My first working day after the maternity leave – oh, my God!
I only have one dress, hopelessly synthetic, dark-blue, with a pleated bottom and a hollow collar. Besides, it has a huge red flower on the breast, something like a rose in a haystack.
After just two lessons, with the classroom windows closed (I was afraid of chilling the weak first-graders), I was breathless, sweat flowing under my dress. When the parents came to pick their kids up, I went out with dignity to meet them in the corridor looking like a miserable chicken.
I was quite knocked down by the phrase I overheard, ‘What a teacher our children have! Wearing the same dress for the whole year! She must be in big trouble…»
I flared up inside! I had never felt so ashamed before! My cheeks glowed, my forehead was hot. I looked in the mirror and saw a crazy poppy rather than a human face!
That episode was destined to happen to push me to a desperate gamble. Although I didn’t understand at the moment what kind of adventure I would dare, I had a big plan – Moscow! Here is why it was Moscow that was going to rescue me like Chekhov’s heroine.
That was the time of awful shortages. It was impossible to find a decent thing at a store, so one had to buy things from profiteers at insane prices or go to Moscow and stand in long lines to buy at least a pair of cotton panties. The former, I mean profiteers, didn’t work for me of course, and the latter was no good either as I was only able to go to Moscow in the daytime and thus, if I were very lucky, I could get a pair of socks or panties. (One person was only eligible for one thing, while to buy something scarce, you were supposed to register a week ahead.)
Suddenly, I thought of fragrant oranges, which my children never ate, and chose variant number 2.
It sounds odd that there were times when you had to travel to Moscow to buy oranges and salami, and at terrible prices.
I gathered 300 rubles, enough to buy a blouse from a profiteer. My plan though was to buy decent things for myself, a sweater and two shirts for my husband, oranges for the children, salami for the whole family, and bright yellow wallpaper for the kitchen.
I booked two-way tickets, but, all of a sudden, my husband said ‘No way! No Moscow for you. You have never been there, and you will never be!’
I gasped! ‘What are you talking about?!’ I yelled. ‘Are you serious? I have already booked my tickets!’ My husband resisted like a bull (he has the sign of that animal), ‘You are not going! Or do you want me to lose you forever?!’
I felt miserable either because of the excitement or for some other reason, and I began feeling sick. My head was buzzing badly, my bones were aching like in wet weather, and my whole body was getting hot like a kettle. If my husband let me go easily, I would be happy to stay as I was feeling really weak. But his unexpected stubbornness gave me additional energy.
‘If you leave without my permission, I won’t let you in!’ he summarized in a threatening tone and went to work. It was Monday morning, winter holiday time at school, so I wrote a note quickly saying that I could not pick the children up from the daycare as I was out of town, dressed the kids hastily and, promising them a mountain of oranges, took them to the daycare. After that, nothing kept me in.
I got ready to go, quickly though carefully. I put on felt boots and galoshes (it was no wedding party, so there was no need to look gorgeous), three wool knitted jackets, a fur coat, and on top of all that, a huge warm shawl. Actually, I didn’t want to put it on. It was Granny’s and had spent many years as an unnecessary thing in the sofa, sprinkled with mothball. It turned out though that it gave me invaluable support in Moscow.
I wrapped the money in a handkerchief as usual, put it in my bosom, and went out.
Two Ukrainian women, mother and daughter, were on the train with me. They were also going to Moscow to do some shopping, and they were talking the whole night about the places to shop at and the prices. Although I could not fall asleep, I learnt that the first place to visit was the GUM store, close to the Red Square (it was my first trip to Moscow).
Meanwhile, I felt really sick. For some reason, the light was left on in the whole train. It hurt my eyes awfully, and there was some pressure in my temples and forehead. I lay on the berth, in my felt boots and fur coat, sweating like a pig. Gradually, I began feeling better. On the next morning I arrived in the capital city that was shining with snow and optimism, and I forgot about my sickness!
Oh, my gods, what a city, Moscow! Oranges sold on the street, 3 rubles a kilo, but the lines were longer than the longest thing in the world! Bottles full of bright orange soda. It’s called Fanta, 2 rubles a glass. There was no line for it as it was too expensive. I drank a glass, then another one. Walked around for a couple of minutes, then said OK… and drank another one. Licked my lips, then snorted, and felt strong and healthy like a horse. After that, I went to GUM.
