Mishka Ben-David - Forbidden Love in St. Petersburg

We exchanged few words. As we gazed at one another and desired each other, the gravity of the situation we were in became increasingly apparent to us both. When Anna took off her white fur coat, exposing the tight-fitting woollen blouse I was already so familiar with, I felt unable to contain my love and my passion any longer. The softness of the blouse made it difficult for me to restrain my hands from caressing the finely shaped curves. A sad and frustrating state of affairs.

We left the restaurant in silence and, in order to escape the freezing wind, went into a cross street where the cold was tolerable. We walked without saying a word, hand in hand, leaving footprints in the blanket of soft snow that had painted the road in a festive white, a joy we couldn’t share.

When we crossed the Fontanka River and passed the now leafless, sad-looking gardens of the summer palace, a witheringly cold gust of wind again blew in our direction. I embraced Anna and she squeezed my hand tightly. Only when we reached the confluence of the River Moika and the Groiboedov Canal did the ancient palaces shelter us from the wind. A few pedestrians were scurrying homewards from their offices and almost no cars drove by.

A series of small, beautiful bridges stretched across the canals close to the point where the waters met. We walked onto one of them, an ancient arched bridge paved with slippery black cobble-stones. A pale light shone from the ornamental lamp-posts set on its four corners, the snow glistened and the frozen waters of the canal sparkled back. We leant on the steel railing embossed with faces and leaves, small golden globes decorating the railing’s upper level, and gazed around us. Large mansions, a red-and-white four-storeyed house, a brown fortress, and a yellow palace with white stone porticos that dominated the approach to the bridge, had seemingly all fallen into a slumber of silence on this wintery evening. But the night lights illuminated the gables and cornices of the buildings in all their infinite wealth of beauty.

It’s very beautiful, your Petersburg, I said.

When I came here as a student, Anna told me, I fell in love with the bridges, the canals, the alleyways, the palaces, the student life at the Conservatoire and after that at the Institute for Russian Literature. Those who love the city as much as I do, simply call it Peter.

And you do love it, your Peter, I noted, more as a comment to myself than a query to her. We both knew that her love of the city was weighing down one side of the scales on which our own love was balanced so precariously.

We were also both aware that this question meant looking ahead at an impenetrable future that was likely to come between us with all its might.

Yes I do, very much, Anna laughed ruefully as though saying, what can I do? But nothing here is what it seems to be. Here, this church, she said pointing to the ornamented building we could see on the other side of the square. It looks as though children have coated its walls with chocolate and stuck sweets into it and plastered its domes with colourful liquorice and jellies. But it is also known as The Church on the Spilled Blood because it was here that Czar Alexander the Second was murdered.

As if to stave off the obvious next question about where we would live our lives, if indeed we were to live them together, she told me about the evolution of the city’s names.

When I was born it was Leningrad, the name given after Lenin’s death. But my parents still knew it as Petrograd, its name during the First World War. The Germanic suffix Burg was replaced by a Russian ending. And now it’s again Sankt Peterburg, as Peter the Great named it when he founded the city.

He regarded himself a saint? I laughed and Anna quickly corrected me. He named the city after Saint Peter. She said this in all seriousness reminding me that she was a Christian, perhaps even a practising Christian. The northern part of the city is still called Petrograd, she continued, and many say, as you do, Peterburg, especially the Jews, who do not like saying Saint, or Sankt.

Anna spoke through the white woollen scarf which prevented the freezing air penetrating her throat and from time to time she moistened the dry corners of her lips with her tongue.

The beauty of her almond eyes, her Sophia Loren eyes–all that could be seen between the hat and scarf–made my heart throb and enveloped me in a wave of love. I gently removed the scarf from over her mouth and kissed her. As usual we searched for the right angle until our tongues penetrated each other’s mouth and once again became hooked to our marvellous but hopeless love. Like two teenagers we said ‘you are mine’, to each other and again I had to pinch myself to believe that this wonderful woman was indeed mine. Then, once more, we sank into one another.

A moment later I absorbed the powerful blow to my upper back and Anna’s handbag was snatched. I chased the burly thief, kicked him in the back and when he stumbled, turned round, and offered me the bag, I grabbed his arm and hurled him to the ground. He tried to get up but I kicked him in the ribs. He stormed back like a bull, I moved, and kicked him in the nose. He was left bleeding on the ground.

Anna’s eyes reflected the fear I had not succeeded to allay, and she fled towards her house via a circuitous route with me at her heels. The moment we closed the door behind us she pounced on me and engaged me in wild and furious sex.

When we’d had our fill and calmed down, Anna said she wanted me to move in and live with her. I want you this way every night and every morning, want you as part of my life, she said. Next morning I woke up in her bed feeling better than I had for years. We made love, and Anna wanted to hear me say that I would never leave her.

I’m here to stay, Annushka, I said, hesitantly at first, but when the expression in her eyes did not show satisfaction, I relented and said, repeating her words, I will stay with you and won’t ever leave you, never, never ever.

Anna swooped down on me with kisses of happiness and again we made love with no holds barred, as if ingraining in one another our oaths of loyalty.

Afterwards I sent my report to HQ from my office about my acquaintanceship with Anna and my intention to continue with the relationship and signed the report ‘for your information’. Not ‘for your approval’ as was the requirement.

I was shaking from cold and sweating at the same time. My throat was dry and I went to make myself a coffee with the new machine which I had not yet ever used.

This morning I committed myself to Anna from the depths of my heart. And in my eyes this commitment was more meaningful than any other, I thought. Nonetheless what would happen if HQ was to say ‘no’?

ASHORT WHILE after sending the message I returned to my apartment, packed a suitcase with winter clothes, toiletries, slippers and a few books. All the while I was shaking and felt cold and sweaty at the same time. I swallowed a couple of aspirins, ordered a cab, and moved to Anna’s apartment.

To my surprise her place had already been emptied of Mikhail’s things and on ‘my side’ of the wardrobe were hangers and empty shelves which the few belongings I had brought with me didn’t fill. There was new bed linen with clearly visible folds from the original packaging. There was a big bunch of flowers in a vase on the living room table and the photo of Anna with Mikhail had disappeared. Only some time later did I find it high up on one of the bookcase shelves. It was obvious that Anna had done everything she could to give me the feeling that this was a festive occasion and to give us both the sense of a new beginning.

And I didn’t even think of bringing flowers or a bottle of wine, I said, lamenting my poor manners. But Annushka, aglow with joy, gave me a big hug and told me that she’d already managed to prepare another meal for us which she hoped I would like.