The Sofa

(To all my women)

My mobile phone rang, and vibrated on my side. I unfastened it, looked at the display, and couldn’t believe my eyes.

That was her.

- Hallo! Listening.

- O I feel bad!

- What’s the matter?

- Real bad.

- Please explain!

At this moment the subway carriage entered the tunnel, and the communication broke off. What a phantom! Just an hour ago, I landed at the airport. I’m coming back from a tour of duty abroad. I’m looking forward to seeing my family. And here’s such a ring! Didn’t we part in the pre-historic era?

She had never ever called me before. Either on my home phone, or my cell. She knows the number of the latter quite by chance. Several years ago, I unexpectedly encountered her on the street. Not having seen her for a long time, I noted with surprise that she had not changed at all. As I was looking at her, I felt something within now expand, now shrink. May I see you home? – I asked.

- Sure, - she said.

I walked with her as far as her home.

- May I drop in?

- There are my parents.

- There now! I exclaimed with annoyance. – Rotten luck. O.K. Write down my mobile number, just in case.

(Back then, cell phones were very rare).

How much time has passed since then! But she has saved my number. And now she is calling.

I came out of the subway, took my mobile and pressed the right button.

Her voice was excited, almost hysterical.

- I feel real bad. Could you come to me right now?

- Right now I can’t. I’m in Moscow. I need first to reach home. Tell me plainly, what’s wrong with you?

- I feel real bad, - she whimpered and the handset went silent.

I’m coming back home on the bus… What is happening in my chest is like a swarm disturbed.

I’m calling up images of the past… When and how did we become acquainted?

This occurred in my long-ago student days. I’d come for a lecture by assistant professor Kuznetsova,

who, fresh from England, was telling us, the students of English, about special features of the

London accent, and the decay of capitalism in Britain… I paid little heed to Kuznetsova.

I was eyeing a girl in front of me with dark loose hair. That was thick, luxuriant hair, almost jet black.

I couldn’t see her face very well, but I imagined it was just as exciting as that gorgeous hair.

“Turn around!” – I prayed. “Just turn around!”

But she didn’t move. And then, driven by some inexplicable force, I made an amazingly daring step.

I took out my notebook, wrote in English on one page: “Have you got a telephone?” and passed it to her.

I minute later, the book returned to me. On the same page was her answer in Russian “Yes, I have. So what?”

I picked up the improvised correspondence.

“May I call you?”

“Why?”

Here I came up with a piece from the Beatles lyrics.

“Girl, I like your face!”

Well, I was a bit sly, because I could hardly see her face fully.

She turned around. Gazing at me were widely-set green eyes.

It seemed that they were looking through me. I felt somewhat embarrassed. She handed in my notebook. Her home telephone number was written in large round characters.

That is how we became acquainted. I rang her up directly, and dated her as soon as next evening.

It was, I believe, the first date in my life. I was 21, she was just 19. Frankly speaking, I was afraid

I wouldn’t recognize her. After all, I had seen her just once, and it was only a fleeting occurrence. We met on the street. I did recognize her. It was late fall, and sleet was wafting in the air.

She wore a well-cut dark crimson coat that showed off her slim figure, and a gray fur hat, from under which that unruly hair was coming out. From the setting of her bushy eyelashes her green eyes scanned me quizzically. Oh, those gemlike eyes…

- Let’s go to my place, - she suggested.

- Er… It’s not proper, - I hesitated.

- It’s not proper to knock about the street when it’s cold. Let’s go!

I followed her. Came up the stairs to the third floor and went into the apartment. It was a typical two-room Khrushchev-style apartment, a replica of the one I lived in with my parents and sister. The furnishing surprised me by its modesty, if not asceticism. There was no furniture here, except a divan at the wall, and an occasional table with a typewriter on it in the middle of the room. But there were several bookcases and many bookshelves on which I, a diligent student, spotted the royal blue covers of the complete works of Lenin and the multi-volume Comprehensive Soviet Encyclopedia of the same color. Sitting on the divan by the standard lamp was a man with a book, in which he made notes with a pencil. Bending over the typewriter was a woman. Tearing herself away for a moment from the machine, she looked at me appraisingly. Elaborately dressed dark hair on a handsome face with clear-cut and expressive features. She was, undoubtedly, a beauty in her youth. Even now she was a good-looking woman. Our eyes met. It was as if her intent, almost hypnotic stare transfixed me. I felt confused. Mumbling salutations, I went after my girl.

