Great asthenic. The Road Book - Part 4 (eng)

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How different we all are. Do we have more in common or more differences? Can we truly be united by a shared idea, such as a sense of community, patriotism, homeland, brotherhood, or language? Or is it all just as much of a lie as religion? I looked at the crowds of Muscovites passing by me: Caucasians, Asians, Europeans, people from Bangalore, Udmurts, and who knows who else. Do I love them? No, of course not. I can’t even bring myself to say a kind word. I love Belka, though. And Dan… well, I don’t love him wholeheartedly, but I do love him in a way. And the idea of playing with a shoe off worked out well. I only played for twenty minutes, and I already had about 600 rubles in the case. That’s Moscow for you. You could come here just to play in the underpass. Like shift work, to make some money. I finished another song, and immediately a small man in trousers, a jacket, a white shirt, and a case containing a musical instrument, probably a bayan or an accordion, detached himself from the crowd. He had a round face with a big round nose and small rectangular rimless glasses.

“Excuse me, you need to vacate this spot, we’re supposed to play here now,” he approached me.

I noticed out of the corner of my eye how Belka tensed up, but she didn’t show it.

“Who’s 'we'? And where does it say that?” I tried to gauge how serious the man was. The struggle for the most profitable underpasses had always been a thing in St. Petersburg too. But here, we were clearly outsiders, and I was sizing up my competitor and his intentions.

“'We' are the famous Jazz-band, laureates of international and intercity competitions, the 'Bessolini Band'!” the man pointed into the pedestrian underpass where five teenagers stood with guitars and a flute. “Come on, come on, young man, they play and listen to jazz in the capital!”

“Well, today they’ll be listening to Grazhdanская Oborona,” I replied and began to sing, hopping around on one foot:

The plastic world has won

The model proved stronger

The last ship cooled down

The last lantern grew tired

And in my throat, lumps of memories sigh

Oh, my defense

A sunbeam of a glassy eye

Oh, my musician

A mournful ball of an absurd world…

The man didn’t wait for me to finish and left. Before I could finish the second verse, Belka, with the speed of a night predator, ran up to me, deftly gathered all the banknotes from the guitar case into her hat, and ran up the stairs. I knew what that meant. Turning my head, I saw the same little man coming towards me from the depths of the metro, with a policeman beside him.

“There he is, there he is. Please sort this out, I’m not just giving away that much money for nothing,” the man poked me with his finger.

“Young man, let’s go,” the policeman addressed me.

“What, is it time already?”

“It’s time, it’s time. You owe a 500-ruble fine.” The policeman looked at me without interest.

“And will there be a report?” I decided to annoy the law enforcement officer.

“With a report - a thousand. Are you going to fill out the report or pay on the spot with a discount?”

“On the spot, of course. Here, everything on the case is yours,” I pointed at the earned money.

“He had more! I saw it! He’s lying!” the bespectacled accordion player began to turn crimson.

“Well, let’s search him. Empty your pockets.”

I demonstratively turned my pockets inside out, which were empty.

“You can search me, I don’t mind. See, I don’t even have enough for new shoes. Your friend must have imagined it, probably,” I glanced mockingly at the man.

The policeman sighed lazily.

“Collect all your pennies and give them here.”

“What, are you just going to let him go? And you won’t even search him?! He’s lying!” the man wouldn’t calm down. “I pay you 1500 rubles for the evening, and you decide to take some pennies from him?”

Crimson spots covered his entire face.

I handed the collected change from the case to the policeman. According to my estimates, there was about 100 rubles there.

“That’s it, clear the area,” the policeman turned and walked back down into the metro.

I put away my guitar and threw a farewell remark at the man: “If you’re ever in St. Petersburg, come and play on Petrogradka.”

Climbing up to the street, I saw Dan and Belka nearby. When I reached them, I asked for a cigarette.

“Well, congratulations, we’ve got some money,” Dan handed me a cigarette and lit it for me.

