ÿþ <HTML> <HEAD> <TITLE>Vadim Babenko. Books. A Simple Soul</TITLE> <META NAME="description" CONTENT="Vadim Babenko. Poetry and prose"> <META NAME="Keywords" CONTENT="Vadim Babenko, The Refuge For The Stunned Ark, In The Unnamed Seas, Buenos Aires, The Black Pelican"> <LINK REL="STYLESHEET" TYPE="text/css" HREF="all.css"> <SCRIPT LANGUAGE='JavaScript1.2' SRC='scripts.js'></SCRIPT> <SCRIPT LANGUAGE="JavaScript">browser()</SCRIPT> </HEAD> <BODY BGCOLOR="#FAFAD1" TEXT="#3F3F34" LINK="#993333" VLINK="#4F6777" ALINK="#993333" LEFTMARGIN=0 TOPMARGIN=0 MARGINHEIGHT="0" MARGINWIDTH="0" RIGHTMARGIN="0" BACKGROUND="img/bg.gif" STYLE="background-repeat:repeat-y;"> <TABLE WIDTH="100%" CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=0 BORDER=0> <TR VALIGN="top"> <TD WIDTH="1%" CLASS="bgbluemd"><A HREF="index.html"><IMG SRC="img_eng/logo.gif" ALT="048< 015=:>" WIDTH="219" HEIGHT="213" BORDER="0"></A></TD> <TD WIDTH="99%" BACKGROUND="img/bg_right.gif" STYLE="background-repeat:no-repeat;"><TABLE WIDTH="100%" CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=0 BORDER=0> <TR> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=210 HEIGHT=84 BORDER=0></TD> <TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" COLSPAN="2"><TABLE WIDTH="1%" CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=0 BORDER=0> <TR> <!-- home --> <TD NOWRAP><A HREF="index.html"><IMG SRC="img_eng/icon_home.gif" ALT="Home" WIDTH="33" HEIGHT="9" HSPACE="6" VSPACE="6" BORDER="0" CLASS="navtop" onMouseOver="this.className='navtopover'" onMouseOut="this.className='navtop'"></A></TD> <!-- switch lang --> <TD NOWRAP><A HREF="books_soul_index.html"><IMG SRC="img/icon_rus.gif" ALT=" CAA:0O 25@A8O" WIDTH="79" HEIGHT="9" HSPACE="6" VSPACE="6" BORDER="0" CLASS="navtop" onMouseOver="this.className='navtopover'" onMouseOut="this.className='navtop'"></A></TD> </TR> <TR> <TD COLSPAN="2" BACKGROUND="img/bg_dot.gif"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=1 HEIGHT=1 BORDER=0></TD> </TR> </TABLE></TD> </TR> <TR VALIGN="top"> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=1 HEIGHT=1 BORDER=0></TD> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img_eng/txt_head_books.gif" HEIGHT="57" ALT=" Books" BORDER="0"></TD> <TD WIDTH="99%"><TABLE WIDTH="100%" CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=0 BORDER=0> <TR> <TD><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=1 HEIGHT=11 BORDER=0></TD> </TR> <TR> <TD BGCOLOR="#E7E7C1"><IMG SRC="img/grad.jpg" ALT="" WIDTH="168" HEIGHT="17" BORDER="0"></TD> </TR> <TR> <TD ALIGN="right"><IMG SRC="img/pic_right.gif" WIDTH="193" HEIGHT="52" ALT="" BORDER="0"></TD> </TR> </TABLE></TD> </TR> </TABLE></TD> </TR> </TABLE> &nbsp; <TABLE WIDTH="100%" CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=0 BORDER=0> <TR VALIGN="top"> <!-- menu --> <TD WIDTH="1%" CLASS="bgbluemd"> <IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=1 HEIGHT=32 BORDER=0> <TABLE WIDTH="1%" CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=0 BORDER=0> <TR VALIGN="top"> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" ALT="" WIDTH="30" HEIGHT="1" BORDER="0"></TD> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img/bullet_menu_act.gif" ALT="" WIDTH="4" HEIGHT="4" HSPACE="8" VSPACE="4" BORDER="0"></TD> <TD WIDTH="99%"><A HREF="books_eng.html"><IMG SRC="img_eng/txt_nav_books_act.gif" HEIGHT="13" ALT="Books" BORDER="0"></A></TD> </TR> <TR> <TD COLSPAN="3"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=1 HEIGHT=6 BORDER=0></TD> </TR> </TABLE> <TABLE WIDTH="1%" CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=0 BORDER=0> <TR VALIGN="top"> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" ALT="" WIDTH="30" HEIGHT="1" BORDER="0"></TD> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img/bullet_menu_dis.gif" ALT="" WIDTH="4" HEIGHT="4" HSPACE="8" VSPACE="4" BORDER="0"></TD> <TD WIDTH="99%"><A HREF="reviews_eng.html"><IMG SRC="img_eng/txt_nav_reviews.gif" HEIGHT="13" ALT="Reviews" BORDER="0" name="reviews" onMouseOver="reviews.src='img_eng/txt_nav_reviews_act.gif'" onMouseOut="reviews.src='img_eng/txt_nav_reviews.gif'"></A></TD> </TR> <TR> <TD COLSPAN="3"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=1 HEIGHT=6 BORDER=0></TD> </TR> </TABLE> <TABLE WIDTH="1%" CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=0 BORDER=0> <TR VALIGN="top"> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" ALT="" WIDTH="30" HEIGHT="1" BORDER="0"></TD> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img/bullet_menu_dis.gif" ALT="" WIDTH="4" HEIGHT="4" HSPACE="8" VSPACE="4" BORDER="0"></TD> <TD WIDTH="99%"><A HREF="author_eng.html"><IMG SRC="img_eng/txt_nav_author.gif" HEIGHT="13" ALT="Author " BORDER="0" name="author" onMouseOver="author.src='img_eng/txt_nav_author_act.gif'" onMouseOut="author.src='img_eng/txt_nav_author.gif'"></A></TD> </TR> <TR> <TD