Brisbane by Eugene Vodolazkin

Author:Eugene Vodolazkin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Plough Publishing House

OCTOBER 20, 2013, MUNICH

I half-recline on the sofa, hands clasped behind my head. Katya is in the swivel chair at the computer, finger on mouse.

Biting her lip, she scrolls through text on the screen.

“Tomorrow is the last warm day. Then it’s winter, by the way.” She sighs and turns the screen around. “Winter, Gleb.”

The window of the neighboring cottage reflects a red evening ray, which glances off, like a soccer ball, into the Yanovskys’ living room. And trembles on the ceiling.

I say, “Write Mayer that I’m canceling the Berlin concert.” Pause. “That I’m canceling my concerts in general.”

Katya does a half-turn in her chair. Looks at me silently.

“What are you staring at!” I glance at Katya and change my tone. “Write …”

Katya opens the mail program.

“Are you going to give him a reason?”

“Let’s skip the reason.” I walk up to the window. “The reason is that I can’t play anymore! I can’t. Do you understand?”

“You know even with diseases things can go different ways. There are known cases where everything passes by itself.”

I laugh loudly and artificially.

“I practiced for four hours yesterday. A total crock. Did you hear that gurgling? You did: when you walk up to the door the floor creaks loudly. And you know why it creaks?” I head for the bookshelf, move aside a volume of Goethe, and take out a flask with two fingers. “Because alcohol makes you fat. I know all your stashes.”

“I’m a fat old sot. If that makes you feel better.”

She says this almost in a whisper. Stares hard at the screen. I put my hands on Katya’s shoulders and press my forehead to the top of her head.

“Forgive me. You’re not old and you’re not fat. But you are a sot.”

Katya covers my hands with hers. She looks up at me.

“Gleb, darling, bear in mind, I haven’t touched spirits for two weeks. Didn’t you notice?”

“No, because yesterday you smelled of it.”

The computer signals incoming mail. Katya touches the mouse, and the dark screen comes to life.

“I had a drink yesterday when I heard you playing.”

Email from Anna Avdeyeva.

I go back to the sofa.

“To hell with Anna Avdeyeva. Write to Mayer.”

“She writes her maiden name.”

“To hell with her maiden name.”

“It’s a funny name: Lebed.”

Swan.

I run my hands across my face. The skin stretches like a rubber mask.

“And what, I wonder, does Anna Lebed write?”

“‘Dear Gleb, despite all the years that have passed, I hope you remember me. I’m sure you do, although your memories are probably not the nicest.’”

“Not the nicest. And her style is straight out of Turgenev. What a fool.”

“Just a sec.… ‘I was married twice but never did manage to have a child.’” Katya looks over briefly at Gleb. “‘So. Marrying for the third time, I moved to Leningrad. And had a daughter, her name is Vera. Soon after Vera’s birth my husband died.’”

“What do I need all this slobber for? Trash it!”

“Wait. ‘Vera started having liver problems, and recently they gave her a diagnosis of cancer.’” Katya continues to read the letter silently for a while.

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