My Women

Behind her, breathing loudly like two hippos, two Kakhetians were moving on short, bowed legs on parallel courses. They looked like twins, with flat backs of their heads, heads merging imperceptibly into their necks, sweaty hairy faces, and wet handkerchiefs clenched in their fists. It was clear that these males would simply trample me like a competitor on the path of their libido-heavy loins.

Reaction kicked in instantly, before I even realized what I was doing:

— Where have you been wandering? I’ve been waiting for you here for two full hours. Mother, — I pointed toward the house, — is out of her mind with worry; she’s already called the police. They’ll probably be here any minute.

I shouted this toward the running hulks with such temperament, as if I were on a scaffold shouting a manifesto to the crowd with a noose already around my neck.

— Mother? What mother? — the brunette was taken aback.

— Oh, so we have different mothers now?

At that moment, the female brain, probably out of fear, began to understand the game:

— What could I do? These two thugs have been chasing me the whole way! Can’t they see I’m not some visiting blonde!

— These two??? — I boldly pointed my finger toward the neck-heads and put on the most Caucasian expression possible, that of a man ready to kill anyone who dared look the wrong way at his sister.

Taking a small step toward them, looking as if over their heads, and spitting a thin stream of saliva through my front teeth, I said slowly:

— What, are you from the village? Is it your first day in Tbilisi? Can’t you see this is my sister?

I used the “bulging eyes” technique, moving my gaze slowly from “my sister” toward the sweaty-faced pair.

— Which one of them touched you? Show me, — I asked, getting into the role and thrusting my hand into my pocket, taking another half-step toward the bow-legged ones.

And suddenly, these two hulks turned into pure humility:

— What’s the matter, brother? We’re going to the Physical Education Institute for training, can’t you see we’re late?

Like synchronized swimmers, they wiped the sweat from their faces simultaneously. I threw my arm over “my sister’s” shoulder, feeling only a slight resistance. This was the final argument, after which “Kakhetia” stopped a passing bus and rode off in the opposite direction of the institute.

— Sister, why are you wandering around the city alone, looking for trouble and then forcing me to heroically solve it? — I delivered this tirade while still hugging her shoulders, not yet out of character.

A slight movement of her shoulder, and my hand immediately lost its support. Her gaze expressed both a soft feminine reproach and infinite gratitude:

— Well now, I barely managed to get rid of the claims of two “genatvale” when a third, using trickery, managed to embrace me. How cleverly you deceived them… “sister,” — she laughed.

It turned out she had fallen behind her group and had been trying to find the way to the base for half the day. her handbag had been left on the bus, so she was walking, and those two had been following her, whispering indecencies and scaring her to death. She felt incredibly lucky that I had crossed her path.

— So you haven’t eaten all day, and look, your legs are shaking from exhaustion.

— They are not shaking at all. I’ll get to the base now, eat, and rest.

I took her by the hand and, with a movement that brooked no refusal, led her home.

At home, to my grandmother’s silent question — she was always understanding, tactful, sweet, and infinitely adored by me — I replied that this was my friend, she had walked to see me, and was tired and hungry. Granny extended her hand:

— Bella Semyonovna, the most loving grandmother.

— Masha, from Mytishchi.

— So you walked all the way here, straight from Mytishchi? — Grandma smiled. — Then hurry up and wash your hands.

We ate kharcho soup and drank tea with lavash and suluguni. We laughed over the “Kakhetians.” When we finished eating and were about to leave, Grandma timidly joked:

— Mashenka, are you walking back to Mytishchi right now? Perhaps you’ll stay?

Eh, not just me, but Grandma too wanted this slender, beautiful girl to stay. But Masha thanked her, and we went outside. It had already grown dark and a bit chilly. I offered Masha my jacket, and when she threw it on, I placed my hand firmly on it so it wouldn’t accidentally be blown away by a breeze. We spent almost an hour walking the remaining 400 meters to the tourist base, as I led her through the darkest, most roundabout ways — across the institute’s football field, then through the dark courts.

