Confession of a Russian Sinner

She also supported her elderly mother as well as her sister, who could not walk since she was a child.

I learned that she treated well her fellow supervisors, who were young girls, patiently settling their family and love affairs.

Her special concern was preventing the market women from drinking alcohol at the marketplace. There was a heavily drinking woman at the marketplace, Valya, whom nobody took seriously as she was a slut. Polina gave money to a private hospital, where Valya received medical treatment. And it was easy for her to control the girl as she, like everybody else at the marketplace, was awfully afraid of her.

It was then that I understood that the world is not what we think it is. Especially, if we only concentrate on our own problems and pay too much attention to them.

In the scope of the Universe, my relationship with Polina looked insignificant.

I was not afraid of Polina any longer. More than that: for some reason, I felt better about her.

So when Polina came back to work, I approached her without fear and began asking her about her grandchildren. I lied saying that I attended a violin concert and a nice little boy, looking exactly like Polina, impressed me greatly. Wow, her her face lit up, her eyes shone, and her huge nose just disappeared! Polina would talk about her grandchildren all day if it were not for her work. It is true that, for a moment, a threatening shadow slipped across her face, and she looked at me suspiciously, “Did you ever have a black velvet cap?”

«Oh, no, Polina Georgyevna, you are mistaken», I said firmly. «I have no black velvet cap!»

Since then, I had no problems with Polina. The fear disappeared for good. Although she did shout at me more often than not, I was not scared any longer, what she said didn’t affect me.

Another marketplace tyrant was Pavel Nikolayevich. As soon as he learned that I was a schoolteacher, he got furious. I had to run for my scales a lot of times every day. He became more and more arrogant. My mates told me that he was simply in love with me and that was his way of seeking reciprocity. But looking at him, I didn’t even imagine that the guy could experience any kinds of feelings at all.

He was short and bold, had childish hands and produced an odd impression… of some… of some… well, I have no idea. Nobody said at least something good about him.

Once he tortured me completely. He not only the scale and the documents away from me, but also all my 14 boxes of tangerines I had spent all my money for.

It was the New Year’s eve, and each and every hour, even every minute mattered. I had just taken all those boxes from the underground storage and felt absolutely exhausted as I had to drag them on sand. I paused to take a breath, when suddenly…

Not giving heed to any entreaties, Pavel Nikolayevich started scribbling a protocol. From time to time, he would  stick out his tong, quite pleased, and lick his thin lips slowly.

And then I got furious. I had nothing to lose. I had lost everything I could, two jobs and all the money. I turned into an angry tiger and stood up. What a scoundrel! And does he doesn’t take bribes! And he heeds no plea! Who is he? A little boy who didn’t have enough beating when a child!

Both young receptionists were staring at me, terrified.

‘My dear Pavel Nikolayevich’, I said in a sinister whisper, ‘Do you know by any chance who I am?’

Pavel Nikolayevich stared at me forgetting to close his mouth.

‘Do you know…’, I repeated, in a still more sinister away. My head felt quite empty. I had no idea who I was. I was going to say that I was just a fool, which, actually, was true, but, unexpectedly for myself, I said, ‘I am general Mitin’s lover. I can call him right now, from your office, then you will see!’

I didn’t explain what exactly he would see because, first of all, I had no idea, and, besides, I was dialing  the first got phone number. Pavel Nikolayevich rushed to the door and disappeared. The receptionists stoop and kept staring at me.

I decided that Pavel Nikolayevich ran to call the psychiatric hospital and I only had to wait patiently for the end of my sad fate.

I have no idea why I remembered MIA General Mitin in a painful moment of my life. I had only seen him once, at a concert in the Interior Ministry office. It was March 8, I was performing Arabic dance, general Mitin sat in the front row and clapped loudly. He was a round, red-faced and cheerful guy. Just after my performance, he stood up and left. Later, I learned that March 8 was his birthday.

Head in my hands, I sat waiting for a team of psychiatric care. Pavel Nikolayevich was not coming back. The receptionists stood as before, as if stung by my eyes. “He fears that I will jump down his throat”, I thought gleefully about the district cop. “And rightly so, let him be scared.” An hour passed. My patience has run out.

I asked the motionless girls whether I should go out to the hallway. They were dumb. I went out and shut the door tightly.

Pavel Nikolayevich stood leaning against the banisters and nervously smoked one cigarette after another. “He has some kind of trouble”, I guessed. So I went up to him quietly and said,

‘Pavel Nikolayevich, what, actually…’

Pavel Nikolayevich looked up at me, his face pale and deformed by fear, and said slowly and distinctly,

‘Go. Away. With your boxes. Lest I. Should see you. Again.

Without ceasing to wonder what was going on, not understanding the reason Pavel Nikolayevich’s sudden change, I tiptoed stealthily down the stairs, took the confiscated boxes… and worked successfully till the end of the hard pre-New Year day.

Only after some time I could clearly see that the district cop studiously avoided my counter… I realized that he had believed me and was awfully scared! More than that, he was still scared. And the fear didn’t let the fool understand a very simple thing: if I really was General Mitin’s lover, I wouldn’t freeze in the marketplace and carry heavy boxes as the general would find a better place for me.

As soon as I understood that Pavel Nikolayevich was just Pasha the coward, a small and sneaky little spider, I started calling him Pasha in public. Just Pasha, without any ‘sir’ or patronymic. As a result, he did his best to avoid me.

What an odd thing life is! Everything in it mysteriously falls into place.

Three years later, when Oleg and I already had a lot of tents with household goods around the city, the vendors told us that a man had been trying several days to get a job with us. We met with him as we needed a loader.

Still young, though unshaven and poorly dressed humble man asked for any kind of job, for any money, as a loader or a guard. He reminded strangely of someone…

Our eyes met. “Pavel Nikolayevich”, I exclaimed. He didn’t know how to go and where to hide. I didn’t detain him…

Such things can happen in real life, not in a movie. In week, Sasha, the guy who bullied me at the marketplace, came to ask for a job. He didn’t look so pathetically as Pasha, and I laughed merrily looking at him. He also recognized me and disappeared immediately. I was very amused by the scene that arose in my ungovernable mind, where Pasha and Sasha worked for me as loaders and I supervised them. I wore a black leather jumpsuit and had a large whip in my hand. In patent long-heeled leather boots…

I sighed and drove this tempting picture out of my vengeful soul…

Gratitude filled my soul, and it was lighter and stronger than recent offenses. And what good were they? I was ready to kiss my director’s hands for having fired me. By doing so, he gave me a great chance to make my way in the marketplace without thinking of anything else. Otherwise, I would have remained a primary school teacher, “with a dubious moonlighting trader’s job”. When we would meet, I would always embrace him warmly, thank him and wish he would fire more hungry schoolteachers, who would find marketplace jobs instead.

But it was impossible to force the ‘hungry’ schoolteachers to go to work at the marketplace …

So I no longer believe my miserable colleagues who don’t stop complaining of their hard lives. I have right of disbelief.

There wasn’t a single person at our school whom I didn’t lure to the marketplace. I offered them all kinds of assistance. «Girls», I would tell them, «you will make as much for one Sunday as your monthly salary at school. I’ll help you. I will arrange things with everyone at the marketplace. You’ll find it much easier than I did when I came to the marketplace for the first time and knew absolutely nothing».

But nobody agreed to go to the marketplace despite the entreaties.

Never. Not even for a single day.

