To it Chapter 1Chapter 1
It arrived when already was about midnight. Called that took at the station of a taxi and it is ordinary as if we left only yesterday, reported that in ten minutes at me will be. I left to gate, at the same time having taken with myself a shovel that though to clear away a little snow. Over the last two days unknown snowfall my house was almost alive buried under a thick snow cover, and at me everything was not enough time that, at least for the sake of decency before thrifty neighbors who as bees fussed at themselves in the snow-covered yards, bringing order, few times to wave a shovel, thereby, having shown them that I did not choke in the den, tightly snow-covered bad weather yet. In practice, I did not want to admit even to myself that to me there was simply a laziness to be engaged in such trite narrow-mindedness as clearing from snow. Far it was more pleasant to sit in heat with a small volume Dod in French and to elegantly present itself to one of its deep and misunderstood the world of heroes.
Having forgotten to fasten on a nose points, behind the blizzed gate, I at first took for it a lonely figure at the next stop, having rushed in full sail towards. Having understood the mistake, I turned back, waved few times a shovel, stopped, having noticed that someone`s black silhouette loomed in the distance again. Having thrown the snow-removing tool, I started wandering towards a silhouette, squinting very much, trying to make out - it or not? Having come nearer on distance in 20 meters, I understood again that I was mistaken. Allowed to pass by to the midnight stranger whom took for her, turned afterwards and slowly walked in a trace. In frosty silence, almost indecently, snow creaked under my boots and so loudly that the young woman curiously turned back, and I suddenly felt in myself primitive inflow of desire. She went ahead, at the same time safely and shy shaking hips, - I instinctively felt it, - at the same time being afraid and calling me - in any case, so it seemed to me. I went it following, and there was in it so much latent eroticism, it is so much wild passion that I absolutely forgot why I in general got out in this world of the snow-covered den, at twelve o`clock in the morning.
The midnight stranger curtailed into the lane, I returned to the former occupation, and its everything was not. Already having almost begun to freeze and habitually to be irritated on female not punctuality, I heard a silent roar of the motor behind the back, turned back, and understood that it it. The back door opened, she wearily got out of it. We strong embraced and, having picked up its small suitcase and the shovel, began to mince on the trampled-down snow in my wolf den. Having become hollow in a hall and having shaken off snow, we passed to the hall. I put a suitcase, and suddenly clearly felt how this house in which there was no it so long ago is alien to me. In the hall it was still cold, and in all house it is uncomfortable, and the subsequent one or two hours I could not get rid of this opposite feeling. Without it the house was a stranger. The stranger, as if I did not try to make him cozy, in its absence, buying in it huge still lifes with brightly red roses, making red-hot an old fireplace that it was warm and cozy, filling the refrigerator delicacies which had no taste. Everything, oddly, was some imperceptibly unfinished, cold and to nobody unnecessary.
We stood against each other. I - as if the guest. It - as if just come back from where - that the hostess.
It began to unpack a suitcase, taking out from it some svertochka, boxes and bags. Gifts. On a table were laid out as she called them, “meatballs“, “kotletik“ and “konfetik“. Some packings of mayonnaise, ketchup, still some sauces. Some undershirts, pants and scarfs were put to use.
On my lazy remarks - to what all this, she did not react, for certain, believing that I told them only out of hospitable politeness, and did not suspect about my sincerity. She unceasingly told something, and I who first felt easy irritation from all this vanity which was pulling out me from my habitual philosophical depth of feelings and thoughts gradually felt that this voice, this empty jabber about “the aunt Dusya, the neigbour Galya and a cat Gosha“ is not unpleasant to me at all.
I did not want to speak. I wanted to be silent. And to listen. To listen greedy. To listen all that in soul I habitually despised is infinite. All this narrow-mindedness. It is life. This life. All these insignificant, essential talks. Talk on food and belongings. About friends and neighbors. Who was born, who died. Who what bought. Who that sold. Who grew rich, and who went bankrupt.
Listening to its excited voice, I felt sudden hunger, and, having developed it the brought “meatballs, kotletik and konfetik“, was accepted to their gradual destruction.
