And after all that torment, too. Poor comrade Emil.

By nine o’clock Alik was standing at the tram stop opposite the Press House. From there he had a good view of the main doors, and at any moment he could either get into a tram or retreat inconspicuously into the covered market. But she didn’t usually come across to this side of the street. Instead, as she came out of the doors, she turned in the direction of the Nizami Museum, in order to go home along Vorontsovskaya Street, past the “Fantasy” bath house. She never took a tram, even in winter.

Once again it seemed to Alik that she looked in his direction when she appeared in the doorway and only turned the corner after she had spotted him among the people at the stop. He was almost certain of it. But when he crossed street and saw her figure hurrying away, he relaxed and increased his pace, while maintaining his distance, of course, in case she suddenly turned round. The last thing he needed was for her to see him running after her. It would be a different matter if they just happened to meet somewhere by chance. And not on the run — hellogoodbye — but so that he had a chance to do something for her, some way to show how he felt.

Vorontsovskaya Street wasn’t crowded in the evening, but there were groups of people at the entrance to almost every courtyard — chatting, chewing sunflower seeds, playing lotto or dominos. The men were less numerous than the women, they could hardly be heard as they made their quiet, serious conversations. The public here was mixed — Azerbaijanis, Russians, Armenians — and, in general, not too respectable: at the slightest sign of trouble someone would go running to the militia. They might start the trouble themselves, but if they were answered back they raised a terrible uproar. Nothing like the street where Alik lived, no one would go running to the militia there. Everyman stood up for himself. And if he couldn’t, he put up with things. Well, not everyone of course, every family has its black sheep, as the saying goes.

And then Alik thought of his sister. What on earth had made her get into a fight with that Fariz? He had never been particularly honourable, and nowadays he was out of control, he was capable of anything.

Maya reached her entrance. Just to be on the safe side, he slowed down a bit — she might glance round. But she didn’t, and Alik immediately sped up in order to catch up with her on the stairway.

He barely caught a glimpse of her in the gloom of the entrance: two quick strides up two steps at a time, and she disappeared completely round the bend in the staircase. He was no longer afraid of being noticed, he wanted to get another look at her, before listening to her rapid steps that were almost running, the knock on the door on the third floor and the click of the lock. After that the door would slam loudly and everything would go quiet. And he could go home.

Alik strode straight up the three short steps leading to the entrance door and came face to face with Maya. She smiled.

There was no way out — he couldn’t run away a second time, he had to move forward: say hello, looking off to one side, walk round her and stride decisively towards the stairs. What else could he do? He couldn’t just stop.

“Were you coming to see me?” He felt the question stab him in the back with a shame as sharp as any knife-blade: he was forced to slow down.

What he ought to have done was say ‘Yes, I’m on my way to see you’ and just go from there, no matter what, but he said 'No”'without even turning his head to look at her — God forbid that their glances should meet.

But she didn’t give up, she overtook him and stared at him point-blank with a smile in her eyes.

“Who are you going to see, then?”

“No one in particular,” he said, amazed at the stupidity of his own answer.

“I see,” she said, still looking him straight in the eye. “How long are you going to keep following me?” And she brushed something off her upper lip, something light, it could have been a cobweb or maybe a speck of dust. “What are you following me for?”

“I’m not following you.” This answer was even more stupid than the one before. And his eyes automatically began staring down at the floor, the way they used to in school when he was caught out not knowing the lesson.

“All right then,” Maya said in a voice just like the first-to-fourth-class teacher whose name Alik had forgotten: she used to pronounce those words in exactly the same way when he stared down at the desk and didn’t answer her questions. After that came the welcome instruction “sit down”, and he would be left in peace for a long time. But there was nowhere to sit here in the hallway.

“We need to talk,” said Maya.

Could she really have seen him following her? The thought was another stab with a sharp knife, but this time from the other side, in his chest, and the burning sensation that began there moved up to his neck and face. It was a good thing that the hallway was dark.