More than that, I heard a lot of dirty rumors and evil whispers behind me. “I know”, they would I say “how she makes money in the marketplace. And she wants us to do the same. No, we don’t want the blacks to paw us…”

I tell them, too late though,

‘You know what, my dear colleagues. This means that you didn’t starve enough. And your children didn’t experience big need. And your parents backed you. Otherwise, you would have flown to the marketplace without any other thought. You are happy with this kind of life. So don’t pretend anymore and stop complaining.

 

                     This is to my unforgettable marketplace…

 

This is to my unforgettable marketplace, though I left it long ago, to the good memories, to Polina, to my dear ‘blacks’, to the amazing tired market women, to all the Great Courageous people working there. And here is my toast, ‘I am ready to kill anyone who will say at least one bad word about the marketplace!’

                                                 Oh, that scale…

Oh, that scale! I still shudder when I see it! Don’t scales deserve a ditty? I would compose something like this,

 ‘Oh my scale, it isn’t a pity that you are so great for cheating!’

 The hard truth is that you can’t help cheating at the marketplace. When I worked honestly the whole day, I didn’t have any profit, and more than that, I had to add my own money to pay for the goods I had taken on consignment. It was a kind of charity. I was cheated myself. For example, with the weight of the fruit (a box had to have 45 kilos of fruit); but you couldn’t bring your own scale to the marketplace every day! Besides, there was no place for it. They even cheated at our state farm, where they grew cucumbers and tomatoes the whole year. The newcomers usually unloaded the fruit on the ground and gave the market women not more than 20 minutes to weigh the fruit and understand what to do. You accept a box and scratch your head: does the box really have 45 kilos? When the fruit cost a lot, such as the peaches in wintertime, every gram matters. If you think too long, your fearless competitors would snatch the boxes or loaded back and taken away quickly to the other marketplaces, while the working day wasn’t over. We, market women, used to fight like snarling wolves for survival, sometimes not worse than wild beasts. We first used words as weapon, then went hand on hand. Sensitive and weak creatures could not wage that unforgiving and vigilant battle!

I had to tighten up my 10-kip scale in such a way that it would fool the customer by 100 grams. Neither more nor less than that. Well scale cheating is a kind of art. You need to understand people very well. You need to see who of them would re-weigh the goods and who would not. Who would hit your head with the package and who would not. Besides, deceiving the elderly and the poor is something not everyone would do.

It’s easy to fool men, young and merry, slightly drunk and well-dressed.  But you may be mistaken and not notice that the guy is an inspector, one of very many coming to the marketplace. One should be very attentive and remember that a customer usually looks at the goods, while an inspector looks at the trader and the scale. They look in a special way, frankly but suspiciously; besides, they wear suits and polished shoes and have briefcases in their hands.

I have a lot of funny stories connected with scales. Here is one of them.

I bought a new scale, brought it home and told Oleg, ‘Here is my new scale. Please tighten it up so that it would be 100 grams wrong.’ ‘Well, how do I do that?’, my husband asked me. ‘No idea. Just do something.’

Oleg did. I had no weights at home to check it. So I took the scale to the marketplace on the next day.

It was the Christmas eve. Tangerines were not brought to the marketplace. Before lunch, Khalim came gave all the tangerines to me. There were a lot of them, about 15 boxes.

I stood in the center of the marketplace, serving a long line, which consisted of men only. It was sleeting.

I started weighing the fruit. I must tell you that I had gotten very tired waiting for those tangerines all the day in the wind and sleet. When you work, you don’t get so tired. I had a splitting headache!

I put a couple of tiny little tangerines on the scale, and it showed half a kilo. I didn’t understand anything! And I still had a headache!

‘That’s it’, I said resolutely to the man who wanted half a kilo of tangerines. ‘Take your tangerines’. And I showed him those 2 little ones.

‘Is that all?’, the man asked me in fear.

‘Yes’, I said sadly. Take them. That’s definitely half a kilo.’

‘How can 2 tangerines make half a kilo?’

‘They can. Everything is possible’. My splitting headache turned me into a devil. I raised my arms theatrically and told the whole line in a tragic tone,

‘Ah, leave me alone! I have an awful headache, why should you be so capricious?’

‘Oh, no, no’, my first customer was worried. ‘Just add a few more tangerines, please.’

I did. The customer paid for a few tangerines as if there were 2.5 kilos of them. The line didn’t protest. Every customer would say without looking at me,

‘Let me also have… Something like that…’

I kept weighing. But I could not understand what was wrong with the scale. Ivan Sergeyevich, a plump man who also worked on the 2nd floor and controlled the scales, helped me.

He came up to me and dropped a kilogram weight on my scale! It showed almost a kilogram and a half! I think that the marketplace had never seen that kind of arrogance!

Ivan Sergeyevich opened his mouth  and stared at me. I was looking at him, stunned. A dumb show.

‘Wow!, I said at last. ‘Wow!’

‘Yes’, Ivan Sergeyevich agreed. ‘Wow. That’s great.’

The guy had a sense of humor.

He didn’t punish me for that incredible event. Instead, it became one of our favorite stories. He would usually end it like this,

‘Do you know why I didn’t punish me? Because she was astonished even more than I was!’

 

I had an unexpected…

 

I had an unexpected co-worker in the marketplace. Her name was Lyuba. And although I needed no co-workers as the market was already like my native village, the woman just broke in.

One day I was selling grapes and saw a young vociferous woman selling cabbage briskly. She was curly, freckled and terribly funny. And I’m very fond of laughing. When I laugh, my voice rings in all corners of the marketplace, and many, not really knowing why, get infected and start laughing like crazy without cause. Exhausting work in the marketplace didn’t remove the thick blush from my cheeks, it didn’t make the golden mane of my hair thinner. I was ready to dig soil and chew granite cliffs it was necessary to protect my family from hard winds. Having made fire in my hearth, I frantically cast in it not only chips and branches, but also logs and trees to make the fire blazing in the sky so that the body of the flame would not tremble.

Well, Lyuba outgunned me in laughing! So I made acquaintance with such a worthy opponent.

She lived in a remote village, far away from our city. Her husband was a heavy drunkard, and she also had a teenage son. She, like me, decided to conquer the marketplace, that’s why she came there every day with huge bags of cabbage she used to steal in the collective farms. She used to return home by bus, late at night. She brought very little money to her family, because cabbage didn’t bring a good income, and, besides, nobody gave her any goods on consignment.

I offered Lyuba to work together, and she gladly agreed. That was the beginning of our joyful routine.

Our Georgian and Armenian friends, who gave us goods on consignment, were often gone for a long time, then ones came. So we had to work really hard.

The newcomers, tired untidy guys, wanted to relax in a new place, that’s why all of them proposed to have a good time together. It’s only natural as we were both very good-looking: I had fiercely bright eyes and wonderful thighs, and she had big breasts to say the least.

So we had to play an innocent love game without either rejecting or accepting the proposals. The game consisted in promising, eye-snapping, all kinds of feminine wiles one can’t do without, such as ‘Oh, today I can’t, but tomorrow…’ Hopefully, on the next day the huge trucks left home. And the husband, who miraculously preserved innocence, brought back home their masculine tenderness, safe and sound after a trip to a foreign land.

As to Lyuba and me, we were rewarded with the best grapes, large, juicy and fragrant, which had been picked up by the men seduced with great hopes.

We fastened multi-colored ribbons those green, black, and purple berries smelling of sunny sweetness, hanged them all over the counter, and people flocked to us from all over the market.