“Belka is a clever girl, she figured everything out in time.”

“I immediately understood where he was going and kept an eye on him,” Belka smiled.

“650 rubles for less than half an hour. Not bad, not bad,” Dan was clearly already making plans in his head.

“Cool! Well, let’s celebrate and go for a walk! Give me my shoe back.”

Putting on our shoes and finishing our cigarettes, we wandered further away from that place, following our hearts, instincts, and the flow of people. Reaching Tverskaya Street, we reached the first shop we came across and bought cigarettes, vodka, plastic cups, and all sorts of nuts and chips. I walked, looking at the lights of cars and advertisements. It was so strange – nobody knew what would happen in a minute or an hour, but I felt that none of us would stop and say, “Well, I’m bored, I’m going home.” Each of us had a feeling that there was no turning back.

“I’ve got an idea, let’s flog my phone and we’ll have more money!” Dan’s eyes lit up with inspiration.

“Who’s going to buy it, Dan, it’s a crappy old thing,” I said, but I thought to myself that this was the last thread connecting us to the old world. All it took was one call to a “secret sponsor” and they would pull us out of here.

“No, we need to sell it, then we’ll have enough for tomorrow too.”

“Who are you going to sell it to?” I looked around. We reached Strastnoy Boulevard and turned right, where, it seemed to us, the park began.

“Hey, mate, buy a phone,” Dan stopped the first passerby. The man flinched away from the toothless and unshaven stranger and almost ran.

“Let me try!” Belka held out her hand and Dan gave her the phone.

Spotting a woman selling boiled corn, Belka approached her.

“Lady, buy a phone, 600 rubles!”

The corn seller looked Belka up and down.

“Get out of here, you brat, selling stolen goods, are you? I’ll call the police, you’ll see! All of you come to Moscow, what do you think this is, a honey pot? Can’t you stay at home? The air is already unbreathable here, you damn good-for-nothings!”

I decided it was time to pull Belka away as the tirade from the native Muscovite was dragging on.

“Don’t shout, granny, we’re from the cultural capital!”

The old woman flipped out so much that for a split second I clearly thought I saw sparks in her eyes.

“You little bitch, you dare talk to me like that! You little bitch!” she began to climb out from behind her counter.

I turned my head and saw Dan laughing his head off. We ran further away and stopped at a kiosk.

“I’ll have a beer, my throat’s dry,” I leaned towards the window - “one Nevskoye Klassicheskoye.”

Two patrolmen, both looking about nineteen, approached the kiosk. I looked around – Belka and Dan were standing two paces away from me. Nearby, on a bench, a group of girls, about eight or ten of them, were laughing loudly. The policemen were talking among themselves about some computer games, and I realized they weren’t after us. I felt relieved.

“Boys, buy a phone, cheap, only 600 rubles,” I jumped, hearing Belka’s voice, understanding that she was addressing the policemen.

They took the phone and started fiddling with it.

“Not stolen?” one of them asked, a blue-eyed guy, clearly a city boy with well-spoken English.

“No, it’s ours. We just need the money. See, our SIM card is still in it,” Belka was clearly flirting with the guys.

“And who’s this?” the second policeman asked, pointing at Dan. “Didn’t they kidnap you?” he laughed.

“No, they’re my friends, everything’s fine. So, what do you think?”

“Well, it’s a really old phone, why would we want it?” the blue-eyed policeman shrugged.

I took the phone and put it in my pocket.

“Thanks, guys, we’ll go.”

“Hey, boys, we’ve got a business proposition for you,” two girls separated from the crowd and approached us.

“What is it?” I asked.

“We heard you’re trying to sell a phone. We have a condition - we’ll buy it from you if you come with us and play and sing for us.”

“Where do we need to go?” I tried to figure out the catch.

“Doesn’t matter where,” Dan materialized behind the two girls and put his arms around them, “We’re in!”

“Good. You even have your own drinks, it seems,” a very large girl pointed at the bag and smiled.