My blood was boiling, my whole body trembling slightly; the darkness and my libido were urging me to hug Masha, to kiss her, and let the chips fall where they may. I felt that Masha trusted me completely, and maybe she was waiting for it herself… but the “Kakhetian brothers” were constantly in my head, forcing me to continue being a gentleman. Finally, we arrived. Masha returned the jacket:

— Yura, I felt you were itching for some heroic deeds, but thank you for holding back. I was dying for a kiss myself — it’s shameful to say, I’m already twenty-two and never been kissed; I suppose I have an unapproachable character. Yura, could you show me Tbilisi tomorrow?

We agreed to meet the next morning, and I would be her guide. When I returned home, Grandma was still trying to figure out who Masha from Mytishchi was and where exactly this Mytishchi was located. Running her hand over my hair, she said she liked Masha and noticed how Masha looked at me.

— I hope you invited her to lunch with us tomorrow; I’ll cook all sorts of delicacies.

My dear, kind grandmother, how she wanted things to be good for me. Her kindness was boundless but unobtrusive; her eyes radiated happiness and warmth. Never in my conscious life did I let her doubt that she was my most beloved person in the whole wide world.

2. The Excursion

The night was turbulent. At eighteen, one’s imagination usually doesn’t fail, and “Masha” in my dreams added plenty of fuel to the fire, so I woke up in the morning feeling like a squeezed lemon! But the thought of meeting the real Masha shook my system like a dose of adrenaline. I was ready for any heroic deeds. At the appointed time, I stood by the tourist base at the trolleybus stop. In my pocket lay twenty-five rubles, given to me by my grandmother for “ice cream.”

When I was rushing around the room, now combing my hair at the mirror, now changing my jacket, Grandma stopped me, sat me down at the table, and said:

— My boy, is that poor girl really going to walk around the city all day? Here is twenty-five rubles, — she handed me the money. — I think this will be enough for both ice cream and the movies.

— What movies?

— What difference does it make? The main thing is that there should be few people and the back rows should be empty. But I think you are a well-bred boy and won’t allow yourself anything excessive. I like Masha.

Where didn’t we go that day! We drank the signature cream-and-chocolate soda at “Lagidze,” ate Adjarian khachapuri, and went to the botanical garden.

We were young, we felt good and happy; we kissed, embraced, and kissed again and again. I didn’t take Masha to the movies — I didn’t want the standard “pioneer-style” groping, after which it’s awkward to look into each other’s eyes when the lights come on. Instead, we went to the restaurant on the funicular. It was my first time in that restaurant as well. We ate a lot of delicious ice cream, looking at the unforgettable view of evening Tbilisi, lying down there somewhere below us, so beautiful just for us. Masha rejoiced like a child when riding up on the tramcar and down on the cable car.

It felt as if we had known each other for a long time. As if this city, the restaurant, the warm autumn evening, the huge stars in the sky — all of it was meant only for us. The scent of her perfume, the most sexual perfume of that Soviet era — most likely Polish — the glitter of her deep, warm eyes, and her breast rising as she breathed, so firm and alluring — all for me. How could I “offend” this girl? I couldn’t! Of course, I forgot all about Grandma’s satsivi. Late that evening, I walked her back to the tourist base; she was leaving the next day. Masha was in Tbilisi on a union-vouchers tour train. We exchanged phone numbers, and she left. I thought we had said goodbye forever, but I was wrong!

About six months later, Masha called. It was unexpected — everything had already seemed like “the white smoke of apple trees” — but no. She called, and off we went! She to me, I to her.

I remembered the kisses, and the sweet girlish breasts, and just hearing her voice in the receiver made it hard to sit still, especially in the tight jeans that had appeared at that time.

My soul immediately wanted a “duet flight.” It hadn’t worked out then, but now I wanted it. Of course, I wasn’t living as a hermit; at my service was the entire dormitory of the Physical Education Institute. Girls for every taste: gymnasts, swimmers, handball players, and basketball players. The latter didn’t really attract me, but I spent time with the others. The girls were mostly from out of town; many were Russian-speakers from the Stavropol region with corresponding brakes — or rather, without any brakes at all. But all these “dormitory amours” were like races and swims in width. It was understood that I came to spend the night with her because last time I had been with her friend, and if she started being capricious, I would sleep with someone else. Fleeting sex is like that — indiscriminate and forgetful, and above all, standardly gray. The girls mostly went to bed in the hope of getting married, and every newcomer pretended to be holy innocence, invariably telling the “Caucasian man” a story about how she accidentally lost her virginity while riding a bicycle. It gave the impression that they passed the bicycle to each other in a queue for that specific purpose.