More than that. Lyuba would come forward and stand in front of the counter, her arms spread widely, with the best grapes in her hands. The blouse on her powerful chest would burst with a crunch. Her voice, like that of a venomous siren, would rise up soars to the sky and was heard all over the marketplace. The lured guys would swallow the bait and freeze in amazement, then went on, as if bewitched, buy the grapes and pay without asking about the price. Staring at Lyuba with admiration, they were listening to her divine voice. Lyuba’s blue eyes sparkled like a lake on a clear day, the sound of her voice was like the cooing of doves putting their little heads in clear water. When you see Lyuba, you want to speak in verse and perform noble deeds. And these disheveled hair of a bright copper color! When sunrays fell on them, terry marigolds bloomed! After drinking a couple of glasses of wine, she managed to sell, sing ditties and dance. That’s the kind of woman Lyuba was!

Sometimes we fell into a trap though. Those were our bad days. Well, the grapes were brought in huge boxes, they were interspersed with white powder and covered with papers. The boxes were boarded up tightly. Often we had to buy the boxes for cash without caring about the price. You open the box and see that all the grapes are full of rotten berries; you clear the brush until it has no good berries at all. Pungent smell of decay, poison powder, and raw wood…

Once we got, on consignment thank God, 8 boxes with grapes. We pulled out the boards with huge rusty nails, tore a yellow paper, and gasped! It was the upper layer only that pleased us with transparent, juicy grapes; there was nothing but rot beneath so that our fingers were just locked in it!

We didn’t think long. Simply picked up the upper layers from all the boxes and thus had two excellent boxes, then boarded the rest of the boxes tightly using the same planks with rusty nails, and gave them in the evening to the owners, without any remorse. We said we simply didn’t have enough time to sell them. We said that we had tried but simply failed. On the next day, we prudently stayed home. And rightly so.

The swindlers sold those boxes to a big authority for a wedding party. The guy punished them correspondingly, and he was quite right. So before an ‘urgent’ departure, they ran around the marketplace looking for Lyuba and me. We were rescued by the non-Russian traders, who prayed to their gods saying that had never seen us at the marketplace before…

There were days magical as a fairy tale. Once a truck with peaches arrived. The peaches were in boxes, green and wrinkled, so no one of the sellers wanted to take them, the more so that they were expensive.

I suddenly felt as if a demon pushed me in the ribs saying, ‘Do take them!’ I obeyed and bought one box. “What a fool you are!”, said Lyuka, upset, and sniffled. But there was nothing to do. We had to cover our expenses. So we rolled up our sleeves, took out the first peaches indifferently, and oh, my God!

Under the inedible green peaches, there were neatly stacked huge, lovely, velvety peaches languishing from excess juice. And so to the bottom of the box! Lyuba and I covered the peaches with paper and groaning and screaming “what bastards, look what they put in!” (to fool the other market women) we rushed to those “bastards” begging them to please give those peaches to us only and to nobody else. The owners were surprised but agreed, and kept their promise. I think that they had no idea what wonderful fruit they had brought as they had also bought it somewhere.

It was my son’s birthday, and he was leaving in the evening to another city to a chess competition. I hurried home and left Lyuba alone with the pile of peaches. She did very well and gave me a lot of money on the other day. I adored her!

Lyuba had two weaknesses: she was extremely passionate and liked drinking. What could I do with her? She fell in love with Zurab, a very good-looking, intelligent seller. He was young and had big black eyes. For some reason, I nicknamed him ‘Spade’. He was unable to resist Lyuba’s love. Well, who could?

But she fell in love with him so violently as was her unbridled Russian soul. She wanted him, as she said, all of him and more. I looked at her with pity when Lyuba, wearing a red dress sheathed with numerous ruffles, spent all days at his counter. She used to put curly head on his shoulder and whisper something in his ear and biting his lobe lightly. It was even scary to look at her as she was like a dense forest, dangerous and unpredictable, especially at night. Suspecting that something was wrong, Lyuba’s husband would come and pry. He was small, plain and kind of puckered, his drunken eyes were swollen.

Either he didn’t stand the flurry of emotions Lyuba fell down upon him, or because of her husband’s jealousy which glowed with every day (after getting drunk, he yelled so that the whole marketplace heard that he would kill his wife and shoot himself), or maybe both, but Zurab began not only avoiding her but mocking at her openly.

Inviting her to the marketplace “Caucasian Cuisine”, he would get her all kinds of snacks and drinks and then disappear without paying. Lyuba shed rivers of tears on my chest, but I was unable to help her! She was naive and helpless in love like a child and had great hopes in her heart to the last minute. She consisted of extremes: to hurt Zurab, out of despair, she made love to an elderly though wealthy guy, Saleh. He promised Lyuba a fox fur coat, and she believed him. Instead of going home, she spent the night with Saleh.

On the next day, Lyuba told me everything… All extinct and lifeless, with bitten lips and frightening eyes, which, it seemed, had lost all the light of day, she stood in front of me. My heart sank…

She grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the marketplace. Only far away, when the whole marketplace was lost in the trees, she finally stopped and started speaking. Then she broke down crying. And I listened to her sad story.

“After all, he knew that I am married”, she said, crying. Then she unbuttoned her dress and I was horrified to see her soft skin, her shoulders and breasts all covered with sores and bruises. “If you only knew what he did to me, if you only knew… It was so disgusting, so disgusting… How can I show this to my husband? How can I  show in the market?”

I did my best to calm her down but failed. She was sure that the whole marketplace knew about her fall. She was desperate. Like an unearthly passionate butterfly, fascinated by light and brilliance of the marketplace, having trusted its intoxicating cheerfulness, she burned her wings painfully and hopelessly and disappeared forever.

I never saw Lyuba since then. I didn’t even know her surname and what village she came from. I am missing her.

 

Irina Malinkina demanded…

 

Irina Malinkina demanded 10% for our restaurant performances saying that we were using her energy. Come on, what energy are you talking about? When I go out to the stage, I just forget about myself!

Alexander Vasilyevich stayed at our place. He said the following,

‘When you come to see people, the hosts treat you to a cake. Well, a woman is the sweetest cake, so she should be shared generously.’

I didn’t want to be a piece of cake …

Alexander Vasilyevich praised my husband in every possible way. He used to say that Russia had never seen such a healer before. Oleg looked quite different now. A flow of people flooded our home, our family. There were numberless visits and conferences of yogis and patients. People were coming and coming. They would sit at the table, lepers, people covered with sores and rashes, with burst bleary eyes, possessed with devils, and their eyes made the grey cobwebs bloom and the flowers in the windows dry. My God, what should I do? I could change nothing, absolutely nothing. My home, my family, my husband…

 

                                    Where you, darling?..

 

Where are you, darling? I am here by your side. But I don’t feel you. I don’t feel you, Oleg. I am scared! I feel scared and cold among these people. Why are you scaring me? Why are you watching, fascinated, Alexander Vasilyevich’s every movement? Why are you listening so attentively to his every word? Look, he approaches you more often than the others, he always approves and praises you. Where are you, my husband? It’s so scary… It’s so lonely here… The mat feels so cold. Today I got so tired at the marketplace. I was so tired of wandering in the maze of continuous fear! Like a bird, I am moving around a sinister castle, there is nothing but windows, windows, windows. My screams makes a multiple-echo, echo, echo. But once the horror will be over…

Listen, do you want me to tear with my teeth this incurable sadness like a burial cloth and pretend to be a shy girl? I will wash your feet and to wipe them admiringly with my golden curls. Do you want me to turn my back to this debilitating struggle, and face you as a pristine wild woman with amber eyes and a scarlet mouth burning with desire? Do toy want me to hit a rock and turn into an emerald bird, hide in your hand and close my eyes? But please, don’t scare me…

I was sinking into depression like mountains go into a sea…

 

Sa’id told me…

 

Sa’id told me that in the neighboring city Michurinsk had a passing train. It was called the Andijan train.

