Lonely Place America. Novel-in-Stories

Next few days Masha called through the list. Her diligence was rewarded. The manager of one studio invited her to come, and a miracle happened – Masha was accepted!

True that later Masha learned that almost all the staff of that studio left the service themselves as they were not paid wages for already half a year. But Masha was too happy that time she could call herself an architect again to notice such details.

It was turn to arrange her personal life. Being deceived in a rotten classical way Masha did not wish to believe in anybody but I told her that if she really wished to have children and family she just had to take steps in that direction. I gave her many instructive examples when success was the result of will and faith. Being inspired, Masha went to our local personals newspaper and ordered to publish her personal ad.

She got lots of letters. She had to make a special card-index with names and phone numbers of candidates. She started to spend all her evenings calling men, dating them, crossing out the list or ticking off and including new ones.

All the candidates were very different. Those who seemed most suitable were brought to my office for my consideration. Masha wished to know someone’s opinion.

The most interesting candidate was a young architect, Konstantin. Masha was excited he was an architect too. He was very handsome and intelligent and he came from a very good family. Masha liked him, she asked me to try my best to make a good impression so the young man would appreciate Masha’s nice and intelligent friends.

I tried to prepare for this visit. When they both came I offered coffee and started an easy conversation about arts and literature. It turned out that the young man also wrote poetry. I asked him to read something, he did, of course I admired it. The young man was excited and impressed. I asked him to tell us more about himself; he did it with great pleasure. I managed to transfer conversation to the theme of loneliness, suggesting how nice it would be if Konstantin shared it with someone. Masha looked down in modest silence, I talked with inspiration, Konstantin listened with his eyes shining. It was the niciest evening.

On the next day Masha called me and said that Konstantin asked my telephone number.

«What for?» I asked.

«He wished to talk again with you about literature. It seems you made too good impression on him,» said Masha coolly.

«But you yourself asked to show your nice surroundings!» I exclaimed.

«Yes, but it seems you tried too much…» Masha said sarcastically, and muttering oh, bother!, I asked her to tell him I left the city forever or got cold. I was punished for this lie having really caught cold in a few days.

Masha was a kind girl, so she forgave me. Very soon she asked me to regard another candidate who raised her doubts..

That one was a huge man, I already don’t remember his name. He brought a box of sweets and immediately had eaten two thirds himself. I tried to be as modest as I could, listening only to Masha. But when finishing off sweets the man bragged how experienced he was in getting around taxes in his business, I forgot all previous intents. I immediately asked him to explain me ways of avoiding taxes I did not yet know. He was also very interested in learning what I could share. When our mutual interest was satisfied I remembered about Masha: she was silently sitting on the couch and looking at me ironically.

That person disappeared very soon too. Masha brought to me some candidates more. One of them played guitar and sang songs of his own composition so loudly that several days later I still could not listen to the radio. The other one sat in complete silence while Masha and I tried to amuse him, then he suddenly became red and invited Masha to go to his country house. When she refused he immediately left.

Masha complained she was too tired of all these men and already desperate to find her right one.

But after some time I suddenly noticed that Masha disappeared. She did not call any more and did not bring to me anybody. Some more time passed and I needed my telephone directory that Masha had taken again to look for another job as she had time to understand that it was hard to live without any wage even being called an architect.

I called her, asked to bring the directory; she apologized, promised to come.

And she came the same evening, brought the book but she was not alone. A black bearded man came with her. They did not look at each other, were very tense. When I looked at the man, his glance, given in answer, was almost unfriendly. Masha looked confused. I tried to talk to both of them but words stuck in my throat. Masha just gave me the book and they left.

And I understood that something was going on between them. They left surrounded by the atmosphere of uncertainty and disarray. And indeed their further relationship was complicated and not easy but there was no place for any other people and their advices in it. Sometimes Masha came to me frustrated. Sometimes she called and even through telephone line I felt how happy she was. Much of everything happened with them yet. They married only in a year.

Problems with Electricity

That day a complete darkness met me in the entrance of the house where my office was situated. I could move only by touch. I thought that something happened with electricity and maybe soon it would be improved. Having gone out for lunch in the same darkness I met a person with the steps and tools in his hands and understood it was an electricity-man.

«What happened?» I asked. «Why is it so dark at the stairs?»

«There are buttons everywhere now.» he replied.

«What buttons?» I did not understand.

