CHAPTER 1
STEP ONE. STRANGERS
From all life roads the most predictable is
Sinusoid curve:
In the beginning I am like May beetle,
I, blindly following instinct' decrees,
Fly up; fall down; fly up ...
1995-1996
"... However, even a fairly long period of time, that is, of life, my life - I could with fear kill the snake, thus preventing its possible attack. Now, hardly could and would be ..."
All this I think, watching a merry rhythm performed by red little snake on the tilled floor of lounge, snake-pet of large Hispanic household family. From time to time a boy about ten pulls out the snake-tomboy from under the bench or out of the corner, where a lively creature crawls, and presses it gently to his chest ...
An invisible siren roared, declaring readiness to take passengers to the ferry. When the gates open ... Here the gates opened, went to different directions, moved apart, and the crowd rushed forward and inward. Like cockroaches, run to the black-with blue square of Malevich, that is, the sky in the hole, formed in the wall of the ferry station. The family with the red little snake disappeared in the crowd ...
Yesterday Vitianis called to say that he is lonely and does not know why he lives.
I said nothing in respond to it.
It would be possible to comfort him by saying: YOU ARE NOT ALONE, YOU GOT ME.
But he got me (as I got him) only on rare Thursdays, when his wife has some kind of special employment.
I might say: YOU ARE NOT ALONE, YOU HAVE A WIFE.
But he knows it without me.
I tactfully said nothing in response.
I could say: I am alone too and nearly three years, as no news from my daughter.
But why should he know? He does not notice her absence, as before did not notice her presence.
It's better: to keep silent.
When that was said to me the first time, the very first time, the very first Thursday – bleeding with eyes bluishness: "I'm lonely and do not know why I live," – that made an impression strong, led response, empathy. (Like two orphans, met and went hand in hand, in the same direction ...)
Now I'm used to, and politely, that is tactfully, silent in respond; it seems, that his complaint – also from the area of tactics ... or - strategy.
He does not know why he lives. But – he lives.
I expect the exposure of no-love like a death sentence.
* * *
Seats on the ferry, yellow and blue, in two rows, you can sit there to look forward, and so you can take the look backwards, upstream, that is, against the vessel, there is no any stream: so-so, game of waves. Somewhere, at the heart of the ferry - a buffet, where temptingly smells of burnt milk and cereal, i.e. "popcorn" ... I'm going in the direction of some walls – the walls with posters; however, a closer look it turned out, this is not the posters, but with pictures of Staten-Island buses and subway map.
Yellow and blue sits. I choose the bluest, face to the wall. Sit down. That's it. "Beautiful" view. I would watch and think about my own. Her ... My daughter ... Today ... Today all would be cleared up. That psychic, Angelica, figure-portrait in Russian newspaper. The eyes ... Power ... Lives in Staten-Island ... But no, no such luck to think about my own. Why is this, bald people advise me (and others, presumably) to change hair style, and fat people – to gain weight? Here and now – compassionate fatty, i.e. tolstunchik* (Russ.) spotted me, fell in love, moved closer, through the seat the right; now – the seat to the right, and advises me to eat more. Okay. Good thing not to drink urine. There was also one such meeting – a long time ago in Russia. I won't be surprised, however, to see that complacent lady-counselor here, going-waddling on the ferry past the deliciously smelling buffet, as she walked along the path connecting the Klinskaya Street and Khovrinskiy Passage in the pleasant gentle summer morning. (Dandelions disclosed their golden little heads, enjoying the rising sun ...) ... stopped, struck (I was moving towards) with my unenlightened appearance; did not yield the road, but just took my hand and spoke: "Listen, my dear! Do as I do in the morning ..." That narrator did not look much pretty, although she was fatty (well, it was still in her something), but if she did not drink, did not consume her own urine, she could look worse ... I still then did not take her advice seriously – was not ready ... And now, looking at the Staten-Island bus map (could be better, maybe, to look at the subway map, but then I had to turn to right, while he, fatty, already tries to look into my eyes. Actually, into eye, right one ... But from right side I am much less attractive ... So I'll stay as I am – with useless bus map nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye), listen absently the lecture about increase meat. There is a list of products containing particularly important for growing stout the calories. "... Meat ..." For some reasons I feebly protested against meat:
"I love animals."
"Oh, I love animals too! Especially I love fried cats!"
"Fried ... cats?"
"Well, yes, fried cats! Aren't cats animals?"
"Well-well, the Lord is with you, I'm not going to discriminate against ... Continue."
Continues:
"Fried cats are even more delicious that fried cockroaches."
Do not continue.
Continues: bio- of lover of fried cats: originally from Peru, where so little food, so little, though there was a beans farm and where he was skinny-skinny, almost like me. But now, since he arrived to New York where he found job, good one, in shoe store, and where a lot of food, he became prettier and fatter. Pulled up his pants to show the tick hairy legs, and admires himself: Oh, how nice! Second in line for a demonstration, perhaps, hairy short arms? ... Magnificently hairy chest? Or ... (?) Or? If a striptease will not fast path (express), but with all the stops ... After all, this has already happened to me once ... Long time ago ... Pre-Vitianis era ...
American Coffee In a train going to Queens – I went to "PSI", i.e. a public school building, used for exhibitions and performances - spoke to me (at first, for some reason, in French, barely able to switch into English) a neighbor in the seat, an artist, outstanding artist, as revealed in a conversation: Gustav Falk.
Together we went to PSI, where was a concert of light-and-music. We watched, listened. Back on the train I was carefully holding a bouquet presented to me by Gustav: white Chrysanthemums. We turned out to be on the same way home. He asked for a cup coffee, come to me. Daughter was not home, did not returned from the school ... While I was busy with a coffee maker, my guest went to the bathroom to put himself in order. Well, coffee is ready and poured into cups. I turned to call: "Gustav" and he is already there, in the kitchen, comes to me ... Rather, up to me, comes with a smile, but without pants: from the checkered shirt, or, rather, from the swollen belly, barely covered with the checkered shirt, look at the light – though not at the light but somewhere in the floor – yes,...