So, I went to the dormitory only to see certain “athletes” whom I knew well and with whom I enjoyed nocturnal vigils.

But here, it was something different, something new and unexplored — a feeling that came from somewhere deep inside, hidden somewhere in the lower abdomen, lurking and gnawing at the pit of my stomach. With others, it wasn’t like that; the feeling immediately arose in my pants and stayed there until it abruptly died on someone.

One day Masha asked where I was going for the holidays, and finding out I had no plans, she invited me to her place. I decided to go at once!

3. Moscow Unexpected

At the end of June, having passed my summer exams, I packed quickly and, without notifying Masha, set off for Moscow.

It was my first trip to the capital. My spirits were high — I’m flying to Moscow! Red Square, the Kremlin, museums, the Arbat, the Moscow Art Theatre, Luzhniki, the Sanduny baths — and me with Masha! My adrenaline was off the charts.

On the plane, everyone felt almost like family. I chatted incessantly, smoked in the toilet, and complimented the stewardess. Everything was fine until the final minutes of the flight, which made me remember a song from the KVN show to the tune of a funeral march: “The TU-104 is the best plane of all, it takes a hundred passengers and watches them fall.” But apparently, the heavenly office upstairs decided it was too early for the plane to drop from the sky, and it flopped onto the runway like a sack of potatoes. The terrified passengers only livened up after the liner came to a standstill, and then they joyfully and loudly thanked the crew for the landing. Passing the sweet stewardess with her painted-on smile, I thought to myself that I would never marry a stewardess; there is something in the word “widower” that sounds too much like “corpse.”

I arrived around six in the evening, threw my sports bag over my shoulder, and set out to “discover” the capital. My plan for the first day — which was a Friday — was to walk around the city and stay at a hotel. On Saturday, I’d visit Red Square, the Kremlin, and, if possible, the Armoury. Visiting the Mausoleum didn’t even cross my mind. And on Sunday morning, I’d head to Mytishchi.

Making forced marches from hotel to hotel, where, of course, there were no vacancies, I found myself on Leningrad Highway near the “Rechnoy Vokzal” metro station. I glanced at my watch — it was already 11 p.m. I hadn’t suspected it was so late because it seemed it was only just beginning to get dark; in Tbilisi, it’s pitch black at this time. Geography — that was the one thing I hadn’t taken into account. Fatigue and hunger hit me all at once.

The last hotel on my path seemed to be for medical workers. When I asked if there were free rooms, it unexpectedly turned out there were! You can’t imagine how pleasant it is, after wandering for half a day in search of a place to sleep, to accidentally stumble upon a hotel with vacancies at nearly midnight. But then they asked for my business travel orders, and it turned out that all “this joy” was not meant for the likes of me.

It was already late, my body ached from fatigue, and my stomach gnawed with hunger. I felt lonely and miserable. Sitting in an armchair in the foyer, I began to sink into oblivion, but a woman’s voice — kind and gentle as a sea wave smashing ships against the rocks — brought me back to my initial hopelessness:

— If you plan to sleep here, it won’t work, I’ll call the police. But if you have absolutely nowhere to sleep, I can give you an address, it’s close by. For a modest price, our doorman, Vladimir Semyonych, will rent you a cot. Tell him Maria from the hotel sent you.

There was nothing left to do. Cursing everything in the world, I took the address of the cot-peddler. At midnight, I was at Vladimir Semyonych’s front door, which was upholstered in red imitation leather. I rang the bell.

The door was opened by a stocky, fat-faced man with a buzz cut wearing striped pajamas, looking like Father Fyodor from “The Twelve Chairs.” The smell of someone else’s apartment hit my nose, mixed with the scent of men’s socks. I gave him the “Slavic cabinet” password from Maria, and he let me in.

