Stargorod: A Novel in Many Voices

5

In the morning, Vovochka rose before dawn, tiptoed into the kitchen and sat there quietly drinking tea until everyone else awoke. Galya rushed to make him breakfast, but he refused.

“Habit is second nature. I only have tea in the morning – by lunch time, or better still, by supper, that’s when I can eat a horse. You go ahead and eat, don’t mind me, I mean it, I’m fine.”

And he didn’t eat.

After breakfast Rafa went out to flag down a taxi and was planning to see Vovochka off at the train station, but Vovochka told him not to.

“You’d better, while it’s Sunday, go to Podolsk, find that snake and give him the hen back. Will you, Rafa?”

And again he gave Rafa such a look that it was impossible to refuse.

“All right, guys, farewell, thanks for everything, and if you’re ever in Arzamas make sure to stop by. Straight from the station – to my place, I wrote the address down for Galya on the fridge. That’s it, let’s go!”

And his taxi drove off, and the girls waved after him for a long time.

Then Rafa made his way to Podolsk.

He spent the entire trip anticipating how he would drop the cardboard box at the feet of the liar, and how he would turn down the money, and he got himself so worked up that he rang the doorbell with great determination and, as soon as someone opened the door, he stepped inside the apartment, holding the box in front of him like a bomb.

Moskalev, we must note, was a very shabby sort of a man, clearly pushy and unpleasantly unkempt. In his old sweatpants with baggy, threadbare knees, and a well-worn corduroy blazer dating back to the days when corduroy wasn’t considered fashionable, with his cloudy, bulging eyes, he certainly fit the profile of an old con man, and the fact that he was visibly unnerved by Rafa’s initial determination only proved that his conscience was not entirely spotless.

“Take back your hen, please. It’s not very nice, you know, to take 50 rubles and pawn off half-dead goods. Vovochka asked me to tell you that when he comes next time…”

“What Vovochka?” the buggy-eyed Moskalev interrupted, grabbing the box and opening it. The hen, indeed, was barely alive: she rolled her eyes and feebly twitched one foot.

“What Vovochka?” Moskalev began, growing increasingly incensed. He shoved his fists onto his hips in a totally obnoxious way: “You mean Tolyanych from Stargorod, who came here yesterday?”

“What Tolyanych?” Rafa inquired, uncomprehending, but the old man cut him off:

“You must be from the same gang, then! I wonder why I haven’t seen you at the Bird Market before…”

Moskalev made a threatening move towards Rafa and then – then things took a really ugly turn. Rafa could not and did not really want to get the story straight: apparently Vovochka – or Tolyanych – paid for Moskalev’s Orlovs with three Kilzummers that promptly died during the night. Rafa couldn’t quite grasp the difference in values, but someone owed someone a 25 and someone else gave someone a five-ruble break – it was all muddled in the horrendous noise and cursing that ensued.

To make the comedy complete, two enormous Moskalev-juniors emerged from a side door, pounced on Rafa and threw him out of the apartment in a rather dishonorable fashion. As if that were not enough, they festooned him with the three dead chickens, which were molting and certainly not as pretty as they had appeared only a day earlier.

On the train ride back, great sadness swept over Rafa. All he wanted was a good bath and not to think about anything. He was part of some terrible mistake, that much was clear.

At home, he told Galya everything, and when she bawled, Rafa, who could not stand anyone’s tears, slapped the bathroom door shut behind him and locked himself in.

“Truly, girls and women are no good,” he muttered angrily.

And that’s when he spotted the familiar screw-cap bottle that was meant for “people’s diplomacy.” The bottle was shoved behind the laundry hamper. Next to it could be observed the plastic cup that normally held the toothbrushes. The bottle still had about a hundred and fifty grams on the bottom; Rafa, first replacing the glass back on its shelf, regarded the bottle for a while, shook his head, then suddenly swallowed its entire contents and stepped into a hot shower with a warm faith in humankind.

“No, it is true, it is: girls and women are no good,” he muttered and smiled sweetly at some secret thought.

23. Khokhols – a derogatory nickname for Ukrainians.