evening has even exceeded my expectations.
The door-bell rang, I opened the door and saw a very young girl with lots of make-up at her face and in some dress with sparkles. Her expression was very tense when she appeared from the complete darkness of the stairs. She looked around suspiciously and came in with some hesitation. Continuing to look around she reminded that she has already sent me a letter with an amateur picture of herself and that I called her and asked to bring some better picture which she brought now. She showed me the studio picture in the same dress with sparkles, with the same quantity of make-up, the reddest lips, dark shadows around eyes. I looked for her amateur picture to return for a long time; I could not remember the girl anyhow. At last I found and understood why I could not recognize her; a very nice girl without any make-up, in simple jeans and shirt was standing at the beach smiling happily. The picture was rather small and not good enough for scanning, still better than what she brought that time. Well, I did not tell her as it was her wish to display herself so.
«What will you do with me further?» she asked strangely.
«Further?» I did not understand what she meant.
«Are you always alone here?» she asked even more strangely.
«Yes,» I replied being amazed.
«And where are other people?» she continued to ask.
«Other people? Which?» I was amazed even more, and that same moment the door-bell rang, I moved to the door to open it and had time to notice the girl’s face has changed becoming quite scared.
It was the electricity-man at the stairs.
He said he would switch off light to switch on the button. And he did switch off light for a very short time. I loudly said something encouraging to the girl in the room in that complete darkness. Then the electricity-man switched on the light again, we checked the button, I thanked him, and we parted.
When I returned to the room I have not found the girl at her former place. I looked around and found her standing behind the wardrobe desperately holding a tear-gas spray in her shaking hand.
«Don’t come up to me!» she exclaimed. «What do you want to do? Why did you switch off the light?»
I was astonished but murmured something about problems with lighting-button and electricity.
«I changed my mind, I don’t want anything! Don’t come up! Who else is hiding there?» yelled she shaking her sprayer, trying to look into the hall and seems being afraid even to move.
«There was an electricity-man but he left,» I whispered with my heart trembling, thinking how to manage to call and where to call first, to the militia or to the ambulance. But the girl suddenly throwed the sprayer and burst into tears. She cried loudly and childishly, all make up leaked from her face, I ran and poured her a glass of water, my hands were also shaking when I offered it to her, I was frightened so as I was not ever for a long time.
Fifteen minutes later we both sat on my couch and had tea. The girl’s face was now clean from any make-up as she washed it; she looked like a real kid with her swelled up eyes, handkerchief gripped in her hand, in her absurd sparkling dress. And she told her story.
She was the only daughter of rather old parents. Her parents, pensioners, read a lot of newspapers and watched TV news all the time and were very much concerned with criminals and mafia by which papers and television used to frighten people every day. They even saw off their only daughter to school being afraid that something could happen with her though she hated this accompanying. When she entered the college they would like to continue but she protested and has fought her independency. Still her parents tried to follow her or to view her wherever they could. Her girlfriends dated boys long ago but it was quite impossible for her with such parents. Once however a smart car stopped beside her on her way home and a young man offered to take her. Her parents warned her most of all from just this but she not only has got into the car and chatted with great pleasure but even gave her telephone to that very nice, according to her opinion, person when they stopped at her home. And of course her mother saw it all from the window; the person in the luxurious car could be only from mafia. The scandal was grand and when the man from the car called at last, her mother had time to say that the number was wrong. It was too late when the daughter ran up to the phone. The young man never called again.
The girl decided to revenge herself. She did not care already and wished to do something terrible so her parents would understand how bad their behaviour was and they would repent.
Her parents told her once that they heard there were a lot of underground brothels in the city hidden behind legal marriage agencies and that the destiny of girls captured by them was awful. And the girl has taken the decision, has prepared an appropriate picture with lots of make-up, borrowed an appropriate dress from one of her friends and at last resolved to come. When she saw the dark stairs she was confirmed that something awful was very close. When the light was switched off in the room she was scared, she understood what she has done, so she decided not to surrender.
Very soon, looking through our catalogs, she still giggled remembering what had happened not long ago. I returned her pictures, she took them, then hesitated, gave me back the first amateur one, and said she would still like to stay the customer.
«Where else to take a husband with such my people?» smiled she and stood up.
I saw her off to the door, pressed my new lighting button and the girl went out into pretty well illuminated stairs, glanced back, smiled again and disappeared in the street.
Provincial Girls
Many girls from province come to St. Petersburg, leaving their small towns in the hope to change their life in the large city. They often come from areas where life seems stopped, where there is no place either to work or to do anything else besides work, where people just try to survive carrying on their natural economy, where rows of sellers at small bazaars wait for customers in vain, where people just look at each other with a silent question «What really will be further?» and cannot find any answer.
St. Petersburg seems to be full of opportunities. Girls from province, having arrived, being lucky to settle here, admire a beautiful but indifferent city, its lights and amusements that they cannot yet afford, and dream to force their way through their limited reality. They find a job and work hard in the hope to be a success. They often come to my marriage agency office and bring their pictures. Provincial girls are diligent in everything: their introduction pictures are very good, girls believe in a Cinderella fairy-tale, they are sure that either their efforts at work will be rewarded or handsome princes will surely find them. But their career in the city where any labour costs so little often does not turn out, princes do not occur either and when I call them to check if their intent to marry abroad did not change yet some other people tell me that this or that girl left for home already long ago.
Other provincial girls having found themselves in the large city stop dreaming very soon and understand that they should hold their ground themselves. Such girls are often more persistent and efficient than the ironical and reflexing girls from St. Petersburg, they look older and harder than their St. Petersburg female mates. They learn firstly the seamy side of life, good knowledge of it often makes them consider that such virtues as warmth and gentleness are just luxuries that they can’t yet afford.
I met a pretty young woman from a far southern city. She looked confident and victorious in her picture. However her life was hard, she had to provide also her son