In the living room of the one-room apartment, a thin, lanky four-eyes with protruding ears and an unhealthy bald spot on the back of his head was lying on a folding cot watching TV. He was dressed in a cheap black knitted tracksuit, and on his feet — may they be cursed thrice — were fragrant synthetic socks. Just as a wave of nausea rose to my throat, Vladimir Semyonych asked if I was hungry. Looking at my bulging eyes, he apparently realized I was full. There wasn’t a second cot; there was only a greasy pull-out sofa.

— Where are you from?

— From Tbilisi.

— Georgia… wine, citrus, hot-blooded men…

— I’m tired, I just want to lie down.

— You’ll have to sleep on the sofa.

— And you?

— Me too.

— Then I’m not sleeping against the wall. I don’t like my nose pressing into either a carpet or the back of the sofa.

The moment my head hit the pillow, I blacked out. Apparently, after finishing his TV show, “Father Fyodor” started climbing over me. I woke up. Once my sleep was interrupted, I couldn’t drift off again immediately. Stranger’s smells, snoring, and some kind of smacking sound from the host were irritating. I turned and gave him a look to make him settle down. Suddenly, this “holy innocent” started explaining that I had misunderstood him, that a neighbor comes over twice a week, that I had nothing to worry about and could sleep peacefully. Whoops — my sleep vanished instantly. I lay there for about fifteen minutes, thinking:

Should I punch him in the jaw before he decides to punch me while I’m asleep, or will I have to kill him and run?

Should I punch him in the jaw before this psycho decides to attack me in my sleep, or will I have to kill him and run away? A crazy guy was too much for my young, woman-adoring soul. I listened intently for a long time, but the host seemed to have fallen asleep. I began to doubt myself, thinking I had branded the man a lunatic for nothing, and having calmed down, I began to drift off. Suddenly, like an electric shock — why was this “weirdo” pawing at me? At that moment, not caring where I hit, I slammed him over my shoulder. The host jumped up with a yell:

— And they said Georgians were hot-blooded, but you’re some kind of psycho, you broke my nose! I’m calling the police right now!

— And I’ll cut your balls off before they arrive. Go over to the big-eared one on the cot, and don’t move, I want to sleep.

Whining, the loser lay down next to the four-eyes on the cot.

I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, of course, though nobody bothered me. Even the socks didn’t irritate me that much anymore, but the proximity of two perverts made me wary, so I just lay there waiting for morning. I got up around five, got dressed, took my bag, and left without paying or closing the door.

And that was my first acquaintance with “Moscow Unexpected,” although back then perverts weren’t called “blue” or “gay” yet.

Soon I was in the metro, then at Yaroslavsky Station. My plans were ruined; I decided to go to Masha immediately. I arrived in Mytishchi around eight o’clock.

Imagine it’s Saturday, people are sleeping, and I arrive unannounced, early in the morning, like a bolt from the blue. I bought some kind of bun at the station and slowly ate it, killing time on a platform bench. Around nine, I set off to find Masha. “My tongue” led me there quickly, but I didn’t dare enter the gate of the fenced private house and knock on the doors; I walked near the gate and suddenly, out of the door came… yes, Masha in a striped sailor shirt.

4. The Meeting

The gate was as tall as I was. Through the gaps, the porch was clearly visible. I could be seen, of course, but hardly recognized.

Masha stood on the threshold, shaking out a rug, her gaze fixed intently on the gate. Then she suddenly dropped the rug, sat down on the steps, covered her mouth with her hand, and shook her head.

I called out to her softly: — Masha, it’s me, Yura.

Clapping her hands, Masha rushed to the gate, repeating: — I knew it, I knew, I knew it was you!

The gate opened and Masha instantly threw her arms around my neck. — Why were you hiding? Did you want to scare me? Why didn’t you warn me? I would have met you. You’re a bad boy! I kept thinking, when will he finally finish all his exams. I’ve told everyone about you; they’re all dying of curiosity. Come in.

Finally, all the hardships were behind me. After the long trials in Moscow — hunger and a completely sleepless night, I finally found myself next to the one I had traveled so far to see!

— Mash, feed me, — was the only thing I could say in a trembling voice.