I went by subway! Then, when walking to GUM, I came across a food store and went in. My God, where was I? Just look at that salami! Fleshy-pink bodies tightly covered with oily skins! And there were so many kinds of salami: with small and large pieces of fat, without any fat, and dry. And look at those salami batons, short and long, just whatever you want. I wished I could take a bite! And the scent of meat and garlic was so delicious that you felt like eating it with a spoon! Condensed milk in small cans, candied nuts in round iron boxes, transparent candies of different colors, and small bags – you mix one with water and it turns into lemonade! That was the stuff that kind of knocked me over, and there were lots of other delicious things! There I was, all eyes, tiptoeing, bowing low, resting my nose against the glass, knocking my fingers at the display case, and wrinkling my brow. But I did overcome the sinful temptation and didn’t buy anything so far. My first priority was clothes and wallpaper; as to the foodstuff, it was all there and it would not disappear.
The GUM store cooled my enthusiasm and calmed down my bloodthirsty thrill. It confirmed my worst fears inspired by the seasoned travelers’ stories. If you line up for a T-shirt, there is a small chance to buy it, but you can easily miss the 9:30 pm train.
I was almost crying standing in the middle of that store. But Moscow doesn’t believe tears as they say. There was a buzzing noise around me like in a factory. And time was going on. Vanga, the great fortuneteller, used to say, ‘Any situation usually has three ways out, but you should look for a fourth one, the one of a genius!’
The first way out would be buying a dress so that the students’ parents would stop laughing at me. Number two would be buying a pullover for my husband so that he would let me in. The third one was oranges for the children to let them have vitamins and stay healthy. Solution number four was buying everything for everyone.
I wiped my bitter tears and went to the restroom.
The restroom was nice and clean. There was a huge looking-glass as wide as the wall, in a golden frame. I took my shawl off, unbuttoned the fur coat and tied the shawl up on my waist as I simply had no other place for it. If you leave it somewhere, it would be stolen immediately. So there I was standing in front of the mirror, as plump as a barrel, wiping sweat off my forehead, deep in thought.
‘Here you are’, I told myself, ‘looking like a useless kit or a pregnant woman. Your husband will never let you in. A stupid thing like you should have stayed at home instead of going God knows where.’
And, all of a sudden, I jumped up! My dear shawl fell off, and I picked it up and kissed it! People just shied away from me. And I humped up again!
Isn’t it simple? A pregnant woman of course! That’s obvious! A miserable pregnant woman being searched in vain by the doctors, wandering like crazy around GUM! Just give her a light push and she will deliver on the spot!
The process of transformation gripped me so tightly that I even forgot, for some time, why I wanted to pretend pregnant. I took off all my jackets, put them like a huge lump into the leggings on my stomach, wrapped it with my shawl, put on my fur coat – wow, that girl was going to give birth to a triplet! In order to increase the effect, I went down to the first floor, bought makeup, went back to the restroom and looking in the mirror again, painted specific brown spots on my face, put a bit of blue under the eyes and even made my lips bluish. Then I cast a final look at myself and almost wept with pity!
I was feeling quite pregnant now, and out of breath. It required a lot of effort to almost crawl out of the restroom holding on the wall… I managed to get to the department that had just received amazing mohair pale blue sweaters with a pearl finish on the front. The crowd roared and rushed forward. Someone was screaming. Four huge cops managed put things in order at last, then checked the inscription numbers on people’s hands (people had recorded at night), and stood on either side of the entrance to the department letting the buyers in one by one.
I crept to the entrance quietly. The women, like wolves, nosed me immediately and yelled, ‘Don’t you even think of that! There are too many of you! Go to your hospital if you don’t want to be hurt. Just look at her walking here! Did you wait out there at night, in the frost, like we did?!’ I stood patiently, with downcast eyes, without moving. There were people who tried to defend me, but they were not numerous. ‘Do let her in, women! Aren’t we human beings? All of us were pregnant some time ago, weren’t we? Just look at her, she is so sick and blue!’
