Вадим Бабенко - The Place of Quarantine

Here, on the question of longevity, Ivan rebuked himself furiously. However much he wanted to believe otherwise, he had no doubt their romance would end with his departure. Their environments were too different, their countries too far apart – he understood, it was very difficult to argue against this. Nothing could survive such long distances, and their cultural differences would soon become a problem… Even thinking about it was painful. As a diversion, he scolded himself, trying to imagine everything from a different point of view, to remove his rose-tinted spectacles. He deliberately recalled Lothar’s diatribe: without exception all Thai women are masters of deception. Lothar had lived here for years, he’d had time to figure things out. Nok almost certainly had some kind of agenda, a selfish motive…

Ivan turned to look at her face, her black hair scattered on the pillow. Right away it became crystal clear: Lothar’s views were irrelevant to them. Lies, self-interest… What utter nonsense! Nok only ever gave, without demanding a thing from him in return. She even tried to pay her way in restaurants and bars – Brevich had never seen this before. If she had a hidden plan, it was hard to imagine how sophisticated and cunning it would have to be.

He sighed, tossed and turned, sometimes getting up to drink a glass of water. Returning to bed, he would change tactics, telling himself it was ridiculous to imagine such a girl could seriously become infatuated with an ugly, taciturn, middle-aged man like himself. It was she who was wearing the rose-tinted spectacles – she had invented a fairy tale for herself without any plan whatsoever. Thai women like to imagine all sorts of things; they live in a fantasy world filled with ghosts, spirits and dreams. Soon the veil would fall from her eyes, and she would see him for what he was: much older than her, battered by life and not at all positive. Between them were the language barrier and a large number of other issues, which would require a lot of work. No doubt Nok would wake up to that; hence he needed to simply enjoy the moment. All the more so since she, happily, never bothered him with questions – either about the future or their feelings for each other.

This really was the case, although she did once ask Ivan, as if in jest, “Do you think you could love me?” Brevich was so taken aback he started coughing, and Nok immediately set about easing the situation – by trying on clothes in front of the mirror, making funny faces and taking selfies. The topic was never raised again – including the last day before his departure, which arrived suddenly and inevitably.

It was Saturday; in the morning, Nok took him to a Buddhist temple. Having given the monks food offerings, they spent two hours at a meditation ceremony. The process entranced Brevich with its steady, unhurried rhythm. Thais – young and old alike – came in, took off their shoes, sat on a wooden platform and closed their eyes. Cameras stood on three sides – concentrated, serene faces floated across large screens. Brevich observed this incredibly slow-moving action, practically inaction, as if it were a fast-paced thriller. Its stubborn, unstoppable development seemed to comprise the quintessence of all realities, which began to open up to him – ever so slightly – and even the Thai incantation amplified through the loudspeaker acquired meaning. It was probably talking about a different life, the life that Brevich wanted to transform his own into.

He asked Nok what the words were about. She said they were the words of the Buddha. About the soul and what’s reflected in it. About the end and the continuity of everything. About the way the things you do return back to you sooner or later – with the inevitability of predestination.

“I thought so,” Ivan nodded. It seemed to him that all this really had been there in his thoughts.

“‘The ocean tastes of salt, but its dharma has the taste of freedom,’” Nok translated.

“I thought so,” he muttered, remembering her scent of cloves and her salty-sweet taste.

“‘Let those who can hear respond with faith,’” Nok translated.

“Yes,” Ivan said. “I thought so.”

Suddenly he felt a powerful urge for faith – not in any deity, but in what was going on around him. A belief that this was not a fantasy that will disappear tomorrow, but something unshakable and real. He desperately wanted the course of his and Nok’s “story” to enter the same slow, meditative rhythm – or even stop altogether.

But no, stopping was impossible. The ceremony ended, an elderly monk came out onto the dais and began to talk with those assembled, and Ivan and Nok went back to the car. She drove back to her apartment, and Brevich, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly weary, returned to the hotel and slept a heavy, leaden sleep right through until dusk.

In the evening, they met at a mall famous for its movie theater – Ivan had said he’d like to watch a new American blockbuster. But in fact, he wanted to buy Nok a farewell gift, considering it his duty. His plan was simple – to take her to some expensive boutiques, where she could choose whatever took her fancy. The ploy had always worked in Russia, but Nok flatly refused his offer. Avoiding his eyes, she joked, “You don’t have to worry about leaving me something to remember you by. I’m hardly likely to forget you as it is.”

Brevich just nodded, took her by the hand and led her up to the second floor, to the jewelry stores, knowing she wouldn’t protest openly in public. Ignoring her round pleading eyes, he went into the first available shop, where a flock of mewling salesgirls descended, their tenacious, predatory gazes fixed on him. Ivan frowned and snorted, but in a moment an elderly Chinese manager appeared who at once assessed the situation. With a single gesture of his little finger, he waved the girls away and, sensing Nok’s discomfort, sat her down at a small table, where a cup of coffee instantaneously appeared. Then, for the next five minutes, he conducted a quiet conversation with Brevich, and by the end of it, Ivan had bought a bracelet worth several thousand dollars. He put it on Nok’s thin wrist himself, and they left the store accompanied by envious glances.

After the movie, there was dinner on the roof of one of the city’s skyscrapers. At Brevich’s request, they were given a corner table next to the safety rail – like the bow of a ship rising above the city on the crest of a powerful wave. Night had already fallen, with Bangkok stretching beneath them like a chart of the stars. Nearby a neon light gleamed; everything around seemed fanciful and ethereal.

Nok asked to have her photograph taken against the backdrop of the night city – she walked up to the fence and turned round to him with a serious, unsmiling face. The wind caught her hair, sweeping it up; she raised her hands to catch it and the bracelet slid from her wrist to the middle of her forearm, its diamonds sparkling and flashing. Her thin dress clung to her body and her entire being seemed poised for flight, almost breaking loose from the floor to be borne away – upward, onward… It lasted for only a few seconds, but Brevich experienced and absorbed each gesture and moment – forever searing them into his memory. He even thought he heard some indistinct words – possibly the words of the Buddha. Finally, the course of nature slowed down; everything froze, stopped. And – there and then rushed off again.

Life continued on, and time flowed inexorably – in the clatter of crockery and the music from the bar, in the obsequious smiles of waiters and the rapid replenishment of drinks and dishes. It was still the same Saturday – and it was coming to an end. Despite the romantic atmosphere, the dinner flagged somewhat and the conversation failed to flow. Nok behaved strangely, making silly comments, ordering cocktails and setting them aside, reproaching Ivan, jokingly, for being old and overweight and for not speaking Thai. Brevich tried to make witty lighthearted replies, but they did not come out right – and for some reason, she failed to understand his English.