Thirty years on the border. Not a single breakthrough.
Komarovo was supposed to be a well-deserved rest.
Silence, order, no people. Especially no women.
The plan collapsed at six in the morning of the very first day. Along with the fence.Now I have an opponent living behind my fence.
She laughs where she should be retreating.
It stands where it should go.
And he looks like he wants to check if it’s a land mine.
The mine. I’ve already figured that out. Late.
After the divorce, I firmly learned one rule: do not open the door to those who are comfortable coming but uncomfortable staying.
A neighbor with a hammer at six in the morning is, of course, not a door. It’s a war over the fence. With claims to my geese, to my existence on my own territory.
I’m not afraid of war. I grew up in itโmy war was called marriage.
But this one is different. He looks hard, says little, and pretends he doesn’t care.
Two dead people.
Six geese, a leaky fence.
And a summer that doesn’t ask for permission.
Chapter 1 The Boers
I got up at five-thirty. Of course.
Three sets of forty push-ups. One hundred squats. Press. Stretching. The body is a subordinate. If you give up a little bit, he’ll sit on your neck and drive.
Thirty years in the border troops have taught me this. Here, in the quiet village of Komarovo, where I was brought after my divorce, retirement, and decision to “finally live in peace,” no one was shouting “Wake up!”
So it was me who was yelling. Inside. Everything was going according to plan.
At six oh zero, I was standing in the middle of the courtyard, wiping off sweat and conducting a routine inspection of the territory. The sky is clear. The grass is mown. The path to the gate is flat. The perimeter fence is whitewashed, straight as a board, and..
The disorder.
A goose strutted out of a hole in the fence on the left, by an old birch tree. White. The orange-billed one. He looks like he’s registered here, standing in line to improve his living space, and generally would like to talk about major repairs. The second one came out after him. Third. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth.
Six pieces. In formation. Without the command “at ease”.
โ What kind of amateur activity is this?.. I muttered and scratched the back of my head.
The geese marched through my yard with the dignity of a victorious army, not hurrying, not looking back, shaking their white asses in time with some of their obviously very important goose thoughts. And they disappeared into the opposite hole of the fence towards the pond.
I watched them go.
So it was a regular route. So it’s not the first day. So, while I was planning “peace and quiet” here, an unauthorized goose transit corridor was functioning on my site.
Without my knowledge. Without approval. Without a single report.
He returned to the house, poured water, and drank, standing at the window and examining the hole in the fence. The hole stared back with the arrogance of an experienced intruder. I’ve seen a lot of them, and in my thirty years of service, all sorts of people have tried to cross my border. But for geese, it was something new.
He finished the water, put the glass away, and put on an old uniform shirt. I found planks, a hammer, and nails in the shed, but they were still good, unlike some of my former colleagues. Eight minutes later, I was already standing at the fence and methodically hammering the first board. Each blow was precise and precise. The disorder will be eliminated.
“Hey! What are you doing there?
The ringing voice struck unexpectedly, it was forceful and slightly mocking at the end, like a warning shot, but with no intention of missing.
I turned around.
A woman was standing behind the fence, leaning on the boards as if it were her favorite windowsill. The age is probably around forty, give or take, the classification is “civilian personnel in the prime of life and strength.”
Curvy was an understatement, but not full, there was a waist. But the red polka dot sundress clung to the shapes with such tenacity that I mentally imagined how it could crack at the seams, and all her “goods” would appear in the white light.
Loose jet-black hair. The look in his green eyes was mocking and completely unafraid, which was already an alarm signal.
โI’m repairing the fence,” he replied, and returned to the nail.
“My fence?” Did he ask you to?
โ These holes in it are yours, and the fence is mine. The geese that walk through them to my territory, logic tells me that they belong to you, right?
She tilted her head, and there was clearly something funny going on in her eyes.
โIvan Mironovich Burov,โ I said, since the situation required an official introduction. โ The general is retired, and please note that I do not like violations of the regime and territorial integrity.
“The General?” Oh my. Retired, then?
โ Retired.
โWell, well.
โ Please do not confuse.
โRa-i-sa,โ she said, clearly enjoying every syllable. โ Zakharovna. And there’s something I don’t like either: when a man I don’t know hits my property with a hammer at six in the morning without asking permission.