I looked imploringly at the cops. The youngsters were looking perplexedly at each other and at the crowd… Then they took me firmly by the arms and gently conducted me to the department, where I was immediately picked up by the shop assistants, who instantly chose a blouse of my size. Sweating, my eyes shining for joy, holding a glittering parcel, I moved slowly out of the department. Instead of celebrating, I hurried to the next one, which had just received men’s shirts that only cost 14 rubles each. I managed to get in surprisingly quickly as there were many men in the line and they let me in no questions asked. The shop assistants gave me three shirts instead of one, in blue, black and green checks. Those were amazing shirts, huge enough for my husband.
As I was looking at them, I heard someone screaming ‘Jackets!’ All the people rushed to the third floor, and I joined the crowd jumping over three stair-steps, pressing the valuables parcels to my chest with one arm and holding my belly with the other to avoid losing it. Thank God, no one paid any attention to me as all the eyes were looking upstairs. Unluckily, the Ukrainian women, my train companions, were there too, as though there were no other places in Moscow. But they didn’t notice me as they were busy wiping their sweaty foreheads and arranging the bags that hang down like huge grapes on their both sides.
On the third floor, absolutely fabulous woolen jackets were being sold (I have no idea why there were no dresses though.) The blouses were snow-white, with a spectacular black ornament on the chest. Exactly what I needed for the school. And that blue one was very good for dining out. It was also easy to buy the white one. I held every card now, playing my role better and better.
My eyes were casting sparks of crazy triumph, cheeks were burning, their scarlet color punching the painted shadows under my eyes (from time to time, I had to run into the restroom to check the condition of the belly). The restroom smelled of the ‘Lilac’ perfume. The mirror was smooth and cool to the touch. The frame was flaky and golden…
I noticed something remarkable. Some of my ‘colleagues’, really pregnant women, made desperate attempts to break through out of the line, but all in vain. The women trembled for their bellies, fussed and fumed, and as a result, were thrown out of the ruthless queues.
I was quite different! None of them had such a tremendous belly. People yelled and swore at me but didn’t dare to touch or push me.
I bought another woolen skirt and a grey sweater for my husband, quite decent though rather a very thin knitted one, and went to a wallpaper store.
There was an incredibly long line in front of the store, and the people went in one by one… I don’t remember how I got inside, which means that it was quite easy for me.
The wallpaper was unbelievable, satin and fleecy, with a convex pattern. I didn’t even expect to see was something as beautiful as that. And I bought exactly what I wanted, bright and shiny wallpaper.
I walked down the street carrying all kinds of things I had just purchased. Most of the people turned around to pity me, while some scolded my loudly.
I was happy though. Wonderful bright-red birds were singing inside me. And that was good. I had a lot of oranges, 3 sticks of salami, and all sorts of other goodies. Plus the clothes and the wallpaper. It was time to get out of that city full of amazing stuff.
While on the train, I couldn’t fall asleep because my heart was trying to break through the shawl and the three jackets (this time, I had no fur coat on), and was flying an arrow to my children, faster than the train itself.
My husband didn’t open the door for a long time showing his strong character. But the children wailed and howled at the door, and I knocked and knocked without feeling offended. Finally the door opened, I rushed in carrying all those bags, the children embraced my legs screaming, the oranges sprayed in all directions like bright spots. The children rushed to pick them up; the smell of the New Year’s and a Christmas tree was all over the place. My husband was sitting on the couch for a long time, pouting, I laughed and threw his new shirts to him, the kids danced chewing the salami tastily and loudly and swallowing the oranges with the skins… And the fortress collapsed.
It took us 3 days to stick the wallpaper to all the walls with, and the apartment shone like a wheat field under the sunshine. I would get up at night and touch the wallpaper. When turning on the light in the corridor, I couldn’t even believe my eyes!
I came back to school after the holidays looking like the queen Catherine the Great. Majestic and important, I was moving slowly past the crowd of parents staring at me. My blue mohair sweater with pearls and my white woolen skirt were sparkling in the sunshine…
It was fall…
It was fall. I was in a state of wonderful grace. After all the thefts and adventures, it was amazing. Unbelievable but true: having gone down to the bottom in terms of human morality, I found myself in extraordinary harmony with the world.
