Zinka

Zinka and her friends entered the dance floor and chose a place to dance. They were flocking together, chatting cheerfully, shouting over each other and the music. “Great!” thought Zinka, moving nimbly to the beat of the latest hit song. Finally, the fast and energetic twist on the dance floor gave way to a melodious tune, hinting to all the dancers that it was time for gentlemen to ask ladies to dance.

The girls, hearing the first chords of the slow dance, dispersed, or rather scattered across the free benches, leaving the centre of the dance floor half empty. Each girl sat and showed with her whole demeanour that she was not going to dance that slow dance, and that she was definitely not waiting to be asked to dance under the eyes of all in the park.

Zinaida had barely taken a step to choose her cherished secluded spot on the bench when she heard a man’s voice behind her.

“Excuse me, for God’s sake, excuse me. Would you dance with me?”

Zinka turned around in confusion. In front of her there was a handsome brunette of medium height with amazing eyes; he was smiling shyly.

“Oh, I don’t know, I wasn’t planning on dancing slow dances. Well, just once, then,” Zinochka said hastily. The guy gallantly took her by the elbow and led her to a free spot in the centre of the dance floor. He took her hand in his, gently placed his other hand on her black belt at her waist from behind, and the couple began to move to the lovely sounds and approving exclamations of those around them. “All right!” Zinka suddenly thought, breathing a sigh of relief. “Well, okay, let it be…”

Chapter 12. No Big Deal

“I’ve seen him somewhere before,” thought Zinochka, dancing slowly with a stranger to the enchanting sounds of music. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she could barely hear what her dance partner was saying as he leaned slightly towards her right ear. Zinaida nodded in response, smiled, and stole glances at her friends, who were watching from a bench directly opposite.

“I know you. Your house is across the street from ours. My aunt lives on your street. I’ve seen you there a couple of times. I wasn’t friends with your boys when I was at school. They’re all much younger than me, I have my own friends, who are older.”

“He’s quite grown up. I wonder how old he is. 28? 30? Why is he here? Men of that age are usually already married; some even have small children. He’s so handsome… He looks like an actor. Oh, that’s it! He’s the spitting image of Yuri Yakovlev! He even has the same hairstyle, with a slightly receding hairline. Oh, he’s so handsome”, thought Zinka, not forgetting to keep up the pleasant conversation. “He played the Idiot in Pyriev’s film. You know, the one based on Dostoevsky. I hope he’s not an idiot.”

And at that very moment, something terrible happened. Her dance partner Valentin clumsily stepped on the pointed toe of her left shoe with his entire boot. New, Yugoslavian, white, leather, never worn before! Zinaida was scalded with boiling water and electrocuted. “He’s an idiot!”

“Oh, my goodness! Forgive me! How clumsy of me,” Valentin continued to apologize desperately, escorting Zinka, stunned by the new acquaintance and the thought of her ruined shoe, to her friends. They giggled and whispered playfully on a bench in a dark corner of the dance floor, waiting for the lucky chosen one.

The drums beat energetically, and the cymbals rang out the first chords of another twist. The dance floor gradually filled with young people, and in a couple of minutes there was no room to swing a cat.

“Zinka, do you know him? Who is he? What’s his name? What did you talk about?” her friends asked, interrupting each other and glancing at Valentin, who was dancing the twist with his adult friends not far from them. Zinka continued to think confusedly about her shoe, not yet knowing whether to be upset or not. In the dark, it was impossible to see if the toe was damaged.

“He really messed it up with his shoe, probably scraped off all the polish. What an idiot! Well, even if he did, Dad will fix it with something. And where else would I wear these shoes except for dancing? It gets dark in the evening anyway. It’s a pity, of course, but it’s not a big deal!”

Zinochka resolutely dismissed her sad thoughts and picked up the rhythm of the twist. Her white dress with black polka dots burned like a bright spot, flatteringly emphasizing the slender silhouette of the snub-nosed goddess.

Chapter 13. Half an Hour

Zinaida returned from dancing that evening, not alone. Halfway there, Valentin, her new acquaintance, caught up and walked with them. After all, they were all going in the same direction. On the way, they were joking, laughing and singing to the disapproving clapping of the windows of the nearby houses at such a late hour. It was a very warm May evening, and the hooligan nightingales were already singing their roulades at full throttle, inviting female nightingales to their “mansions’ ready for family life.

Zinaida was a little nervous and kept glancing at Valentin, noting to herself that she liked the guy very much. He was courteous and polite. He didn’t laugh like a horse for no reason. He was also handsome. Probably smart. And, as it seemed to her, a little shy, even a bit embarrassed.