Piece of meat. Usual, everywhere identical piece of pork or beef. Equally faintly red, cut off power from blood. Equally flavored with salt and pepper. Rolled in in flour or okunuty in egg mix. Prepared on oil. Identical and similar, as all pieces of meat around the world. But what different feelings are awakened by this pale clot of protein when it is prepared by other hands. Female hands. It as if has other, sharper and rich smack. In it as if there is a particle of love, care and tenderness which give favourite hands.
Inattentively listening to it, I imperceptibly devoured three meatballs and two cutlets. Without bread. And, appear, became hungrier, than was before.
We passed on kitchen, and I feeling some awkwardness for the compelled modesty reigning there, but thanks to the master`s vanity which is already forgotten for me from its party, that that arrived, suddenly felt that the feeling of awkwardness abandoned me, and on its place rose from where - that undertaken feeling of rest and indifference to what there was and as. In the house the hostess appeared. And I felt it, at once having conceded it this place.
Woman. To us never to be compared to women. All of them do in a different way. Imperceptibly and imperceptibly. In total.
It is possible to fight, licking the apartment, bringing there all day long order. It is possible to buy household appliances for simplification of house work. Even it is possible to accumulate really experience on many house questions and to do everything conscientiously, selfishly, for itself. And, all the same, it will never turn out as it turns out at the woman. And in it there is some riddle. And for some reason it is pleasant to us.
Despite cold, I laid to myself in other room. I knew that on another or the third because of weak immunity, I will get to myself cold, sneezing insanely and I will lack scarfs, and, nevertheless, obediently went and laid down in this cold. Some lazy otupleniye was at the tip of the tongue. One more moment in stay near it: it does me silly. Cuts off power my will. Involves in the game. And, of course, subordinates. Women always subordinate.
She still long told something. Spoke about everything that vzbredat on mind. Jumped from one subject on another. Came back and ran forward.
She spoke about the mother who, at advanced age felt not bad. About a cat to Gosha who for the winter grew fat and got away for three days and as nobody could find it. About the neighbor Valera who left hard drinking and broke again. And about something. I do not remember because, despite sobering cold in the room, I, having drawn in under itself legs, quickly “floated“, being broken in a dark abyss of a dream hardly to regain consciousness in the morning.
At work I long could not understand - I am glad to her sudden arrival or not. Having returned from work and having tried not to be late anywhere, houses I found new muslin curtains of color of the storming sea from the German matter, hot borsch with haricot and dried boletuses and smiling it. At home it was hot heated, and, having swallowed two plates of incredibly tasty borsch with garlic and to steam of the brought meatballs yesterday, I quickly slid off in lazy luxury, one eye kemarya, another glancing over the brought magazines, and at the same time, almost automatically biting off from big red apple, lying in a dressing gown near a fireplace as some Turkish pasha.
She, in improbable details, told me about how she went marketing as if it was talked of travel to the African jungle. How was at war, kindling a fireplace and about any other nonsense which and mentions is not necessary not that detailed story. Oddly, all this calmed, lulled me as baby from what on heart it became good - well.
Lying there, on a sofa, in unusually hot the heated room, with two plates of the Ukrainian borsch in a stomach and with the mountain of glossy magazines near by, I had a strange feeling that I - not I. That all this - all these curtains of color of the storming sea, the rearranged flowerpots and alien accuracy in a house interior, have no relation to me. For a second, having starved from a heat and a lack of oxygen, even seemed to me that I look at myself, there, on a sofa with the taken a bite apple in a hand from where - that from above. And that this little fussy woman - also is I.
To recover, I came to a porch. From above sadly New Year`s snow, and all huge field, behind the house, straight to the gloomy wood fell, it fosforitsya Xing - white indigo a thick snow cover. The sky was sinilno - black and quietly, haughtily, winked at me the Big Dipper. Moroz not evil bit my cheeks and knees, but I did not hurry to leave for good, slowly recovering.
What is it? What the house is? Who this woman? Who do I am? Why I here? Why we here? Meek questions, with inflow of cold oxygen, began to knock to me in whisky, and I, to themselves, having shrugged shoulders as if answering them “I do not know“, hurried back. There, where heat and where waited for me it was pleasant. My mother.