I was breathing that air and didn’t have enough of it. I was looking at the sky and didn’t have enough of it. The air was delicious, amazing and full of sound. The sky was primeval, colorful and festive. It was the first time in my life that I saw so many colors in place. Brought up by the novels of George Sand, Stendhal and Alexander Green, I, when a young girl, created my own picture of the world inhabited by princes and princesses. Unfortunately, that picture has a solid steel frame. The Universe doesn’t look care about pictures, especially those with frameworks, and it is not inhabited by blue blood people. I had to either accept its rules or perish. Celestial brothers gave me the chance of salvation, and all I was supposed to do was not to miss that chance. My only merit was that I was happy to grasp at any opportunity to break my imaginary ideals.
The Universe is a harmonious accord of unique stars, both saints and fallen. There is a homeless person inside every king, a courtesan inside every well-mannered princess, an unbridled robber inside every holy man. And incompatible personalities cohabit in the same dazzling star. Only a fool does not accept this truth. Who else should I become in this life to attain the fullness of the universal? Thieves and adventurers are now my brothers. But the steel frame is not even broken by half. What other tests will the heavenly hosts send down to me? Who and what can I still not accept? God, it is so interesting to live!
I was walking along the streets. Leaves were falling slowly into the puddles, the colorful sky was trembling in the puddles. I was also trembling with an overabundance of feelings, the joy of living, the anticipation of the gifts heaven had in store for me. And suddenly, a saw a miracle! I knew I would see something amazing on that day, but the reality exceeded all my expectations!
A grey-haired man was selling flowers. No, those are not the right words. It was not flowers the old man was selling. What he had in his hands was a miracle that some people call gladioluses by mistake.
The tight, two-meter trunks were covered with snow corrugated flower bells, and huge they were! Against the background of the rave of the fiery autumn colors, those dazzling white flowers seemed molded from transparent porcelain and covered with shiny frost… It seemed that they were about to melt away. God knows, I could hear them ringing, tapping each other with their wavy skirts.
I was spellbound. Those snowy flowers and the snowy old man, the puddles in which they were reflected merged into a single dazzling whiteness, the Universe perfection.
Much time must have passed. At last, regaining consciousness, I asked the quiet old man, stammering,
‘I will buy all these flowers. But, for goodness sake, tell me where I can get the seeds.’
The old man smiled. There were tears in his eyes.
‘This variety is very old. It is called “Agrippina, Nastasia’s daughter”. My wife was Agrippina. She’s gone. The flowers used to be smaller, much smaller. They were pink. I began to cross them with other varieties. My wife loved white. She’s gone.’
He looked at the flowers and went on,
‘It’s a pity… My children don’t want to grow flowers. They sell apples. I will send you some bulbs. Just let me know your address. And don’t try to understand the names of the flowers. My wife lives inside them. When I enter the white garden, I always say, ‘Hi, Agrippina!’
I gave him my address. The old man presented me with the flowers.
A lot of time passed. The whole winter. I forgot about the old man and his unusual flowers. In spring, I received a parcel. I tore the paper. Bulbs of different sizes spilled on the table. There were plenty of them. And a note that said, ‘My father died before the New Year’s. When he still was alive, he asked me to send these bulbs to this address. I don’t know you. But father asked me. I enclose his instruction, too. Zhenia.’
On the other side there was a detailed instruction written in round childish letters. I found it very interesting to learn that gladiolus bulbs should be planted in spring, then dug out in fall and kept in sand till the next year.
How do I plant so many flowers? Where do I get that much land? I was a school teacher and wanted to plant a few flowers in the flower bed near our house. But the yellow waxy bulbs were on the table waiting patiently for their fate. They looked like orphans.
I shook my finger at the sky… and went to the school trade union to find out the land situation for the teachers. Suddenly I learnt that the situation was good. It turned out that distribution of four hundred sites had already been underway for a week. The sites were thirty kilometers from the city, in the village of Plekhanovo, where the regional mental hospital was.
