Ours

In my Russian class I read a short story by Sergey Dovlatov. He was a Soviet émigré who moved to New York in the seventies where he later died. His prose is stark and spare and powerfully moving. Anecdote and observation are blended and time and tense collide in the mind of the narrator to create an intensely subjective experience. Here is my translation of his autobiographical short story.

Ours

“Our world is absurd,” I say to my wife, “a man has enemies in his own house!”
My wife is angry and I hear:
“Your only enemies are cheap port and fake blonds!”
“In that case I am a true Christian, for Christ taught us to love our enemies,” I say.

These conversations have lasted for twenty years. Almost twenty years...

We met in 1963. It happened like this. I had a room with a separate entrance, and every evening friends would gather at my flat.

Once, I woke up in the middle of the night. I saw dirty dishes on the table and boringly thought about yesterday. I remember running out three times for more vodka.

I suddenly feel that I’m not alone. On the divan between the fridge and the radio someone is sleeping.
I asked:
“Who are you?”
“Lena,” answered a surprisingly calm female voice.
I thought for a moment, and then asked:
“And who are you, Lena?”
A calm female voice said:
“Guryevich forgot me.”
“How did that happen?”
“Guryevich got drunk and called a taxi.”
Finally I remembered her. Thin and pale with Mongolian eyes.

The day began strangely and mysteriously. I took a shower. After showers I am always apprehended by a feeling of clarity.

I get out in three minutes. Coffee is on the table with pastries and jam.
We ate breakfast and talked about nothing. Every thing was nice, simple and even pleasant. Lena took her things, put on her boots and said:
“I’m going”
“Thanks for the pleasant morning.”
Suddenly I hear:
“I’ll be back around 6.”
“OK” I say.
I thought that maybe she had confused me with someone. Perhaps with some close friend?

In the evening we ate dinner. I ate to occupy myself. Lena cleaned the dishes. I can see that it is nearly one. Time for bed.
Lena says:
“Go sit in the kitchen.”
I sit, I smoke. I read the evening paper. I go to my room and sleep. We sleep on the same divan.

I lay awake and listened. Not a single sound. I waited another ten minutes and then fell asleep.

In the morning: everything all over again. Light confusion, shower and coffee with milk.
In the evening I said:
“Lena, Let’s talk. I don’t understand what’s happening here. I have several questions. If I can be blunt...”
“I'm listening,” she says.
I ask:
“Is it that you don’t have anywhere to live?”
She was a little offended. Or, to be more precise, slightly surprised.
“Nowhere to live? I have a flat in Dachny, so what?”
“Nothing at all... It just seemed to me... I thought... Then there is one more question. Again, I beg your pardon, but.... could it be that you like me?”
There was a long pause. I feel myself blushing. Finally she said:
“I have no pretenses towards you.”
She was absolutely calm. Her gaze was cold and hard like the corner of a suitcase.

“And the last question. Please, don’t be angry... You aren’t, by chance, a member of the KGB?”
It happens all the time, I think. I am, after all, a rather noticeable person. I drink more than enough. I talk a lot. The radio station ‘The German Wave’ has talked about me.
I hear:
“No, I am a hairdresser.”
And then:
“If there are no more questions, let’s have some tea.”

And so this is how it all began. During the day, I ran around town and looked for work. I would return upset, humiliated and evil. Lena would ask:
“Do you want tea or Coffee?”
Or:
“Where is our laundry detergent?”
My daily regimen had changed. Ladies almost never called. And why would they when there’s a calm female voice that always answers?
We remained perfect strangers.

On Saturday morning I said:
“Lena, listen! Let me be frank. We live like man and wife... but without the most important element of married life... You cook and clean... Explain it to me, what does it mean? I am about to go mad...”
Lena calmly looked at me.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“I don’t know what I want! I want to understand...”
Lena was quiet. She lowered her Mongolian eyes and she says:
“If that is what you need - then go ahead.”
“No,” I say, “What for...?”
How could I, I think to myself, so rudely disturb this peace.

Two more weeks passed. Vodka saved me. I drank in one progressive reaction. I came home around 1 AM. Well, and how should I say it... I forgot myself... I infringed...

This wasn’t love. It wasn’t even a moment of weakness. This was an attempt to escape from chaos. We hadn’t even even called each other by the informal ‘you.’

In a year our daughter Katya was born. And this was how we met...