“Of course, we’ve been waiting for you,” Dan still couldn’t believe his luck.

We started walking with the crowd.

“Hey, guys, guys,” the two policemen ran up to us, “Can we come with you?”

We clearly didn’t expect this turn of events.

“Our shift ends in two hours. And we’ve got nothing to do. Can we join?”

“Sure, why not,” the big girl agreed.

The whole crowd walked down Strastnoy Boulevard until we found a great spot for privacy - big trees and bushes hid a bench, which instantly turned into a great table with vodka and snacks. For the first time in my life, I saw the policemen looking around nervously.

“If they catch us,” the blue-eyed one said, taking a shot of vodka, “we’re done for, we’ll be fired immediately.”

Dan sat on the edge of the bench, playing the role of a human jukebox. Though, in truth, he played nothing anyone requested—he just smiled in response, said something back, tossed down another shot of vodka, and started playing whatever came to mind. But no one complained. Everyone was perfectly content with his repertoire: “Sektor Gaza, ” “Kino, ” “Splin, ” “Alisa, ” “Malchishnik”—each person found something familiar and happily joined in singing along.

The girls were celebrating—either the start of exams, or their imminent end, or maybe they’d simply decided to meet up and drink. They clucked loudly, sharing details from their lives at the teaching institute that were of absolutely no interest to us. Vodka flowed freely, snacks crunched between our teeth. Moscow no longer seemed so unbearably cold and soulless. The trees and bushes around looked beautiful. Perhaps the city’s reputation in my eyes was saved by the two slightly tipsy policemen sitting nearby.

The evening seemed to grow warmer and warmer. In my eyes, the lamp lights began to blur, shrinking into clusters of yellow patches on the canvas of some unknown painter, illustrating an evening cityscape in pastel colours.

“You’re already drunk, ” interrupted my thoughts a smiling Belka.

“Well, just finally managed to relax a bit. After all, we’re guarded by ten ladies with teaching degrees and two drunk policemen, ” I smiled.

Belka giggled, stepped closer, and rested her head on my shoulder.

“Are you cold?”

“No, I’m fine, it’s refreshing.” She slid her hand under my unzipped jacket and wrapped her arm around my waist.

I slowly leaned down and inhaled the scent of her hair—it smelled like home. A home I’d never been to and likely never would. This scent was unfamiliar, but it evoked a clear image of the life of a contented family man you read about in books—a loving wife, a big house, a bunch of children running around, a yard with a lawn…

A girl approached us with two shots of vodka.

“Come on, join us, no sneaking off on your own!” she said in a country accent reminiscent of the villages near Ryazan.

Belka and I exchanged glances, and without a word, drank the shots together without a chaser. She buried her head in my chest, I in her hair, and we inhaled the vodka’s burn in sync, laughing loudly.

Half an hour later, the two policemen said their goodbyes, advising us to avoid the patrol, and went on their way. Some of the girls also started to trickle away, bidding each other farewell.

About an hour later, it was just us left—me, Belka, Dan, and two other girls. One was very thin and sickly looking, while the other was her complete opposite—a rosy-cheeked, large girl with a rough, loud voice.

“So, you guys, where do you live?” she asked, turning to us.

“Nowhere, we’re homeless, ” I replied. “By the way, you were going to buy a phone from us.”

“I remember, I remember, ” replied the large girl. “So, where are you planning to sleep?”

“Right here! Look, there’s a perfect spot on the grass between the bench and the bushes, just the right size for the three of us, ” I turned, gesturing to a smiling Belka and a now very drunk Dan.

“Of course! We’ll have a bit more vodka, then I’ll cuddle up with my Belka, and we’ll settle down to rest, ” Dan slurred, barely managing to form the words.

“You can’t be serious! You’re in the centre of Moscow—if you lie down, you’ll get picked up in no time, ” fretted the thin girl.

“Ira, could you maybe put these guys up for the night?” the large girl turned to the thin one.