The train was going from Uzbekistan carrying fruit. It had a stop in Michurinsk for exactly half an hour. During that time, you could go in and buy grapes, melons, persimmons. “But you should certainly hurry up”, Sa’id taught me.

It was winter. The temperature was around -30. It was almost impossible to start our old ‘Niva’ car in such cold. Curiosity outweighed doubts.

I put bright red lipstick on my lips and we moved on.

The train arrived at 12.30. It was already night. There were a lot of people on the platform. And it was evident that they were not meeting anyone, as they had no flowers in their hands. Those were female traders armed with large bags and trolleys. They were wrapped in thick downy shawls and were looking intensely into the distance.

Finally light flashed. A heavy train covered with snow emerged from the darkness, jerked twice and stopped. Oleg and I rushed into a car.

It was very dark. I went straight to the end. Melons were everywhere. There were so many of them that I couldn’t even see the walls and the beds. Or maybe they were broken out. The melons were enormous. Convex, dirty yellow, bug-eyed, staring out of the woven grass screens. I bumped into them, but the melons didn’t move, that’s how heavy they were.

There were no such melons at our marketplace. The New Year’s was round the corner. I already knew from Said that here it was 10-15 rubles, depending on the situation. It was quite easy to sell it for 150 rubles on the holiday eve, in winter. It’s amazing how the Uzbeks managed to keep them up for such a long time.

The Uzbeks were not there. Everything in that car was strange. It seemed to me that someone was looking at me out of all the holes. Time went on, the train could move in a second or two.

Finally two thin figures appeared in front of Oleg (he was at the door).

‘How many melons do you want?’ one them asked.

‘I think 50’, Oleg replied.

‘Give us the money, 700 rubles. Then you will have the melons.

So my husband began counting the money. I felt a kind of foreboding. My heart sank as though squeezed by a spider’s foot.

‘Oleg!’ I screamed from my corner. ‘Don’t give them the money! Don’t’

It was like a dream. In fact, it was really night. Oleg slowly counted out the money… Here we go… He hands it in… The Uzbeks disappear… Someone else comes…

‘What do you want?’, an old man asked Oleg severely.

‘I have paid and want to have the melons.’

‘Paid?!’ exclaimed the another old man. ‘I’ve received nothing! These are my melons! You are just crooks! Get out of here in a good!’

And he started pushing my husband down the stairs. The train jerked and slowly began to gain speed. And then the most terrible thing happened. Young Uzbeks appeared by my side, like the shadows from the darkness, wild and untamed. They grabbed me by the shoulders and dragged me to a small room that was at the very end of the car. I was feared and taken by surprise, so I didn’t scream and didn’t resist. The room was quite dark. I was pushed on something soft. One of the guys tried to unbutton my coat, the other one rushed to the other door, then back to us.

I tried to hit him with my hand, but I was sinking deeper and deeper into something soft that lay under me, something like goat fluff. There was a smell of old leather and sweat.

The train twitched again at full speed… and stopped. The Uzbeks disappeared. I could hear screaming far away. I got out of the goat fluff and went into the corridor.

The car was full of young, excited Russian guys. They were rosy, happy, and all covered with snow. The narrow-eyed ones were nowhere to be seen. My beloved husband was running to me…

As it turned out, at the last minute, when Oleg was being thrown from the train, managed to pull the emergency brake. And, lying in the snow, he shouted,

‘Help the Russians!’

The words ‘Russians are being beaten’ shook the air. A lot of local guys came up running. There were so many of them that I just wondered. The train stopped. The guys broke into the cars. The Uzbeks disappeared as if they had never existed. They disappeared in all the cars simultaneously.

‘How many melons do they owe you?’, one of them asked Oleg.

‘Fifty’, Oleg said.

But the guys kept rolling more and more melons to us from all over the car, choosing the largest ones, hidden deliberately under rags. I had never seen melons huge as that.

‘That’s it, that’s it!’ Oleg begged the jolly sweating guys. ‘That’s more than fifty!’

‘Never mind’, they laughed. ‘More is better than less. Mind that they fit in the car.’ They had driven our car from the station entrance closer to the train and, despite our protests, packed it with melons. The car was packed, so it wasn’t easy for me to get into it.

I noticed that the guys didn’t take a single melon.

‘Ah, no’, their leader, a snub-nosed guy in a striped vest answered my baffled question. ‘I don’t like melons. And I don’t encourage the guys… We just… taught them a lesson’ (he waved his hand after the departing train).

We hugged goodbye. We cried and hugged with all those guys who we saw for the first and, probably, for the last time in our lives… But that great understanding, which appeared with the words “Help the Russians”, brought us together, so felt as if we were siblings.

We were going back home late at night. The clear and solemn moon was shining. The trees reminded us of a fairytale, they were all in fluffy hats.

There was music in my soul. That music glorified my life, which comprised the moon, the snow, the huge melons, and the Russian people.

                            

                           On the New Year’s eve the melons…

 

On the New Year’s eve, we sold the melons out quite successfully. We dumped them right in the snow at the marketplace. They lay in woven grass woven networks, which made the customers sand still in astonishment. There was a crowd around the melons. Fluffy holiday snow was falling down, covering  the melons, and they looked mysterious. No one dared to be the first to buy a melon.

‘Just imagine’, I addressed the crowd, ‘You will lay your New Year’s table, and all the tables will be just similar. Salads, a chicken, a cake with candles. But here is the melon. If you cut it in thick fragrant slices… You can invite the president over.

A tall stout man bought a melon immediately.

‘But please’, he asked me politely, ‘take care of the grass network…’

People attacked the melons. I hardly had enough time to give the customers the change. Women were screaming like crazy as if it had been someone else, not them, looking at the melons in confusion a couple of minutes ago.

We brought two more batches of melons before the New Tear’s.

Once, when we were coming back in the middle of the night, Oleg said,

‘Tamara, I am falling asleep…’

‘Me too’, I replied in a weak voice because I felt surrounded by night dreams; even keeping my eyes open, I saw laughing fairytale devils. But as soon as I uttered the last sound… we found ourselves flying into a black abyss, jumping, turning over, and jumping again. I was bumping against the roof, the earth was rotating around me. ‘We are dead’, I thought.

At last the car stopped on the bottom of a deep hole. We were not only alive but not even slightly wounded. The car was smashed, all the melons were broken. All our money was in them.

‘We are alive, we are alive!’ I was yelling. Then we sat embraced in the open field, thinking of what to do next.

I decided to start all over again. And went to Sa’id to ask him to hire me.

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he said. I will lend you money. As much as you need. You will give it back to me when you can.’

While we were talking, an unknown man suddenly pulled my sleeve and asked me to step aside.

‘My name is Alexander Ivanovich’, he said. ‘I am director of a small factory in our city, which makes lids. I mean Jar lids of course. Our shop has just opened, so nobody knows us so far. The lids sold ​​in the marketplace are brought from Michurinsk. People are used to them. They are covered with a thick layer of yellow paint, and everyone thinks it’s good. Our paint is transparent, but it is much better quality. But our lids have to be promoted in the marketplace. I watched you for a long time and decided that you’re the best saleswoman here. So I decided to entrust you with this difficult business. Our product will be much cheaper than that brought from Michurinsk, and we decided to drive them from our marketplace. And it’s only you who will be selling the lids…

I still don’t understand why they decided to give those covers to me only. That’s rather bizarre. But you can’t argue with the boss, the more so that Oleg and I were in a critical situation So I was happy to agree without thinking of the consequences.