  Her adjoining room was smaller and furnished in the same Spartan fashion. Apart from a sofa, upholstered with a red plush, a desk and a bookcase, there was nothing else in it. We sat down on the sofa…

- Well, what will you say? – she asked. I was looking at her without knowing what to say. Why have I come to her? To a person I hardly know and whom I see, it seems, for the second time in my life. - Did you like the lecture by Kuznetsova? – I inquired. - Absolutely not. I generally dislike English. - What do you like, then? - I like cats. Fashionable clothes. Smart boys. A merry company. Good wine. - Are you joking? - Not at all. Don’t you like wine? - I don’t drink. - Why? Are you sick? - Nothing of the sort. I’m just an athlete. - What sport do you pursue? - Wrestling. Look! I got up from the sofa, assumed an arms-stand position, and walked about the room. But at one point I lost balance, staggered and, upsetting something on the bookcase, fell on the floor. Immediately, a bulky book landed on my head, flat-ways, thank God. I looked at the cover. Capital by Karl Marx. Volume One. - Ho! The books you read! – I uttered, stroking the top of my head. - It’s not me. It’s Dad. - What is he? - He teaches political economy at the Polytechnic. - And Mom? - She is a reader in psychology also there. - She looks very strict to me… - She is very kind. You’ll see for yourself. I say, could you help me? - What do you need? I’ve got a lot of grammar exercises to do. They are very difficult. Will you look in? - No problem. We started doing her home assignment in English. I realized at once that she knew English poorly. And didn’t wish to know it altogether. - Now there, could you prepare a report for me? - What report? - On the special features of Maugham’s style. Only it must be in English. - By what date? - By next Friday. - Consider it done. Shall we meet before that day? - Certainly! We started to meet. At the institute, we saw very little of each other, since she was two years below me. And then, she never sought me at the institute. Neither she nor I wanted to be seen together. We met only at her place. I’d come to her very often. While at the lectures, in my mind I’d been already with her. After the studies at the Institute, I chucked everything away, and headed for her all through the town by two trams with changes… I did her exercises in grammar and vocabulary, wrote her compositions and reproductions, prepared reports on the changes of verbal endings in ancient English under the influence of old French… Bending over the desk, I wrote on and on. She sat by my side, plainly bored. - Aren’t you tired? – she asked me once. - No, - I said. - But I am. – She looked at me in a special way, put her hand on mine. Her hand was soft and warm. I felt like my heart stopped. - So much for writing! Let’s move off to the sofa! – she said. O the sofa! The scarlet sofa, the aerodrome of our soaring juvenile passion… We sat down side by side. - Why are doing all this for me? – she asked. - I don’t know. I just want to do something good for you. - Why? - I don’t know. Probably, because … because I like you so. - Indeed? - Indeed! - You are very kind to me. She placed her head on my shoulder. This made me giddy. Never before had any woman, except my mother, been physically so close to me. My lips got planted in her neck. Humbly and clumsily I embraced her. I didn’t know what to do next… - What are you afraid of? – she asked. - I’m not afraid of anything, - I said in a trembling voice and put my hand on her breast. But she wanted more… Obviously, she was not a novice in such a pastime. Gently but persistently she urged me towards what she desired, but was new to me, and what my whole nature lusted for. Probably, that was what I inwardly craved the moment I first saw this wavy hair now tickling my nostrils… Our breathing merges. - What if Mom enters? – I whisper. - She won’t. - No, I can’t do it so… - I disengage myself from her by a strenuous effort. She adjusts her hair. - I say, come after tomorrow. Mom will be giving an examination to extramural students. She’ll be out all day. - And Dad? - He’s away in Moscow, defending his dissertation. Come! Come I did. What do two youths of an opposite gender with an irresistible attraction to each other do when left by themselves? We rushed at each other like two young animals. She knew all that had to be done. She was insatiable. The sofa groaned under us. Suddenly, the entrance door clicked. It’s Mom! But mustn’t she be now with extramural students? We rebounded from each other, sweaty and very red. Started spasmodically to put ourselves in