“What are you thinking? You know how strict our curfew is in the dorm. And two guys? Drunk? No, that’s out of the question, ” Ira wailed.

“So, what should we do?”

“Maybe you could take them, Katya?” Ira looked at her with an almost apologetic gaze for making the suggestion.

I could see that, unlike most of the others, Katya seemed distinctly local. Not just because of her size, but from the confident way she carried herself. We didn’t interrupt the ladies’ discussion, hoping not to scare off our potential stroke of luck.

Katya thought for a couple of minutes. I poured more vodka, though I could feel myself getting truly drunk by now.

“Come on, girls, here’s to you and to us, ” I offered them the glasses.

“Oh, no, no, I need to get back to the dorm. They won’t let me in if I have any more, ” Ira used the moment to find a perfect excuse to make her exit.

“Goodbye, Katya, see you!”

Ira turned and vanished into the semi-darkness. I handed a glass to Katya, and we drank together in unison.

“Oh, what am I supposed to do with you lot? I can’t just leave you here. I thought you were joking when you said you were homeless. Alright, guess you’re coming with me, ” Katya said as she reached for the last crumbs of chips.

Belka and I exchanged glances and barely suppressed smiles. Dan sat with his head drooping, mumbling something under his breath. I stole a quick look at our new companion. Katya was a very tall girl in a long maroon puffer coat, reaching down to her ankles with a belt around the waist. It even seemed to me her hand was bigger than mine. On her feet were little-heeled boots I’d definitely seen in old photos of my mother. Her straight hair was pulled back in a ponytail that almost reached her waist.

After finishing the last of the vodka, we set off towards the metro. Alcohol had fully taken over my body, and I started admiring the buildings around us, the cars, the streetlights, and even the passers-by. Pointing the neck of my guitar towards Katya, who was leading the way, I followed her course as if a ship following an icebreaker. Belka walked beside me, supporting an overindulged Dan.

When we reached the metro, Katya asked:

“You guys have money for tickets?”

“You still haven’t paid us for the phone, so of course not, ” Dan shot back bluntly.

“Right. I don’t need your phone. Here’s the 600 roubles as promised, ” Katya pulled out the money and handed it to Dan.

I glanced at Belka.

“I’ll take it, thanks, ” Belka pocketed the cash, still holding Dan up with her other hand.

The metro ride felt like an eternity. Eventually, the train announced the final station: “Novogireevo.” Rousing a dozing Dan and Belka, we followed Katya out once more. Stepping outside, we found ourselves in a grim area, a far cry from the Moscow I’d briefly started to like. It was dark, and we followed our new friend into the unknown for about another half hour. At last, Katya approached the entrance of a red-brick building. Well, no, not the “entrance” but the “entranceway, ” I thought, still amused by the subtle differences between Petersburg and Moscow. We climbed to the fifth floor, where Katya put a finger to her lips, motioning for silence. Unlocking a sturdy metal door to the apartment and letting us inside, Katya flinched as Dan blurted out loudly:

“Now that’s what I call a pad! Just my style!”

“Shut up, for f***’s sake!” Katya hissed, looking at Belka as if to say, “Control him.”

Everything that happened afterward felt like some kind of surreal, silent black-and-white film starring Charlie Chaplin. The apartment was richly furnished, with a fresh but very peculiar décor, as if it had been done in the late ’80s.

“Alright, everyone, wash your hands and head to the kitchen, ” Katya commanded with a hostess’s authority.

Bumping into door frames in the unfamiliar layout, I made my way to the kitchen. It was a long, narrow room, with a large table for five near the entrance, and a stove, fridge, and cabinets at the far end by the window. Katya only turned on a single table lamp in the kitchen, leaving the rest of the apartment in darkness. Taking a huge pot out of the fridge, she set it on the stove.

“Serj, give me a cigarette, I need a smoke,” Dan slurred.

“I’ll give you a smoke alright—you’ll be sleeping outside,” Katya replied, looking rather stern as she stirred the pot with a ladle, which, judging by the aroma filling the kitchen, contained borscht. “I’ll feed you now, then you’re off to bed!”

