Thirst by Andrei Gelasimov

Author:Andrei Gelasimov [Gelasimov, Andrei]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 2011-11-22T05:00:00+00:00

“Kostya! Hey, Kostya!” my father shouted to me. “Come here! Are you deaf or something? I’ve been calling and calling and you don’t hear.”

“It’s noisy there on the balcony,” I said, walking into the room. “Too many cars below.”

“What did you expect? It’s Moscow! Practically city center. Let’s go have supper. Marina’s home from work.”

“So, didn’t your friends come?” Marina said in the kitchen.

“No. They had complications. They may not come tomorrow either.”

“Listen, for some reason I started using the formal ‘you’ with you again. What are you more comfortable with?”

“I don’t care.”

“Then let’s use the informal. If I forget, be sure to remind me. OK? How did our Slavka do running at Happy Starts?”

She stabbed a piece of meat with a fork and knocked my father with her knee. The meat fell back on the plate and she started laughing. My father couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Fine. Their class won. Slavka got a certificate.”

“I see.” She smiled. “Now he’ll come inside and brag till the cows come home. He absolutely has to win.”

We ate in silence for probably a minute. My father wasn’t eating.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she finally said to my father.

Her voice had changed.

“You cut your hair,” he said.

“And so? Now I’m not allowed to cut my hair?”

“It’s a new hairstyle.”

“Listen, let’s not do this in front of your son. Reporters from the States come to see us at the office, and you want me to look like a scarecrow.”

“It was a pretty hairstyle.”

“It aged me. Don’t you understand? I looked forty. But I’m thirty-two. I’m only thirty-two!”

“What about the reporters?”

“What?” she stammered and gave him a bewildered look.

“How old are the journalists from America? Are they young?”

Marina looked at him without saying a word. Then she pushed her plate away and rose abruptly.

“I am so fed up with this obsession of yours! We can’t even eat a decent meal.”

She slammed the door, and we were left sitting at the table. The meat on my father’s plate was untouched.

“I apologize, Kostya,” Marina said later that night, coming to see me in my room. “We spoiled your supper. This happens with us. Your father is very sensitive about the difference in our ages. And nothing I say can convince him otherwise.”

“That’s OK,” I said. “Everyone has their problems.”

“But I have absolutely no idea how to help him. I have to weigh my every step to make sure I don’t say or do something. He flies off the handle at the drop of a hat. You know, I’m tired of it. Can I smoke in your room?”

“Smoke away. It’s your apartment.”

“Listen, what’s this you have?” She leaned over the desk by the window.

“A drawing.”

“This is wonderful! The children were making my ears buzz today over how you were drawing here this morning. You used up all my paper.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll buy some for you tomorrow.”

“Oh please! That’s not what I mean. This came out marvelously!”

“It’s the Black Sea,” I said. “There’s this one great guy living there.

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