“My Tolik is just like that. Just like my Tolik,” Zinochka sighed. Remembering Anatoly, once so dear to her and now so far away, Zinka’s heart ached. But at that moment, the whole company laughed at a joke that Zinka had missed, lost in her thoughts.

Her friends gradually dispersed to their homes, through their gates. Valentin accompanied Zinochka to her house. Zinaida habitually glanced at the holes in the mailbox. The mailbox was empty again. The scent of blooming lilacs wafted from the gate, the sound of a guitar could be heard in the distance, and local teenagers were singing a familiar song out of tune. One window in Zinka’s house was lit, the kitchen window. “Mum is awake, waiting. She wants to know everything. I’ll tell her about him,” thought Zinaida. There was an awkward pause, broken by the melodious song of a local nightingale, inviting conversation.

“Shall we sit for half an hour? It’s such a warm evening,” suggested her companion, taking Zinaida by the hand and feeling embarrassed again. Zinka fearfully withdrew her hand from Valentin’s warm palm, and the couple sat down on a bench for half an hour, as agreed. And then another half hour, and dawn extinguished the bright kitchen window. Mother Vera breathed a sigh of relief when she heard muffled voices at the gate, recognizing her daughter’s voice and listening intently to the soft baritone of the stranger.

With the first cockcrow, Zinka realized that half an hour had flown by unnoticed and it was time to go home to her warm bed. Valentin gallantly escorted his new acquaintance through the gate and, looking back and waving his hand, smiling at his new thoughts, cheerfully walked across the street to his house, whistling Black Cat, whom everybody hated and with whom the whole house did not get along.

At home, Zinka tiptoed through the porch, clumsily knocking over an empty bucket. She caught it, hissing, swearing and giggling. She quietly opened the door to her room, which creaked treacherously in response. She clumsily pulled off her new dress, threw her Yugoslavian shoes with scuffed toes under the bed, away from her mother’s eyes and her own, so as not to get upset, and darted under the blanket. Sleep was nowhere to be found. Zinka lay there, her mind racing with all sorts of thoughts, remembering things from years past, fragments of that night coming to mind through her drowsiness. Through the blanket pulled over her ear, she could hear the morning sounds of the street. The roosters were already crowing loudly, someone’s goat was bleating, and gates were creaking. A loud stream of water hit an empty bucket on the tap near their house. A new day was beginning, and Zinaida fell asleep, lulled by its sounds and new hopes.

Chapter 14. Kitchen Symphony

Zinka was awakened by pots and pans clattering loudly in the kitchen in the hands of her mother Vera, who was burning with impatience and curiosity.

“She’s asleep! Can’t she think about her mother!” Her mother had been awake all night, waiting for her to come in, lie down, and turn off the light. It must have cost a fortune for one night! Vera grumbled and lamented under her breath, rejoicing in her heart that her daughter had finally made a right decision to have done with her solitary life. Vera was barely managing to wipe her hands on her apron, put pots and pans on and take them off the stove, with onions sizzling in sunflower oil for future cabbage soup with a piece of pork. Food was scarce in those years, but Grigory had acquaintances everywhere from his time as chairman of the collective farm. Sometimes they would send meat from the city meat cutting plant, sometimes they would offer fresh vegetables from the vegetable warehouse. And sometimes they would bring hot bread from their acquaintances at the local bakery as they passed by.

Zinka finally woke up from the kitchen symphony and, completely dissatisfied, rolled out into the kitchen in a crumpled calico nightgown. Her fashionable Babette hairstyle, so chic the day before and dashingly ruined by a huge feather pillow during the short night, stuck out to the side like a princess’s crown. Zinaida’s feet were adorned with old, worn-out slippers from the time since Adam was a boy.

“Can you keep it down? Mum! It’s not even eight o’clock, and you’re keeping me awake! You’re making enough noise for the whole of Ivanovo!” Zinka grumbled under her breath, shuffling her slippers towards the bucket of water.

“The suitors have already pissed on the gate; it’s time to get up! Couldn’t you have come earlier? You showed up with the roosters!”

“Mother! You’re so interesting! You’re impossible to please! First you complain that your daughter is a recluse, then you tell her not to come. Mother! I’m not fifteen years old, there are girls my age in our factory brigade who are already married, and you still control me. Enough already!” Zinka realized that she had gone too far and that her mother really wasn’t used to waiting for her until morning and getting nervous. She smiled conspiratorially, replacing her anger with kindness, and asked insinuatingly, approaching her offended mother.