Dan clicked his tongue in annoyance. I glanced at the clock on the wall—it was past twelve-thirty. Belka was nearly asleep, struggling to stay upright at the table. After ladling the borscht into bowls, Katya cut thick slices of black bread for each of us and set out a head of garlic. I could hardly believe my eyes—this was the kind of meal I hadn’t seen in over a year.

“Oh, I almost forgot, ” Katya said, standing up to open a cabinet above us, from which she pulled out a bottle of tequila and three shot glasses.

“Tequila with borscht, garlic, and black bread—gourmet city over here.” Dan immediately grabbed the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and poured into the shot glasses.

I think this was only the first or second time in my life I’d even tried tequila. It smelled terrible, but since when did that stop anyone?

Katya didn’t drink with us. She watched, glancing from me to a dozing Belka, to Dan, who was gradually transforming into some unrecognizable creature, his arms flailing like a baby’s, random sounds escaping his mouth. At one point, I noticed Katya inching closer to me.

“Where can I smoke around here?” Dan started getting up from the table.

“There’s a balcony in the room opposite. There’s an ashtray there, ” she pointed to the room across the hall from the kitchen. “Just please don’t shout out there, I’m begging you.”

“I’ll be quiet as a mouse, ” Dan said, struggling to stand and catching his foot on the table, making all the dishes clatter. “Pardon me!”

Belka clung to Dan like a little monkey clings to its parents, able to hang on even when asleep. Then Katya and I were left alone.

“Drink up, don’t be shy, ” Katya said, filling my shot glass to the brim.

I could feel that my arms and legs were barely obeying me anymore. But at the same time, I absolutely hated when people suggested that I might be “shy.” That word, “shy, ” sparked some kind of anger in me. Downing the shot of tequila in one gulp, I bit into a clove of garlic and chased it with a full spoonful of borscht.

“Come on, handsome, take it off,” Katya stood up from the table.

At that moment, the tequila, borscht, and garlic all seemed to change their minds and wanted to come back up out of pure shock and surprise. It felt as if my body was saying, “Take it all back, just leave me out of this.”

“What for?” I choked, trying to hide my surprise.

“You stink. I’ll wash everything off you—and you too. Go to the bathroom.”

The tequila, borscht, and garlic calmed down and settled at the bottom of my stomach. But “you stink”… that hurt. Because, like a Japanese person, I never stink. Even if now I’m practically homeless. But without arguing with our host, I pulled off my signature Levi’s, socks, and sweater, leaving only my underwear. Katya grabbed the pile and said:

“Come on, let’s go!”

Attempting to stand, I realized that my legs weren’t holding me up well, and the kitchen felt like the mess hall of a ship caught in a storm. As we stepped into the hallway, we ran into Dan and Belka. I stood next to Katya, swaying back and forth, in nothing but my underwear.

“Oh, look, Belka, close your eyes—Serj’s not wasting any time!” Dan chuckled gleefully.

Belka glanced at me and went into the kitchen. Dan winked at me with his gap-toothed smile and followed her. Surprisingly, Katya didn’t react to these jokes and led me to the bathroom. There, after putting my clothes into the washing machine, she handed me some shampoo and left. The bathroom was fairly large, fully tiled in green. I took off my underwear and thought, “Well, how am I going to be clean tomorrow with dirty underwear? That’s just wrong.” With a sigh, I placed them on the shelf next to me, lifted one leg into the tub, focused, paused, and then lifted the other. Pulling the shower curtain closed, I turned on the water. Standing under the powerful stream of hot water, I shut my eyes. The water pounded my face, making it hard to breathe. I felt like I was flying. Any moment now, I would lift one foot off the ground, then the other, and I would be floating weightlessly. Oh, how wonderful! I did it! I mastered the art of flying! I’m fllyyyyyyyyyying…

Crash! A loud bang echoed. Something clattered to the floor by my feet, shattering into pieces. Everything flipped upside down.