“Your property systematically violates the state border,” I nodded at the fence, “that is, my border.
โ Geese don’t care about borders. They are free birds.
โ Free birds fly in the sky. These people walk on my land and consider it a passageway.
โ Well, punish them, โ she shrugged her shoulder and smiled quite serenely. โ You’re a military man. They must be able to work with violators.
I looked at the woman. The woman was looking at me. In the air between us hung what is called a “stalemate” in tactical reports, and in civilian life โ the beginning of the war.
“Little citizen,” he said in the tone in which he had once built a company, “I suggest a civilized course of action. I cover the holes. You are recording the livestock. Everyone goes their separate ways.
She shook her finger. โ First of all, stop calling me a citizen โ I’m not your protocol. Secondly, you’re fixing my fence without approval. Thirdly, geese go to the pond โ this is their legal route, they swim there.
โ They have their own trough.
“They prefer the pond.” Geese have preferences too, pensioner.
A pensioner?
He slowly lowered the hammer, but the neighbor did not look away by a millimeter or half a millimeter. She stood and stared with the slight squint of a man who knows exactly where he is.
In thirty years of service, I’ve been looked at like that exactly twice: by the district commander and one very calm smuggler, before it turned out that he had another trump card in his pocket.
I lost the round both times.
“So we don’t intend to negotiate,โ he stated.
“Why not?” I intend to. Only on equal terms, and not at attention,” she smiled again, not in a compliant, coquettish way, but precisely as if she already knew the score in this game, and it was not in my favor. โ When you come to me with a normal conversation, then we’ll talk. I’ll make tea, I have homemade blackcurrant jam.
โ I don’t go to the neighbors’ houses.
โSo we’re going to talk through the fence,โ she spread her hands. โ Your choice, comrade pensioner. Then knock softly, I have geese with unstable nervous systems.
โ Do your geese have a nervous system?
โ All living beings have a nervous system. Or have you not been taught this?
She said it without anger, calmly, almost amiably, as the obvious things are explained. That was exactly what was unbearable. I have a protocol for anger. To ridicule, too.
But there was no protocol to this calm, slightly condescending tone with which she stood and looked at me as if I were an interesting but not dangerous natural phenomenon.
โ If they have a nervous system, let them be nervous on their own territory.
“I’ll keep that in mind,โ she nodded with a serious look that was clearly not real. “I’ll be sure to tell them when they get back from the pond.” Oh, yes, they won’t come back, the passage is closed.
She moved smoothly away from the fence, without haste, swaying her hips with that natural confidence that can neither be imitated nor ordered. Her sundress swayed, and her black hair caught the morning light.
I caught myself looking. He stopped. He looked at the hammer. The hammer was silent, and it was doing the right thing.
She had a victory in her pocket. I felt it the way you feel someone else’s ambush when you’ve already entered, and there’s nowhere to retreat to, and all that remains is to move forward. And the worst part was that she seemed to know all about it. And she took her time. Why rush when the enemy is already in your position and pretending to just repair the fence?
I looked at the hole, then at the pond, at the six white spots floating calmly thirty meters away from me. The geese were swimming. One of them dived in, shook himself, and looked in my direction with such a look that I almost ordered “disperse.”
Thirty years on the border. Not a single major breakthrough. Not a single violator who would not be taken. Not a single section that could not be retained.
And here is the village of Komarovo. Six geese and a neighbor with green eyes and blackcurrant jam, who looks at a military officer as if he were a funny exhibit in a provincial museum.
A pensioner, really?
He picked up the hammer and finished the nail. The hole in the fence was closed. The route is blocked. The task is completed. Let these impudent birds fly back to their impudent mistress.
Chapter 2 of Paradise
Chapter 2 of Paradise
I cook porridge for geese in an old enameled pot that my mother brought back in nineteen ninety-two and which has survived two relocations, one divorce and countless family dinners.
The pot was tougher than most people from my past. I respected her. The millet was bubbling, the geese were hovering by the porch and talking quietly, busily, like men at a planning meeting before going out into the field.
They’re not stupid, they found their way home, they knew all the holes in the fence. I stirred the porridge and thought that I had succeeded in the morning after all. No matter what. Or thanks. It was a good morning.
