Solar Plexus

ONE Alik-3

Maya walked down on to the pavement and then, swaying her broad shoulders slightly, set off in the direction of the Press House. He waited for a little while and followed her, hanging just far enough back that he wouldn’t lose sight of her.

At the water kiosk she drank a glass of water, glanced round in his direction again, or so, at least, it seemed to him, and walked on. One block further on, she stopped for a moment in front of the window of a jewellery shop. What could she be interested in there? He ought to walk up and ask, smiling the way comrade Emil had taught him to do. And why not? He was about five years older than her, after all, which was quite a lot considering that she was only eighteen. And he would find the money somehow. No matter what he had to do.

She walked on more quickly, and he lengthened his stride accordingly. The best thing, of course, would be if the need suddenly arose to protect her from something. Then he wouldn’t have to smile and ask questions, it would be clear straight away what kind of man he was and how he felt about her. And then perhaps the bashfulness that prevented him from speaking to her would finally disappear.

He stopped at the last column in the row and watched Maya’s sturdy, broad-shouldered figure walk on as far as the revolving glass doors of the Press House. Once again he noticed the way her shoulders swayed. He didn’t see anything else, because his gaze never moved down below her back.

Now he was free until nine o’clock. The rehearsals never lasted less than two hours, he knew that from his own experience. The memory of those lovely winter evenings in the cool hall of the Press House, with its smell of floor polish, made his heart ache — how could he have failed to appreciate that first chance in his entire life to sit beside intelligent people? Comrade Emil alone was a real treasure! People went to the Sailors’ Club especially to watch the way he galloped along on a donkey in the film Nasreddin in Bukhara, with his head wrapped in a turban — his face in close up, filling the entire screen. And their rehearsals were so interesting! Emil’s shouting made him feel ashamed, but it was interesting. And the way he invited Maya to dance the waltz — Alik turned cold inside, as if he was jumping from the top platform of the parachute tower. There would never be anything like it again! Ah, John, John spoiled it all. He spoiled everything. But it was partly Alik’s fault too — how could he possibly have agreed? What an i***t. How could he have listened to what John said?

The whole business had only taken John a few days. First he had arranged things with the girls, then with his uncle: since his mother died, he had lived with him and he had a flat by the Chernogorodsky bridge where no one had lived for several years.

At first Alik thought it was all idle talk, he simply couldn’t believe that the girls (especially the taciturn tenth-class pupil Valya Guryanova) would agree to go to meet them. But John had absolutely no doubt he would be successful.

When they had bought the wine and snacks and were waiting for the girls by the pharmacy on Telefonnaya Street, John inquired with a businesslike air which of them Alik preferred.

“Choose whichever you like.”

“We’ll get to that later,” Alik had said, trying to break off the conversation.

“Oh no,” John had protested. “There mustn’t be any confusion. Personally, it’s all the same to me — but I’m for clarity. Who do you like most?”

He had been forced to confess.

“Excellent,” John said merrily. “The right choice. Maya’s a cert!”

Of course, he ought to have made sure just what John meant by the word “cert”, but at that moment the two girls, so very unlike each other, had got out of the trolleybus — first the tall, austere Valya, with her long hair, and then the sturdy Maya, with her constant smile and short crop — both of them looking spruce and smart and rather festive.

“Well done,” John said approvingly and smiled in exactly the way that Alik had been unable to manage all winter, despite comrade Emil’s very best efforts. “You look first-rate. And you’re not even late.”

It took them a long time to open the door of the cold flat, which hadn’t been heated for a long time. Once inside, John hastily laid the table with wine, salami and bread and told everyone not to take off their coats.

“Not until we get warmed up,” he said with a cunning smile.

As well as the table the room contained a cupboard, a sofa and a small locker with a gramophone on it. There were enough chairs at the table, but for some reason John suggested that they ought to drag it over to the sofa. Alik was forced to drag it; if he hadn’t, then the girls would have helped John — both of them obediently rushed over to help.

“Valechka, sit here close to me,” John ordered, slapping his hand down on the sofa beside himself, as if he were calling a dog. But the austere Valya Guryanovaa didn’t take offence, she obediently occupied the place he had been pointed out. Maya and Alik sat on chairs.

“It’s a bit chilly in here,” said Maya.

Alik agreed.

John poured the wine and they drank from glasses that they had found in the cupboard.

“A nice flat,” said Maya, looking round the room. “This is the dining room, and that must be the bedroom?”

“That’s right, Mayechka,” John said with a smile. “Why don’t you and Alik take a look?”

Maya shrugged and glanced sideways at Alik who lowered his eyes. Who could have imagined that John would be so forward?

