Then she buried her face on his shoulder and whispered: “And we won’t ever talk about it again. And now we don’t have to talk at all, do we? I have to get up and powder my nose, and you have to take that coat off, and take a bath, and I’ll fix you some lunch.... But first let me sit with you, for just a few moments, just sit still ... don’t move ... Leo....”
Her head slid slowly to his breast, to his knees, to his feet.
III
IN THE AFTERNOON, THREE DAYS LATER, THE door bell rang and Kira went to answer it.
She threw the door half-open, protected by a chain. On the stair-landing stood a heavy woman in a smart, expensive overcoat. Her face, slanting back from a prominent, pointed chin, was raised with a studied movement of graceful inquiry, revealing a stout, white neck; her full lips, smeared with a violent magenta, were half-open, revealing strong white teeth. Her hand poised on a broad expanse of green silk scarf, she drawled in a self-consciously gracious voice: “Does Leo Kovalensky live here?”
Kira looked incredulously at the diamond rings sparkling on the short, white fingers. She answered: “Why ... yes.”
She did not remove the chain; she stood staring at the woman. The woman said with a little accent of gentle firmness: “I want to see him.”
Kira let her enter. The woman looked at Kira curiously, inquisitively, narrowing her eyes.
Leo rose with a surprised frown when they entered the room. The woman extended both hands to him in a dramatic greeting. “Leo! So delightful to see you again! I’ve remembered my threat to find you. I really intend to be a nuisance!”
Leo did not smile in answer to her expectant giggle; he bowed graciously; he said: “Kira, this is Antonina Pavlovna Platoshkina — Kira Alexandrovna Argounova.”
“Oh! ... Argounova? ... Oh ...” said Antonina Pavlovna, as if noting the fact that Kira’s name was not Leo’s; she sounded almost relieved. She extended her arm, in a straight line, her fingers drooping, as if she were giving her hand to a man and expecting him to kiss it.
“Antonina Pavlovna and I were neighbors in the sanatorium,” Leo explained.
“And he was a perfectly ungracious neighbor, I must complain,” Antonina Pavlovna laughed huskily. “He wouldn’t wait for me — and I wanted so much to leave on the same train. And, Leo, you didn’t give me your apartment number and I had a perfectly terrible time trying to get it out of the Upravdom. Upravdoms are one of the unavoidable nuisances of our era, and all we of the intelligentsia can do is bear with it with a sense of humor.”
She took off her coat. She wore a plain black dress of new, expensive silk in the latest fashion, and foreign earrings of green celluloid circles. Her hair was combed back severely off her forehead and two trim, sleek coils were flattened against her cheeks smeared with a very white powder. Her hair was an incredible orange, the color of a magnificent string of amber that swung like a pendulum, striking her stomach, when she moved. Her dress fitted tightly, slanting sharply from very wide hips down to heavy legs with very thin ankles and very small feet that seemed crushed under their disproportionate burden. She sat down and her stomach settled in a wide fold over her lap.
“When did you return, Tonia?” Leo asked.
“Yesterday. And oh, what a trip!” she sighed. “These Soviet trains! Really, I believe I lost everything I accomplished in the sanatorium. I was taking a rest cure for my nerves,” she explained, pointing her chin at Kira. “And what sensitive person isn’t a nervous wreck these days? But the Crimea! That place saved my life.”
“It was beautiful,” Leo agreed.
“But, really, it lost all its charm after you left, Leo. You know, he was the most charming patient in that dull sanatorium and everybody admired him so much — oh, purely platonically, my dear, if you’re worried,” she winked at Kira.
“I’m not,” said Kira.
“Leo was so kind as to help me with my French lessons. I was learning ... that is, brushing up on my French. It is such a relief, in these drab days, to stumble upon a person like Leo. You must forgive me, Leo. I realize that I may be an unwelcome guest, but it would be too much to expect of a woman if you asked her to give up a beautiful friendship in this revolting city where real people are so rare!”
“Why, no, Tonia, I’m glad you took the trouble to find me.”
“Ah, these people here! I know so many of them. We meet, we talk, we shake hands. What does it mean? Nothing. Nothing but an empty physical gesture. Who among them knows the deeper significance of the spirit or the real meaning of our lives?”
Leo’s slow, faint smile was not one of understanding; but he said: “One could forget one’s troubles in some engrossing activity — if it were permitted these days.”
“How profoundly true! Of course, the modern woman of culture is organically incapable of remaining inactive. I have a tremendous program outlined for myself for this coming winter. I’m going to study. I propose to master ancient Egypt.”
“What?” asked Kira.
“Ancient Egypt,” said Antonina Pavlovna. “I want to recapture its spirit in all its entirety. There is a profound significance in these far-away cultures, a mysterious bond with the present, which we moderns do not appreciate fully. I am certain that in a former incarnation ... You are not interested in theosophy, are you, Leo?”
“No.”
“I can appreciate your viewpoint, of course, but I have given it a thorough study and a great deal of thought. There is a transcendental truth in it, an explanation for so many of the baffling phenomena of our existence. Of course, I have one of those natures that long for the mystical. However, you must not think me old-fashioned. You mustn’t be surprised if I tell you that I’m studying political economy.”
“You are, Tonia? Why?”
“One cannot be out of tune with one’s time, you know. To criticize, we must understand. I find it surprisingly thrilling. There is a certain peculiar romance in labor and markets and machines. Apropos, have you read the latest volume of verse by Valentina Sirkina?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Thoroughly delightful. Such depth of emotion, and yet — completely modern, so essentially modern! There is a verse about — how does it go? — about my heart is asbestos that remains cool over the blast-furnace of my emotions — or something like that — it is really superb.”
“I must admit I don’t read modern poets.”
“I’ll bring you that book, Leo. I know you’ll understand and appreciate it. And I’m sure Kira Alexandrovna will enjoy it.”
“Thank you,” said Kira, “but I never read poetry.”
“Indeed? How peculiar! I’m sure you care for music?”
“Fox-trots,” said Kira.
“Really?” Antonina Pavlovna smiled condescendingly. When she smiled, her chin pointed further forward and her forehead slanted back; her lips opened slowly, uncomfortably, as if slithering apart. “Speaking of music,” she turned to Leo, “it is another essential item on my winter’s program. I’ve made Koko promise me a box for every concert at the State Philharmony. Poor Koko! He’s really very artistic at heart, if one knows how to approach him, but I’m afraid that his unfortunate early upbringing has not trained him for an appreciation of symphonic music. I shall, probably, have to be alone in my box. Oh — here’s a happy thought! — you may share it with me, Leo.... And Kira Alexandrovna, of course,” she nodded to Kira and turned to Leo again.
“Thank you, Tonia,” he answered, “but I’m afraid we won’t have much time for that, this winter.”
“Leo, my dear!” she spread her arms in a wide gesture of sympathy, “don’t you think I understand? Your financial position is.... Ah, these are not times for men like you. However, do not lose courage. With my connections ... Koko cannot refuse me anything. He hated to see me leave for the Crimea. He missed me so much — you wouldn’t believe how glad he was to see me back. He could not be more devoted if he were my husband. In fact, he couldn’t be as devoted as he is. Marriage is an outmoded prejudice — as you know.” She smiled at Kira.