The gate creaked exactly the way it only creaks in one case.
โ Raechka! Are you at home?
Baba Klava entered the site with the air of a man who has so much news that they no longer fit and slightly bulge out. Seventy-four years old, a handkerchief with a small flower, a string bag with three cucumbers, purely for show, and eyes in which something sensational burned.
โ At home, in the summer kitchen, bab Klav. Come on in.
“I’ll just be a minute,” the woman said, settling down on a bench by the porch with the air of a person who has come for the whole day.
I stirred the porridge.
โYou know,” Baba Klava began thoughtfully, looking up at the sky, “I was walking past the Chugunov House just now.
โ Yeah.
โ Well, the one that the Chugunovs sold. After Varvara Semyonovna… God rest her soul, she was a good woman, even though she never cleaned the nettles on the border, but it’s not for us to judge. So, they sold the house. She, Varvara Semyonovna, has had children in the city for a long time. The eldest sonโin-law is in Tver, the middle daughter is in Krasnodar, they say. So they decided: why do they need a house, just pay the tax. They sold it.
“Sold,โ she agreed.
“Last fall, too. Or in winter. No, in the fall. Definitely in the fall, because I was still closing the zucchini and I heard the car stop.
The geese finished their meeting and lined up at the pot. The biggest one is Anton, I gave everyone names, it simplifies communication, took the place first, as usual.
“And I bought it, they say,” Baba Klava lowered her voice a little, although there wasn’t a soul around, “a military man.
โ What are you saying?
โExactly. Military. A high rank. They say, General.
I took the pot off the heat.
โWow,” he said. And what kind of troops are these, General?
โ They didn’t say that.
Chapter 5 The Boers
Chapter 5 The Boers
I went to the store on Wednesday. Not because I wanted to, I wanted silence and no one touching my fence anymore. But the refrigerator was empty, I brought little with me, just a can of stew, coffee, which was already running out, I had to save it and buy it cheaper. Sausage, bacon and a dozen eggs were eaten in three days.
Ignoring the refrigerator with emptiness would no longer be a manifestation of discipline, but stupidity. And I didn’t do anything stupid.
I went out at nine, it was a nice, quiet morning, the village was living its leisurely life: somewhere a cow was mooing, a dog was barking and a child was crying. Baba Klava was found at the well. With an empty bucket and a mouthful of information.
โ Ivan Mironovich! She was overjoyed, as if we hadn’t seen each other for a week, even though less than a day had passed since yesterday morning. “Where are you going?”
โ To the store.
โ Oh, I was just going to. You know, I was telling Nikitich here, well, the one across the street, his wife was his cousin’s niece…
โ Klavdia Petrovna, in short.
โ Yes, yes, well, he says that you had a different service in Pskov…
I stopped because I realized that if I didn’t stop now and show that I was ready to listen, she would walk beside me all the way to the store, and that would be the longest distance of my life.
“I’m listening,โ he said.
Baba Klava blossomed.
โ Nikitich says that you have been to hot spots. It’s true?
โ I’ve been there.
“And this scar,” she nodded at my collarbone with the air of a doctor clarifying a diagnosis, “is from there?”
“From there.”
โHere,โ she said with satisfaction, as if she had found out for herself. โ That’s what I told Raechka. And she says, “I’m observant, I’ve already noticed.”
I looked at her.
“Did you notice the scar?” Raechka?
โWell, yes,” Baba Klava shrugged her shoulders as if it were completely natural. “Like I said, she’s observant.
It was at this moment that a slight creaking sound came from the neighboring section, and Raisa Zakharovna drove past us along the village street. It was an interesting sight.
She was sitting on an old bicycle with wide wheels and a large wicker basket in front, which contained an empty bag. Her sundress was blue with white polka dots today, fluttering in the wind. Her black hair shone in the sun, and Raisa Zakharovna herself smiled at him.
She noticed us and slowed down just enough to nod.
โ Good morning, Klavdia Petrovna, โ look at me. โ Good morning to the pensioners.
โGood morning, citizen,โ I replied.
And she drove off without looking back. She just pedaled steadily and confidently, like a person who has a goal and no doubts. Baba Klava watched her go. Then she looked at me.
โ Did you do this on purpose? “What is it?” she asked. “Citizen?”
