Her question seemed to pull Pasha from the depths of thought, interrupting an unrelated contemplation of something ineffable and solemn. But was it possible to always be pondering the very nature of existence, and if it was, didn’t it constitute some sort of disorder? In response to Frida’s question, he nodded sadly. Sanya knows. He wants to take you out on the town, show you the nightlife scene of Arcadia. That’s Sanya’s meadow of expertise, as the Americantsi say.
Right now? she said, alarmed.
Pasha was tickled. Now have some breakfast. Tomorrow night.
Was Frida supposed to feel grateful at the offer? Was it meant to smooth over the fact that her entire excuse for being there had just been pulled out from under her? Assumed in the Arcadia offer was an utter lack of will on her part. Regrettably, the offer aroused a spike of positive feeling, which was by its very nature cowardly. It counteracted, it completely destroyed, the daring intensity of the rage that had just started to build. Sanya wanted to take her out to the nightclubs — well, she desperately wanted to go. Where else would she accidentally step on the foot of her future husband? That her forays into the nightlife scene of New York had been disastrous, mostly in a quiet way, pointing out a chronic inability to relax and have a good time, was irrelevant. By predisposing herself against Sanya, she’d only be harming herself. Why not try instead to empathize? Her cousin must’ve been devastated. He was embarrassed. Filled with grief and shame. He thought he’d found a life partner, not a simple pursuit in Odessa. The girls were gorgeous, sure, and liked a good time, but life-partner material they weren’t. Neither were they the least bit eager to settle for a man who didn’t own a yacht or a foreign passport, preferably both. If they did happen to settle, their bodies intuited the capitulation immediately — whatever crazy biological force had been keeping every part firm, distinct, and perky relented, letting all those parts slacken, merge, and collectively expand. Undoubtedly Sanya had been relieved to find a suitable bride and now experienced catastrophic disappointment. Aside from that, he knew that Frida had flown in for his wedding — to call it off so close to the date would’ve been mortifying for anybody. It became clear why almost a week had elapsed and Sanya had yet to make an effort to see her — he’d been undergoing great emotional upheaval.
Did he give a time?
He said he’d call an hour or so beforehand, to give you a chance to get ready.
• • •
IT WAS PAST NOON when Sveta staggered out of the bedroom in her clingy, sweated-through nightie, looking as if she’d just regained consciousness after a frying-pan whack to the skull, which probably wasn’t far afield from the effect of her pharmaceutical concoctions. Pasha had forgotten to make his silver-tray delivery, and it became evident that the treatment was hardly a luxury. Sveta knocked into the edge of the table in the corridor, sending the landline flying — batteries, plastic, not that she noticed. Pressing the heels of her hands into her wounded hip, she bent in half and yowled, then continued groping her way to the kitchen. Somewhere she found a kiwi. She ate it like a soft-boiled egg, peeling the top half and using a small rusty spoon to scoop out the flesh. By then the coffee was in a mug whose handle Pasha fitted over her hooked finger. She took it down in a single gulp. Sense returned to her gaze. Her hands jumped to her head, finding that her hair was still pinned back, ear exposed. Frida sat across the table pretending to leaf through something black and white with varying font sizes and interspersed images. Sveta was about to run out to preserve her dignity but then realized that the little dignity there was to preserve didn’t merit such effort. She sighed and tapped the mug’s rim, signaling for more coffee.
But before it was poured, she was rushing out, screaming, Our flight, our flight! It was that afternoon, in just a few hours, and they weren’t packed, and Volk said he couldn’t drive them and there wasn’t a chance they’d make it. Not surprisingly, Sveta had a frantic style of departing. No one in the family was capable of even finding a partner who knew how to depart with grace.
Pasha followed into the direction of the drawer banging, unzipping, torrential toppling. That he hadn’t packed the bags on his own or arranged for a ride to the airport or simply woken Sveta at an hour when she could do it herself without having a conniption — none of this was mentioned or seemingly even thought, except by Frida, who needed to remember that this was none of her business and she must stay out of it. But stay out of it where? Not sure what to do with herself, she found herself staring at the bookshelves in the corridor, about to pluck one of Pasha’s poetry collections from the stacks but picking up a statuette instead, placing in her palm a turtle with a globe-size tumor on its shell. Meanwhile, in the nearby bedroom, Pasha attempted to calm Sveta with the good news that now there was one less thing to worry about. A major hassle had been averted. Sveta’s curiosity was piqued (the toppling momentarily abated). Pasha explained that it was no longer necessary to change their return flight — because the wedding was off! Sveta admirably discarded the packaging in which the news was delivered. Chto, she said, and in her chto could be heard every nuance the news suddenly brought from black depths into plain sight. She had Frida in mind when that chto was uttered. But then their bedroom door closed, no more was heard.
They emerged an hour later dressed as members of a pastoral polyamorous cult, lugging two suitcases and three lumpy duffel bags. The bedroom was the giant suitcase they’d decided to leave behind. It looked like the scene of a pogrom. Hesitating as to how formal to make this farewell, Sveta was about to say something genuine and heartfelt when three loud honks resounded. Disturbed more than most by noise, she ran to the door. Parked out front was her glamorous friend Ada — embarrassing on most occasions, heaven-sent in emergencies. She hopped out of the quivering convertible in order to assist with their bags, which she did with wondrous ease despite knee-length patent-leather boots on a six-inch heel, adapted for the season by the presence of air-vent strips along the calves. As Ada leaned in to plant a smooch on Pasha’s cheek, Frida swung shut the door — alone at last!
The convertible’s vroom was still echoing when the lock turned. What’d you forget? yelled Frida. In marched Sveta’s half brother, Volk, followed by a wobbling wife of the miniature hormonal variety, and their kids. Frida’s face muscles betrayed her.
They didn’t tell you? said Volk.
There’s no communication in this household, said Frida.
We’re here for the week.
The family had left their home in the suburbs to come to the city and sleep in Pasha and Sveta’s windowless bedroom — this was their idea of a vacation. The room it took Sveta an hour to destroy took the wife three to return to order, a ratio that likely had broad applicability. The children moved in a multisonorous cloud of elbows. Primarily at home in the courtyard, they occasionally swooped indoors. The wife retrieved a frozen hunk of meat and began slamming it against the counter’s edge. The fact had to be acknowledged, circumstances were deteriorating fast.
FOURTEEN
VOLK’S WIFE CAME equipped with a nose and used it to sniff at fishy situations such as this. They’d planned their city vacation months ago, after learning that Pasha and Sveta would be going to Georgia for some writers’ congress or other. Sveta had boasted of her travel plans to her brother, and later that evening over a steamy mound of buckwheat Volk had good-humoredly poked fun at his sister’s jet-setting lifestyle to his always-thinking wife, who’d said, Volky, you know what this means, don’t you? Volky rarely did. A city vacation, of course! The wife masterminded, Volky arranged. An empty house had been promised. Instead they got Pasha’s American niece, Frida, who sat unmoving in the living room. The wife suspected that the girl had been planted there to make sure they didn’t do God knows what with the apartment and to report them if they did, in which case they could be sure to never have another city vacation again.