victoriously, the tip of the nose points to the stars—light and easy, easy and light.
For eight years she had skipped precisely two hours of sleep every night, fighting tooth and nail for her expensive American profession. And now she had to make ten decisions a day and had long since learned not to get too upset if today’s proved not to be the best. “The past is definitive and irreversible, but it has no power over the future,” she would say at such times. And suddenly it turned out that her irreversible past did have power over her.
Irina had had no discussions with Alik about his impendingdeath or his past life, but what she hadn’t dared to dream about had taken place; her little girl talked with him and his friends so easily and freely that none of them had any idea of the complex psychological disorder she had suffered. And now Irina couldn’t explain to herself how she too had spent almost every free minute of her time for the last two years in his noisy, disorderly lair.
An English goldfish named Doctor Harris (he looked more like a sunburnt tunny than a delicate veiltail), whom Irina had been discreetly dating for four years, had just visited New York for five days, almost failed to reach her and flown out disappointed, convinced that she was planning to drop him. But dropping him didn’t come into Irina’s plans. Harris was a renowned authority on copyright law. His status was such that in the normal course of events she would never have met him, and it was by sheer chance that one of the partners at her law firm decided to take her with him to England for a business meeting. Afterwards there was a party at which virtually no women were present, and she shone against the black dinner-jackets like a dove in a flock of crows. Two months later, after she had forgotten about the trip, she received an invitation to attend a conference of young lawyers. Her boss was at a loss to explain it, but could hardly suspect Harris of taking an interest in his diminutive assistant. He had let her go to Europe for three days. And now it turned out that Harris wanted to get married. It wasn’t just self-interest either, it was serious.
Every woman who has turned forty dreams of a Harris, and Irina had just turned forty.
It was all rather foolish really.
The following evening Irina arrived to see Nina. Old Maria Ignatevna was in the bedroom, having called in for five minutes before her flight. Nina was scurrying around after her. The studio was filled with people as usual.
Irina was hungry. She opened the fridge. There wasn’t much in there, just some expensive black bread wrapped in paper from the Russian grocer and a lump of stale cheese. She made a sandwich and drank some of Nina’s vodka and orange; everyone was drinking screwdrivers in this house for some reason. Finally Nina slipped out of the bedroom.
“So what do you want Gottlieb for?” Irina asked.
“Who’s Gottlieb?” Nina looked baffled.
“Oh Lord, Nina, have you forgotten? You called me last night!”
“Oh that, I didn’t know his name. Alik said we must get him a rabbi,” Nina said innocently.
Irina felt a surge of irritation and wondered why she bothered with this imbecile, but she contained herself and asked in a professional tone: “Why a rabbi? Are you sure you haven’t made a mistake?”
Nina beamed. “You don’t know anything! He’s agreed to get baptized!”
Irina burst out: “But Nina, you need a priest to do that!”
“That’s right, a priest,” Nina nodded. “I know. I’ve already arranged it. But Alik asked … he wants to talk to a rabbi too.”
“He wants to be baptized?” Irina said in amazement, finally understanding.
Nina dropped her narrow face into her bony, no longerbeautiful hands. “Fima says it looks bad. Everyone says it looks bad. Maria Ignatevna says it’s his only hope now. I don’t want him to go off into nowhere, I want God to accept him. You can’t imagine what the darkness is like,
For eight years she had skipped precisely two hours of sleep every night, fighting tooth and nail for her expensive American profession. And now she had to make ten decisions a day and had long since learned not to get too upset if today’s proved not to be the best. “The past is definitive and irreversible, but it has no power over the future,” she would say at such times. And suddenly it turned out that her irreversible past did have power over her.
Irina had had no discussions with Alik about his impendingdeath or his past life, but what she hadn’t dared to dream about had taken place; her little girl talked with him and his friends so easily and freely that none of them had any idea of the complex psychological disorder she had suffered. And now Irina couldn’t explain to herself how she too had spent almost every free minute of her time for the last two years in his noisy, disorderly lair.
An English goldfish named Doctor Harris (he looked more like a sunburnt tunny than a delicate veiltail), whom Irina had been discreetly dating for four years, had just visited New York for five days, almost failed to reach her and flown out disappointed, convinced that she was planning to drop him. But dropping him didn’t come into Irina’s plans. Harris was a renowned authority on copyright law. His status was such that in the normal course of events she would never have met him, and it was by sheer chance that one of the partners at her law firm decided to take her with him to England for a business meeting. Afterwards there was a party at which virtually no women were present, and she shone against the black dinner-jackets like a dove in a flock of crows. Two months later, after she had forgotten about the trip, she received an invitation to attend a conference of young lawyers. Her boss was at a loss to explain it, but could hardly suspect Harris of taking an interest in his diminutive assistant. He had let her go to Europe for three days. And now it turned out that Harris wanted to get married. It wasn’t just self-interest either, it was serious.
Every woman who has turned forty dreams of a Harris, and Irina had just turned forty.
It was all rather foolish really.
The following evening Irina arrived to see Nina. Old Maria Ignatevna was in the bedroom, having called in for five minutes before her flight. Nina was scurrying around after her. The studio was filled with people as usual.
Irina was hungry. She opened the fridge. There wasn’t much in there, just some expensive black bread wrapped in paper from the Russian grocer and a lump of stale cheese. She made a sandwich and drank some of Nina’s vodka and orange; everyone was drinking screwdrivers in this house for some reason. Finally Nina slipped out of the bedroom.
“So what do you want Gottlieb for?” Irina asked.
“Who’s Gottlieb?” Nina looked baffled.
“Oh Lord, Nina, have you forgotten? You called me last night!”
“Oh that, I didn’t know his name. Alik said we must get him a rabbi,” Nina said innocently.
Irina felt a surge of irritation and wondered why she bothered with this imbecile, but she contained herself and asked in a professional tone: “Why a rabbi? Are you sure you haven’t made a mistake?”
Nina beamed. “You don’t know anything! He’s agreed to get baptized!”
Irina burst out: “But Nina, you need a priest to do that!”
“That’s right, a priest,” Nina nodded. “I know. I’ve already arranged it. But Alik asked … he wants to talk to a rabbi too.”
“He wants to be baptized?” Irina said in amazement, finally understanding.
Nina dropped her narrow face into her bony, no longerbeautiful hands. “Fima says it looks bad. Everyone says it looks bad. Maria Ignatevna says it’s his only hope now. I don’t want him to go off into nowhere, I want God to accept him. You can’t imagine what the darkness is like,
Similar Books
Hidden Meanings
Carolyn Keene
The Day Trader
Stephen Frey
Virgin
Radhika Sanghani
Linda Ford
The Cowboy's Surprise Bride
Pony Express Courtship
Rhonda Gibson
The Girl from Summer Hill
Jude Deveraux
Infinity One
Robert Hoskins (Ed.)
Night Thunder
Jill Gregory
Long Knife
JAMES ALEXANDER Thom
The Falling Woman
Pat Murphy