order. Having recovered her breath and assuming a casual air she presented herself to Mom. Meantime, I sat down over the desk and stacked up a pile of dictionaries before me... It went on like that for quite some time. I helped her in her studies. And we used every opportunity, when her parents were not at home, for a non-academic pursuit. And we wanted nothing but our sofa. We didn’t go to the theater or the cinema. We didn’t walk the streets together. On the rare occasions when it did happen, the passers-by, young men especially, looked back at us. What a girl! She knew that she was beautiful. That she caught fancy at first sight. This flattered her. I was wondering – how come I’ve got such a beauty? I am not tall. My nose is not that of a Roman. And in stature I am a far cry from Apollo. While she is damn good-looking! I could never see enough of her. Each time, parting in the hallway, we clung together. Once she said: - I think we must separate. - Why? – was my amazed inquiry. Because you love me. And I have no such feelings for you. - So what? My love is great enough for the two of us. - No. It’s impossible. Besides, we are very different. - Ha! No two people in the world are alike. - You didn’t get me right. We are essentially different. You are an ambitious and serious fellow. You defy challenges and work hard. But I… I dislike hard work. I am a silly and light-headed girl. - Don’t you say so! We enjoy being together. And that’s the important thing. Let me familiarize you with my parents. - Anything but this! Soon it so happened that I, a student, was sent on a mission to Africa, a rare honor by the standard of those times. True, it was Africa, but it was foreign parts, just the same. Thus we separated for over a year. How I missed her! What mad letters I was writing to her! I was writing much, and in the tenderest of terms I could think of. However, we were prohibited to use the usual post. Therefore we sent our mails only when opportunity presented itself. And we received them also very seldom and always avidly. Pardon me, Mom, but even your letters were not so welcome. She, however, wrote very seldom. Just a few letters in over a year…In them I searched for warmth, for at least a hint at our relationship. Alas, they contained no trace of this. I remembered you, my first love, each hour and every minute. You were with me when I climbed to mountain tops and when I dived in the warm and bitter water of the Red Sea. You were with me when the sand storm howled while I was writing, by the light of a bulb fed by the diesel generator, my passionate letters to you. Time and again I visualized your image. I saw your eyes. I wished to plunge into them. To press myself to you. To become one with you. I awaited that moment and believed it would come. On the first day of my return from Africa, I called her announcing effusively my arrival. Much to my surprise, however, she said we’d better meet in a day or two. No way! That I couldn’t bear. I rushed to her place. I found there a noisy boozing party. She too was plainly under the influence. I realized I was not a welcome guest. Mumbling something, I went back home. On the following day we were sitting on our sofa. - You see, - she tried to explain. – I had just a small party. I am not a nun, am I? Please, don’t be cross for not inviting you. To me, those boys are just for fun. But you are for life. One day her mother addressed us. - Young folk! You’ve rubbed a hole in the sofa! Why not come out into the open? See what fine weather we’re having today. We went to the forest. It’s quite near. From the tram terminal one has to walk a mere twenty minutes. I was telling her about the boundless sands of the Sahara, about the rocks scorched by the sun. And about the happiness of seeing again the forest of native Russia. And her sweet face… Somewhere on the glade we spread a blanket. What a bliss it is just to lie looking into the blue of the sky with drifting clouds. And how pleasing it is to feel her immediate presence. Here she is. Now closer and closer. Hers are small and firm breasts. The tender pink nipples are surrounded by a large areole. What force, what instinct makes me bring my lips onto them? Her stomach is flat and resilient. Its bottom is embellished by a triangle of black wooly hair. That hair triggers me off. And she isn’t shy at all. She too burns for the same thing… But the mosquitoes! They are dreadful! Or are we in the taiga of Siberia? Like a gallant gentleman I slap them on her buttocks, leaving mine unprotected to the swarm of insatiable pests…On the way back we are silent, each thinking own thoughts.

