The Bracken Bloom (3) "Yeah, that's true, I was at the cemetery last night." "And what were you doing there?" "Drinking gorllka- with this man." "Why didn't you tell me anything in the morning? And what the hell made you go there?" "I just wanted to have some more drink and happened to be told that I could get some liquor at the cemetery." "Well, then remember this morning. Why did you leave the place in such a hurry after the talk with this man? You haven't explained it to us yet." "I simply forgot." "You forgot! Now I understand all. You wanted to get drunk to be brave enough to kill me. And how were you going to murder me? Strangle me, or maybe cut up my throat? But I don't understand one thing - why? D'you realize what you've done? How dare you look in my eyes now? Is that your gratitude to me, the woman who made a practical man out of the ninny you used to be?" "Exactly! A practical man!" Boris, like a beast at bay, suddenly roared. "But I never wanted to be a practical person in your sense of the word." "And what d'you wanna be? Maybe a brute?" "No, I'm not a brute. The thing I am is much worse. You've managed to convert me into your slave. I'm not a human being, I'm a machine for making money, which only you need. You always lack money and I'm always bad at making it and somebody else always lives a better life than ours. What devilry I do every day with only one purpose - to oblige you." "Great!" Nina clapped her hands. "So, that's why you decided to kill me. And how were you gonna live after my death, you nonentity?" "You know very well, I've always dreamt of becoming an author. The only thing that prevented my dream from coming true was my marriage to you." "An author! Well, has anybody ever read his novels?" Nina addressed everyone in the room. "Have you ever read that delirious nonsense, that idiotic rubbish? And his stupid thoughts of life, the thing he could never understand himself, but tried to teach everyone. No Boris, with an author's job you wouldn't earn a penny." "Nina, here's the difference between me and you!" Boris started gesticulating nervously "Wouldn't earn a penny! That says it all. You won't ever be able to understand what makes an author write, you won't ever experience the pleasure of creative work, and you don't know what happiness it is when a creation of yours causes a keen response, even if only in a single soul in the world. But people like you are only interested in the money that art can bring." "Boris," said Nina, a sneer flitting over her face, "I felt that you didn't love me anymore, but I couldn't imagine you wanted to kill me. And I know who your single soul is. It's Maria, ain't I right?" "Yes, you're right. And unlike you, Maria knows and values my true vocation." "She's just as silly as you are." "But I would marry that silly girl just not to be as unfaithful to you as you are to me." "That's too much! Please explain your dirty statement." "Nina, I'm quite a decent man and not gonna produce any proof of your sexual debauchery in public. I'm just aware of everything." "Guys, let's calm down," Andrew tried to placate both spouses "Nina, you know Boris very well, he's terribly fond of detective fiction and has always dreamt of writing something of his own. Yesterday he got drunk and let his imagination run away with him, just inventing a plot for one of his novels about a husband who wanted to kill his wife and hide her body in a graveyard. But I'm absolutely sure he wasn't going to realise it at all." "This Conan Doyle of yours will be writing his thrillers in jail," Nina took a bottle of wine from the table and filled a glass. "Andrew, I don't need your defence," Boris said to his friend, "I was gonna do what I really wanted to do. It was her who made me forsake my friends and betray them. Remember the time we both started our business, remember our first deal? I mean our first contract with that construction firm to supply them with materials. I had a real chance to swindle you and misappropriate most of our income. I didn't do it, although she insisted I did. Her reason was that you didn't need such a sum 'cause you had enough money in contrast to us." "What?!" Andrew spread his hands. "I've got enough money? Nina, do you really think so?" Nina gulped her wine, took a pause to draw breath and then shouted: "That's the limit! Who am I'm talking to? Murderers, drunkards and gravediggers! I've no wish to stay here any longer. I'11 collect my stuff and go home right away. Goodbye! The last words were drowned out by the door slamming as Nina left the room. "No doubt she's a real bitch," Andrew poured some wine into a glass and held it out to Boris. "Have a drink and relax. Don't be afraid, we're fully on your side. We'll help you divorce, everything will be okay. And she won't be able to send you to jail. You