Here one should probably conclude that such a life would be no good at all as the basis for a novel, because it is so poor, so unprepossessingly awkward, and certainly not made of the delicate pale saffron silk that Madame Bovary chose for her one and only ball at La Vaubyessard. And that most likely even this account of such a life would not have seen the light had it not taken place in the vicinity of the shoemakers with their folk heroism that spices the whole story like hot pepper.
NINA
Being left by her husband is bound to change a woman one way or another, to produce a kind of curvature of the emotional spine. For Nina the consequences of the divorce were a lack of trust in people that surprised even her, a fear of change and a mulish obstinacy. What is more she developed the habit of trying to keep warm by enveloping herself in heavy dressing gowns, fur jackets and shawls with tangled bobbles of wool. Wrapped up like this she would stew away like kasha in the oven, wallowing in the slow warmth, treasuring it, avoiding draughts and open doors for fear that they might bring something unpleasant.
The break-up with her ex-husband had been unpleasant, quick and shattering. A friend ran in and asked if she knew where Zhenya was. Nina replied, where he always was — away on a business trip. The friend's eyes narrowed. «Oh, no he's not. I saw him today at the bus stop with a woman.»
Nina was stunned. Although she did not confront him with it, he seemed to sense that she knew and deliberately got on her nerves by complaining every single day that he was fed nothing but fruit preserves. That she, Nina, was filling him with sticky-sweet apricot preserves. She thought he had said «killing» him. Then one day in a fury she spattered a whole jar of preserves all over the wall and he, mightily pleased with himself, went off never to be seen again. She was left with Vaska the black male rat that occasionally emerged from behind the cupboard to survey his domain, and her little daughter she had mindlessly given birth to by her fickle husband.
Mindlessly, because at the sight of intellectual men Nina lost the ability to think straight although she was well aware how equivocal and evasive they could be in their dealings with women. You could never tell what they were after, whether it was you know what or not. Yet shivers ran down her spine at the sight of owlish spectacles and carefully washed pink hands accustomed to brushing everything aside. Particularly if he was wearing a long dressing gown and had a pipe in his hand. A sight like that was enough to make her grovel at his feet slavishly grateful for she knew not what. Nina would suddenly go dumb. Her silence was actually a challenge, a call for action, but action of what sort? How could she guess what he wanted? At this point, however, she preferred not to deliberate. Instead she relied on her own obstinacy to guide her onto the true path, like the torch on a miner's forehead.
And here she was today, caught unawares like an idiot and quite unprepared. She couldn't have guessed from the telephone call that he would be like this. Instead of her pleated dress she was wearing an old green sweater with a wooden pipe-shaped ornament. And there he stood in his glasses, beret and casually belted raincoat. While he was looking through the folder of music she had decided to sell because it was cluttering up the study, she deftly removed the head from a salmon and garnished the fish with spring onions, oil and olives. Her miner's torch had switched full on, thank goodness. When he looked up from the music and saw the table had been laid, the visitor smiled happily, rubbed his hands and went out to get some beer.
They took a long time over the meal, savouring each morsel, as if they were eating it for the first time. The fish was juicy, the beer just right, and they praised it lavishly, each saying they had the tastiest bit. He stretched out a hand over the table and touched the wooden pipe-shaped ornament on her breast — it was warm. His voice was silky from the yellow beer and artful.
Nina did not respond at once. She had learnt from her husband to choose her words carefully, because he got quite exasperated if she picked the wrong one. Her idea of doing her daughter's hair in «sausage-curls» for a nursery-school parade provoked a reaction out of all proportion, which included the Young Family Encyclopaedia being hurled out of the window and threats to jump off the balcony. Nina remembered the incident because it was both funny and frightening. Her husband had also made her wary of questions beginning with «why» and «what for». Answers such as «the tram got held up», «I forgot my key» or «I changed my mind» produced a barrage of additional «whys» which confused her and made him tear his hair. No answer was ever any good. The best thing was to keep quiet and let it pass over. When you kept quiet you seemed more convincing and they left you alone.
Nina pointed with her chin at a shelf with some unusually-shaped empty wine bottles. He took the hint with a big smile and went off to the Wine World shop, returning with two emerald green bottles. Nina reflected aloud that the wine would go down even better with a nice piece of meat.
The meat hissed and sizzled in the deep frying pan. Faces flushed, they ate and drank themselves to a standstill and sat there blissfully replete from the life-giving juices.
«I must be going. It's high time», he said sadly to the empty bottle.
«High time,» it reverberated. The echo spun the words round lightly, turning them into a sad question, but he heard it and replied.
«They'll be waiting for me.»
«Waiting for you?» Nina's voice trailed off on its own grieving path. «Who's waiting?» Her voice was really unhappy now, and as before the visitor grasped everything with his inner ear.
«Oh, my wife.» He had intended to say this lightly, but it came out quite differently. Evidently his wife was no laughing matter.
«Your wife. Not for me. No one's waiting for me.» Her voice had really let itself go now, vibrating with a kind of greyish-green absinthial anguish.
The visitor stood up, kissed Nina's onion-smelling hand meaningfully and bowed, while Nina blushed at the proximity of his barleycorn hair. Having taken his leave he sat down and reached for the bottle again, the full one this time, not the empty one.
«Maybe it's not time after all?»
«No, it isn't,» crowed Nina's detached voice.
«No, it's not,» the visitor pronounced. «I can stay another hour or two. In fact I must.»
Nina happily prepared some open sandwiches with sprats, topping the dead gold-flecked fish with thin slices of lemon. They had a few more drinks — they had been quite shattered by their recent parting and now they were invaded by a sense of mischief, prickly as fir needles.
«So what's she like, your wife?» asked Nina brashly, not really expecting this to disconcert him. He was too chubby and cheerful for that, no sharp corners.
«Fine. She's a skilled musician. Very intelligent.»
«But is she nice?»
«Eh? What did you say?»
«Is she nice? Kind?» Nina suddenly got so agitated that she took a three-litre jar of fruit preserves firmly out of the fridge and started searching for the bottle opener in a state of complete and utter confusion, constantly reminding herself what she was looking for and what it looked like — a hammer and sickle, a hammer and sickle.
«I wouldn't exactly say that,» he replied, uttering something he would normally have shrunk from saying. «I'd say she is a good person. But why do you ask?» Hearing no reply, he looked at her back. The back said everything she thought on the subject, and they seemed to agree — he and the eloquent back. He experienced a wild sense of relief when he said what he had wanted to say for a long time. But he also realised straightaway that this was a trap. For it was one thing when only you knew, but quite another when you shared the knowledge, and now the detached bit was demanding some appropriate behaviour from the non-detached bit. The detached bit was inescapable, there was no getting away from it. You can run away from something that hasn't been said, but once it's out they'll catch you and hand you the bill. You've said it now, so pay up!