I stood in the middle of the marketplace at a huge iron table. Lids were all around my feet. Each bag had 800. A hundred was 20 rubles worth. All saleswomen were selling Michurin lids for 26 rubles. So far, no body understood what I was at.

I built architectural masterpieces on the table out of the lids. Palaces and arches. There was a tool for locking the lids on the jars of pickles. I was showing the customers how easy it was to close a jar. There was a large poster on the table, “Locally produced lids”. People lined up quickly. The product sold quickly.

‘Let’s support locally produced lids’, I said resolutely. ‘Most importantly, the factory is close by, so it will be easy to ask for replacement. Besides, this is a high-quality food-friendly paint, so not a single pickle will blow…’

‘At last, ours, thank God’, old women said crossing their wrinkly mouths. Everybody was sure that the local factory as the world’s best

The lids were sold out in less than an hour. Oleg and I went to the factory to get another batch.

Alexander Ivanovich just gasped when we piled the money on the table. He ran out immediately and called the accountant. It turned out that the workers had never received their salaries yet. They were just waiting in the corridor. We received a full car of lids and went back to the marketplace.

A surprise expected us there. There was a group of guys in my working place. They were bandits. The guys were a ‘roof’ for some of the saleswomen selling lids. I had never come across bandits before. Maybe they paid no attention to me because I was too insignificant for them, maybe there was another reason…

‘You. Should never. Appear here. In the marketplace. Understand?’ one of them said. He had a large head and strong muscles. His voice was soft but menacing.

‘The other saleswomen have called them’, I understood. I knocked down their prices. Alexander Ivanovich, without knowing it, made me oppose the whole market. I weighed the odds. There was no way out. Rather, there is always a way out. It was simply my first collision with bandits. I didn’t know what it was. Oleg was coming quickly to us. He sensed that something was wrong. I made a gesture over my head, which meant “disappear.” He would immediately been beaten.

‘Of course I won’t leave the marketplace’, I said firmly. My knees trembled so I slid my legs under the counter. My sweating palms were not visible either.

‘And I will keep selling the lids’, I added add pushed the big-headed guy’s hand off the table. Then I placed the lids on the table and started drumming up customers energetically.

‘What are they going to do?’ I was watching the bandits in horror with the corner of my eye. ‘What if they flip the lids off the table? Hit me? What do I do then? Run to the cops? The saleswomen are now on their side, so nobody will even take care of the lids. Well, what can they do?’

‘OK’, the big-headed one said ominously. ‘You didn’t want to do it in a good way, so we’ll have to treat you in a bad way.’

And they stepped aside.

‘What is going to happen? What are they at? What do I do? Who do I ask for help?’ Thoughts were running frantically in my head while my hands were wrapping and screwing the caps, taking the money and giving the change.

In order to keep my place at the marketplace, I had to spend the night there. I had never done that before because there was an unwritten rule: every trader had his or her fixed place to avoid having a ‘roof’.

I was sitting on the boxes looking at the moon. The moon was looking at me. «Cheer up!» it told me. It was cold. I promised Oleg that I would not interfere. He was no help in this case. Strange as it sounds, but the woman is easier to survive in this situation. I was afraid for my husband.

On the next morning, I was standing at my table. Oleg brought a batch of lids to me and left.

‘Who’s that?’ a saleswoman asked me and pointed at Oleg.

‘Ah, that’s my friend’s husband. I pay him for helping me.’

The guys came up. There were more of them than yesterday.

‘Did you think better, girl?’

‘No’, I said. ‘In the orphanage, we used to fight to death with people like you (I don’t know why I ‘invented’ the orphanage). I’d rather die than give up. Let’s go to the log, I will be fighting until I die…’

‘You mean you’re an orphan?’ one of the guys asked.

‘Yes! I am an orphan! And when I! Stood on rotten cucumbers! On my knees! In the cold gym! Because I refused! To sleep! With the city authorities! I knew! That when I grow up! Nobody! Never! Will tell me! How to live! And how to breathe!’

I was yelling so loudly that the entire marketplace heard me. It was easier to get furious telling about an orphanage. Furious for my sufferings at the marketplace. In the sect. In my whole life.

‘I never steal!’ I kept yelling, so, besides the growing crowd of spectators, all the inspectors came running, headed by Polina. She was making her way to me, also furiously, tossing the customers aside like little kittens. Gene was hurrying to me from the 2nd floor, and some other people, too.

‘Nobody gave me the money! I made it! Myself! At this marketplace! With my own hands! I did it! Myself! Without assistance! Who dares! To tell me! To get lost! I will! Kill anyone! Just anyone!

Polina broke through to me at last. She looked at the crows severely and asked with indignation,

‘Who dared? Who said that to her?’

‘She’s crazy’, the big-headed one said apologetically. ‘Well, I did. But did I know?’

‘Do you know anything at all?’ – a wrinkled old man grabbed him by the shirt. What do you, sucker, know? All you know is how to get money from honest people, right? That’s what you know, bastard! In the war, we used to shoot bastards like you!’

A young one made a stupid attempt to defend his chief.

‘Are you the only soldier here, man? I fought in Chechnya!’  He hysterically pulled on his vest, which enraged the old man and the whole crowd.

‘Hey, you!’, a young guy grabbed the man in the vest by his chest. ‘Why should you wave your hands at my grandfather?’

The whole crowd roared and mixed. Everybody started talking at once, then all the people yelled. The bandits slipped through the crowd and disappeared…

I had no illusions. I knew that it wasn’t over and all the trials were just beginning. On the next day, I put on my favorite apricot-colored dress, short, low-cut, and went to the second floor to see Gene, the tax inspector, and Pavel, the cop. I liked me tremendously the story about the orphanage. So I continued to develop it as far as my imagination reached. Gene, Pavel and Polina listened to me. My recent foes were resolute to defend me. Especially Gene and Polina. The would come up to me many times.

‘Well’, Gene would ask me. ‘The “heroes” are not here?’

Polina stood by my side like a marble statue, on large legs looking like two posts. ‘Don’t you shame me’, she would say. I have an allergy to cowards.’

The “heroes” didn’t turn up. There was a rumor about me across the marketplace that I was “a crazy orphan”. “It’s OK until they touch me”, I decided. The lid sellers were looking at me fiercely. They were up to something…

A few days later they were next to me on either side. They reduced the price from their lids to 15 rubles. That were definitely trading at a loss in order to get rid of me. And they kept touting the louds so loudly and unanimously that couldn’t even put a word in. I was very sad about it. What do I do? I saw no solution. I simply continued selling the lids for 20 rubles, tightening the jars quietly and cleaning the table up, also quietly.

There was a loony old woman in the marketplace. She always fancied herself a great boss and that’s why gave all kinds of orders and instructions. Menacingly, imitating Polina, she would scold the market women, stamp her feet, shook her fists. But in general, she was a pretty harmless old lady. Nobody paid attention to her. They called her scarecrow. Her favorite occupation was meeting heavy trucks.

‘Why are you late?’ she would shout to the drivers, run out to the road and wave her hands. ‘I’ve been waiting for you the whole day!’

Then she would point to the place where the truck should be parked, which often bothered the drivers. Her ragged skirts would flutter and she would look absolutely happy.

Once she came up to me and asked me cunningly,

‘Why are your lids the most expensive ones in the marketplace?’

‘Because those ones’, I pointed to the other saleswomen, ‘are waste. And mine are genuine’ (I whispered all that in her ear.

The crazy old woman started hopping around the saleswomen and yelling, ‘Waste lids, waste lids! They waste sellers are selling waste lids!’