โNo,โ he replied, “it’s an established form of address.
Baba Klava was silent for a moment. Then she nodded with the air of someone who has received unexpectedly important information.
“So it’s already in shape,” she said softly, clearly referring to herself.
โ Good day, โ I went to the store.
There was only one store in Komarovo. It was called “Products”, honestly, without complaints. Inside, it turned out that the name was modest: everything from flour and canned goods to rubber boots, coils of rope, fish hooks, and stacks of enameled basins against the left wall could fit behind the counter and on the shelves. It smelled of bread, household soap, and Soviet thoroughness.
Behind the counter stood a burly woman of indeterminate age, with a high copper-red hairstyle and the look of a man who has seen everything and stopped being surprised a long time ago. The name tag said “Valentine.” Without a patronymic. Some people don’t need it.
Raisa Zakharovna has already been here. She stood at the cereal shelf and studied something with the air of an expert, I took the basket.
โ Is buckwheat normal? I asked Valentina.
“It’s fresh, it was picked yesterday,” she replied, I think it was a joke.
“She’s fine,โ Raisa Zakharovna said without turning around. โ Unlike the last delivery.
“You weren’t asked,โ I said.
โ You asked into the void. Space responded.
Valentina looked at us as if we were a TV that she had turned on, and now she had good plans for the morning. I went to the coffee shelf, picked up the bigger can, and read the ingredients.
“I don’t recommend it,” Raisa Zakharovna said from the refrigerator. โ Take it in a tin can, on the right.
“How do you know what I’m watching?”
“Because you stopped at that shelf about twenty seconds ago and haven’t said anything since.” Do you always remain silent when in doubt?
“You don’t know me.”
โ Sometimes two days is enough.
I took the jar on the right because it was better, not because I was told.
“I need a wire.” Do you have any?
Valentina, without changing her expression, pointed to the far corner by the window. There were various coils hanging there, including steel wire of several calibers.
โ Why do you need a wire? Raisa Zakharovna asked, approaching the cash register with her basket. “Another barricade?” Dig a trench already.
“The previous one was cut,โ I said. โAt night. Right at the place where there’s a gap in the fence.
Silence, Valentina looked from me to Raisa.
“Someone cut the wire,” I said evenly. โ Neat and professional. Do you know who it could be?
“It happens,” Raisa Zakharovna said, completely unperturbed. โ The wire is fragile.
โ Barbed wire is not brittle.
โ It rusts quickly.
โ I put it on yesterday.
โ We have a humid climate.
I looked at her, she looked at me. Behind the counter, Valentina silently rested her elbows on the glass and leaned forward slightly, waiting for the outcome.
โRaisa Zakharovna,” I said in the tone I used to silence conference participants, “you’ve cut my wire.
“God forbid, Ivan Mironovich,” she replied in the same tone, “prove it.”
โ Do you have side cutters in your shed?
“Half the village has sideโcutters. This is a village, not a theater.
โ The wire was stretched exactly where your geese go to the pond.
“It’s a coincidence.
โ This is the second time.
โ What is the second time?
“This is the second time you’ve destroyed my defenses.
โBarricades,” she repeated, as if she had tasted the words and found them excessive. โ Ivan Mironovich, this is a village fence, not a state border.
โ It’s enough for your geese.
โ For my geese, your fence is a misunderstanding, not an obstacle. They went to this pond even before you found out about the existence of this village.
“I know now. And I’m against it.
“It’s fixed,โ she said. โ The geese have taken note and are continuing to move.
Valentina made a short sound at the cash register. Maybe it was a cough.
โ I’ll buy a new wire.
โ Your right.
“And I’ll put it on again.”
โ Good luck.
โ Raisa Zakharovna.
โ Ivan Mironovich.
We looked at each other across the counter. Valentina punched out the check with the air of a man who is doing his job, but in general is not averse to listening to something else.
I paid, took the bag and a coil of new wire.
โSoak the buckwheat before cooking,โ Raisa Zakharovna said to my back. “For an hour.” It will boil better.
I stopped in the doorway.
“Don’t touch the wire,” he said, without turning around.
“I don’t promise,โ she replied.
I went out. I stopped on the street, put my bag on the ground and looked up at the sky. The sky was blue, cloudless, and had nothing to do with what was happening.