“Right then, let’s have one before you leave us,” said John, raising his glass. “And don’t forget to take some wine with you, it’ll be more fun that way.”

If one of the girls had given the impudent rogue a slap across the face right then, it wouldn’t have surprised Alik. But they didn’t even comment; although they didn’t touch their wine either.

“Why don’t we put some music on?” Maya suggested.

“What music?” said John, stopping Alik as he reached out for gramophone. “That hasn’t worked in ages. Well, are you going in there or not?”

“Where?” Alik asked stupidly, understanding perfectly well that John was talking about him and Maya withdrawing into the bedroom.

John gave him a pitying glance and turned to Valya.

“Valyusha,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, “friends have to be given the first chance, that’s true. But if they won’t, we must. Shall we go?”

And instead of throwing his hand off her shoulder, the proud Valya Guyanova followed John into the bedroom without saying a word.

That was the turning point. Quite clearly, there were many things in life that Alik did not understand. And now there could be no doubt about the meaning of the word “cert” that John had used at the trolleybus stop. Well then, a “cert” was a “cert”. When in Rome… At least, he would do everything you were supposed to do in a situation like this, in order not to provoke any sneering comments. And he wanted to try it anyway: was he a man or wasn’t he? Just feel the way his heart started pounding!

After that he had acted as if he were following someone else’s orders. He asked Maya just one question: “Don’t you feel cold?” and then, without waiting for an answer, he walked up and put his arms round her. Taking no notice of her look of surprise, he kept hold of her and pulled her towards the sofa; perhaps some resistance was offered, but he didn’t even notice it; one jerk — and there she was beside him on the sofa.

He squeezed Maya’s soft round shoulder under the woollen jacket with his left hand and stroked her knee with his right. With his side pressed tight against her, he could feel how tense her entire body was.

“So what now?” she asked when their eyes met.

“Nothing.”

“What do you want?”

“Don’t you know?” He finally gave the smile that he hadn’t managed to produce for her all winter (if only comrade Emil were there now!) — the smile of a man certain that he will get what he is after.

She replied to his smile with a look that almost made his hands withdraw of their own accord. From the next room they could hear Valya Guryanova’s muffled giggling and the squeaking of the bed.

“Let me go,” said Maya.

He tried to kiss her, making several attempts one after another, but failed: she turned her head away with short, sharp movements, and his lips landed on her cheek or her chin.

“Let go!”

He threw her down on her back; now they were lying beside each other, his left hand was still under her head, but his right was free. He turned on to his side, looked into her eyes and found he was breathing heavily.

“Well, what next?” she asked.

“You’ll see.”

She laughed calmly and suddenly gave a wide yawn.

“All right, get on with it.”

The tension he had felt in her body was instantly dissipated, the hand with which she had been holding down the hem of her skirt fell limply to one side, her eyes closed apathetically.

It wasn’t quite true that he didn’t know what you’re supposed to do in a situation like this, after all, he was twenty-three, and he had heard plenty of talk on the subject, so he immediately stuck his hand up her skirt. His open palm touched the silky surface of a stocking, so unlike the ones that he, his mother and sister used to crochet during the war, moved up along her leg and reached the edge of the stocking, beyond which there was a narrow strip of skin; this contact threw him into a fever, and she cried out quietly, his hand was so cold. His palm twitched as if from an electric shock and jumped up higher, skipping over some knitted garment that clung close to the body, after which there was another stretch of soft, smooth skin. “Her stomach,” he thought, then he grabbed hold of a narrow band that felt like the elastic of her knickers and jerked it down hard.

She carried on lying quite still, with her eyes closed. Her short, dark-brown, slightly wavy hair made the boyish face that was so out of keeping with her plump woman’s body look even rounder.

His hand carried on pulling down on something that was strangely unyielding. Later it was explained to him that that was the stocking suspender belt and it was absolutely pointless to pull it on it. After a little while he worked that out for himself and was suddenly aware of something he had stopped noticing much earlier — how deadly cold it was in this flat that hadn’t been heated for several years.

She lay there as if everything that was happening to her had nothing to do with her at all. Not even the cold.

It was quiet in the next room now.

With one final tug on the belt that encircled her stomach so tightly, he pulled his hand away and fell back to one side.

For some reason she didn’t take the chance to get up, but carried on lying there with her dress pulled up on to her stomach. She didn’t even straighten her hem. He did that himself. He sat down and realised that he was trembling, as if there was a hard frost. But it wasn’t the cold that was to blame. He had stopped feeling the cold again. On the contrary, he was consumed by a fever — he suddenly saw what had happened from afar, and a burning sense of shame wrung his heart and set his body shaking.