maybe it was the effect of the champagne?
Her favorite teacher looked quite different tonight from his usual image as a strict and unapproachable teacher, the way he was at university. Tonight, he was stylishly dressed: narrow trousers, a light brown tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows and leather buttons, and a turtleneck cream sweater, and his whole appearance spoke of lightness, holidays, a game.
“He is so handsome!” trilled Dina’s soul. “And tonight he is with me.” Her feminine vanity timidly piped up, without any expectations for the future, and not thinking about the past.
“Do you dance?” asked Konstantin Konstantinovich when the waiter had finished his job and left, and the ensemble started to play The Moonstone3.
“Yes,” replied Dina.
“May I ask you to dance?” Her companion stood up and reached for her hand.
Dina thought that she could not possibly get any more flustered, that she had reached all possible limits that were compatible with life, so she barely touched her teacher’s palm with her fingers. Her heart was ready to stop altogether – it had deviated from its normal rhythm so suddenly that it simply couldn’t remember it, and was thus in complete disarray.
Konstantin Konstantinovich led Dina to the center of the dance area and held her right hand in his, while his other hand rested ever so gently on her back.
Dina’s breathing had become almost even and her heart had calmed down somewhat and continued its work, albeit in very unusual, hitherto unknown rhythm… No, it recalled that something similar had happened when Arthur Davlatyan had invited Dina to slow dances at student parties – his touch had been just as pleasing. And yet everything was different this time and even more intense.
One of Dina’s hands lay against Konstantin Konstantinovich’s chest, feeling the soft woolen fluffiness of his tweed jacket. The other hand absorbed the heat of the man’s palm, sensing the slightest movement of his muscles as he squeezed and released Dina’s fingers. It seemed as if streams of energy were flowing from his hand… entering her, filling her up. His breath touched her cheek… Dina could hear it, loud and uneven… and it stirred something up inside her.
“You’re so light,” Konstantin Konstantinovich said in her ear.
His voice had become low and slightly husky. She glanced up and her whole being was enveloped in the light radiating from his eyes.
“Really?” She asked, bewildered, not meaning to say that at all.
“Really.” He laughed and pressed her close to him.
He released her at once, but that quick embrace, the passing touch of cheek to cheek, and his low laughter, almost made Dina swoon.
“Bring me the moonstone… bring me the moonstone…” the lead singer uttered, then the music subsided, the saxophone player and guitarists put down their instruments, and the musicians went off for a break.
Spring Rain
Dina and Konstantin Konstantinovich walked slowly across the bridge towards the tram stop.
They had spoken so much and so eagerly at the café, amid the noise and music, that it seemed strange that both were silent now, when they were alone in the silence.
The silence felt awkward as each one evaluated what they had said before and tried to decide if they had been too open or said too much.
Dina noticed a crouching kitten between the bridge pylon and the railing. She came closer and squatted down to stroke the ruffled back, covered in speckles of moisture. But the kitten fled unexpectedly, slipping out from under her fingers. Dina watched him go and stood up again. She put her hands on the bridge railing and looked over the black dense surface of the slow-moving river, which played lazily with the city lights.
“Do you love all animals? Or just cats?” asked Konstantin Konstantinovich, using it as an excuse to break the silence.
He approached the railing and stood next to Dina.
“Just cats,” said Dina.
“You exhibit an incredible combination of female and male traits,” he said and smiled at Dina. “Today has been an endless revelation for me.”
Dina turned to Konstantin Konstantinovich and stared at his face. She suddenly felt that it was not her looking, that she did not exist, and that this man, a completely unknown man, was standing next to an unfamiliar girl, and Dina suddenly wanted to burst into tears for some reason.
But the feeling lasted only a second. In the next moment, she was back in her body, and her hands could feel the cold of the iron railing. Beside her stood her teacher, who had assessed her at the exam this morning, then sat next to her in the movie theater, and, while following the trials and tribulations of the characters, played by Nakhapetov and Vetinskaya, she could nevertheless constantly feel his presence… and then… and then she danced with him at the cafe, and he was so close, and he hugged her…
“You continue to mystify me. You’re acting so odd for a woman… for a girl your age.” His voice betrayed his agitation again. “You admitted how you feel about me, after all. Which is no joke, as I understand… Aren’t you interested to know what I think about it?”
She turned away again and looked down at the wave rising at the base of the bridge – just as slow and sleepy as the river itself. When she felt that she could speak calmly, she turned back to Konstantin Konstantinovich and spoke, looking into his eyes. “Of course, I would like to know what you think… But I don’t want any lies. I don’t want you to reciprocate my words for any other reason but one – if you feel the same way. Which is impossible.” She dropped her gaze but then stared at her teacher again. “Since your relationship with Rimma Yakovleva has just finished with her having an abortion.” Konstantin Konstantinovich tried to say something but Dina ignored his reaction. “You haven’t had time to figure out your feelings for me, because my knees, which you had noticed this morning, is not the sum of me… and people don’t fall in love with knees. So it’s better if you say nothing. If you say right now that you’re in love with me, it’ll be the end. It will mean that you really are just a womanizer, and that you’re willing to pay any price to acquire another… another mistress.”
She turned away again, watching the black water speckled with gold, with only one thought in her head: don’t cry.
Konstantin Konstantinovich very carefully took Dina’s hand – it was cold and wet from the night’s dew. Seeing no resistance, he took her other hand and held them between his palms to warm them up. Dina didn’t fight him but neither did she look at him as she was still afraid of bursting into tears. She didn’t know and couldn’t understand why.
“All right,” said Konstantin Konstantinovich, “I will not say anything for now… except one thing: You seem to be cold.”
“No, I’m not cold,” said Dina, “It’s just my hands.”
Konstantin Konstantinovich breathed into his hands, where Dina’s fingers lay.
“Thank you.” Dina smiled.
They passed the bridge and stopped at the tram stop.
The Moonstone – A song composed in 1966 by A. Ostrovsky, lyrics by I. Kashezheva
