since she was older, got the big bed, and Alain and I the smaller one. I don’t know what we intended to do with Grandmother and Grandfather since there were only two rooms. We talked about what Grandmother would feed them, what we would wear, whom we’d invite to dinner, and so on. No end of fantasies.
FEBRUARY 25 . More about aristocrats. They were taught to keep diaries from childhood. It was supposed to train them in self-discipline, analysis, and evaluation of their actions. I can confirm that it’s work that demands great willpower. So many ideas come into your head during the day, and mentally you write everything down. But there’s a big difference between writing mentally and writing with a pen at the desk. You have to make special shackles to keep yourself at the desk for an hour or two every day. When I was a child, we had a maid who thought that every literate person could be a writer, as long as pen and paper were handy. Writing a dozen pages was like doing the laundry or washing the floor for her.
I had so many excuses for not sitting down to work. When I played the piano, I kept pestering my mother every five minutes: I needed a drink; I had to go pee. I processed a lot of water in thirty minutes. When I was writing my thesis, I reorganized the kitchen shelves and the closets and ironed a lot of clothes. When I was working on my dissertation, I kept American best sellers under my manuscripts. If Mama came into the room, I pretended to be really busy.
But as soon as I started, things went smoothly. Sometimes
you spend two hours in the torment of getting ready and then sit down and finish the work in an hour. Keeping this diary is both pleasure and torment for me.
MARCH 1. Last night I dreamed I was flying. You push off, make an effort, and you’re soaring. An incredible sensation. Once I dreamed I was rushing at great speed through a tunnel. People say you see that during clinical death. I had been very upset that day and tried to find solace from my problems. Strange things also happen to me when I’m making love. I travel to other eras and see enormous buildings. My lover knocked himself out to please me, and I told him about a Gothic cathedral I saw. He was hurt. Silly man, it was much better than physical satisfaction. Another time there were Chinese dragons and fighting warriors in exotic garb.
I suppose the time has come for me to reveal my sweet secret about the island of Crete. About ten years ago I was on a cruise in the Mediterranean. I prepared for the trip well, read a lot of books about the countries we were going to visit. And suddenly there was an unexpected change in the route. Egypt was dropped, too unsettled, and we went to Crete. To my shame I knew almost nothing about it except that I confused it with Cyprus. We came ashore on a cool gray morning and saw the walls of the old city. We went by bus to the ruins of the palace of Knossos. The name meant almost nothing to me.
We arrived an hour later. There were ruins like any other, nothing special. I had seen similar ones in Central Asia and in Syria. We went through the wrecked rooms, up and down steps.
They say that deja vu happens to people who are exhausted or emotionally stunned, I was calm and not in the least tired. I simply realized that I had lived here before. I had walked along these corridors, carrying water pitchers and speaking a different language. Alas, I had been a simple servant. Of course, it would have been better to be a noble lady, but you can’t fool with your memory. Most important, I had been happy in that life. I had a lover with whom I went into the hills and swam in the sea. My desires had been simple and satisfiable. In a word, there had been harmony, which was so lacking from my present life. I wasn’t inventing any fantasies. I just walked around and remembered.
In the afternoon we went to a museum that kept frescoes and utensils from the palace. More confirmation—I had seen them all before. Every line, every shade of color I recognized with my entire being.
That night on the ship I checked and rechecked my sensations. Had I invented it or had it happened? And what if my lover were alive once more, like me? And what if I met him again, since I’d never had such a joyous and natural love in my life yet? This was where the romantic dreams began.
I told my discovery to parapsychologist friends. They assured me that I had lived then and had also lived in ancient Egypt, where I had been a priestess in a temple. My boyfriend suggested that I not fill my head with nonsense and concentrate on ordinary love instead. But after my love in Knossos I didn’t need him.
MARCH 3. In every Russian there lurks a bit of Oblomov. That famous hero of Russian literature spent most of his life in bed or in an armchair wearing his robe. His best intentions were shattered against his immovable indolence and inability to function.
Today I was a real Oblomov. I spent the day in my nightgown and robe, and naturally I didn’t make my bed. But Moscow weather can make you do that sometimes! You open your curtains and see a dark, lowering sky and drizzling rain. You go to the bathroom to wash your face and get back into bed to read a bit. Then you pull on your robe and wander to the kitchen. Breakfast and a cup of tea wake you up a bit. You call a girl friend, talk for ten minutes, and then you want to get back into bed. The rain is coming down harder, and a cold wind is howling. The cozy bed in the corner with the soft light of the lamp above it is so inviting. There’s a pile of books and magazines by the bed. You read for a half hour, and you’re sleepy again. Sleeping in the daytime is very much like being half awake. It’s incredibly delicious.
Then it’s lunchtime. It might as well be twilight outside. You shut the kitchen curtains, turn on the table lamp, tune in to Radio Liberty, and it’s like being in Europe. A friend of mine, when he opened the curtains in the morning, always said, “Well, is there still Soviet rule out there?” Lunch lasts almost an hour. Then you call your mother, who’s also reading on the couch. Well, you might turn on the TV. I have it set up so that I can watch from bed. Back under the blanket, I’m getting completely lazy. What else do you need out of life? The evening flies by. If I can’t control myself, I have something else to eat at bedtime. Then it’s back to a book until sleep creeps up on me.
In this foul weather, to nature’s dreary plaint,
Days, moments like years, years go slowly.
A lot of people in Moscow complain about the autumn and winter hibernation: You don’t want to do anything, and you don’t have the strength to go out. Of course, our hibernation is not seasonal. It’s been going on for decades. Some sleep at work; some sleep at home. You have to agree that it’s nicer at home.
MARCH 4. They made me cry today. I decided to go swimming at the pool on Sundays. With difficulty I managed to buy a pass for three months, which required a note from my doctor. I went to the hospital, which said I had to give samples for analysis and also go see the venerealogical service. It’s protecting Soviet people from VD and other vile diseases. Why not a psychiatric check as well? What if you start attacking your sports companions? Well, I went to the service. I got lost and asked some old ladies in the courtyard for the right building. They gave me a dirty look and said nastily, “You need that yellow building. That’s what you need.” I was already on the verge of tears. The exam lasted one minute. I lifted up my blouse and lowered my panties. Everything was fine. There were no horrible ulcerations on my body from a corrupt life. A doctor at the hospital could have done the very same thing. But an easy life is a luxury in our country.