haven't committed anything." "What do you mean - "haven't committed anything"?" rebelled Grigory "He deceived me!" "Damn you all!" Boris pushed Andrew away and hurried over to the door. "Where are you going?" exclaimed Andrew as he shook drops of spilled wine from his T-shirt. Boris halted and turned round. "Don't you remember, it's the night of Ivan Kupal's Day? I'm gonna look for the fern flower. Maybe its magic will be able to help me." Soon after Boris left the room, the gates creaked outside, then the garden resounded with the noise of a motor and a car rolled away from the house. Oksana darted to the window. "Andrew, he's gone! And thrown a dead dog in your car!" "Of course mine, there was no other car over here." "But how did he get the keys?" "He drove to the store to buy some food for the party. I guess he simply forgot to return the keys to me." "But he can't control himself now. He's sure to smash the car." "Never mind," Mickola stood from the armchair. "He'll drive around a bit, then roam in the woods, find nothing and come back. And you, Grigory, what are you gonna do now?" "What am I gonna do? I don't care about their family affairs. He may divorce his wife, he may kill her, he may look for the fern in bloom, but in any case he's got to pay me for my job. So I stay here until he comes back. Hope he won't be gadding about in the woods too long." "If so," Mickola rubbed his hands, "it's no use wasting time. I think Andrew doesn't mind if we have a little drink." "Sure, guys," Andrew made an inviting gesture toward the table. "Make yourself at home, take anything you like." Grigory stood up, stretched his hand for a bottle of vodka and, knocking his elbow against a vase of roses, caused it to fall onto the floor with a loud crash. "You clumsy thing!" yelled Oksana. "What have you done, idiot?" "Don't fret, lady, I'll pay you for this broken bowl as soon as your friend settles accounts with me," muttered Grigory, busily collecting the crystal splinters scattered all over the floor. "Andrew, I'm tired of all this," Oksana picked up the flowers and threw them onto the sofa. "What are you tired of?" Andrew gave his wife a puzzled look. "It seems you completely forget that today's my birthday. And you did everything to spoil it." "Me?" "Why the hell did you bring that idiotic couple here? First they performed a farce, now the psycho's about to smash the car and these people will break up everything in the house." "And what do you suggest now, dear?" "I want these two fellows to get out of here right now." "Look here, Oksana," flared Andrew, "Boris's my friend and he can take my car any time he needs it and he can crash it if he wants to. And this is my house, and these men are my countrymen and they will be sitting here and breaking up everything they like as long as I wish. Or maybe you wanna turn me into the sort of man that Nina managed to make of her husband? Please don't forget who's the head in our family." "In that case you can sit here and drink with your bumpkins, but I'm going to bed." "Then I say good night to you, dear. I don't hold you here." After Oksana walked out, Andrew sat down at the table. "Well, guys, I see tonight we gotta make merry without women. Yeah, they all can go to hell and instead of the birthday, I'm gonna celebrate Ivan Kupal's Day. We shouldn't forget old folk traditions. The reason for many problems is that we don't know our roots, don't remember our ancestor's customs. So, let's drink to the ancient holiday. Cheers!" A series of long doorbell rings made Andrew wake to find himself lying on the sofa, his head resting on a teddy bear. The unique symphony of snoring and wheezing coming from somewhere near pointed to Grigory's body, sprawled in the armchair. The wall clock said four and sunlight, gradually gathering fresh energy after a short summer night, highlighted the spot of the recent carouse. He got up and tried to get dressed, but then realized that there was no need because he had not taken his clothes off before going to bed. "Damn it, who the hell can be there?" he kicked an empty bottle lying on the floor and staggered over to the door. On the porch stood Boris, holding something shaggy in his hands. "Good morning, Andrew." "Morning, and what's this?" "This is the corpse of the dog that died only an hour ago." "Fuck," uttered Andrew. "Is Grigory still here?" "Yeah, sleeping." "I need him immediately." "Okay, let's go and wake him up." Boris entered the house, passed through the hall and on coming in the room carefully put the lifeless body onto the floor. "Get up, Grigory," Andrew started pulling at the sleeping guest. "Come on, bud, get up." "What? Who?" Grigory opened his eyes, a startled expression on his face. "It's me, Andrew, and here's Boris. He wants to talk to you." "Let him speak," 