COLSPAN="3"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=1 HEIGHT=6 BORDER=0></TD> </TR> </TABLE> <TABLE WIDTH="1%" CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=0 BORDER=0> <TR VALIGN="top"> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" ALT="" WIDTH="30" HEIGHT="1" BORDER="0"></TD> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img/bullet_menu_dis.gif" ALT="" WIDTH="4" HEIGHT="4" HSPACE="8" VSPACE="4" BORDER="0"></TD> <TD WIDTH="99%"><A HREF="contact_eng.html"><IMG SRC="img_eng/txt_nav_contact.gif" HEIGHT="13" ALT="Contact us" BORDER="0" name="contact" onMouseOver="contact.src='img_eng/txt_nav_contact_act.gif'" onMouseOut="contact.src='img_eng/txt_nav_contact.gif'"></A></TD> </TR> <TR> <TD COLSPAN="3"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=1 HEIGHT=6 BORDER=0></TD> </TR> </TABLE> <!-- menu spacer --> <IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=219 HEIGHT=20 BORDER=0> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=32 HEIGHT=20 BORDER=0></TD> <TD WIDTH="99%"> <!-- line --> <TABLE WIDTH="100%" CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=0 BORDER=0> <TR> <TD BACKGROUND="img/bg_dot.gif"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=1 HEIGHT=1 BORDER=0></TD> </TR> </TABLE> <P> <!-- CONTENT START --> <TABLE WIDTH="100%" CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=0 BORDER=0> <TR> <TD WIDTH="99%"><BIG>A Simple Soul - Excerpts</BIG> <TD WIDTH="1%"> <DIV ALIGN="right"> <TABLE WIDTH="1%" CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=0 BORDER=0> <TR> <TD COLSPAN="2"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=1 HEIGHT=3 BORDER=0></TD> </TR> <TR VALIGN="top"> <TD><A HREF="books_soul_frag_index_eng.html"><IMG SRC="img/icon_more.gif" ALT="" WIDTH="9" HEIGHT="9" HSPACE="5" VSPACE="3" BORDER="0"></A></TD> <TD NOWRAP><A HREF="books_soul_frag_index_eng.html" CLASS="more">contents</A></TD> </TR> </TABLE> </DIV> </TD> </TR> </TABLE> <TABLE WIDTH="1%" CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=4 BORDER=0 ALIGN="right"> <TR> <TD><IMG SRC="img_books/simplesoul.jpg" ALT="Simple Soul" WIDTH="110" HEIGHT="135" BORDER="0" CLASS="photo"></TD> </TR> <TR> <TD> <DIV ALIGN="left"> </DIV> </TD> </TR> </TABLE> <!-- start fragment --> <DIV ALIGN="CENTER"><H3>&nbsp;</H3></DIV> <DIV ALIGN="CENTER"><H3>&nbsp;</H3></DIV> <DIV ALIGN="CENTER"><H3>Chapter 10</H3></DIV> <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> Frank White Jr. had very high hopes for his trip to Russia. Certainly, the search for Pugachev s treasure remained the first and foremost of his goals, but he had others as well that were warming his soul and stirring his blood. Many of them were not suited for discussion with Axel or Nilva, so Frank was extremely evasive and avoided the questions and advice forced on him. At the very same time he was appropriately serious about the planning for the trip, not wanting a fluke to make him lose the feeling of reality in the chaos of overseas illusions. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> The whole first week he had decided to spend in the capital, forgoing responsibilities in favor of memories, however much they might have faded over the last few years. Moreover, nostalgia was just a cover; what he had actually wanted was simply to forget about goals and concerns and know carelessness to the hilt, to plunge into the vortex of emotion which, he liked to think, Russia should be able to offer in abundance as before. Frank had been looking to fall in love and indulge himself, become disillusioned and wring his hands in despair, rave and suffer, grieve and pity himself  hoarding for years to come the passion and spiritual drama that were so lacking in his steady life in the States. Now, on the sixth day of his Moscow vacation, he was celebrating his quite solid accomplishments with gloomy satisfaction. He had gathered plenty of experience; it even appeared that there might not be enough space for one more helping. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> Frank White was suffering from a hangover and, to a certain extent, from remorse. He felt like a pig, and this feeling, for some reason, was neither depressing nor embarrassing. On the contrary, astonishingly enough, it seemed in conformity with the surroundings; Frank felt that every inch of his skin was alive to the attractiveness of ugliness in general and, understanding this, he laughed, with his unshaved cheek propped up by his palm in anticipation of the first Bloody Mary of the day. Even the hangover he could generally tolerate, since he had one every morning. And as happens to almost everyone, he admitted after a short struggle that Russian habits had always dwelled within him and only waited for their time, hypocritically using a moderate American pose as a smokescreen. Every evening he drank to get drunk, relishing the thought that he was wretched, forlorn, creeping down into the abyss. His gaze hazy, he took in the world, listening attentively to the cacophony of life, which sounded louder here than anywhere else, looking at his own reflection in the myriad nocturnal mirrors. He was surprised, but did not admonish himself, the sober part of his brain remembering that the whole experience was nothing more than a show in an amusement park that is going to end at a certain time, so it is possible to step out  on wobbly, failing legs. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> Alcohol, however, was by no means at the top of his Moscow program. After receiving a photocopy of the secret plan from Nilva, folding it four times and hiding it in the pocket of his jacket, Frank felt his heart thumping from thoughts that were not at all of the treasure-hunting sort. For the last week before his flight he had completely stopped ducking the fact that the approaching adventure, every now and then, turned into dreams of beautiful Russian women waiting on the other side of the ocean. The memory of his high school girlfriend, from whom he had been forced to part so suddenly, and the revelations of Axel Timurov, who loved to brag about the untold number of his past exploits  all this set his imagination in motion, while he envisioned the merits of the dazzling beauties wishing to fall at his feet, making him the envy even of Hollywood movie stars. Books also made their contribution: not really used to reading that much, Frank still managed to consume his share of Russian literature, which, obviously, could not but affect his notions of Russian women and the female sex in general. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> Perhaps this is why, in his oversimplified American life, with its artificial soil that by no means nourishes sensitive people, he suffered one failure after another in his relations with women, who seemed completely different from the images living in his head. That s how it had been at the university, and that s how it had continued afterward, sometimes reaching levels of absurdity and eliciting serious doubts about himself. Frank could recall only two successful experiences, but even in those cases his girlfriends, whom it would be difficult to call sweethearts, ultimately left him on their own after a year or so. One had not been particularly fond of vulgar, masculine love, preferring her college roommate, whom she just couldn t forget, while the other simply moved to another state, having found a job that paid her more money. Since then his private life had been so impoverished that he didn t want to refresh the memories. It even reached the point of wet dreams at night  he was terribly ashamed of them, like a teenager still popping pimples  and at times he considered with bitter irony whether or not he should acquire a sex doll with whom he might manage to get along. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> It is clear that against such a backdrop any thought about Russia was bound to call forth a powerful hormonal surge. He fantasized about large women with light-brown hair, gray-eyed girls with proud Slavic poses, dainty brunettes and their frail shoulders, like his beloved Natasha; green-eyed, blonde-haired kittens whose claws are so coquettish and scratch without causing pain& Frank imagined them at inappropriate hours, drifting off in front of the computer screen or losing the thread of the conversation; he saw them in his sleep and sighed helplessly as he woke up; and in the airplane, incapable of coping with his impatience, he looked around stealthily, like a pilferer, as if he were trying to envision the entire movie as promised on the basis of the first shots. Even the stewardesses, pure-blooded Americans with their indifferent gaze, seemed to be representatives of another breed, not the one that remained beyond the line of demarcation where the hoary Puritan spirit hovered. One of them was obviously from the Midwest, where the people were simpler than on the seacoasts; in her chubby face Frank White thought he saw something from his embarrassing dreams, and, taking courage, he spoke with her, trying to look relaxed  though it didn t work too well. To his surprise, the woman smiled readily, volunteered her name  Shirley  and might even have expected some sort of continuation, her mascara eyes darting at him intermittently, but he didn t want anything from her after exhausting the reserves of bravery he had and, in all truth, not having any particular interest in her anyway. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> Waiting for his luggage at the airport, he inspected the female passengers and their sullen husbands; afterward, in the hotel, he looked at the cute receptionist a little more intensely than necessary, disconcerting her somewhat and making her doubt the accuracy of her English pronunciation; and then, finally, with his belongings barely out of his bags, he put on his sunglasses and went outside, turning right to the city center. A hot day and the stench of exhaust met him in Moscow. The sidewalks were crowded and dirty; Frank wormed his way to the middle, trying to merge with his surroundings and keep his eyes fixed in front of him. He walked at a leisurely pace, absorbing the details and comparing reality with the heaps of recent fantasies that now seemed entirely useless. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> It was all the same and then, not quite; the street smelled different, not as it had when he had gone to school, and the women did not look like what he had imagined, although they were remarkable in their own way. Among them were no stunning beauties; moreover, some of the girls he noticed were really ugly. Frank was astonished at their tastelessness and artifice, their amateur makeup and bad clothing, which was quite apparent, even to him, although he was not used to judging such things. But then, after a while, he stopped examining the inconsequential and took it for a fact that they were beautiful all the same  for he did not have the intention of thinking otherwise. They embellished the space, like festive dots on dirty gray, hurrying as if to dispel the despondency of the disorderly colors. He wanted to square his shoulders and help them  or, if only to embolden them, make a cryptic gesture to let them know he saw and appreciated everything. In their faces he endeavored to distinguish the defenselessness of innocent victims  that might have explained a lot and reconciled him with much  conceiving of himself then and there as strong and daring and capable of more than anybody else would have thought, especially in his own country, where nobody considered themselves a victim and sought empathy in others. And he even grew taller  at least it seemed that way to him  and who these women were in reality was not important at all, nor was whatever disappointment awaited a stranger if he succumbed to temptation and got to know them a little better. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">  Russian women have a good appetite, and, what s more, they re always getting pregnant, one of his friends once said in an affected, easygoing manner. Then he gave despairing, red-faced Frank a look of understanding and added:  Yes, in that lies their strength; that is a quality of a certain genotype and the potential power of a nation&  Frank White didn t believe him, but the words about potential power sank into his soul; they made him dream of an unknown world to which he instinctively sought the keys. That said, he did not plan to abandon himself to dreams alone in Moscow, for he was well aware that his free time was limited and that it was better not to procrastinate too much when taking decisive and practical steps. He wanted a date with a thoroughly simple girl  a shop assistant or a waitress, a secretary or a factory worker. In the two hours he had spent on the street, he had often encountered the most delightful of specimens, surely deserving someone s admiration, passion, and despairing love. Frank liked tall women, their large bodies and heavy thighs, their languishing look and the naivety of cheap perfume. In this he saw abysses of unexhausted passion, and it was hard to believe that one man could get so much  flesh, delicate skin, scents, sighs& Looking around, he was feeling inexplicably shy; then, momentarily, his resolution would return, but still nothing could make him talk to anyone, and ultimately he ran cowardly for shelter, taking a break and catching his breath in a restaurant furnished in a tasteless, commercial way. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> The break was helpful enough: after a filling lunch at which Frank could not resist the urge and drank two shots of vodka to deceive his jet lag, he finally made a move  and suffered a complete fiasco. The scent of the cold, snow-covered plains and the indifference of the vast space pricked at his nose on this hot summer day. He was too foreign and clumsy; unused to alcohol, he slurred his speech; people recoiled and followed him with their eyes in astonishment, and very soon it became clear that Russian girls could be timid and cold-blooded like no other and knew how to flat out reject men even better than Americans. Brutal strength and nastiness suddenly began to peek out of their features; he noticed that some of their hands were badly treated and similar to the hands of laundresses, as he imagined them to be, though he had never seen one before. Something wasn t right in his picture of the universe, it disturbed and depressed him and Frank started to suspect that the keys he sought could also be full of catches, even if he happened to find them. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> Discouraged and tired, he got drunk that evening in the hotel bar  not the way Russians or Finns drink, but enough to reveal the first shreds of doubt  in both this scheme of his and Nilva s and in the general appeal of his Russian adventure  finally heading to his room with the infirm gait of a lonely salesman who has just passed through one more unlucky day on the road. On the way to the elevator, he ran into a flock of nocturnal fairies, dressed up as colorful butterflies, with the tenacious eyes of teenage she-wolves; they hailed him, at first in Russian, then in quite acceptable English, but he became confused and chickened out. Instantly the thought streaked through his head that he was wasting yet another great chance  the girls were lively and sweet and did not at all resemble poor creatures who had sunk to the very bottom  however, he reminded himself of disease, theft, and other horrors awaiting the consumers of paid sex, and fell asleep in drunken dreams, his whole soul sensing the bitter imperfection of the world. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> The next day was largely a repeat of the one before, but already it was as if a different Frank White were living it, one perceptibly more grown up and without the rose-colored glasses. The celebration had ended; his throbbing head generated the soberest of thoughts. Looking about his surroundings, Frank now felt strangely impassive and emotionless. Like the images projected by a magic lantern in a room with the light on, reality faded and the particulars exuding awkward artifice became visible. At lunch, instead of vodka, he drank watery Russian beer and sat in the empty restaurant for a long time, staring out the window, deploring that the waitress was overweight and impolite. It seemed to him that the curtain had risen a bit, and the keyhole was already visible in the door  the only thing left was to select the right key. Then he traipsed around the city again, turning toward the Boulevards rather than the center this time, wandering aimlessly down Arbat backstreets and returning to Tverskaya along the dusty and loud Garden Ring. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> This day, too, passed without anything happening, although some progress had apparently been made. Now he was almost being taken seriously and, who knows, perhaps luck would have smiled on him had he not suddenly lost faith in himself under an amused look full of artless coquetry. Frank rambled back to the hotel deep in thought, but not in irritation, absentmindedly picked up the newspaper shoved under the door and immediately stumbled on an advertisement for an escort service shining out of the title page. His heart throbbed, and he fell onto the bed, waving and cursing in Russian, already knowing how he would spend the evening. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> Then everything turned out even easier than he had expected. The masculine voice on the line was courteous and silky, he wasn t asked anything superfluous, and not one vulgar note pierced the conversation in general. The administrator s manners called to mind a philharmonic  elegant dresses, long-awaited vouchers to the orchestra seats  and indeed, when he offered Frank a girl for the evening, he described her as a violinist down on her luck, a musician from a good school who was reserved for demanding clients.  I can tell you re an intelligent man, the voice warbled.  You ll be satisfied: Muscovite, angel, long, high-strung fingers&  and Jr. s heart began pounding again. Afterward he really was not disappointed, although the  violinist turned out to be a Ukrainian from Donetsk, confessing with a chuckle that she had not even the slightest ear for music. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> Together they laughed about the deception on the phone, and then she was nice enough, especially when she got undressed without any restraint or affectation under his intense gaze. Sex turned out somewhat mechanical, but the automatism did not feel humiliating; the girl even told Frank that something about him appealed to her, and Frank believed it, in turn shaking off his bashful constraint. And what s more, the  violinist was named Natasha, the name ringing with sweet pain in his soul and adding content to paid passion. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> Just before parting, as he came out of the shower, Frank saw his guest twirling his wallet which he had thrown carelessly on the magazine table.  I wanted to see your wife, she laughed in response to his raised eyebrows.  You all carry a photo around with you, right? And you, I see, are not even married&  She looked at him with brazen eyes, yellow like those of a lynx, and grinned from ear to ear; then they kissed good-bye, and only the smell of her perfume remained in the room. Frank poured himself a glass of cognac from the minibar and counted his money, prepared for the worst, but he realized all of a sudden that he did not remember how much had been there in the first place and laughed at himself, knowing, that even if there weren t enough, it wouldn t be worth calling anyone  explaining the unexplainable and hardly making any sense at all. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> Overall, he had to admit, the evening had been a success, and he admitted this and again drank until he was drunk. The nocturnal fairies in the bar now seemed to him the guardians of a collective secret that connected them to him and also probably a good half of the guests sitting there in the smoky haze. A slight feeling of sadness gripped him as he looked at their faces, realizing that he would not have enough life to know all the paths of forbidden tabernacles, and he imagined then and there how it would be possible to live here for years, in the city of sin, in debauchery and the stench of alcohol, not once recalling even one taboo. In the morning he felt sick and wallowed in bed until midday, then rode to the park and walked around a while, his whole chest breathing in the air with pleasure. And in the evening everything was repeated  the advertisement in the newspaper, the call, the ingratiating baritone. Shop assistants and waitresses no longer interested him; the road to the truth was a good deal shorter, and it was not worth wasting his precious time. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> This time they sent him Olga, a black-haired girl with prominent cheek-bones and a slightly Eastern slit of the eyelids. He spent the evening with her, and then the next three nights. At first, though, it was a little embarrassing  after two hours of making love, affected confusion and a parting kiss, he, having some sort of hunch, probably recalling yesterday, decided to take a peek in his ill-fated wallet and discovered that the pocket of his pants dangling from the chair was empty. This was too much, and Frank could not take it lightly. He remembered right away that he was in a dangerous land where criminals ran wild, and there was no one to trust. His hands shaking, he dialed the number of the perfidious service and berated the dispatcher in a falsetto, completely impotent, aware that it had flashed on him too late; nothing could be corrected now  he had been cheated and played for a sucker. The dispatcher, incidentally, was truly surprised and promised to get to the bottom of it right away; for a quarter of an hour Frank stomped from corner to corner, swearing through his teeth and cursing at his own idiocy, but then, with the very same hunch, he kicked the hateful chair, forcing it toward the wall, and immediately saw his loss, which had fallen to the floor in the most inoffensive of ways. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> Everything was there  his credit cards and money. There was no end to Frank s despair. The escort service, as if to spite him, responded to his call with brief beeps, and he mumbled in vexation, his palms pressed to his temples. But once he got through, he hailed down such a storm of emotion on the possessor of the baritone, so bungling his Russian out of agitation, that the latter really lost his head and began to justify himself without knowing his guilt. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> Shortly after, they worked it all out. The man assured Frank White that these things happened to everyone, and there was no reason to worry and get upset. And with regard to the girl, whom they had already asked for her side of the story, she would simply be glad to hear about the happy ending and would not retain any hard feelings toward him. Frank, however, insisted vehemently that he wanted to apologize in person, which induced the ingratiating voice to suggest he do so the very next evening in the process of receiving romantic services, which, of course, the unhappy Olga would be glad to perform as a way of uniting the pleasant and useful, and even the materially beneficial.  Especially if it s for the whole night&   the voice hinted cautiously, and they agreed on that, saying good-bye to each other with pronounced warmth. