Everyone here likes him very much. And for good reason. He’s been eating well for two days now. I’m dreaming of the moment I can show him to you—our beautiful bronze boy. I look very fine, too, and am feeling well. My nerves are no longer on edge. And the air here, Jacob! I can’t get my fill of it!
It’s just sad that you can’t take a vacation yourself, that you’re so far away from all this beauty. But I’m truly indebted to you.
I received the money. I have everything I need now. Write me often. Send me about ten or fifteen sheets of blank paper. It’s very hard to come by things here. And envelopes. There are still no grapes here. But the pears, the plums! And the almonds …
Kisses to you, Jacob.
Mar.
AUGUST 1
Genrikh is asleep in bed. A candle is burning next to us. The insects are bothering us. Mosquitoes, moths. He calls them mouse-keetoes. I’ve been living in a state of alarm for many days now. I haven’t had any letters for a long, long time. I sent an emergency telegram; there was no answer. I received both a package and a letter the next day (one letter was in the package, another in the mail). But why was there no answer to the telegram? And again my nerves are strained to breaking, in a vicious circle. Today I sent another telegram (three days after sending the first). Tomorrow I won’t go anywhere—I’ll just stay here and wait for a reply.
The first flush of intoxication from the novelty of everything is gone now. The mountainous road into Sudak, the sea, the Tatars—they all seem mundane and ordinary to me. I admire their charms, but I’m no longer moved by them.
The Tatars like me. I have the feeling that they can’t get enough of me. Their eyes watch me with open and naïve shamelessness. A Tatar named Mariv brings me fruit every day. He says that I am “a remarkable little madame.” He offered me a huge peach and said that my eyes are just as large and sweet as this peach. I get into long conversations with the older Tatars. I feel a great deal of sympathy for these people. They are especially beautiful when they are in motion: they move with an almost majestic slowness. When he sees me from a distance, Mahmed bows respectfully but with great dignity, and raises his right hand in greeting. A fine gesture, almost hieratic. I smile warmly at every Tatar man and woman I meet. I love these unconsciously poetic and instinctive people. Gustava asks me for a favor: “Come down to the sea; there is a girl swimming there now, she is with her mother. I want to propose to her. Tell me how you like her.”
AUGUST 4
I’ve spent a difficult night and day. I finally received your telegram today, Jacob. My wonderful one, my all … Everything ends there, where my anxiety about you begins. Everything seems unnecessary and trivial. Here today, gone tomorrow. The Sudak telephone and telegraph play havoc with the nerves of vacationers. I miss you desperately already. What this means, I will tell you in bed.
I’m sitting alone at a table on a terrace. In front of me is the sea—blue, sparkling quietly in the sun like diamonds. On the right are the mountains, with the Genoese fortress; on the left, a small group of young cypresses. Plantings. Where do I begin and end—what is me, what is not me? Such a beautiful world! And I’ve learned so many new things.
Yesterday Professor Uvarov and his wife visited me. He is a geographer. An old man who so resembles my father, it gives me a lump in my throat. I feel an insurmountable tenderness toward him. He has Papa’s amiability, his sweetness, his equanimity. The only difference is that he is much taller than Papa, and has a different profession. He’s a Muscovite. Our Genrikh will study his textbook when he goes to school.
About Genrikh. I can’t get enough of looking at him; my joy knows no bounds. He’s my sweetheart. He has become remarkably calm since we’ve been here. I don’t have to raise my voice with him any longer. Braslavsky, a neighbor of ours from Moscow, is very impressed with him. The other day, when he was looking at Genrikh, he told me: “I believe in his future. He has an unusually good mind.” The fact is that Genrikh beat Braslavsky twice in a game of chess, and Braslavsky plays well. He was astounded, very literally. Today he came to me carrying Genrikh on his shoulders. I’ll tell you about both of them … when we’re in bed.
I’m terribly afraid of betrayal—but I always try to display contempt toward any lack of freedom, and to be a freethinker about marriage. I’m afraid of someday encountering a malicious or pitying gaze. I try to pretend that, on the contrary, I approve of infatuations, and take a light view of betrayal, etc. You know this about me. Conscious thought says one thing—but the body says another. The idea that you might betray me is unbearable.
I long to be with you again. You know, my arms and shoulders are covered with freckles now. I look very dark. My body and skin are much stronger these days. The only problem is that I can’t sleep.
I kiss you. Soon. M.
AUGUST 8
I am filled with rays of light, freshness, and love. Evening. The painful abscess of anxiety and worry about you has broken. I’m at peace now. Today I had a wonderful day. I lay naked on the stones by the edge of the water and enjoyed inspecting them. I turned over, with my back to the sun, then my breasts and hips, coming to life in the rays, in the salt of the sea, in the healing waters. I look at the years of my life in their physical aspect. My body has gone through so much! And how powerful, how resilient it must be, if it has survived.
In childhood, my body never knew water like this, never felt the air, or the sun. My whole childhood was spent without sun, in any sense of that word. Perhaps I would have been taller, with a more ample bosom, if I had lived differently as a child. In my youth, things were not so very different from my earliest years. The years of revolution and deprivation, without water, without the kind of food a young person needs, being subjected to physical stress and depression, and constant weariness—right up to the present day.
This is the first time in my life I’ve ever been to a resort. I remember my father saying that fresh air was bad for his health. I didn’t even know what a resort was for! Only in the past few days have I gotten into the swing of things; and only now has my excitement at the novelty and the intensity of my experience finally diminished. And we’re only in the Crimea—on the eastern shore, at that, which is not so very vibrant and dramatic. People tell me so much about the myriad charms and wonders of the world. And I have the urge to travel again, with renewed enthusiasm. I have the feeling that neither you nor I will be satisfied by just being homebodies any longer. It’s not by chance I always hated dacha life. Dachas signify immobility, limitation. Here there are many inconveniences, but in spite of that it has been the best summer of my entire life. You’ll see. You’ll touch my hands, my breasts, you’ll stroke my strong, smooth, hot skin. I can’t wait until the moment we see each other again. I have so much to tell you! And so many kisses to give you.
Just be patient. Don’t find someone else to give your impatience to. I am saving myself for you!
Genrikh’s friend and partner, Braslavsky, is going to call on you.
“What message shall I give your husband?” “That you saw us.” “And what if I make something up?” “Of course you may; my husband knows how to appreciate fantasy—if the quality is good.” This person lives at 31 Povarskaya Street. He’s our neighbor.
After the beach. Genrikh and I were at the beach by eight in the morning. We sat under an awning at the shish-kebab stand. Fatma watches us with her gentle eyes. Her stern, thoughtful brow is furrowed. Genrikh eats his shish kebab hungrily. The Primus stove is broken, and this is already the fourth day we have breakfasted on shish kebab. It’s Genrikh’s favorite food. He tears at the meat with his teeth, drinks down hot milk, and for dessert he is offered delicious Tatar pastry with nuts. He’s already begun eating grapes. Today he’s already eaten two pounds, and he’ll have as many more later in the day. Grapes are still expensive—twenty kopecks a pound—but delicious. Yesterday Genrikh said to me, “You’re wearing a satin dress with two pink brooches.” (I swim naked.) What do you think of that?