I wrote an application. The principal gave us a bus as it was our first trip to that place. Next Sunday we crammed into the bus carrying shovels, buckets full of either potatoes or, as in my case, a heap of flower bulbs. And we went to develop that wasteland.
When we passed the village and got off the bus far from the place where people lived, we saw a large space completely overgrown with burdock and nettles. There was a smell of fresh air and manure.
We measured and distributed the land. I was naïve and chose a site not far from the road, closer to the bus stop. It turned out to be a mistake as it was far from the river, the only source of water in the neighborhood. Well, nothing could be done about it. I sighed and began working.
The earth was greasy but rocky. I pulled my socks up to pick the huge rocks out of the ground, but there were places where the ground was light yellow because of the fine sand. The stones crumbled under the shovel, I picked them out of the grass, poured them in the bucket, and they chattered like potatoes.
A pile of stones behind my site soon grew into a mountain. My back ached. Corns swelled quickly on my hands. Sweat poured down my back and face. Every minute I was going to give up, go home and never come back. I didn’t want to be a convict serving my life sentence on that land. Hunched, I angrily whispered evil words addressed to nobody, and kept picking, picking and picking the yellow stones…
Kids came running from the mental hospital village. They laughed at us and called us city dollies. Women in sweatshirts and rubber boots came up, too.
‘They should have organized an excursion for the patients’, I thought with growing anger. ‘Why not tell them, “Meet the heroic hard working teachers, your future hospital mates.”’
Finally, when it was dark, I stood up and pushed my hair. The unleashed black earth breathed and thanked us. I’m not kidding: when I put my cheek to the ground, I heard it whispering through the grass and rocks. It smelled like fresh nourishing milk.
The land repaid me for the liberation from long neglect. The bulbs it took in its arms quickly threw delicate newborn arrows that were poured with ripeness just before my eyes. My land kept the little babies and protected them from the weeds.
The summer was hot, and I had to bring a lot of water. It turned out that the leaves of the future flowers were capricious as cold water made them fade and caused white spots. I would bring several buckets of water at a time and wait for the water to warm up under the sunshine. When the stems of the flowers began rising to the sun, I feared that they were going to grow up higher than they were at their host’s place. The stems would sway dangerously as if threatening that they would fall down under the load of the forthcoming replenishment. I had to tie every plant to a long stick as though I dealt with tomatoes rather than flowers.
My colleagues laughed at me like crazy: they planted cucumbers, strawberries and potatoes.
I watered and watered my flowers having no idea what I would do with them. But I was awfully curious to see the snowy bells…
I could not come there in the last week of the summer as I was busy getting my children ready for school. And when I came at last… I froze once I got off the bus.
I stood at the top, on the road, and a scented sea swayed below me. With every oncoming wave of dazzling purity, the scent reached me. My God, what scent it was! It could have only been created in a deep underground malachite realm, away from human eyes, by little gnomes wearing crystal slippers.
I went down and saw the sea turning slowly into a large swan garden. Village boys and a few women stood there.
‘We call it Love Garden’, the women said. ‘We come here every day and enjoy looking at it. We have never seen such flowers.’
I hardly heard them. I sat down in the grass and looked at the flowers from beneath.
There were lots of them! The stems looked like tree trunks, though pale green, with very few leavesб, covered with gorgeous satin-white buds. The petals were smooth and shiny, with slightly bent wavy velvety edgings.
‘Hi, Agrippina!’ I said.
The bells swayed and rang…
‘Everything around here has been pulled out and stolen’, the women told me (more had come and joined in), ‘but your garden, God bless it, is OK. It’s so beautiful! The boys stand on duty to defend it from the Borisovka village hooligans. Our local priest said, “These flowers belong to our Lord Christ, the Great Martyr.”‘
I came to my senses and began thinking about what to do with the flowers. ‘Oh, take them to the market, it’ll be September 1 in a couple of days, the back to school day’, the women said as if reading my mind. ‘Do you have kids? Well, you will buy gifts to them. They do deserve them as their mother has grown this beauty. And then, you never know, someone might pull them out and the seeds would die. And we want to enjoy them again next year.’