“Who wants to know how her daughter went dancing for the first time in three years? Who should I tell something interesting to? Who here isn’t arguing or angry?” Zinochka hugged her mother and kissed her cheek loudly.

Vera happily wiped her hands dry on her apron and, pulling out an old, worn stool weighing a ton from under the table, sat down eagerly to listen to Zinka, spreading out an old apron with a huge sunflower painted on it on her knees. Zinka was singing like a nightingale, recounting yesterday evening in vivid detail, gesturing animatedly, omitting only one detail – the ruined shoe.

“Why did he invite you?”

“Whom else? Mum! Well, you know her! Listen, don’t interrupt. Anyway, his name is Valentin, he’s a welder, he’s already working. He looks about 28. He’s handsome, just like the actor Yuri Yakovlev from the film ‘The Idiot’. I hope he’s not an idiot.” Vera was listening and nodding approvingly. “Their house is across the street from ours, closer to the bus stop. He has a younger brother and a sister. He says he’s seen me and knows me. His aunt lives on our street.”

“Wait a minute”, Vera clapped her hands. “Valentin? Valka? Frosya’s son? That must be Marusya’s nephew. His aunt lives on our side of the street. So, I know him, Frosya’s son. Victor is his younger brother; Zina is the youngest. Good heavens, Valentin! Is he that grown up already? Well, well. How time flies… Handsome, you say? I haven’t seen him for ages. They’re all good-looking there. Froska is such a beauty, and her daughter is stunning. Slender, wavy hair, eyes, eyelashes. Look, Zinka too. She’s studying at your college now, just enrolled. I know their family, I know! Wow…”

After chatting for another half an hour, mother and Zinka happily went their separate ways, each to her own chores and concerns. Mother went to finish cooking the sour cabbage soup, and Zinaida, having received approval from the chief “prosecutor,” exhaled, satisfied, and shuffled off to her room in her slippers. She collapsed into bed with the thought that the interrogation was over and she could sleep for a couple more hours. The next day would be Monday, and she would be working the night shift for the entire following week

Chapter 15. The Conspirators

Flying out of the workshop at one o’clock in the morning, overtaking her friends and jumping over the steps like a madwoman, Zinka plunged from the factory porch into the cool May air of the night city. Immediately, her gaze darted into the darkness at the end of a small square away from the factory’s Honour Board. There, as usual, a cigarette was burning, sometimes flaring up, sometimes dying down again. From the first day they met, Valentin asked the Goddess for permission to meet her after her night shift and walk her home. Zinka, of course, liked the young man’s attention.

“Wow! He has to go to work in the morning, and yet he drags himself across the city at night. When does he sleep?” Zinka wondered a couple of times, feeling sorry for her suitor and at the same time appreciating his care. But in fairness, it should be noted that Zinka felt sorry for Valentin only a couple of times during that first week of nightly escorts. She had other things on her mind. They walked home slowly, laughing, and Valya gallantly held the Goddess by the elbow in places where the city’s streetlights poorly illuminated the uneven road. By the end of the first week of night walks, Zinka caught herself thinking that for the first time she had not glanced at the holes in the post box, which had been sad and waiting for news from the soldier for several months.

At work, Zinaida came back to life, cheering up to the great delight of the foreman and the girls from the brigade. She laughed loudly and heartily again, engaging in conversation about this and that, while her hands worked at great speed, checking and placing small semiconductor parts into the trays. In between jokes and conversations, Zinka kept thinking about her new friend.

“He has the same blue eyes and dimple on his chin as Tolik,” Zinka sighed sadly from time to time, remembering her soldier boyfriend less and less often. There was still no news from Germany, and Zinka and her mother were convinced that Anatoly’s parents were hiding their son’s marriage from their neighbours. Tolya was supposed to return at the end of May, but he never arrived.

“I bet some clever commander’s daughter in Germany has snatched him up,” Vera, Zinka’s mother, speculated when she met Zinka in the kitchen in the morning. Zinka just sighed as she listened to her mother and lazily stirred her spoon in a bowl of hot semolina porridge.

“So, he’s not coming, he’s in no hurry. There’s no point in waiting and feeling sorry for yourself. Look, there’s a handsome young man who has his eye on you. And he has a good family. I saw Fronka in the shop the other day, and she said it was definitely her son, Valentin. He’s told his mother about you, and she’s delighted. Let them be friends, she says, he’s a good guy, conscientious, hard-working. He earns well. He doesn’t drink alcohol. He only smokes. But who doesn’t smoke these days? Kolka from the fifth grade used to collect cigarette butts on the streets, the little shit. As long as he’s a good man, caring and loving,” Vera thought sadly of her husband Grigory. He was staying out later and later in the evenings, coming home and averting his gaze from his wife’s searching, questioning look. Vera was troubled by doubts, but she refrained from asking questions, afraid to hear the truth that would break her heart.