«Lighting buttons in each room,» he said. «You press it going out and the stairs are illuminated. The stairs are illuminated only when somebody goes out. If you wish to come in, you press the button downstairs. Don’t you know? Great economy.»

«I have no such a button.» I said.

«Then you did not order, you are guilty yourself.» he said without special expression.

«Then will I always go out in the complete darkness?» I asked.

He did not answer rising upstairs, demonstrating that the theme was over.

«Hey, it cannot stay so!» I followed him, raising the voice. «Who invented it? How silly!»

«So you prefer the stairs to be illuminated all the time?» he asked very caustic. I replied that though I could seem very impudent but I really would prefer. We argued a little bit more and though he finally called me a scandalous lady but at last agreed to switch on the button in my office too. He set it up without any delay though grumbling something concerning my character, then left promising to come to switch it on in the evening. I did not like this renovation at all as my girls-customers could not know anything about the lighting button downstairs either and would surely have problems to find me in such a darkness. What has happened in the evening has even exceeded my expectations.

The door-bell rang, I opened the door and saw a very young girl with lots of make-up at her face and in some dress with sparkles. Her expression was very tense when she appeared from the complete darkness of the stairs. She looked around suspiciously and came in with some hesitation. Continuing to look around she reminded that she has already sent me a letter with an amateur picture of herself and that I called her and asked to bring some better picture which she brought now. She showed me the studio picture in the same dress with sparkles, with the same quantity of make-up, the reddest lips, dark shadows around eyes. I looked for her amateur picture to return for a long time; I could not remember the girl anyhow. At last I found and understood why I could not recognize her; a very nice girl without any make-up, in simple jeans and shirt was standing at the beach smiling happily. The picture was rather small and not good enough for scanning, still better than what she brought that time. Well, I did not tell her as it was her wish to display herself so.

«What will you do with me further?» she asked strangely.

«Further?» I did not understand what she meant.

«Are you always alone here?» she asked even more strangely.

«Yes,» I replied being amazed.

«And where are other people?» she continued to ask.

«Other people? Which?» I was amazed even more, and that same moment the door-bell rang, I moved to the door to open it and had time to notice the girl’s face has changed becoming quite scared.

It was the electricity-man at the stairs.

He said he would switch off light to switch on the button. And he did switch off light for a very short time. I loudly said something encouraging to the girl in the room in that complete darkness. Then the electricity-man switched on the light again, we checked the button, I thanked him, and we parted.

When I returned to the room I have not found the girl at her former place. I looked around and found her standing behind the wardrobe desperately holding a tear-gas spray in her shaking hand.

«Don’t come up to me!» she exclaimed. «What do you want to do? Why did you switch off the light?»

I was astonished but murmured something about problems with lighting-button and electricity.

«I changed my mind, I don’t want anything! Don’t come up! Who else is hiding there?» yelled she shaking her sprayer, trying to look into the hall and seems being afraid even to move.

«There was an electricity-man but he left,» I whispered with my heart trembling, thinking how to manage to call and where to call first, to the militia or to the ambulance. But the girl suddenly throwed the sprayer and burst into tears. She cried loudly and childishly, all make up leaked from her face, I ran and poured her a glass of water, my hands were also shaking when I offered it to her, I was frightened so as I was not ever for a long time.

Fifteen minutes later we both sat on my couch and had tea. The girl’s face was now clean from any make-up as she washed it; she looked like a real kid with her swelled up eyes, handkerchief gripped in her hand, in her absurd sparkling dress. And she told her story.

She was the only daughter of rather old parents. Her parents, pensioners, read a lot of newspapers and watched TV news all the time and were very much concerned with criminals and mafia by which papers and television used to frighten people every day. They even saw off their only daughter to school being afraid that something could happen with her though she hated this accompanying. When she entered the college they would like to continue but she protested and has fought her independency. Still her parents tried to follow her or to view her wherever they could. Her girlfriends dated boys long ago but it was quite impossible for her with such parents. Once however a smart car stopped beside her on her way home and a young man offered to take her. Her parents warned her most of all from just this but she not only has got into the car and chatted with great pleasure but even gave her telephone to that very nice, according to her opinion, person when they stopped at her home. And of course her mother saw it all from the window; the person in the luxurious car could be only from mafia. The scandal was grand and when the man from the car called at last, her mother had time to say that the number was wrong. It was too late when the daughter ran up to the phone. The young man never called again.