All attempts to stop or frighten her just egged her on. I had never seen her so excited. People stood there listening to her. She had a clear ringing voice.

‘Well’, a sane old woman said philosophically. ‘Probably, they are really selling waste lids. Otherwise, why the price is so low?’ And she pointedly turned to me and held out the money. Others fell in behind her. When new customers approached the line and wondered why there were so many people, the old woman would hop out again and start skipping around the market women, waving her skirts,

‘We are selling waste lids today. All of us! Except her (she would point to me with her dirty forefinger).

That lasted 3 days. The saleswomen cursed me. They were losing money, but everything was useless. On the fourth day, they finally left me alone. Many went to the factory to buy lids for cash. I still have no idea why Alexander Ivanovich refused them so stubbornly. Maybe because he was a stubborn person. Or maybe he had his own vision. Time went on, and the lid season came to an end. Winter was approaching. Oleg and I had money again. So I decided to try a new field, the clothing market, which was called Petrovsky.

The amazing thing was that…

 

The amazing thing was that doing intensive mental work and being in need of money, all the yogis, one and all, refused flatly to work in the marketplace. I tried to lure them into the marketplace, begged them and promised them all kinds of pleasures… None of them, like my colleagues at in school, said that “the Georgians would molest them”. The main reason for the refusal was their higher social status. It didn’t allow the new “Brahmins” to act like ordinary mortals and sell things. All they could do was accepting gifts generously.

‘But that’s an oriental philosophy’, I said. ‘As to one of our tsar Peter the Great, he was not above any work, he was a carpenter and cabinet maker, and he mastered those professions to perfection. He even built ships.’

OK, feel free to follow your tsar. But we have our own, the great Buddha.’

‘But Buddha was born a king. He was very rich. He knew love. He had all the things people only dream of. Love, wealth and power. He gave up everything because he already knew all that.

But how can you make a young, healthy man who has not reached those heights reject all his wishes in the prime of life? I think Buddha would not recommend him that! How can one reject money before one has experienced wealth?

How can one reject power if one has never tasted its fatal poison?

And glory? What is glory? What kind of dazzling sun is it, above your head only? Aren’t its rays too hot? Who will tell me about it?

And maybe humans were created to explore all those earthly “drugs”, enjoy their scents to have something to remember in heaven, in the non-material world, flying over the sun?

And instead of fighting pride as Alexander Vasilyevich taught us, grow it like a little child and let it give us a powerful push to take off. Pride can make us all unique.

All greats were incredibly proud and conceited. Besides, they were selfish, for, guided by their desires only, they reached maximum heights of self-expression. And I am sure that they had their own, not imposed by anyone, sexual fantasies they implemented at their own expense, taking no one’s advice.

Alexander Vasilyevich kept telling us that an ordinary person has no power for contacting God. He gave us some examples.

In order to be able to just walk in the mayor’s office, one should possess power equal to the mayor’s. In other words, one should be the mayor of another city. You can easily contact the president if you have equal power. You will be able to talk to God directly when you become gods.

Our Master and Alexander Vasilyevich were gods. It was only possible to contact heaven through them. And it was not free.

I read prophet Jeremiah’s in the Bible. Here is what he said about false prophets,

23:9 Concerning the prophets. My heart within me is broken, all my bones shake; I am like a drunken man, and like a man whom wine hath overcome, because of Jehovah, and because of his holy words.

23:10 For the land is full of adulterers; for because of swearing the land mourneth; the pastures of the wilderness are dried up. And their course is evil, and their might is not right;

23:11 for both prophet and priest are profane; yea, in my house have I found their wickedness, saith Jehovah. 23:12 Wherefore their way shall be unto them as slippery places in the darkness: they shall be driven on, and fall therein; for I will bring evil upon them, even the year of their visitation, saith Jehovah.

23:16 Thus saith Jehovah of hosts, Hearken not unto the words of the prophets that prophesy unto you: they teach you vanity; they speak a vision of their own heart, and not out of the mouth of Jehovah.

 

I did not understand why I could not contact my parents directly. Also, I did not believe that my message will not reach the gods who had given birth to me. Everyone has one’s secret experience. I put my letter in the cold water of the Don river…

My dear

 

My dear beloved parents, Mother and Father!

Forgive me for not having written to you for so long. I am missing you terribly. I am awfully sorry that it’s only today that I have found time to thank you for everything you did for me.

I am sorry that it’s only recently that I understood that you are fulfilling all my wishes.

If I had known that before, I wouldn’t have to fight my numerous fears crested by my lack of faith …

The only thing I can’t understand, my dear Mother and Father, why it is today only that the call of blood has awaken me and I have remembered my royal descent.

I have been persuaded during my whole life that it is beyond human power to see and hear you, my beloved Parents!

They have been trying to break my faith that Daughter always, under all conditions has the right to see and hear the heavenly gods who gave birth to her!

My faith that Daughter always, every second, every cosmic moment has the power of the gods who gave birth to her!

Please forgive me, my dear Parents, for the long absence of letters from me… I am quite all right. I feel your constant presence and your infinite care of me. I have no words to describe the divine nature of the air I breathe!

                                                                                                                    Your loving daughter

Not sent by God to preach the immutable truth, not elected, not different, only in the twilight of my own fears, I light my gold fairytales and light-blue prayers…

That’s why I didn’t meet a mailman in the elevator and he didn’t give me an unusual envelope. I saw and read this letter in my dream, during a summer thunderstorm, when shadows were trembling whimsically on the walls…

 

Dear, beloved daughter

 

Don’t worry for nothing. Remember every minute that you are the world’s tsarina, our radiant incarnation. Even in moments of anguish and despair, in a painful hour of your fall, always remember that you are a daughter of God, and grief will go away.

And if the whole world, blaspheming and demeaning, rises up against you, your father and mother will not betray you. Just call us.

We’ll take you in our arms, sprinkle you with hyssop of light-blue flowers, make your sins white like snow, and recreate you…

Whatever happens, do not lose ground, take courage, and let your heart be strong…

We are ready to do whatever you wish.

But here is what we worry about.

What if the dress you have ordered, the one made of heavy brocade, with pearls and stones, will be too large or stuffy?

What if it will prevent you from walking around freely and enjoying the sunshine?

If you are quite confident and have taken into consideration all our warnings, then hurry up and accept the long-awaited parcel.

 

                                                                                                                            Your loving parents –

                                                                                                                        The gods who gave                                                                                                                                   birth to you

 

No acquaintances in the marketplace…

 

There were no acquaintances at the Petrovsky market. I walked about the marketplace looking around, all in vain. Great reshuffle was underway in the marketplace: tents were shifted, moved. A big hope grew in my mind. I approached the inspectors gathering money at the entrance. The price of entering the marketplace was one ruble. I asked them who I had to contact about a place. Without even looking at me, a tall guy waved gloomy into the distance.

‘Go to Mug.’

I turned around. What a face! A real mug. Swollen, the eyes can hardly be seen. I said, ‘Hi! I am looking for a place here.’ He grimaced, and his eyes disappeared, and he went away. What do I do? I followed him. I had to run as he was walking very fast and had big steps. I was doing my best to catch up with him. Mug wouldn’t turn around but he felt that I was running after him as he was scolding me loudly,

‘What a fool! Looking for a place! What an idiot! Where have you sprung from? Just a blockhead!’

‘Come, don’t be nervous’, I tried to calm him down gently. For some reason, I wasn’t mad at all. Maybe Mug didn’t mean, or maybe I was in high spirits. The guy had a tiny little nose covered with red freckles. He had blue sweat pants on, as broad as broad can be. He was walking extremely fast, a blue parachute bubbling around him. Even his buttocks were invisible.