The door creaked behind her, Raisa Zakharovna got out, went to the bike, it was standing against the wall of the store as if nothing had happened, put the bag in a wicker basket, habitually threw her leg over the frame, pushed off.
The sundress was immediately caught by the wind, the hair flew beautifully to the sides. She didn’t hold them down, didn’t look back, didn’t slow down, just drove straight and confidently, leaning slightly forward.
I slowed down at the turn. She turned around.
“And don’t forget the milk,โ she shouted. โ Milk was on your list. You didn’t take it. But it’s better to take local, it tastes better, believe me.
And she left. I looked at the bag. Then she looked at the list, yes, that’s right, I had a list, and she managed to read it. Milk. The second point from the top. I returned to the store. Valentina met me with a completely unperturbed gaze.
โ Milk.
โI know,” she replied, and reached for the refrigerator.
I took the milk, left the store, and went home. With a bag, a coil of new wire, and a very clear thought that I tried not to think through to the end: this woman knew what was on my list. Which means she either saw him in the store, or she knew in advance why I was going there.
I walked and thought that ignoring this woman would not work. Not because she’s beautiful, although, unfortunately, this is a fact recorded in that part of the memory that works without my permission and does not obey orders.
Chapter 6 of Paradise
Chapter 6 of Paradise
I returned home in a good mood. That alerted me.
The good mood after the conversation with Burov was inexplicable from the point of view of logic. A man buys barbed wire for my geese, looks at me as a trespasser and calls me a “citizen,” and I drive home and smile at the wind.
Something was wrong here. Either with me or with logic. Most likely with me. I put down my bike, took my bag to the summer kitchen and went to the paddock.
The geese met me in full force, six pairs of eyes looked at me with such dignity, as if they had nothing to do with it, I poured them grains.
โSo that’s it,โ I said to Anton, who, as usual, came up first. โ You and I need to have a serious talk.
Anton was eating.
โ The neighbor bought a new wire. I understand that a pond is sacred. I think so myself. But maybe you should stay at home for now. For at least a week? He’ll get bored of village life soon, and he’ll probably leave.
Anton looked at me. Then at his brothers and back at the grain.
“That’s what I figured,โ I said. โ Agreed.
I returned to the house, put the coffee on and stood by the window, which now turned out to be my favorite place. The general next door annoyed me. That’s all.
Annoyingโand that was the problem, because the only people who annoy us are the people we spend our thoughts on. And I’ve already spent my thoughts on Burov โ at night, when I was biting the wire in the dark with a flashlight in my teeth, and in the morning, and now.
I know men like that. I was married to one of them for fourteen years.
Chapter 11 The Boers
I didn’t sleep last night. At all.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling and replaying that kiss in my head like an operational summary that could not be deciphered. Everything seems to be clear: the rain, the veranda, the wet sundress, her lips.
But in reality, there is complete uncertainty.
The body, treacherous, old, but still alive, remembered every second. The way she snuggled up, the way she answered, the way she smelled of wet leaves and the woman I hadn’t had in a long time. And then the fantasy that I had been keeping in check for thirty years broke loose like a naughty dog.
Now I’m not just kissing her, but turning her around, pulling that damn wet sundress up to her waist, caressing her, and then entering her in one motion, hard, deep, like taking something you’ve wanted for a long time and can’t wait any longer.
Raisa moans, clings to the veranda railing, and the rain is lashing down, and the geese in the corner are just in shock. My hands are on her full breasts, on her hips, and my cock is going deep inside her, so hot and so tight that I involuntarily grind my teeth.
I woke up, sat up in bed, and cursed out loud.
โComrade General, you’re completely fucked up,” he said to himself in the darkness.
My body was burning, I got up, went to a cold bath, poured a bucket of water over myself and began to weigh all the pros and cons.
Za: She’s an interesting woman. Laughs. He’s not afraid of me. Cooks pies that are impossible to forget. And he looks like he wants to forget all the rules.
Against: I’m fifty-three. She’s about forty. I’ve got a divorce and thirty years of marriage behind me. She has geese who consider my land their patrimony, and clearly has a difficult past. I’m a callous soldier. My ex-wife explained this to me clearly before packing my bags.