What should I do, I think. Marry her? Suppose, I do. What next? To sleep together under the sanction of a stamp in our passports? This business ends in children. What a father would I make? I’ve got to study for yet another year (two years for her). Besides she doesn’t dream of the marriage. What money shall we live on? Where? In the den with her parents or with mine? As it happens, I can’t get along with my own Dad. We clash so often and so violently that we roll on the floor...

One more year passes. I graduate from college and leave for work in a country school. But I seize every opportunity to come to the hometown. On coming I can’t help calling her for a date. It’s a mere obsession! I just can’t tear myself away from her. Something must be done! I must end it!!! So I make a crucial decision. I go into the army…

The military service. Nights without sleep. Crackling frosts in the forest of Belorussia. The Kalashnikov assault rifle on one shoulder and the gasmask on the other. “ Masks on!” Gasping, you fall on the snow. At night you go to sleep like dead. The bed and bedding are not always supplied. Sometimes you’ve got only a wooden board for that, or just the grass. Yes, you remember your home. And you remember her, also. And you happily realize that it’s impossible to run away to her from the Belorussian forest. All things come to the end, no matter how long they last. My service ended, too. A dashing sergeant, sportive and with an array of badges and insignia, I step off the train in my hometown. Suddenly I spot a girl, an acquaintance of mine with whom I had traveled a couple of times on the tram. She comes my way… - Hi! – I call to her. - Hi yourself! – she answers. – Where are you from, such a fop? - Straight from the military ranks, babe! Let me know what you are doing tonight? - Nothing much. Just playing the fool. - Let’s play the fool together, shall we? - O.K. Let’s try. In the evening I was at her place. I acted quickly and with resolution, as instructed by the company commander captain Dubovik. Then I invited her to my home. The parents had gone somewhere. We settled down on the sofa to see the family albums, which bored us rather soon. So we decided to do something more exciting. And so, when the excitement was at its highest, a door bell rang. Ignoring it was impossible for those could be my parents come back. I opened the door and … stopped in my tracks dumbfounded. Holy saints! Standing at the threshold before me was SHE! Didn’t I ask her thousands of times to come over to me, to meet my parents, to settle somehow our relationship. But she wouldn’t listen. And now this! Presented herself all on her own… - May I come in? – she asked. - For Christ’s sake, you may not, - I mumbled. - Ah… I see, - she said with a drawl. Her eyes glistened and she almost ran down the stairs. - Wait for me tonight! – I only just had time to shout to her.This is an omen from above, I thought returning to the room. - Who was that? – my girlfriend on the sofa asked. - A woman next door. I say, let’s get married, shall we? – I proposed.

- I don’t mind, - was her answer. In the evening I was with her. - Did you have another woman in you apartment? – she asked. - Yes, I did. And I decided to marry. - Oh well… I wish you happiness. And then there was a wedding. It was a noisy affair with a brawl. The say, this too is a good omen. Then there was a divorce. It was inconspicuous, but spiteful. We parted enemies. Then there was another marriage followed by another divorce.

Now I’m a family man. I have two grownup children. Grandchildren are on the way. My wife and I marked our silver wedding last year. She knows all about me. And she understands everything. She loves me. Loves our children and our dog. Hers is a big and loving heart. Do I love her? No, I didn’t have with her what I had with my first girl. But I’d give my life away for her without hesitation. I enter our house. - Salutations to the business traveler! – greets me my wife. – How are they doing abroad? - They are doing real fine … - I put down on the table a box of chocolates I had hastily bought at the duty free shop (my wife is fond of sweets) and a bottle of whiskey (since long ago I’m not a sportsman and an abstainer). - Tell you what, my old passion called me suddenly on the mobile. - That same woman? - Exactly. She’s in trouble. Asked me to come. - What’s the problem? Go. - Are you serious? - Absolutely. I’m calling her. Her voice is very constrained and apathetic. - I took the tranquilizer. I don’t need anything else. Come on Saturday. I will wait for you eagerly. It’s Saturday. I’m preparing for an official friendly visit. My wife bids me goodbye. - Darling! I wish you virility and firmness in such an important business. Live up to your image! - Thank you for such an appropriate wish. Have we got a French letter somewhere? - We have no need for this since quite some time, my dear. What a joker!

- You Mom, too, are not without humor. Don’t call without need. Your ring may come at a most undesirable moment….

Here I am, approaching that house. How many times I’d come here! My heart beats wildly. I look at her balcony. There stands a man, smoking. Who’s that?