He carried me around the marketplace for an hour, showed me the best places, asking me spitefully,

‘Wanna be here, right? But it’s occupied!’

Perhaps I stood with flying colors the test tour of the marketplace because after my words, “Well, I understand, Danila (that was the guy’s name) you can’t shoot someone to give me her place,” he finally paused, wiped the sweat off his brow and said in tired human voice,

‘OK, I’ll think of it. Come tomorrow.’

I did. Danila placed me at the marketplace entrance, behind a little table. The place was OK, the entire human stream was passing by. But it was illegal as the territory in front of the marketplace belonged to the city and thus was beyond Mug’s authority.

‘You’ll be here till the next administrational inspection’, Danila said frankly. But I was happy to have at least that.

The next ‘trifle’ was to find what to sell.

‘Don’t think too much about it!’ Danila-Mug helped me again. ‘Take something simple, what people buy when passing buy. I mean pins, needles and stuff like that. That will work.’ I did what he told me as I didn’t know anyone else in that marketplace.

Oleg and I went to Moscow and bought everyday stuff: threads, needles, rubber bands.

I hanged a big umbrella over the table and a huge poster on the umbrella, «Prices can’t be lower». Then I tried to make the stuff attractive. I put the threads in a shoebox and attached what was attachable, with thin ropes, to the umbrella. Besides, I put everywhere artificial flowers and pieces of papers. The main idea was to put as much as possible in the small place I had. I wasn’t accustomed to that kind of goods, my profile was fruit. I was missing my old good marketplace; I was surprised and wondering how on earth I got to this new place. But I had stuff to sell and, to my surprise, I was selling it very fast. The reason was that every person going to the marketplace passed by my table. Many would stop, look at the table… and buy something. I didn’t expect such success!

But the happiness didn’t last long. ‘Your documents, please!» It was tax inspection! How stupid of me: I had forgotten to put the date in the log. Ban – a protocol!

I ran to Mug (there was nobody else to run to).

Look, Danila, just look: it’s been not more than a few minutes…

I took the protocol quietly and I had to hop next to him again. A real drama was played out in the trailer where the tax inspector sat.

Danila the Mug frowned and stared intently at the young thin guy wearing a black suit. The guy fumbled with his tie nervously, then moved his hand to the back of his head.

‘What’s that? What is it?, Mug asked severely, threw the protocol on the table, knocked on it formidably with his forefinger and then pointed at me with that forefinger like a pistol.

‘I am so sorry, I had no idea she’s yours, sir!’  the boy said in a tearful voice looking fervently for an excuse and threw the crumpled sheet of paper into the trash. ‘She said nothing!’

‘Mind you!’ Mug told him severely and we went out.

It was my first lesson. That marketplace was quite different. I paid 400 rubles to Danila every month. Did that price include Danila’s protection from the cops and tax inspectors? I had no idea. Pay more to him? Then how much? Do I give him a kickback? What kind of kickback should it be? And should I give him a kickback every month?’

I had a lot questions nobody could answer. I was afraid of asking Danila directly. And here is what I decided to do.

Next time, when paying for the working place, I gave Danila a 500 ruble banknote. He going to give me the change, but I slapped my forehead,

‘Oh, Danila, I just forgot! I wanted to buy you a present to thank you for what you are doing to me, but forgot to buy it. Sorry for that!  Deduct it, OK? Actually, I don’t know what you like most…’

Danila the Mug suddenly got embarrassed, stamped his feet and muttered,

‘Well, come on…’

And he gave me my change, 75 rubles. Since then, I added 25 rubles every month and was no longer afraid of telling him about my problems.

Once I wanted to do something nice to Danila. The weather was very hot.  I bought him a keg of beer for 160 rubles and put it in the fridge. When I saw Danila in the marketplace, sweaty and miserable, I rushed to him flying like a bird. To rid him of unnecessary embarrassment, I chattered sweetly and swiftly,

‘Look at this misted keg, Danila! It’s so heavy that I’m afraid of dropping it! Take it quickly, it’s yours. Do take, I can hardly hold it!’

Without looking at Mug, I dropped the icy tubby keg in his hands and ran away waving my hand to show how busy I was…

In the end of the working day, Danila came up. He hovered, hovered near my table, saying nothing. I didn’t look at him and pretended to be busy. All the time I kept going over something on the table, shifting things from place to place. I felt that he was so overwhelmed with gratitude that he just could not find words to express it. Besides, in fact, he was  not a master with words.

‘Did you cool the beer for me at home?’

‘Sure. It’s so hot today. Did you like it?’

I looked up. And met his eyes… Daniel’s forehead was very low, wet strands of bangs almost covered his eyes… His eyes were as bright as the sky on a summer day, when larks sing loudly in it…

Someone from the city government was driving past the marketplace and ordered the removal of “all the disgrace in front of the cash register.” The disgrace was me. Again, I was unemployed.

Daniel was looking for a place for me throughout the marketplace. Once again, great shifts were underway. Again the tents were parted in one place, moved to another location, iron shelves were removed to the outskirts of the marketplace, new ones took their place. And, without asking for permission, I cleverly squeezed my tent in a vacant place at number 53. Danila was surprised to see me in the middle of the marketplace.

‘Who placed you here?’, he asked me, astonished.

‘No one’, I replied simple-heartedly. ‘I just saw an empty place. So I…’

‘Are you crazy?’ Mug said and turned his forefinger at his temple. This is the VIP sellers’ place. You’ll be thrown away tomorrow like a kitten!’

‘Danila, you see, nobody says anything so far! Maybe, somehow…

‘This can’t be settled “somehow”! This is Nechipor’s place! A bribe costs 10 grand here! You see?

Ten thousand! My God! I started thinking of who could give me the money. Sa’id? Khalim? No matter how much you think, there is nobody but the so-called “blacks” who can give it to me. Meanwhile, I decided to make sure that the place was worth the money.

Wow, what a revenue! By the end of the day I could not believe my eyes. Everything was sold out, even the dirty rubber band. I rushed to Danila.

‘Danila, sweetheart, put in a word for me before Nechipor… I do want to work there. I like that place greatly… OK? Please, dear!

He promised to do his best to get that place for me but refused bluntly to take a kickback.

‘I can’t guarantee it’, he said. That’s a bit too late. These places are watched for years. You’ll be mad with me if I am refused…

‘Please take it, sweetheart’, I kept imploring, giving him money and bottles. ‘It’s a hard work…’

Unexpectedly, Mug remained adamant and refused to take anything.

Weeks passed by, but nobody said a single word to me. Nobody even charged me for the place! It was a fairytale, not real life! And since I believed in fairytales, I calmed down soon and began bringing all kinds of things from Moscow expanding the range of products. I had soccer balls, skipping ropes, children’s rubber boats, tennis rackets. Everything was sold out!

«Maybe it’ll hold off somehow», I told myself. But, as Danila used to say wisely, “such things don’t happen somehow”.

The miracles ended overnight. In the morning, two guys came up. My heart skipped a beat. They were dressed respectably, glazed, one of them had an open notepad in his hands.

‘Take this one away tomorrow. This is Popova’s place’, the first one dictated calmly to the one with the notepad. The guy made a quick note without even looking at me, and they went on, to the next tent.

I went cold… Then I got covered with nasty sweat. And rushed to Danila leaving the tent, and pushing the buyers in all directions.

‘Danila, sweetheart, who are those guys? Who are they?’ I was shaking his hand hard, and probably very painfully, not even noticing it. He shook my hands off his, and grabbed them in his hug hand and, looking away, asked me,

‘Is your name Popova?’