The girl decided to revenge herself. She did not care already and wished to do something terrible so her parents would understand how bad their behaviour was and they would repent.

Her parents told her once that they heard there were a lot of underground brothels in the city hidden behind legal marriage agencies and that the destiny of girls captured by them was awful. And the girl has taken the decision, has prepared an appropriate picture with lots of make-up, borrowed an appropriate dress from one of her friends and at last resolved to come. When she saw the dark stairs she was confirmed that something awful was very close. When the light was switched off in the room she was scared, she understood what she has done, so she decided not to surrender.

Very soon, looking through our catalogs, she still giggled remembering what had happened not long ago. I returned her pictures, she took them, then hesitated, gave me back the first amateur one, and said she would still like to stay the customer.

«Where else to take a husband with such my people?» smiled she and stood up.

I saw her off to the door, pressed my new lighting button and the girl went out into pretty well illuminated stairs, glanced back, smiled again and disappeared in the street.

Provincial Girls

Many girls from province come to St. Petersburg, leaving their small towns in the hope to change their life in the large city. They often come from areas where life seems stopped, where there is no place either to work or to do anything else besides work, where people just try to survive carrying on their natural economy, where rows of sellers at small bazaars wait for customers in vain, where people just look at each other with a silent question «What really will be further?» and cannot find any answer.

St. Petersburg seems to be full of opportunities. Girls from province, having arrived, being lucky to settle here, admire a beautiful but indifferent city, its lights and amusements that they cannot yet afford, and dream to force their way through their limited reality. They find a job and work hard in the hope to be a success. They often come to my marriage agency office and bring their pictures. Provincial girls are diligent in everything: their introduction pictures are very good, girls believe in a Cinderella fairy-tale, they are sure that either their efforts at work will be rewarded or handsome princes will surely find them. But their career in the city where any labour costs so little often does not turn out, princes do not occur either and when I call them to check if their intent to marry abroad did not change yet some other people tell me that this or that girl left for home already long ago.

Other provincial girls having found themselves in the large city stop dreaming very soon and understand that they should hold their ground themselves. Such girls are often more persistent and efficient than the ironical and reflexing girls from St. Petersburg, they look older and harder than their St. Petersburg female mates. They learn firstly the seamy side of life, good knowledge of it often makes them consider that such virtues as warmth and gentleness are just luxuries that they can’t yet afford.

I met a pretty young woman from a far southern city. She looked confident and victorious in her picture. However her life was hard, she had to provide also her son and old parents. She had no dreams, she regarded her possible future marriage as a geometry problem which should be successfully solved, she could not count wrong, her gambling was the prosperity of all her family. She looked through the letter of an American guy I gave her without any romantic feelings, on the contrary she was very business-minded when asked me a lot of questions about the man’s financial security. Her letter written in reply however was extremely passionate and romantic though as well full of dignity and intelligence. Looking through her letter I darted a quick glance at her to try to understand to what extent she was serious but her glance given in answer was sarcastically impenetrable, one could understand nothing through that glance. I thought that the American man writing to her would be lucky if she really experienced all those feelings. And I did not envy him if she decided that he was just an appropriate chance.

I knew one provincial girl more. She was sincere and charming though not very pretty. But her smile was such that you could not keep from smiling in reply. When I asked where from she arrived I understood everything. Her native town was close to that same one where my own grandmother lived and where I used to spend my summers in childhood. The door of my granny’s house never closed, I remember kind people always ready to help that visited her. I felt sympathy to the girl, all my provincial ancestors’ genes woke up, I also decided to help the girl by all means.

I gave her an address of an American man who was looking for a fiancee in my agency that time. She started to write him letters. But it appeared that she did not speak English at all and asked me to do translations. She behaved as if we were closest friends and I was sure she herself would certainly do such a favour for me if we changed places. I could not even charge her as I knew that she worked at a bankrupt factory and got her wage by old-fashioned sweatshirts manufactured by that factory which she had to sell somehow at the bazaar to get at least part of money. So I started to translate her long naive letters, sighing and looking at my watch, having delayed my numerous urgent affairs. She sat on my sofa and chatted describing her adventures with the sweatshirts and unlucky attempts to get another job. But in spite of all the effort the American man was not interested and did not reply, there was no more reason for her to visit as having become too busy with my bookkeeping report I could not continue my charity.

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