Mishka Ben-David - Forbidden Love in St. Petersburg

Because of the short distance between us, and the speed at which it all happened, it was my shin bone and not my foot that struck him. I felt his nose squash and shift sideways. His head wobbled as he fell to the ground clutching his face in an attempt to staunch the blood streaming from his nose.

I stood about a metre away, ready for a kick should he try to get up. Instead, he looked at me through his fingers, then freed one hand and raised it slightly. Perhaps in Russia this was a sign of surrender or cease-fire. In any event, I had no interest in hitting him again. I moved away, but kept a watchful eye on him. He struggled to sit up, still staring at me, holding his bleeding nose with one hand and leaning on the other. Clearly he was not defeated, and I knew that in a moment or two he could get up and, enraged, go for us.

At the corner of the bridge Anna was waiting for me, her eyes full of tears.

Let’s get away from here, she whispered quickly, looking back at the assailant who was now kneeling and still looking towards us. From where we were standing it was obvious to me that Anna had seen the entire incident. I thrust the bag into her hands, saying nothing. She grabbed it somewhat impatiently as if angered by the misfortune that the bag or I had brought us. She took me by the arm and pulled me back towards the bridge.

Annushka, he’s not coming back, I said, trying to calm her.

Anna quickened her steps, anxiously glancing back from time to time.

They are never alone, she said, and then I too looked back and saw two men approaching the assailant and helping him to his feet. I didn’t think there was a real possibility of passers-by getting involved and trying to block our way but even from where we were standing in the middle of the bridge–quite a distance from the three men–I could tell that they were looking at us menacingly.

I hugged Anna and as I held her more tightly I could feel her trembling.

Annushka? My darling?

Tears continued to stream from her beautiful eyes. I didn’t really understand what was stirring her feelings to such an extent. That her bag had been snatched? My gallantry? The danger posed to me? Anna said nothing, again covered her mouth and nose with her scarf, and continued walking quickly.

We walked towards the first wide street after the bridge where Anna flagged down a cab. Chernyshevskaya, she said to the driver, naming a metro station not far away.

Before we got there she pulled out a note larger than necessary, handed it to the driver and, as soon as he stopped, made a beeline for the station’s entrance. Sheer panic prevented her from standing with everyone else on the right-hand side of the escalator as it descended into the bowels of the earth. Instead, she scurried down the left with all the other hurrying passengers. I followed in her wake.

It was only when we were safely on board and the train began moving that I hugged her again, trying to help her relax. But the look of fear in her eyes remained. Even when we changed trains at the Technological Institute to line 2, our line, she still seemed anxious. We passed Victory Park station, my usual stop, and got off at the next one. Anna looked left and right and only then walked quickly towards her street and home.

The huge brick apartment block had many entrances and was devoid of any sort of character. Her hands trembled as she fitted a circular magnet into a matching socket, thus opening the door to the building. Her hands shook again as she inserted a long serrated key into the lock of her own front door. As soon as we were inside she threw herself at me, flushed and excited, first with a hug and then with a series of eager kisses that left my mouth hurting.

I wasn’t in the mood but her body clearly ached for me. She pulled me onto the bed and pounced. The delicate, deliberate touches of the previous few times we had slept together now turned into a wild sexual dance. Before I could give myself over to her I needed a few moments to dampen down the violent feelings that still coursed through my veins. For the first time I discovered the power of her heavy buttocks and firm thighs, clutching them and her soft white breasts if only to temper her lascivious movements. Once again I was surprised to discover how white and soft her skin really was–almost like a baby’s.

After our dash home, her body was steeped with the exciting smell of sweat mingled with her perfume. It filled my nostrils, intoxicating me and sweeping me along with her into a frenzy of passion.

My crazy, crazy man. This is Russia, you know? she said a little bit later, lying on her back, panting.

All the muggers belong to the Mafia. The cab driver has already long since told them where he dropped us off. If we hadn’t hurried, they would have been waiting for us at the entrances to all the metro stations to get even with you. You’re not to do this again, understood? she said, turning towards me with a frown. Here all the heroes are dead heroes. And I want you alive, alive the way you are right now, the way you were a moment ago. I’m not prepared to lose you, understand? I’m not prepared to yet again lose the one I love.

Without thinking about it, I turned to glance at the photo of her mustachioed, smiling, dead husband looking down at us from the bedroom wall. Anna noticed my gaze, sighed, got up–still naked–and took down the picture. My eyes followed her generous, slightly rounded buttocks, and noted the hint of a tyre round her waistline. The light was faint, but I could see the folds of skin under her arms as she raised her hand towards the picture. I was filled with love. Here was this sweet woman turning over a new leaf in her life. She propped up the photo with its face to the wall, turned to me, and with an embarrassed movement of the hand covered her breasts. Again she sighed. The bitter cold brought her back to bed, slipping in between the sheets and into my arms. My Annushka! Now I too was unwilling to contemplate the possibility of loss.

She wrapped herself round my body. Once her tension had gone she was as soft as lamb’s wool. I felt the wetness of her tears on my shoulder, raised her head slightly and looked at her.

Enough, Annushka, that’s enough.

My little hero. You’ve no idea what you did. You don’t understand who you’re dealing with. This isn’t Canada, OK? Here, to be a thief you’ve got to be either an addict or ex-KGB with friends. Promise me you won’t be doing anything like that again, OK?

Stop it, Annushka, just stop it.

I want you to move in with me. I want you like this every night and every morning I want you to be part of my life, she said.

Just as I was about to respond I felt a sharp bolt of pain shooting through my temples.

Headquarters. HQ’s instructions.

I should have told them about Anna after our first time together. I’d put that off. I didn’t think this relationship would last very long, not with such a beautiful woman. But if I’m going to live with her I will definitely need their approval.

I tried to imagine living with Anna. Sleeping every night beside her. At times her body would be soft and loving, at others ardent and lustful. I would no longer be alone in my apartment in the big Stalinist building on Moskovsky Prospekt just ten minutes walk from Anna’s home. The idea was irresistible. I felt like someone who’d crossed a desert, seen a green papyrus plant on the horizon and knows that water lies hidden below. I felt like the desert itself in whose distant skies welcome rain clouds were gathering.

Anna fell asleep in my arms while I spent half the night mulling over what I would tell HQ in the morning. They’d want a precise account of the chain of events. Step by step. To what extent had our meeting been accidental and at the same time plausible? Who approached whom, and what was said? How had the liaison developed?