I remembered Lena. How she screamed at the end: “You’re not a man, Vanka, you’re tired in your pants! Everything is on schedule, everything is on order. No warmth, no tenderness, nothing!” Then she left for Spain. Now she has a new husband, some kind of restaurateur or winemaker, judging by the photos in social networks that Dimka showed me. Happy. Tanned. Laughs.
I realized then that she was probably right. I don’t know how to make women happy. I haven’t learned. And now I picked flowers at dawn, like a kid, even taking into account that there were more “against” than “for”.
I went out at five in the morning, when my head was already buzzing from lack of sleep. I just wanted to take a walk, get some air, and my feet carried me to the meadow beyond the pond. I picked cornflowers, daisies, some blue bluebells and a branch of currant with berries for the smell.
I stood there, looked at the bouquet and thought: “What are you doing, Burov?”
But he took it away and put it on the porch quietly, like a saboteur on a mission. He didn’t even leave a trace. Although what are the traces in a village where everyone knows everything?
I returned to my room and suddenly realized that the house was a mess. Not that it’s dirty, but… the disorder. The rugs are dusty, there is a layer on the window sills, and cobwebs in the corners. I took up cleaning as a combat task. I shook out all the rugs, cleaned the floors, wiped the dust even where no one ever sees it. I did and thought: “If she comes, let her see that I’m not a pig.”
Then I sat on the porch and looked at her house. The windows were closed, probably still asleep. I imagined her waking up, coming out, and seeing a bouquet… So what? Will he smile? Will he laugh at me? Or will he just put it in a jar and continue to live as if nothing had happened?
My heart sank. An unusual feeling. He picked up the phone and called Dimka. He answered almost immediately, even though it was a deep evening there.
“Dad?” Something happened?
“Nothing.” Simply… how are you?
โ It’s fine. You sound weird. Are there geese again?
I paused. Then he exhaled:
โ Dim, tell me… How are women being cared for now?
Pause. Then my son laughed so hard that I almost disconnected the phone.
โ Wow! Dad, are you serious? A neighbor?
“None of your business. Answer me to the point, Captain.
โOkay, okay,” he was still chuckling. โ Well, first of all, don’t call her a “citizen.” This is immediately minus one hundred points. Secondly, flowers are good. But not just a bouquet from the store, but something of your own.
“Already,โ I muttered.
โ Wow! Have you brought the flowers yet? Dad, I’m proud!
“Shut up.” Farther.
โ Nextโ say compliments. Not “the shape fits”, but something normal. Like, “you have a beautiful smile” or “you cook so well.”
โ Pies.
โ What are the pies?
โ I’ve already told you about the pies.
โ great. Now the main thing is not to push. Don’t act like a general. Be… a human being. Tell me something about yourself. Not about the service, but about how you fished as a child or something, women love it.
I listened and felt like a complete idiot. I’m sitting there, a grown man, a retired general, and I’m writing down my own son’s advice in a notebook.
“And one more thing,” Dimka added more seriously. โ If there was a kiss, don’t pretend that nothing happened. But don’t go right up your skirt either. Although… Judging by your voice, you’ve already figured it out yourself.
“I didn’t understand anything,” he said honestly… Another. Not like your mom, too active, but me…
โ And you’re normal, Dad. I just haven’t practiced for a long time. I’ll come back in a month and look at your war. Maybe I can help.
โ Don’t help me. I’ll figure it out myself.
โ Of course, you’ll figure it out. You’re a strategist, but don’t take too long. Women don’t like that.
We talked a little more about the service, about his plans, and about his son’s future vacation. Then we said goodbye, and I sat and looked at my phone. I’ve weighed everything. I’ve analyzed everything.
The kiss was a mistake. Flowers are also a mistake. Cleaning the house at five in the morning is generally idiotic.
But I was drawn to her in such a way that no logic could save me. I wanted to see her smile again, how she tilts her head when she listens, how she leans against the fence and looks at me as if I were an interesting but difficult task.
I wanted to feel her body again. Not in fantasy, but for real. So that my hands would slide over my wet skin, so that she would moan into my neck, so that…
I got up abruptly, went to the barn, had to do something useful, for example, finish that pond or fix the gate. Or just stand there and pretend that everything is under control. But when I saw her come out on the porch with my bouquet in her hands, she pressed it to her face and smiled…
All my “cons” have disappeared somewhere. There is only one clear, military understanding left: the position is lost. And there is nowhere to retreat.