“Did you hear what I said?” Maya’s voice asked from somewhere off in the distance. “We need to talk.”

“What about?” It would have been impossible to imagine a more stupid answer. The burning sensation grew stronger.

“Don’t you think we have anything to talk about?”

“No, why? We can have a talk.”

“Thank you,” she said and even curtseyed slightly, like Dina Durbin in the film His Butler’s Sister. “Come on.”

She turned gracefully and stepped out into the street. Now he had to take his blazing face out into the light — the damned summer day still wasn’t over, although it was half past nine already.

“What’s wrong?” Maya asked and burst out laughing. Then she suddenly stopped laughing and even frowned, trying to make herself seem more serious.

That short laugh splashed into his burning face, hissed like water in the steam room at the baths and the sweat began streaming down his neck and his back, between his shoulder-blades.

“What are you laughing at?” Alik asked morosely, even though she had stopped.

“How red you are!” Maya said with a smile and suddenly reached out her hand to touch his face.

He actually flinched in surprise. Something white touched his forehead and he closed his eyes, then realised it was a handkerchief.

She wiped his face and neck, and was about to reach under his shirt collar, but he moved away.

“Well, where shall we go?” she asked, putting the handkerchief away in the pocket of her frock. “Why not the boulevard?”

“All right,” he forced out with great effort, and they set off back along Vorontsovskaya Street, past all the groups of chatting, seed-chewing, domino-playing people.

“Just look at them stare,” Maya said, twitching her shoulders irritably, “lousy gossips.”

“Do they know you then?” Alik asked, surprised to hear his own voice.

“Sure they do! They’ve got nothing to do but spy on me. Who did she go with? Where did she go? They want to know everything. At first I used to get angry and then I decided, to hell with them, let them wag their tongues if they want. Granny gets upset, though.”

She had come from Vitebsk and she lived with her grandmother. Alik knew that, but simply in order to make conversation he asked:

“What granny?”

“My granny.”

Her father had been killed at the front. Her mother had married again. And Maya didn’t get on with her stepfather — Alik knew about that too.

“What do you think, will I make an actress?” she asked, and as his glance met hers, Alik was amazed once again at what beautiful eyes she had, as big as any sheep’s, and they said sheep’s eyes were the biggest. But, of course, Maya’s eyes were of a much better colour — a light greyish-blue, like the sky. A colour he loved.

“Of course you will. Comrade Emil praised you very highly.”

“What does he know?” Maya asked with a laugh. “He only has the education. He’s never acted on the stage.”

“What about the film?”

“Only as an extra,” Maya said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Even I’ve been asked to play in those. Anyone can get into a crowd scene as an extra.”

“But you did everything he said, and now you start criticising him!”

“I’m not criticising him, he’s a nice man. But he’s no authority. And I need a man who will give me direction. Lezhnev has a drama group in the Twenty-Six Club. From the Young People’s Theatre. Do you know him? He’s a different kettle of fish altogether. A real actor.”

“So why didn’t you go to him?”

“I work in a print shop. So I went to the Press House. And then when I found out all about things, it was awkward to leave. And I got used to the boys and girls there. And to Emil as well. He makes such an effort.”

“Yes,” Alik agreed gladly: he would have given away a hundred Lezhnevs for comrade Emil, even if he wasn’t an authority.

Chatting about this and that, they eventually reached the boulevard. It had finally got dark. Most of the people there were strolling couples.

“Why don’t we go to Studencheskaya Street?” Maya asked.

Alik didn’t understand where she meant, but he didn’t show it. Maya was obviously talking about a side street, because she turned off into a spot where it was a bit darker under the trees, then sat down on an empty bench.

“It’s more convenient,” she said, “and there aren’t so many yobs here.”

Alik didn’t say anything. Studencheskaya was fine with him, although this side street was no different from the others — the same benches under the trees, the same asphalt under your feet and lots of couples standing, sitting or walking.