The Eighth Life by Nino Haratischvili

Author:Nino Haratischvili [Haratischvili, Nino]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scribe Publications
Published: 2019-10-01T05:00:00+00:00

What are our schools for if not indoctrination against Communism?

RICHARD NIXON

For Elene’s sixteenth birthday, Kostya surprised his daughter with a brief visit and real French perfume, which was meant to show her that she could finally consider herself an adult. But the night before the big party Kostya wanted to throw in his daughter’s honour, Elene disappeared and was nowhere to be found. Eventually they discovered a note, written in her pretty, girlish handwriting: I’ve gone and I don’t want you to look for me. I’ve permitted myself — and I apologise for that — to take two necklaces from Mama’s jewellery box and a little money from Stasia’s handbag. I am going to seek God. So don’t worry and don’t look for me. Your Elene.

It took them almost a week to find her. Kostya made use of all his contacts and influence; she had indeed gone to a convent, near Kazbegi. Getting her out of there must have resembled a scene from a film: Nana told me later that Kostya threw his daughter over his shoulder like a rolled-up carpet, and she thrashed and screamed like a banshee. On the drive home, she prayed non-stop, threatening her parents with Hell and the Devil if they didn’t take her back and leave her in peace.

Kostya was lenient and made allowances; he didn’t reproach her, and he tried his very best to understand his child’s dramatic transformation from supposedly model daughter to a God-seeking young woman uninterested in human society. He took a leave of absence, booked two rooms in a luxury sanatorium by the healing springs in Sochi, and flew there with Elene. He took her for meals in high-class restaurants and even allowed her to drink Crimean champagne; in the mornings, before the beaches got crowded, he went swimming with her in the violet-tinted sea; he took her on evening walks along the white promenades, and tried to guess what reasons for her rebellion could lie behind her silence. And it took days for the sea, the unasked questions, the reproaches not made, her father’s undivided attention, the tranquillity, and the sense of security at his side finally to coax a smile out of Elene after all. Her stony expression softened; she even started telling him what she wanted to see or do on a particular day; and when she seemed to have forgotten her worries for a few moments (which wasn’t often, but still), she was like the old Moscow Elene again, that cheerful soul bursting with energy, Kostya’s disciplined, ambitious daughter. In moments like these, Kostya believed that what his wife had got wrong with his daughter could still be put right — by him, by his patience and devotion.

*

At that time, towards the end of summer, Vasili, whom all the Caucasian guests addressed in the Georgian manner as Vaso, was working as a lifeguard on the upmarket end of Sochi beach. He had just turned twenty, and dreamed of one day climbing into the hold

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