The Moscoviad Read Online Free PDF Page B

chin.
    You opened the
window.
    “On all the
floors the windows are sealed, yours is the only one that isn’t,” he informed,
sitting down on the windowsill.
    “Aren’t you
cold?” you asked. “It’s winter now.”
    “I am not cold. I
feel nothing,” was the answer.
    “And generally,
how is it over there?”
    “You’ll learn
some day. Everything is not the way you guys imagine it.”
    “You’ve preserved
well.”
    “Thanks. They
taught me how to fall in the marines.”
    “Why have you
come back?”
    “The familiar
place draws me back. Familiar smells. You. I thought about you.”
    “Thanks. By the
way, my name isn’t Vanya.”
    “I know, Vanya.”
    “It ended up
being a rather foolish death, don’t you think?”
    Ruslan gestured
with his hand.
    “It didn’t change
anything in this world. My father is a famous film director. They gave him a
big prize.”
    “Would you like
some vodka?”
    “Thanks, I don’t
drink.”
    “Sorry, I forgot
. . .”
    “That’s all
right. Today I’ll fly to Simferopol. That’s where my girlfriend is. In the
morning she’ll think she dreamt of me.”
    “Want my winter
jacket? I have another one.”
    “Stop it, boss! I
don’t feel the winter. It’s all the same to me. You can’t even imagine to what
an extent everything can be the same.”
    But it was
getting cold in the room, and he understood this.
    “I won’t keep
you. Be well. Some day, perhaps, we’ll meet again.”
    “Sure. Although I
didn’t believe you guys existed . . .”
    “Existed?” he
shook his head. “Who knows. You see, you were the last one I saw when I was
still alive. You remained forever in my eyes. Your reflection. If you look
closely into my eyes, you’ll see your reflection. I thought you’d be able to
catch my hand . . .”
    “I’m sorry, old
man . . .”
    “That’s all
right. This had to happen. It’s a shame though that it looked so lame:
scattered brains, pieces of ribs, thighbone sticking out through the guts . . .
But I’m not the first one, nor am I the last. And that’s the main thing. Close
the window, Vanya . . .”
    He made a
graceful, weightless step to the side and stepped onto the ladder.
    “Close the
window,” he repeated.
    You did as he
told and even drew the curtains.
    At night some
sort of life was going on around the dorm. At times you heard screams, scuffle,
someone getting beaten up. At times the fire escape suddenly moaned in the
familiar way. You tensely listened to these approaching sounds. Fourth, fifth,
sixth floor. Will it reach the seventh? I am not here, you repeated. I am not
here. And pulled the blanket over your head. You weren’t there.
    There you have
it, von F., you fool, this is what happens when you go to the shower room and
forget that you shouldn’t leave your room’s door unlocked! Now they are sitting
at your place, all three of them, smoking royally, chatting, gaggling. The mugs
are swollen, but the mood is fine. Your closest friends. Last night you sat drinking
together till one-thirty in the morning. Eight five-ounce brandies bought at
the greengrocers, two bottles of “Salyut” bubbly, then two Polish “Polonaises”
won in a game of pool from some fool from Novosibirsk at the Central House of
Writers. The finale took place already at the dorm. Surgical alcohol from the
strategic supplies. At first you guys cut it with “Pepsi,” and the result was
reminiscent of armagnac. When the “Pepsi” ran out, came the turn of the
domestic sweet carbonated stuff by the name of “Sayany,” but you prudently
excused yourself from this joyride. And probably did the right thing.
    Undoubtedly, they
are now suffering in torment, but do not repent; on the contrary, they desire
beer and circuses. And where can one find beer and spectacular circuses? And
you can find them at the beer hall on Fonvizin Street, so named after the
classic Russian playwright. And you, by the way, have not yet visited the
place. And today you still have this