Chapter 12 of Paradise
Chapter 12 of Paradise
The morning after the bouquet was suspiciously good.
I was standing by the window with a cup of coffee and smiling like a fool. The wildflowers in the jam jar looked so cute and rustic that I wanted to take a picture of them and send them to Veronica with the caption: “The general is thawing.”
โRayechka,” I said to my reflection in the glass, “are you serious?” One bouquet and already the tail is a pipe? She held on for six years, and then some neighbor with a hammer and barbed wire – and that’s it, she melted?
But the body remembered yesterday’s rain and that kiss. And the fantasies that tormented me at night refused to go away at all. I even put the apple pie in the oven. Especially for him. Although she told herself that “I just wanted to bake.”
By lunchtime, I was already in full dress. A new white sundress with a small blue flower, which I bought back in the spring and still didn’t dare to put on: “what if it’s too old?”. I made up my eyelashes, a little blush, bright lipstick. She looked in the mirror and snorted:
“You’re a fool, Rayechka. The general probably won’t even notice. And if he notices, he’ll think you’re on purpose.
And at that very moment, a familiar cheerful car horn sounded at the gate. Grisha Solomin. I froze with a towel in my hands. That’s just what I needed right now.
I went out on the porch, and the man entered the property with a big smile and a basket full of strawberries and early apples. Tall, broad-shouldered, with eternal three-day stubble and the look of a man who knows for sure that he is a welcome guest here.
โ Raechka! My darling! โ He boomed, approaching. โ And I brought you some goodies here. Look at the strawberries โ you can lick your fingers!
She smiled automatically, out of old habit, so to speak. It wasn’t the first time he had come like thisโwith a smile, with gifts, with hints. And I’ve been keeping my distance all this time. But today… I wasn’t in good shape for defense today.
โHey, Grish. Come on in.”.. I said, and immediately mentally slapped myself on the back of the head. Why are you inviting me, you idiot?
But he was already on his way to the summer kitchen, as if to his home.
โWow, you smell like pie!” Apple? My beloved!
โFresh,” she nodded and put the kettle on. โ Only from the oven.
While I was cutting the pie, I felt like a traitor. I baked this pie for Burov. And now she was feeding them to Grisha. A new sundress is for Burov. Makeโup is for Burov. And Grisha was sitting at the table, eating and looking at me as if it was all in his honor.
“Rayechka, you’re looking especially good today,” he said with his mouth full. “You’re glowing.” Who are you dressing up for, huh? Was she really waiting for me?
I almost choked. Grisha, of course, was a prominent man, but he had two drawbacks: a wife and children.
“For myself, Grish. It’s summer.
He chuckled and winked.:
โWell, well. I’m thinking… Would you stop playing hide-and-seek? I have a wife, you know how it is… But I really love you.
I put a plate with a large piece of pie in front of him and sat down across from him. I kept thinking, “This is the old swamp. It’s convenient, familiar, without obligations.” And my heart was already reaching for the fence, where the general was probably pacing back and forth with a stony face.
And as if by order, Ivan Mironovich appeared at the gate. He walked with the air of a man who was “just passing by.” There’s a board in his hands, ostensibly on business. But the look he gave the summer kitchen through the open door was heavier than all his barbed wire.
Grisha just at that moment covered my hand with his palm and said loudly and sincerely:
โ Rayechka, why are you breaking down? Let me come over tonight, let’s light up the sauna, let’s sit like a human being…
I pulled my hand away, Burov was already standing in the doorway, his face as if he had crossed the border.
โGood afternoon,โ he said icily. “Am I interrupting?”
Grisha turned around, assessed Burov from head to toe, and smiled broadly.:
โ Oh, the new neighbor! Great! Gregory.
Ivan did not even look at the outstretched hand.
โBurov,” he said shortly. His eyes were fixed on me. To my white sundress. To the pie plate. To Grisha, who was sitting at home. There was a very bad silence.
“Ivan Mironovich,” I said as calmly as I could, “are you on business or just like that?”
โOn business,โ he said. โ The fence. Again. Your geese.