‘No!’ I yelled. My name isn’t Popova, and you know that!’

‘The place has been given to Popova. I could do nothing…’

I didn’t believe him. I had become attached to that place throughout my skin. Come on! Danila had promised me! He had almost reached an agreement! That impossible… They had screwed it up somehow… I don’t want to give this place away!

‘Danila’, I kept asking him looking in his dear eyes. ‘Did you read the list? Did you? There must be a mistake there.’

‘No’, Danila said looking at me with great pity. ‘I did, myself. Your name is not there. There is Popova instead.’

I kept begging him not even noticing the tears rolling down my cheeks… Maybe Danila was mistaken?

And patiently and quietly, as if talking to an insane person or a young girl, he kept saying, his head down,

‘Yes, I did. Without intermediates. I did see the list. Your name isn’t there. I could do nothing. Sorry for that.

And he turned and walked away. I stood there watching him. He was walking slowly, as if waiting for me to run after him as before. I didn’t run. Instead, I sat down on the ground and broke into desperate and bitter tears. So much effort had been spent, and all in vain! All in vain! And the faith that had never let me down! It had betrayed me! I was just a stupid, stupid fool!

A stream of people was flowing past me as if I was a pebble in a stream of water. After all, it was the center of the marketplace.

‘Get up!’ a man’s hands lifted me up. I saw two Georgians whose acquaintance I had made at the food market.  Each one’s name was Roman. ‘What happened? Why are you crying in public?’

Sobbing and smearing tears around my face, I told them the sad story. One of the Romans took out his checkered handkerchief and wiped my face carefully. I remembered the way I had once had to rescue him from the police station where he had been taken by the indefatigable Pavel Nikolayevich.

‘Gibe him to me’, I said firmly to Pavel, whom I was no longer afraid of. ‘He is my lover.’

Pavel Nikolayevich even hiccupped in surprise. And just shoved Roma into my hands. He hiccupped and hiccupped. Probably Pavel Nikolayevich was trying to understand how many lovers I had except the general. All non-Russians in the marketplace, seeing that I got some secret power over the district cop, often turned to me for help. “I wonder”, I asked myself, laughing, “how they understand why I’m not afraid of Pavel Nikolayevich? Probably they think that he is also my lover.” And having rescued that guy, Roman, who was now standing in front of me, I ran downstairs with him from the second floor, singing a song loudly,

‘Lovers, lovers, lovers! I have a lot of lovers, lovers, lovers!’

Roman was happy and, pressing the papers that had been taken away and now returned to him, he would turn around with fear and look at me.

‘Well’, Roman said and wiped my face for me. ‘Stop being sad. Your problem is not a problem at all. There is no reason for crying. There are better places in the city. Place your tent in front of the food market. That’s the middle of the city, you’ll be happy.’

‘What do you mean in front of the marketplace? What do you mean in the middle of the city?’ the tears disappeared from my face at once. ‘Who will allow me? And what about the cops?’

‘The cops? Alexander Alexandrovich is the boss there. You’ll come to terms with him easily. Tell him Roman has recommended you. He’ll tell you the details.’

Here we go. So I wasn’t jobless even for a day. On the next morning, my bright yellow looking like the sun rose at the entrance to the Central food market. That’s where I used to sell fruit. I set up the tent and went to look for Alexander Alexandrovich. The bosses office was closed. I went to the marketplace and asked the women I knew well. They showed me the guy. Oh, my God! I would have never thought the guy was the head of a marketplace. If I had come across him in a dark place, I would have been scared to death. The guy looked like a criminal! Short, with square-bodied, splayed, bold, reminding Matthew the spider.

I pulled him by the sleeve and murmured like a sweet brook, ‘Alexander Alexandrovich, I placed a yellow tent near the entrance. Roman told me to discuss the details with you.’

And saying that, I am raised my head proudly in terror and squared my shoulders bravely.

‘OK’, Alexander Alexandrovich waved his hand tiredly. ‘Do whatever you want. Today is my first vacation day. Leave me alone, guys.’

He had a huge bag in his hand. The salesgirls were carefully treading in it cheese, sticks of salami, canned food. Alexander Alexandrovich had a regular human voice.

‘Pay whoever you want. You can pay the road police guys fifty per day. Tell them you are with Alexander Alexandrovich. When I’m back to work, come up to me, we’ll see what is to be done…’

My dear Russia! My precious, unbelievable country! Nowhere else such miracles are possible which no imagination can create! Drunk and honey-gold, proud and bright royal blue, never understood and never conquered!

Alexander Alexandrovich was fired while he was on vacations. The whole city saw four “VIP tents”. Everybody knew who they belonged to, and nobody had the right even to touch them. And suddenly, a fifth one joined them. It was me. No one understood where I had sprung from. But the firm common perception that a mere mortal would not dare to appear in such a place let me hold out as long as I wanted.

But let me get back to my previous marketplace for a minute, to Danila the Mug. I wanted to say goodbye to him.

I read in a book that, on the very bottom of a complete collapse, one should look for a gift and never surrender. Half a step separated me from that gift.

I didn’t come to the clothing market after I was told to get away. It was beyond my power to see the “VIP” Popova who had occupied my place. Although she had never seen me, a dream kept torturing me in which she chuckled whenever she saw me. Twisting her mouth arrogantly. I was choked with pride and frightened with my own weakness. But in fact, events developed in the most incredible way after my disappearance.

Popova’s tent was rather small. Just 1.5 meters. It sold shoes. Mine was much bigger, 2.5 meters. Besides, they had shifted and pushed some other tents. And next to that hateful Popova there was a two meter piece of land. Danila the Mug conquered that place and stood waiting for me. Meanwhile. I was successfully taking root in another space, enlacing it and opening flowers. Danila kept waiting patiently, every day asking the market people for my address or phone number (they told me the story.) He refused to sell the place even for ready money…

I started looking for Danila. Tears were choking me, those were tears of gratitude. But he wasn’t there, and nobody knew where he was.

I saw Mug two years later. Once I came to the clothing market to buy shoes. At the entrance, someone called my name. I turned around… Unbelievable! The guy simply looks like Danila, though older… It’s someone else… Impossible…

‘Hi’, the old man said. And I was terrified to recognize Danila.

Danila was on crutches, one of his legs was much shorter than the other. He leaned back on the gate, and the painful expression on his face showed that he was ill. A half of the former Mug was gone. His eyes were unfamiliar and frighteningly meek. They were full of pain.

‘Is this you, Danika?’ I asked him with fear. ‘What’s happened to you?’

Danila raised his hand shyly and wiped… his tears. Then I heard his story.

‘That’s OK. That’s OK. I got it all. Do you remember the way I was? I didn’t care about anything. Two cars, two apartments, a summer house, money. I drank as much as I wanted. I didn’t care a damn. I loved my wife and son. But I wasn’t up to them as there were a lot of women around me just whistle. It’s a shame to remember the way I looked when I used to come home. So arrogant: remember who I am and who you are. Mt wife was afraid of me, my son would hide under the bed. But I didn’t care. I just couldn’t stop. I rarely slept at home, and if my wife tried to contradict me, I would disappear for a long time. I lived in the summer house with women. And there was more.

I was always down on my wife and constantly reproached her. Once she told me something I didn’t like. So I packed my things, spat on the table, and drove my car away.

Less than 10 minutes later, driving like crazy, I ran into an expensive foreign car. Both cars were smashed. Thank God, the other driver was OK, but I ended up in an intensive care.

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