The Ruby by Ann Maxwell

Author:Ann Maxwell
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Romance, Fiction, Contemporary, General
ISBN: 9780061042690
Publisher: HarperTorch
Published: 1995-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

The cheap loudspeaker made the balalaika music sound properly tinny. The summer smog reminded Damon Hudson of Moscow’s haze. The sidewalks were crowded with dumpy women in cheap housedresses. The benches in the park were filled with dour old men who smoked and talked out of the corners of their mouths, as though they were afraid someone might be eavesdropping on their everyday conversations. Highland Park in West Los Angeles was almost like Gorki Park on a hot summer day.

Hudson hated it. Although he had made a civil crusade of his love for the Soviet Union and its people, the truth was more complex. He loved the system and had contempt for its surly inhabitants.

Even after seventy years of Soviet reform and rule, Hudson found the Russian people to be sour, smelly, and superstitious. Millions had died in the Great Patriotic War against Hitler. On top of their bodies had been piled the millions more who died in gulags and death camps from Belarus to Siberia.

Despite all those deaths and the recent political upheavals, little had changed in the Russian people themselves. Hudson was reminded of that unhappy truth each time he came to the emigre community in West Los Angeles. That was why he usually avoided the place.

Hudson had made an exception today. Davinian would be more at ease in these surroundings than anywhere else. The jeweler had grown sentimental in his old age. He loved to soak up the ambiance of Mother Russia in the same way other old men loved to soak up the summer sun.

Hudson wanted Davinian to be as comfortable as possible for their last meeting.

The jeweler was sitting quietly beneath a bloomed-out jacaranda tree. With his bald pate and his bony limbs, he looked like a small morose bird. He wore sunglasses with round metal frames, but they weren’t enough to protect eyes gone squinty with age. He looked right past Hudson without recognizing him.

“Davinian,” Hudson said quietly.

“Ah, Damon,” the old jeweler said, turning toward the voice. “I was not expecting you from that direction. I did not see your limousine pull up.”

“I walked.”

“Walked?” Davinian shook his head. “Next you will be jogging, to help you appear young again.”

“Here, I brought you some iced tea from the Crimean restaurant.”

As Hudson spoke, he rummaged in the paper bag he had carried to the meeting. His hand came out holding a plastic cup that rattled with ice and liquid. After giving the cup to Davinian, Hudson reached in and got his own drink.

“Lemon?” Davinian asked, cocking his head to one side.

“Double lemon, just like always,” Hudson said.

He uncapped his own drink and sipped tentatively. Then he sat down on the bench.

“Thank you,” Davinian said, saluting him with the cup. “It is already a warm day.”

In silence Davinian sipped at the dark, bitter tea and watched the other old men, who sat as he did, enjoying sunlight filtered through lacy leaves and the faint wail of the balalaika.

“I love this place,” Davinian said finally. “It has become like the neighborhood where I grew up.

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