I was sitting on my backside in the tub. Cracking one eye open, I realized that I had, indeed, “landed.” Dark green shards of ceramic tile were scattered around the bottom of the tub. Looking up, I saw a chunk of concrete wall exposed above the faucet at my eye level. The tile must have fallen from there.

“Damn!” I cursed.

The bathroom door opened a crack, and Katya’s voice asked from behind the curtain:

“Are you alright?”

“Well, sort of… the tiles fell off.”

“And are you alive?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Katya closed the door, and I began gathering the pieces of tile, piling them on the washing machine. Then I dried off with the first towel I could find and reluctantly pulled on my not-so-fresh underwear.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, I noticed that the entire apartment was dark except for a nightlight in the other room. The door to the balcony room, where Dan had gone to smoke, was already closed. I decided to head toward the light. Opening the door a crack, I saw Katya standing in the middle of the room in erotic stockings, a thong, and a lacy bra. She was so large that it felt like I was looking at a giant. And now the question was—why was this giant dressed like this, and what was she planning to do with me? Katya slowly turned her head and suddenly gasped:

“You’re covered in blood! Oh my God! Your head is bleeding!”

I hadn’t felt any pain at all. I walked over to the couch and simply sat down, taking in the sight of Katya. I had never in my life seen two things: women this large and women dressed like that. I thought outfits like that only existed in movies. Katya bustled around, opening drawers.

“Ah, here it is, here. The first aid kit. Just a moment.” She knelt down to pull a large first-aid box from the bottom cabinet. At that moment, I’m sure a Shaolin monk could have started breaking bricks over my head, and I wouldn’t have felt a thing—I was that mesmerized by the view before me. Katya took out cotton, hydrogen peroxide, and a bandage, then came over to me. She was so tall that, sitting on the couch, I was eye-level with her belly button and a line of light hair leading down and disappearing under the lace of her panties. Katya began cleaning my wound and wiping the blood from my forehead and cheek. At one point, I couldn’t resist and grabbed her buttocks with both hands, pulling her toward me. She froze for a split second, but then relaxed and continued placing the bandage on my wound. Feeling that she was finished with my head, I pushed her onto the couch. “She’s so big, ” I kept marveling at the size of the treasure I had been given.

My hand slid between her thick, powerful thighs. My palm felt a heat like the door of a village oven had opened. I looked into Katya’s eyes. For a moment, a thought flashed through my head about how ridiculous I must look right now with that cross of bandages on my forehead. Katya looked at me silently, then said:

“I didn’t bring you here for this.”

It felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice water over me. A billion thoughts flashed through my mind in a split second. And in that instant, I stopped seeing Katya in front of me and just saw an enormous body in stockings.

“What’s wrong?” I was very irritated.

“Please hold me.”

“I am holding you.”

“No. Hold me like I’m a little girl.”

I had no idea what was going on, but I lay down next to her and tried to wrap my arms around her. My arm barely stretched far enough to reach her opposite shoulder.

“Yes. Just like that. Tell me I’m good. That I’m a good girl. That you’re proud of me.”

“Um… well, you’re good. A good girl.”

“Yes, yes, keep saying it. Tell me I’m your little girl.” Katya turned her back to me and placed my hand on her stomach.

Now it felt like I was lying next to some enormous man, whose back was as wide as two of mine. I brushed the tip of my nose against the back of her head and took a cautious sniff. No smell. Nothing. She didn’t smell like a girl, a woman, or a man. She just smelled like a body.

“Kiss me on my back and say, ‘Sleep tight, my little one, I’ll be with you again tomorrow, ’” she said, tucking her hands under her cheek.

Forcing myself, I said what she asked. Katya stopped moving and began breathing quietly and peacefully. And there I lay, staring at her hair and her big back, feeling so small and helpless myself.

Next part: https://telegra.ph/Great-asthenic-Part-5-11-17