“As long as everything is fine with my daughter and Kolka,” Vera thought, continuing to bustle about the house and garden. “Zinka needs to get married, get married. And everything will work out.”

Eight weeks of a hot but very windy summer flew by unnoticed. At the end of July, Valentin met Zinochka at the factory gate after her night shift and, smiling triumphantly, announced that he had been visiting her mother Vera that evening and she had fed him pancakes with butter. And Vera had agreed to give Zinaida to him as his wife. Zinka stopped, raising her blue eyes in amazement at her friend.

“What? What pancakes? What agreement? Have you both gone mad? Is that normal? Conspirators! He went to visit…” Zinka lamented, but her heart was bursting with joyful excitement at the changes. Two months had passed since they met, and he was already asking her to marry him. What a go-getter! But Zinka liked his assertiveness and determination, there was no denying it. A real man!

Chapter 16. Too Late

The wedding was set for the second half of August, right on Apple Spas. Valentin sent matchmakers to the parents of his Pearl – that’s what he affectionately called her. She looked like a pearl in her white dress in the darkness of the city park when he saw her that evening. Grigory and Vera received the matchmakers with dignity, respect and reverence, as is customary in Russia. Vera and her daughter cleaned the house until it sparkled, prepared and set a beautiful table in the centre of the living room, and put on their best clothes. Grigory donned his only formal suit, which he wore as chairman of the collective farm to meetings with the authorities and to the capital for sunflower oil and buckwheat. The groom’s mother, Euphrosyne, Frosya, came to woo her son with her sons Valentin and Victor; her younger daughter, Zinochka, preferred to stay at home and did not go. They sat at the table, talked, and had lunch. The parents solemnly gave their consent to the joy of the young couple and accompanied the guests to the gate.

A month flew by in anxious anticipation, worries and bustle. They went to Moscow to the Eliseevsky grocery store to buy food for the wedding table. After her day shift, Zinochka kept popping in to see her uncle, a tailor, to try on her wedding dress, for which he had obtained lace fabric through his connections with other tailors. They found a veil among her friends. Short, fluffy, with a delicate wreath, it went perfectly with the wedding dress that was fashionable in the 60s – not long, knee-length, for the slender legs of a goddess. Bare shoulders, the same wide belt at the narrow waist and a fluffy sun-flared skirt. A sight to behold, not just an outfit!

August arrived, it began to get dark early, and the high starry sky hung like a black dome over the old bench by the gate. Valentin hugged Zinochka tightly and, wishing her good night, hurried home early, promising his mother Euphrosyne to help with some men’s chores around the house.

Valentin’s father, Alexei, was buried early, immediately after the war. Euphrosyne’s husband, like many soldiers, reached Berlin with honour, but tragedy struck in the early post-war years. Late one evening, a group of townspeople came to their street and got into an argument. One word led to another, one refused to back down, another argued, and a third pushed. Alexei stepped in to separate the young men, helping out the local boys. One of the city dwellers pulled out a knife. The wound proved fatal… Euphrosyne was widowed at a very young age, left with three children and torn between endless chores around the house and garden and hard work at the city bakery. She never remarried, as she was too busy raising her children on her own. Frosya had no one to rely on, but Valentin and Victor grew up, followed by her daughter Zina. All the children helped their mother from early childhood – her daughter with the housework, and the boys with hammering, nailing, repairing, digging the garden, and hilling the potatoes. Efrosinya always had a lot of work to do. Who doesn’t?

Zina closed the creaky gate behind herself, slamming the stubborn latch, and headed down the path to the porch. The kitchen window was lit, and the shadows of her tired parents flitted across it. They were surely eagerly awaiting their daughter’s return for the late dinner. Somewhere in the evening silence, a dog was barking loudly, followed by a second, and soon a friendly dog choir broke the quiet and leisurely pace of the dark August evening. Behind the gate, Zinka heard a painfully familiar voice.

“Zina, is that you?” Zinaida froze in her tracks. Blood rushed to her face as if someone had splashed boiling water on it. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening! Closing her eyes, Zinka stood still for a few more seconds, listening to her heart pounding in her throat, and slowly turned to face the gate, gasping for air.