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> The next day she came with a turquoise ribbon in her hair, was sad and laconic, and admitted, sighing, that nobody had ever accused her of stealing. Frank fussed about, like a bridegroom with a capricious girl; he said a lot that was superfluous and didn t know where to place his eyes and hands. Then they made up in a hurry and headed out to eat in an Italian restaurant. That night they hardly slept, sharing stories from their lives mixed with sex games that were full of unexpected quirks. Olga brought small, elegant bracelets, frightening him a little at first, but they shone so invitingly and seemed so innocent that he again felt embarrassed by his suspicion. However, the game they played with them, while remaining close to an innocuous joke, revealed something really new. Frank was bewildered  he was being offered an unaccustomed form of freedom. There was more to it than he d realized at first sight; he thought in passing that Russian women were really and truly insane, ready to believe perhaps anybody who was capable of sharing his own crazy thoughts. This unfamiliar submission, which had gone a bit too far, made him uncomfortable for a moment, but then he saw that the same was expected from him as well, and Olga, his black-haired slave, was now waiting with an imaginary horsewhip. Then this too came to seem natural and desirable; she said to him in an undertone,  Trust me, and he accepted the trust as the essence of the action, and afterward they whispered sentimental words to each other as if together they had survived enough danger and anxiety for a few years. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> In the morning Olga left, and Frank White realized that he was about to lose his mind. He wandered down Moscow streets sleepy and sullen, muttering to himself as if he were continuing an endless dialogue with her. Not one woman had he ever told as much about himself  believing, not without reason, that hardly anybody listened to him  and this was also new and brought him strange relief. He was suddenly aware that he had outgrown himself  the person he had been before  and tried with tired irony to guess what else he would have the chance to explore and how many of these nights would be enough to get used to them and not wake up surprised in the morning. After lunch he fell into a heavy sleep, and then there was Olga again and hasty whispering. Now they no longer spoke about their past lives, but about each other and the hardships of loneliness, admitting cautiously their mutual sympathy and meticulously choosing their words to avoid being pathetic, which would have been completely out of place, even in the dark. Perhaps that is why a lot remained unsaid, which Frank suffered from later, squinting in the daytime sun, but when night came again, and Olga came, not with turquoise, but scarlet like blood in her raven hair, he completely lost control and told her everything that only a man can tell, taken aback by the enticement of the attraction. Eventually he reached the point of promising to take her to Washington, find her a job and, you never know, maybe even link their lives at some point after checking the strength of their feelings. Olga squeezed his hand emotionally, and Frank suddenly collected himself and began to kiss her in gratitude. Afterward, standing in the shower, he cursed himself for his loose tongue, understanding that he had gone too far. When he returned to the room, he told her that he was about to leave Moscow on business far away  to continue their nightly meetings would be dangerous, like walking across foreign land where camouflaged traps lie in wait. She wept a little and left her phone number, and he ardently promised to call  right after he got back. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> So, they had said and done all that was proper but, left alone, Frank sighed in relief. Something seemed too much; he clearly needed a breather. Moreover, he ought to be thinking about work, finally   the business trip was not just a redemptive lie, and he had already managed to get more out of this city than he d intended. He tossed about in bed until the middle of the day and was now sitting in a café with a view of the Stoleshnikov stone lane and grooming his somewhat somber spleen, again reliving the last night and his words, which should probably have shamed him for being an excessively hasty lie. But he was by no means ashamed, and what s more, he was pleased with himself for the first time in years. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> Of course, he had blurted out something without thinking  Frank White admitted this, drinking the cocktail they had brought him. In all likelihood he had broken the girl s heart; she would hope and wait and maybe even leave her profitable  business . But you can t set up a life under quick female tears; all that is just too troublesome, and the consequences are not clear. Moreover, Olga did not have the most attractive past, and what if that suddenly started to bother him?.. He looked attentively at two women languidly drifting by, appreciated being a freedom-loving male, full of strength and desire, and beckoned to the waiter to fill his empty glass. It s too bad for the girl, he thought again with feigned sadness, reclining against the back of his chair and stretching his whole body. But Axel was right all the same  they re a lot of them and choosing is so difficult... <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> The feigned sadness, by the way, would have been easily forgotten had he by chance known the thoughts of his recent lover, who was sitting at this very moment in a dim bar to the southwest of Moscow. She was sipping a martini, exchanging looks with the barman, squinting in satisfaction, and looking forward to her intensive shopping trip this coming weekend. That such a profitable client had turned up was very welcome  Olga commended herself on the cunning game and felt sorry for the simpleton American, who had ended up being such an easy catch. Her conscience even rankled her a little, which happened very rarely and could be viewed as an amusing event. She recalled how Frank had slipped the money to her this morning, getting out of the situation into which he had driven himself completely on his own, and how she had shammed tears, wishing to strengthen the effect.  Fucking life, she said to the barman, like an accomplice who should be kept abreast of everything, and he lowered his head in agreement. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0">  I m a Moscow bitch, she added with pride in a voice already slurring its words, and the barman finally sneered back at her, while Frank White Jr., having left the café, wandered in the direction of Petrovka, kissing her good-bye one last time in his head and preparing to forget about her once and for all. <P CLASS="indent" style="text-indent: 32; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0"> After getting back to the hotel, he headed straight to the concierge and asked her to order him a ticket on the most comfortable Sivoldaysk train and also to book a room in a hotel right in the center of town, preferably a suite, thinking in the process that he had already spent too much, but  really  you cannot stop throwing money around in a city like this. Soon the cute chambermaid brought him an envelope with everything he would need; he looked over her legs while signing the bill, not even noticing the bracelet of pearls on her wrist, which could have said a lot, even if not a single  two appeared in the written total. The pearls shimmered of the moon, and the girl s knees elicited the most immodest of thoughts, which Frank White chased away flatly, having decided to restrict himself that evening to nothing more than getting drunk alone. <!-- end fragment --> <P> <DIV ALIGN="right"> <TABLE WIDTH="1%" CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=0 BORDER=0> <TR> <TD COLSPAN="2"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=1 HEIGHT=3 BORDER=0></TD> </TR> <TR VALIGN="top"> <TD><A HREF="books_soul_frag_index_eng.html"><IMG SRC="img/icon_more.gif" ALT="" WIDTH="9" HEIGHT="9" HSPACE="5" VSPACE="3" BORDER="0"></A></TD> <TD NOWRAP><A HREF="books_soul_frag_index_eng.html" CLASS="more">contents</A></TD> </TR> </TABLE> </DIV> <!-- CONTENT END --> <BR>&nbsp;<BR> </TD> <!-- sep --> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=32 HEIGHT=20 BORDER=0></TD> </TR> </TABLE> &nbsp; <!-- line --> <TABLE WIDTH="100%" CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=0 BORDER=0> <TR> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=251 HEIGHT=1 BORDER=0></TD> <TD WIDTH="99%" BACKGROUND="img/bg_dot.gif"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=1 HEIGHT=1 BORDER=0></TD> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=32 HEIGHT=1 BORDER=0></TD> </TR> </TABLE> <TABLE WIDTH="100%" CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=0 BORDER=0> <TR> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=251 HEIGHT=1 BORDER=0></TD> <TD WIDTH="99%"><SMALL CLASS="yelldk"> <P CLASS="small"> &copy; Vadim Babenko.<BR> All rights reserved. </SMALL></TD> <TD WIDTH="1%" NOWRAP><SMALL CLASS="redmd"> <A HREF="index.html" CLASS="serv">home</A> | <A HREF="books_soul_index.html" CLASS="serv">@CAA:0O 25@A8O</A> </SMALL></TD> <TD WIDTH="1%"><IMG SRC="img/empty.gif" WIDTH=32 HEIGHT=1 BORDER=0></TD> </TR> </TABLE> &nbsp; </BODY> </HTML>