'whispered Grigory and closed his eyes again. "Wake up, Grigory," Boris rapped the gravedigger on his shoulder. "I want you to listen to me." "Okay, but don't be too long," Grigory grumbled with displeasure as he rubbed drowsy eyes with his fists. "First I'd like to get even with you and give you all I promised. Here it is," Boris drew a folded sheaf of green notes out of his hip pocket. "Take it. Here are thirty hundreds, three thousand altogether." "What's that?" Grigory asked in puzzlement. "It's yours, you've earned it," Boris went on urgently. "Don't you remember?" "Oh, it seems I remember now," Grigory snatched the money from Boris's hand and counted it twice. "Yeah, it's alright, three grand. But where's Mickola?" "Probably at home," replied Andrew, trying in vain to open a bottle of beer with a fork. "Wait, everybody," exclaimed Boris. "Grigory, I give you this money on condition that you will do a little thing for me. Here's a dead dog before you. It was me who killed him." "You? Why?" Andrew gave his friend a disapproving look. Boris sat down on a chair and sighed deeply. "I was just under nervous strain. I drove at full speed and had no idea where I was going. Suddenly a dog appeared on the road just before the car. I had no time to brake and ran over him. He was still alive when I got outside. He whined and writhed. He died in my hands. I never killed any living creature before. Now I know how terrible it is to be a murderer." "Boris, you're falling into sentimentality," said Andrew after the bottle cap at last flew off. "Here's a good example. Mickola regularly slaughters his pigs and it's nothing horrific. He always feels good, believe me." "Andrew, you're talking of something else, "protested Boris. "Before Mickola kills a pig, he feeds it up and, if it were not for him, the swine would die for sure. As for me, I had no right to kill the dog. I've no right to take anyone's life, no matter whether it's an animal or a human being. Life is a wonderful thing, granted to us by God and only God knows who has to be deprived of that gift. But how could a scum, a scoundrel like me, hit upon the idea of killing an innocent woman, even if he considers her a real bitch?" "All you say is right, but what d'you want of me?" asked Grigory as he rose to his feet. "I want you to bury this animal. This is the condition on which I give you the money. Please promise me you'll bury the dog somewhere near the cemetery and, if it's possible, make a placard with some inscription. For example: "An innocent victim of human insanity." "What's going on here?" in the doorway appeared Oksana. "Still drinking? Didn't you have enough booze overnight? Oh, you've come back, Boris. Hope nothing terrible happened to our new Opel." "Don't worry, the car stands beyond the garden gates, safe and intact. Take it." Boris reached into his shirt pocket, extracted a bundle of keys and cast it onto the sofa. "Oh, shit, what's that?" Oksana cried out just as she was about to stumble over the dead animal. "You see, hon, Boris ran over that poor creature," explained Andrew. "Take away that muck from here!" "We're going to bury him," said Boris, "and by the way, Oksana, has my wife gone yet?" "Not yet," Oksana snapped, "just sleeping in the next room." "Wait," Grigory groped for something in his pockets, pulled out a hundred dollar bill and put it on the table. "This is for the broken vase. Need no change. Guess it's enough. I don't want you to think that I'm a sort of skinflint. I only demanded the money I had earned. I wanted everything to be fair and upright. And don't worry, I'll bury this here dog. Of course I might ask some more money for that, but I've got a heart as well as all of you." Grigory picked up the dead animal, tucked it under his am and looked at Boris. "Be sure bud, I'll bury him. But before that I'll just drop in on Ksenia. She's very old, about ninety. She's about to die, been suffering for too long. I'll just make sure. Maybe it's time to dig the grave. So, goodbye." After Grigory left the house, all three who were left in the room went to the window, drew the curtain aside and watched the gravedigger walk slowly through the garden. "Here's our life," sighed Andrew, "we're always in a hurry trying to gain more and more. We're always rushing somewhere, we urge on time, but what for? Just to see the moment when such a type knocks at your door and asks; "Are you still alive? But the grave's ready, it's time to go." "A loathsome fellow,"' sniffed Oksana and stepped away from the window. "But I envy him," Boris announced. "No doubt you envy him," smirked Andrew. "To get three grand for nothing's not too bad. I hate to meddle with your business, but you certainly overdid it by giving him such a sum. I think it's all the bad influence of alcohol." "No, Andrew, I don't