In further news: I’m spending money like it’s going out of style. It is not cheaper to live here than it is in Moscow. Prices are inflated with the influx of tourists, which is not at all usual here. For the time being, though, money isn’t a problem. The amount I have allocated for living expenses for a month will suffice (with the fifty rubles I put aside). There isn’t enough for a return trip, however.
Now for the good news. In spite of the torments I’ve gone through, I feel energetic and in good spirits. The Crimea is lovely, magnificent, full of marvels. Genrikh has come to life again. He’s eating, he got deeply suntanned during these two or three days, and we haven’t even sunbathed yet. I am unrecognizable (for your ears alone: I have become prettier). In spite of using my parasol, I even managed to get some sun; it looks quite nice, though. The air of the sea and the mountains invigorates me. I’m happy.
I’m tired, there are hardships and inconveniences, I work a lot, I’m always running back and forth to the bazaar in Sudak. But my eyes drink in the colors and light, my ears the rhythms; and I’m afraid I might become religious here. The effects of nature. A Tatar woman walks past with a basket of peaches balanced on her head. She doesn’t even have to hold on to it. And all around is a symphony of mountains and sky. And I eat the Tatar with my eyes, swallow up the chain of mountains, and drink in the sunlight. And I love you. You are my one and only in this whole remarkable world. If your shoulder were nearby, I would cry from the wonder of it all.
A Tatar named Gustava (he’s not pretending, it’s his real name) treated me and Genrikh to some delicious shish kebab. Gustava loves Lenin: “I give him my great thanks,” he says; and he wears a Lenin pin in his lapel. “Your Lenin is a good man.” We take a long time saying goodbye, and the expressions of good wishes are elaborate and heartfelt. They are gentle, hospitable people. Passionate, proud. If they like you, they’ll do anything for you. They like a good joke. They’re quick to anger, and hate with a vengeance. I like talking to them. Genrikh and I ate a lot of shish kebab for lunch. We drank tea with lemon, and it all cost eighty kopecks. That’s what we ate yesterday. Almonds cost twenty kopecks per pound. Pears fifteen kopecks. Genrikh devours fruit. We spend about sixty kopecks a day on fruit. I can’t write anything more. Warmest hugs.
The sun here is so wonderful and burning hot.
Mar.
Address: Sudak, poste restante. Best to send via registered mail. We’re in the middle of nowhere.
JULY 26
Well, we still have no room of our own. Genrikh and I are sleeping together on a folding cot, sharing the room with another person—it’s inconvenient and awkward. I lost another room, the second, although I have a receipt for the security deposit. Both times, it was men, with their peahens and a trail of little ones following behind, who beat me out of the room. I’m almost beside myself with frustration. I can’t live like this. It’s been a whole week of ordeals, one after another. I run around all day long, hither and thither, and never manage to rest.
Today Genrikh nearly drowned. A wave knocked him off his feet—he fell, and started churning around in the water, gasping for air. I ran over and just managed to pluck him out. I’m not really sorry this happened: now he’s good and scared, and it won’t be so hard for me to watch out for him. I didn’t get a moment’s peace when we were at the seaside. I spent all my time shouting and chasing after him. He’s such a difficult child. Very difficult. In Moscow, I have to make sure he doesn’t fall out of a window. Here, in the Crimea, there are a thousand more things to worry about: the sea, wells, precipices …
Dinner is always a trial. Everyone sympathizes and reminds me that I’m not getting any rest. I don’t need reminding about how difficult it is to look after him. Still, he’s looking very well. And when my nerves are frayed and I’m absolutely weary, I look at his little round face, so fresh and alive, and see how happy he is, and I am reconciled to my own burdens.
I am very concerned about the financial side of our journey. We share one meal between the two of us; I can’t afford full room and board. I prepare breakfast and lunch myself. I run around like a chicken with its head cut off. This is what a woman’s vacation looks like.
The Crimea is marvelous, but I’ll make good use of it in a year, when I come here by myself. For now, it’s all for the sake of Genrikh. I can’t even sunbathe properly. As soon as I shut my eyes, he’s already sneaking off into the water; and the sea floor is full of holes and drop-offs he could fall into.
Now that you’re in Moscow, I’m not as worried about you as I was. You’re probably getting more rest there. If I knew better what our financial situation was, I would take a cure in the sea waters; but it’s expensive—fifteen rubles. The baths would be very helpful for my leg, and for my overall health.
I spend three to three and a half rubles a day, living very, very modestly. The rooms cost thirty-five rubles. That’s the cheapest kind; a good room costs forty to fifty. In a month, it will get cheaper. If Genrikh weren’t such a handful, every hour in the Crimea would be absolute bliss. But he doesn’t give me a moment’s peace. I have to do the shopping, make meals, feed him, take care of him, bathe him, put him to bed, and in the evening I can’t leave him alone.
Thanks to the fresh air, I have lots of energy and can get a lot done. I’m suntanned. It’s a good thing I brought a parasoclass="underline" the sun beats down without mercy. There are so many marvels here—but I’m not free to enjoy them. I’ll have to wait. The fruits and vegetables are so juicy and sweet, it’s no surprise the eastern peoples worshipped food and drink. You can’t simply eat fruit like this—you have to savor it, partake of it. Every peach, every apricot is one-sixtieth, at least, of a pure heavenly blessing.
And the Tatar women at the fountain are the blessing in its entirety. I can’t get enough of my dark, reserved, graceful sisters. I have already made a few friends. And we understand each other perfectly. We look into each other’s eyes and smile. I hold their little ones in my arms—and we smile at each other. And we understand everything about one another. We’re women, we love, we have children. I caress her child, and she dotes on mine. We nod to each other—then go our separate ways. It’s wonderful.
Mahmed has a beautiful, quiet wife and two children. The large room is spread with intricate, colorful carpets, pillows. There are no chairs; everyone sits on the floor in silence, lost in thought. What an amazing existence! Here it seems that eternity, time, and these people are all of a piece, and flow together, on and on. Meetings, reports. Myasnitskaya Street, political and economic realities and confluences—what is the sense in all that? I embrace you, my dear one.
Mar.
JULY 28
Jacob, my best and dearest. Things are fine with me now. For the first time in my life, summer vacation is a joy to me. I am enjoying every moment of my existence here. Today I trekked over a hill to Sudak. There was a fierce wind. I breathed so fully, so deeply, and my heart beat so hard—I was bathing in the sun, the wind. Every time I leave the house—whether I’m going to the mountains or to the sea—feels like a momentous, lush experience to me. I look at Genrikh and it’s a feast for my eyes! He’s as brown as toast, with dark-red lips; his eyes are shining. We live here now in complete harmony. He’s a gifted, openhearted child, and he makes life worth living for me. Today, at dinner, a sweet lady looked at him and said, “He has cunning eyes.” Genrikh said, very seriously, “Yes, I have cunning.”