The lovers. Novel. Julia Dobrovolskaya

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mood, laughed. “All right, Vera! I’ll wash the dishes today.”

      “What wonderful news!” Vera replied sarcastically.

      Rimma did not respond to that, but took out a block of chocolate and placed it on the table.

      “I almost forgot – here – I got a present. I haven’t even taken a bite of it myself!”

      Vera, deciding to completely kill Rimma’s unexpectedly good mood, spoke again. “So who is feeding you chocolate, then?”

      “Someone,” Rimma replied mysteriously and started spreading butter on a slice of baguette.

      “Someone Someonevich Kolotozashvili?” asked the horrid girl.

      Rimma looked at Vera in bewilderment, her eyes filled with tears, and she threw the unfinished sandwich on the table and ran out of the room.

      Valya timidly criticized Vera. “What did you say that for? You know that…”

      Vera, feeling guilty but refusing to admit it, snapped back. “No, I don’t. She didn’t say anything to me personally.”

      “I told you.” Valya spoke timidly but reproachfully.

      Dina took Valya’s side. “Go and apologize.”

      “I won’t. What a princess! It’s her fault for being such an idiot around a guy like him.”

      Valya stood up and left the room.

      Vera, who had learned since childhood that the best form of defense is attack, turned to Dina. “Did Kokon give you an automatic five just because, or is he making a move on you too?”

      “Could be just because, and could be because he’s making a move,” Dina spoke calmly, without pausing her tea drinking.

      “Why the vagueness? Is he making a move or not?” Vera persisted.

      “If I were you, I would find Rimma and say sorry.”

      “Did you know about Rimma’s abortion, too?”

      Dina nearly choked on her sandwich but pretended that the news had not shocked her. She waited a moment and said slowly, between sips of hot tea, “Whether I know… or not… is not important… But you know… and you’re using it against her.”

      “It’s her own fault. What an idiot, falling for that one…”

      The door opened, and Valya and Rimma entered. Vera, defiantly slurping her tea and eating the chocolate, stared out the window.

      * * *

      In the evening, Dina took a mirror out of her bedside drawer, carefully inspected her face and wiped it over with a cotton ball soaked in almond milk, whose smell she had loved since childhood. Her mother had the same one, in the same glass bottle. She used a pencil to fix her eyebrows and drew a line over her upper eyelids. She then opened a round cardboard box with powder and dabbed the white puff over her face. She barely touched her lips with a pink lipstick and started to paint her well-tended nails with a pearly pink nail polish.

      Vera and Valya, who were still poring over their books and notes, looked at Dina’s actions with envy.

      Vera, who could not keep quiet for very long, found a reason. “Lucky Dina! Now you can paint your nails and do nothing.”

      Rimma, who was reading a book in bed, glanced up at Dina but did not say anything.

      Dina was quiet too. She approached her cupboard.

      “Where are you off to?” Vera kept pestering her.

      There was nobody to control the arrogant Vera in this room. Valya did not dare to speak up against Vera, being in a sort of subservient position. Rimma simply avoided her, like a puddle, to avoid being accidentally splattered with mud by a passing car or bicycle. Only Dina sometimes told Vera what she thought of her most flagrant violations of polite manners. But in truth, it was like water off a duck’s back, as only a more rude and vulgar person could have shut up Vera.

      Without waiting for an answer, Vera stipulated. “Off on a date, I bet. With Kokon, I bet. You’ve got to pay off that semi-automatic mark!”

      It must be said, Vera sometimes understood perfectly well when she had said too much. But the realization came too late, together with the knowledge that a word spoken is like a bird that’s already flown.

      Vera bit her tongue and threw a nervous glance towards Rimma.

      The other girl slowly put down her book and looked at Dina questioningly.

      Dina, as if she had not noticed either Vera’s words or Rimma’s stare, continued to comb her hair in front of the mirror.

      Rimma waited a few long moments, and asked, “Is this true, Dina?”

      “Yes,” Dina replied calmly.

      Vera and Valya stared at Dina with their mouths open. Rimma’s beautiful lips slowly twisted into a smile that looked more like a grimace.

      “Well, well, well…” she said.

      Dina stopped what she was doing, approached Rimma, and asked, staring at her openly, “Rimma, did I steal him from you?”

      Rimma looked down and did not say anything. Her face was a frozen mask.

      “Why aren’t you saying anything?” Dina gave Rimma a long look. “If I don’t go on this date, will you feel better?” Rimma was silent. “Will you? Tell me!”

      Vera and Valya watched this scene with disbelief.

      Rimma spoke slowly. “Whatever, I don’t care anymore… It’s just that… you could have at least lied about it…”

      “Oh! Lie to you! No way!” Dina snapped. She turned to Vera and Valya, who were sitting at the table, and said, trying to keep her overwhelming emotions under control: “You are the ones, who are used to living surrounded by lies and envy. I believe that we should live honestly, love openly and dislike openly… You’ve pulled so many masks over your faces, this one and that one… Then you go hissing like geese behind each other’s backs.”

      “What has got you so worked up? Off you go, then.” Vera was stung but did not plan to back down.

      “Oh, I’m going,” Dina said. “But the rest of you, and especially you, Vera, you ought to think about how to live from now on.”

      “Yeah, we’ll think about it, and why don’t you slap some more makeup on, to show how pretty you are,” Vera kept up.

      “Thanks for the advice,” Dina said calmly. “You’re right.” She took the pencil and drew the lines slightly thicker. “By the way, you would do well to look after yourself. With your old, worn bathrobes and unwashed hair, you’ll keep sitting here until you get married to the first man that looks at you twice.”

      “Oh, and you’re so special that you won’t marry the first one, of course!” Vera responded.

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