envy him his money. Unlike us, who live in a world of illusions, which we made ourselves to call it the purpose of life, he's got the luck to deal every day with the only existing reality - death. He sees death smash up all our dreams and hopes without any mercy, in a trice. If I ever become an author, I'll surely write a novel about him. But you're right, I've been drinking too much these days. It's high time to stop." "I keep wondering why it is," said Andrew, "that you, Boris, are always saying very intelligent things, sometimes too intelligent to be comprehensible, but you haven't become a successful writer yet. It's strange." "Look!" exclaimed Oksana, "Look here! This bill's fake." "What? Give it to me," Andrew grabbed the one hundred dollar bill from his wife's hand. "Yeah, it's a crude fake, everybody can see that. Have a look, Boris." "I know, the money's counterfeit," Boris said placidly and turned round to face Andrew. "Remember two days ago we were at your friend's, I mean Michael. He told us about his mate, a forger. That guy's now in jail and Michael's got some pieces of his work. Yeah, it's done very clumsily. That evening Michael asked us what he could get in exchange of that money. You said that for such rubbish he could get nothing but a couple of good blows on his face. Yesterday I came across him and persuaded him to sell me three thousand bucks, forged bucks, just for a mere trifle. And what's more - I killed no dog. It was Michael's dog. He died yesterday. Your friend fears all dead, even animals. When he saw the stiff body of his four-legged guard lying by the kennel, he said he'd give me that forged dough for nothing, if I only promised to bury his dog." "But sooner or later the deceit will be disclosed," Andrew, having lost interest in the bill, let it fall down from his hand. "By the time Grigory knows it, I'll be far away from here. I'm leaving for home right now." "Had no idea about your being such a wag!" Andrew burst into laughter. "I say, everybody, let's have some fun. It's Ivan Kupal's Day today." He filled a glass with mineral water and, all of a sudden, splashed it into Boris's face. Boris wiped his face with his sleeve and quietly pronounced: "A rotter, this is what I am." Grigory left the garden, shut the gate and straight away set off for Ksenia's house, which was about ten minutes walk down the narrow lane, buried under the foliage of numerous orchards. Having passed a few houses, he halted before someone's gate, looked around and then hurled the dead dog over the fence. "Let somebody else take care of you," muttered Grigory after the hairy body landed on the other side of the barrier. He looked around one more time to make sure that no one had seen him, drew a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it up and proceeded on his way. Ksenia was a distant relative of his and, as he thought he had the right to call on his countless relatives any time he needed to, he kept on pressing impudently on the doorbell trying to get an answer. At last the door was opened by an elderly, grey-haired man with a sleepy look on his face. "What's up, Grigory? What the deuce made you wake me up at such an early hour?" "Good morning, Igor. Don't be cross. How's your mother?" "Thank God she feels better. Yesterday came to consciousness." "Glad to hear that. May she live twice as long. Sorry I broke off your sleep, but I do need a phone. Just gotta make a call." "Well bud, I might send you to hell, but I guess it'll just make you wake up somebody else. So come in. There's a phone in the kitchen, you know the way." Grigory came in, walked over to the kitchen, picked up the receiver and dialled. "Hello, Mickola, is that you?" "Yeah, it's me," replied a hoarse voice. "How are you, Grigory?" "Fine, and you? I see you got up already." "Yeah, just finished feeding my pigs." "That's good. By the way, I didn't see you leaving yesterday." "You mean today? My wife came, wonder how she managed to find me, and she took me away." "To be truthful I remember nothing. But I call to say I've received the money we were demanding. The whole sum." "Money? What money?" inquired Mickola, trying to recollect the essence of yesterday's events. "Three thousand bucks." "Oh, I remember now. So, he's killed his wife already?" "No," Grigory chuckled, "The bitch is alive. Anyway, look here. I'm gonna give the money to my daughter, she's coming in two days for the summer holiday. But today's Ivan Kupal's Day and I'd like to celebrate it together with good old pals of mine. So I'm gonna give a party in the Cellar tonight. I'll invite Vasily, Stepan, Peter and, of course, you, old chap. I'll pay for everything. Let's go on a spree. I haven't seen the fern flower, but been lucky enough to let my friends have some fun today."
Copyright © 2003 Gene O'div |