Inside, Masha’s parents watched the “Georgian” in curious silence. Her mother worked with Masha at the railcar plant in Mytishchi; her father, as it turned out later, was a crack shot. There were also two sisters, one younger and one older than Masha; both were married and lived nearby. And there was Grandma, always in the shadows but constantly on guard.

When we were seated at the table, Masha’s mother stroked my hair and said: — Thank you. Masha told me what a savior you were. We are all grateful to you for that.

Masha blushed. Then her mother continued: — It’s good that you came to visit us. Our places are famous, plenty of mushrooms, and the girls here are great. Masha will find you a girlfriend in no time.

I looked at Masha in bewilderment. — Mama, what are you talking about! The man just got off the road, he hasn’t even eaten yet, and you’re offering him my friends!

— What did I say? He’s three years younger than you; surely you aren’t planning on courting him?

Masha slammed her spoon on the table and ran out into the yard. — Why did you do that? — I asked.

— She’s twenty-two already. Guys have practically worn out the fence, but she doesn’t like any of them. Her sister is already married, but this one is still an old maid. Forgive me, Yura, but I’m afraid she’s set her eyes on you, and that won’t do! Walk with her, see the sights, kiss for all I care — but don’t give her hope. I saw how Mashka was waiting for you; look how thin she’s become. I’m a simple woman, I’m a mother, and I’ll be blunt: maybe you’re just looking for a local residency permit? Mashka is like a match right now — one spark and she’s gone. You’ll ruin the girl and leave her with a child in a year.

— Please, don’t worry. I didn’t come here to get married. If that was my intention, I would have been whispering “I love you” over the phone and in letters long ago. I could have “made my mark” in Tbilisi just to be sure. Should I leave? Am I out of place here?

— Don’t be offended, lad. I’ve heard plenty about you Georgians.

— I’m not Georgian. My last name is Yakunin, I just live there! And I have no intention of marrying Masha, or Natasha, or anyone else — for now! Yes, Masha is beautiful and I like her, but I’ve only just started my second year of college. Marriage isn’t in my plans.

— Well, forgive me. I’m a mother and you must understand me. Later might be too late! But you’re alright, you didn’t flinch; you’ll make a fine husband for someone. Go on, calm Mashka down, the silly girl is probably crying her eyes out!

Masha was sitting by a gooseberry bush, chewing on berries. She wasn’t crying, but her face showed how much her mother had hurt her. — Mash, let’s go eat. Then we’ll go meet your sisters and head to the forest.

— Really? You want to? And we’ll go mushroom hunting in the forest later, right?

— Of course. I can’t exactly kiss you here in the house!

— Idiot!

Finally, I ate. The okroshka was heavenly — maybe because I was hungry, maybe because Masha was near, or maybe because we were going to the forest to kiss that evening. Masha laughed, her mother smiled, and even Grandma remarked: — Look at that, the Georgian is devouring the okroshka; guess they don’t make it at home! Don’t be mad at me, dear, just tell me — does your mother know you’re courting Mashka?

— Grandma, have you all conspired? In Tbilisi, those two thugs could have killed Yura, but he didn’t care and saved me. And you’re offending him. I’m ashamed of you and hurt for Yurochka (something new — no one but my own grandmother had ever called me that). Leave him alone, don’t make him blush!

— Look at the handsome one, — Grandma wouldn’t let up. — I bet the women in Tbilisi stick to him even without an accordion. Guess you don’t even need one nowadays; you can just talk them into it, he-he-he!

Masha’s mother got ready for her second job. Leaving, she opened the sideboard and said, looking at me: — If anything, the money is right here. And she went to get dressed. Masha smiled — that meant I was “one of the family” now!

I was touched by the bluntness and trust of these simple people, who believed that if things are good, they’re good, and if they’re bad, you get shown the door. But if they’ve accepted you, the guest becomes their own.

After eating and having a smoke on the porch, Masha and I went to see her sisters. The eldest, Katya, was twenty-four. She looked like Masha but was shorter and fairer. She wasn’t expecting us, so she was “disheveled” and not very pleased. Asking Masha to make coffee, she disappeared into the bathroom, which gave us a chance to kiss and hold each other in the kitchen.