Why hadn’t they gone back home to their parents? All four of them were here, working till five o’clock in the morning. Well, on the other hand, here too were fir branches with tinsel and bells; the snow was shoveled from the sidewalk, the glasses were sliding over the counter, and no one seemed particularly lonely. Rallie moved about like a sleepwalker and burst into laughter from time to time. The other girls were carrying glasses left and right. At one moment, a young woman climbed onto the bar and her shoes flew off toward the tables. People started dancing and clapping. Philip looked around for any of “his” girls and waved his empty glass to Stephie. She brought him another Finlandia vodka, her eyes attentive. The music was blaring in the pulsing reddish light. Smoking and drinking, mere tricks in everyday life, now created a festive orgy of unity.
Then Rallie dropped to the floor and women’s voices screamed for a doctor. Philip jumped over some tables, wrapped her in his coat and took her out into the snow, remembering that, luckily, his car was there. As he drove off, he could see the black silhouettes of a group of youngsters. He imagined how, once the car disappeared from sight, they would go back into the bar and continue with their revelry.
Rallie raised her head from the passenger seat next to him, murmured something, and fell back. Philip stopped the car and turned toward her. He could smell urine and felt a surge of panic. For a moment he considered driving her to his place and taking care of her himself. But he started the car and headed for the ER at Pirogov Hospital.
35. Home
Nothing could turn back time. Madame V. wished it wasn’t Christmas. She stared at the closed door of the oven, not knowing what to think. She could not remember ever feeling so paralyzed and having to sit there and think. And that was precisely what she believed she was doing. Thinking.
She could not call any friends without losing face, but also, it seemed highly unlikely that her husband would be with any of them. So she called the police and the hospitals. Her last conversation was with a general, an acquaintance, who promised he would investigate the matter personally.
Hungry, she remained seated at the linen-covered table. For the first time in her life she had no idea how to get angry. Her two Yorkshire terriers, hopeful for a bite, ran to her every now and then but she would not budge, crushed under her own weight.
It was the first time she had felt her own weight.
36. Tiny Steps
At Fanny’s, the unfrozen house continued to thaw. As if by magic, everyone appeared happy and content, everyone was able to find a comfortable spot where pleasant things happened to them. Even the cat Pavoné had settled in front of the fire, in the place of Mr. V., and was now relishing the heat like only a cat could. The music, the movement of bodies and voices fit together like Lego pieces following instructions by themselves.
Margarita was peering at the people and things around her, gripped by a new feeling she was aware she could never put into words. But she was not worried about this. After all, she and words travelled their journeys separately. She was sitting, pensively sipping her glass of champagne, knowing that this thing here, this evening, this night… was all well the way it was. There was no fear, there was no reason to be doing anything different from what was being done. What exactly was being done, Margarita did not know, and she did not care to find out. It wasn’t the first time Valentin had taken her to a friend’s party. Margarita remembered all such occasions.
That was why, in fact, she was feeling confused. And the futility of her confusion was about to make her run away, when suddenly something occurred to her.
She looked at a lit candle in front of her. An ordinary white candle burning quietly in the neck of a bottle. Once, they had gone to the sea and celebrated somebody’s birthday at the beach. There were dozens of bottles like this, with candles in them, in a row by the water’s edge, stuck in the wet sand, which was gradually swallowing them from below. It had felt good, the soft surf, the still, gentle air with no wind, and the row of candles that were diminishing from both ends. The others were swimming in the sea or dancing, the same as they were doing now, or almost.
And the same as she was doing now, Margarita had then sat on the sand, watching. Or almost… But the same was not the same anymore. For a while she felt imprisoned in some sort of relationship, some connective tissues, like a fly in a spider’s web. That was where her confusion was coming from. She was somehow present in both places at once; she was seeing the same thing separately with each eye. If she blinked, the two images would blend.
Margarita struggled. She did not know what she was struggling against, but it was something and it held her in a kind of cocoon. Valentin was standing about two yards away from her, watching her. What he could see on her face resembled a deep trance, which at first made him worry about the glass in her hand. But she was holding it steadily and seemed to be looking at something beyond the walls of the room. He saw a boy sitting down next to her with the clear intent to start a conversation. The boy even waved his hand in front of her eyes — in vain. Valentin sat down next to the boy on his other side and whispered something to him. The boy turned away from Margarita and burst into laughter.
The candle flames flickered in Margarita’s eyes. She felt nauseated and dizzy. She wanted badly to get to the end of it. This here, and that there. Here and there, now and then. She was suspended between two points in time. How long it would last, she would never know.
Suddenly it was over. Valentin saw her get up, apparently back to her senses. She finished her glass and left it on the grand piano. She came up to him, bent her head and whispered in his ear, This here is different.
At that moment Mr. V. approached and, turning to her, asked if they had already met. “No, no, we haven’t,” Margarita laughed and lifted the lid of the piano. Astonished, Mr. V. watched her sit down on the stool and adjust it to her height. This grand piano had not been opened for years, that was certain. After the first few chords, Mr. V. could tell that the piano was in tune. Maybe because of the cold. Margarita’s fingers strolled easily over the keys, and a few chosen people among the present recognized Shubert. And the CD-player was turned off.
37. Weakness and Breath
Philip was trying to get Rallie out of the car. Finally she got to her feet, but her head immediately dropped on his shoulder. He propped her up with both arms and led her toward the hospital’s entrance. Rallie walked with her eyes closed, tripping repeatedly. When they entered the brightly lit corridor, she opened her eyes, squinted for a moment, and froze. Brown benches gaped like holes on both sides. Come on, just a few more steps, Philip whispered, but Rallie stiffened her legs and began to slide onto the floor. Philip held her up and managed to pull both of them onto a bench. Not a soul was anywhere to be seen.
Rallie opened her eyes and quickly shut them again. A marble-blue vein on her temple was visibly pulsing. She turned her face toward his neck as if to huddle in him, and he heard her say: No!
What do you mean “no”? You need help.
No! Rallie shouted, making Philip start in his seat.
He thought that someone would appear now, but nothing of the kind happened.
Please, take me out of here, Rallie sobbed.
Philip did not answer and she began to cry like a small child. Her weeping swelled like some new natural force — it was like nothing he had seen before. Rallie sobbed and hudded into him as if it were the end of the world. Worse still, as if the world had vanished and nothing remained except this weeping little girl who had peed her pants.