I come up to the third floor. Here is that door. I ring the bell. She meets me in the tiny hallway. I perceive how very glad she is to see me. - Who’s that man on the balcony? – I ask. - A good acquaintance of mine. - Then, I have nothing to do here, - I say and reach for the door handle. - Don’t go! Please. – She blocks my way. – He will leave now. Come to the kitchen. I beg you. I enter the kitchen from which I hear the entrance door bang. The man has gone. She comes into the kitchen and sits down opposite me. From the plastic bag I have brought I produce wine, oranges, sweets, sliced cheese. - Shall we drink to our reunion? – I propose. - With pleasure, - she replies. We drink the Crimean Muscat, a wonderful and heady wine. I examine her. Time is time. Her breasts are big and the abdomen flabby. But her face has changed little, if at all. As for the eyes… They are still the same… The eyes of the Semitic forefathers. They look at me quizzically, as if full of mischief. I look into them and can’t get enough of it… - What happened to you? – I ask. She relates all that she had come through. Life somehow went awry… The husband was fixing a curtain rail. Fell and got a bump on his head. The bump grew and grew. It was decided to remove it. An illustrious surgeon from Moscow was invited to do the job. The husband died in operation… And then suddenly her father died. He had been well all through his life, and didn’t even have a patient card. Suddenly he fell ill and passed away before they knew what was wrong with him. Her mother stumbled on the street and fell. Broke the femoral neck, became almost immobile. But the worst of all was that her mind faded. She started doing stupid things, oftentimes so dangerous she couldn’t be left by herself in the apartment as she might set it on fire any moment. She too died. In the last few years she had allied with one man. He was nineteen years her senior. - He was a very good man, - she says. – And treated me very well. But he disappeared. It must be his dear relatives who have tucked him away because he wanted to devise his apartment to me. - And who is that man you’ve just seen out? - It’s Gregory. He takes care of me. Oh how he bores me! - Why, then, do you live with him? - What else can do? Vegetate on my own? I’m a weak and defenseless woman. - Say, why haven’t you got children? She took some time to answer. - I had an abortion. It made me sterile. I didn’t inquire about who had gotten her in trouble. There had always been swarms of men around her. There was a banker from Moscow. There was a young programmer boy. There was a criminal kingpin. And even a KGB colonel. She says all were very nice to her… That couldn’t be otherwise. She is so beautiful… - When did we part? – I ask. - Thirty-three years ago. We were almost kids back then. Tell me, how did you live all those years? - Variously. I knocked about the world. And was sometimes out of work. I’ve been officially married twice. - Did you remember me? - I did every now and then. You know what, we wouldn’t be happy if I married you. - Yes, I know. Let’s proceed to the room. It’s semi-dark in the room. We sat down the sofa. I stroke its upholstery. - Is this our sofa? - Of course. I only had it re-upholstered. Where’s your golden tooth? - Replaced by a dental bridge. - I too have bridges. Her face is close to mine. We stare each other in the eye. We are alone in the apartment. Mom won’t intrude any more. We have nobody to fear and no reason to be shy. We are being drawn to each other. “What are you doing? Be sensible!” – I order myself. But my essence refuses to obey…We approach each other… Tinkle! It’s a ring at the door. Then a lock, being opened, clicks. - God damn him! – She exclaims. Walking past us and into the kitchen is that man. - I must be off, - I say and go out into the hallway. She follows me, slaps the door shut. I hold it down with my foot. Now that man won’t bother us. I draw her face to mine. I kiss her yes, her cheeks, her lips. Years have passed, but nothing has passed! I still want her. Damn that clown behind the door! He couldn’t have been more out of place here and now. We cling close to each other. Very close. Like it was in our youth. She feels me through the clothes. - Oh, you are just what you were! - I’m always like this for you. When shall we meet again? - When you want. - I will want pretty soon. - Ring me up, then. I’ll be waiting. Her eyes are shining… I returned home. - How did you do on the love front? – my wife inquired. - There was no real action. - Why? Did you fail? It’s not like you. -- Ah, there was that john, popping up when he was not wanted. Damnation! I might have been anticipating this moment three and thirty years. - Accept my sympathies, - said my wife. The other day, as I entered the house, my wife said: - SHE called you. - Oh, did she? - She did. And we had a talk. - What about? - About our feminine things. Incidentally, she has a very pleasant voice. - Yes, she is pleasant in all respects. - Are you going to visit her again? - I don’t know. She lives a long way from here. Two trams with a change. It’s a full forty rubles, enough for a big bottle of beer. - What a Scrooge! – my wife shook her head reproachfully. – Traded love for beer?! - I haven’t traded anything. I may go some day. After all, first love is not what we forget. Not even if it didn’t work out. - Go, darling, if you please. Remember the good old days. Have it away and done with. I too shall feel relieved. Life is no fun for a man who gets no satisfaction."