Вадим Бабенко - The Place of Quarantine

Nok landed at Sheremetyevo airport late at night at the end of a windy, damp March. Her cheap hotel room was terrible and barely fit for habitation. All morning she felt sick, could eat nothing and didn’t even know where or what people ate in this strange country. It was cold outside; sleet and snow were falling. Nok asked the elderly concierge to call her a taxi, barely managing to explain herself to him. The taxi driver circled the back streets for an hour before finally bringing her to the required address and asking for a completely absurd fare. Nok was unable to argue; then, having paid him off, she went into the building and showed Brevich’s business card to a gloomy guard with a crumpled face. There was some confusion, and she was told he was not in but would be back later. She sat on the couch next to the reception desk – frightened, tired and feeling completely out of place in this impersonal office foyer.

Things hadn’t been easy for Ivan either after his return from Bangkok – the same emptiness oppressed him from all sides and showed little sign of abating. Nevertheless, he did not entertain any doubts about the finality of their breakup. Brevich was adamant there was no way the relationship could survive them living in different parts of the world.

He returned to his usual Russian life, plunged into his work and drank heavily. A couple of times, he tried to let off steam with expensive prostitutes, but this only left him with a feeling of disgust and an even greater yearning. Then he took a sudden and unexpected step – he left his wife and initiated divorce proceedings. All her attempts to get an explanation were unsuccessful – Ivan avoided any contact.

In the days’ bustle and commotion, he almost succeeded in erasing Nok from his head, but during the drunken evenings, the memories returned irrepressibly. He surrendered – to them and to his thoughts – wandered gloomily through the rooms of his rented apartment, went to the window and looked at the Moscow night sky that was so different from Bangkok’s. For half an hour, for an hour, he just stood there, frozen, then poured himself another whiskey and sat down at his computer. He searched through forums and blogs on the web, looked for stories similar to his own, hoping for healing and to sober up. Desperately, he wanted to be sure he had done the right thing by breaking up with Nok forever and not building castles in the air. But, as if in spite, what he found was quite the opposite: other people’s castles seemed to be standing firm. Thai girlfriends were not ideal, notable neither for their sophistication, intellectual refinement nor any special kind of mystery – qualities more likely to be found in Russians. But at the same time, they possessed a very powerful source of feminine integrity – something that everyone seeks but almost none find. A quality not easy to describe and explain, not immediately noticeable, but once perceived, unmistakable – and, according to the accounts on the web, Thai women had it in abundance. And, Brevich now understood, there was much of it in Nok too – as there was much of Nok in each moment they had spent together. No, she did not push herself forward or intrude and she was not talkative; she simply offered her entire being to him – intending it only for him, thus forming a strong sense of belonging between them. It was a kind of generosity he had never encountered before – and for her it was as natural as breathing… Brevich recalled his past, his two former wives, one fiancée and a dozen long-term mistresses. They had all liked to stress how they had given him their all! At the time, it had seemed to him they really had offered him a lot; now those words only elicited a sarcastic sneer.

He also read about the other side of Thai women, about their vengeful cunning, their fury in an argument, the infantile superficiality of their views and their inability to plan ahead. All this, for some reason, did not negate their surprising appeal, which was deeper and broader than everyday life, money, domestic squabbles and every commonplace sentimental dream. There was some invisible, inexplicable humanity in relationships with them, capable of providing protection from disappointments and spiritual wounds, like a guardian angel. It was probably an illusion but an alluring one nonetheless. Others had tried to describe it awkwardly, and Brevich had attempted to analyze it himself – but to no avail. These were subtle matters that evaded verbalization. All that remained was bitterness and a sense that he had refused to see something immeasurably important through to the end…

Ivan cursed, frowned and drank even more. Then he began to look for stories of a different kind, as if searching for a remedy. With a wry grin, he read the revelations of sex tourists, types like Lothar – about their amorous “triumphs” bought with money, about the deceptions and artifice, infidelity and cunning lies of the semiliterate bar “fairies.” It was sobering; little by little Brevich seemed to get back onto the road to recovery. Sometimes he even thought about whether he should get himself an Asian-looking “sugar baby” – for example, a Tartar or a Buryat – to accelerate the healing process. It was at this very moment that Nok appeared in Moscow.

Brevich arrived at the office within an hour and a half – almost running into the building without looking around. Nodding to the guards, he headed for the elevators, but the receptionist called to him, pointed to the sofa and said uncertainly, “Over there…” Ivan froze to the spot, then walked slowly up to Nok, who stood up to meet him. “Why are you here?” he asked. Nok replied, “I’m going to have your baby.” They looked at each other silently for a few seconds, then Ivan canceled all his meetings, put her in the car and took her home.

Removing her shoes in the corridor, Nok leaned against the wall and whispered, “My energy is spent.” He gently helped her undress, carried her to the bedroom and laid her on his bed. She immediately fell asleep; Brevich sat for a while next to the bed, leaving her on only a few occasions to fix himself a drink. But the alcohol had no effect on him; now, with Nok by his side, he felt completely sober. And he was soberly aware that these were the best minutes of his forty-six-year-old life.

In recent years, Ivan had really wanted a son – an heir, to carry on the family line. He had often talked about it with his wife; they had even tried to have a child, but nothing had come of it. Brevich suspected she had been secretly taking precautions – her comfortable, carefree life was far too dear to her, and children did not fit into her idea of happiness. Be that as it may, it mattered little now – when he heard Nok’s unexpected news, Ivan felt as if everything in his head had fallen into place. The circle had reached its logical conclusion; his thoughts had acquired harmony. He saw himself at the beginning of a path leading to the creation of something genuine. Something incredibly important – and no obstacle would get in his way.

Over the next three weeks, they barely spent a moment apart. Then they got married – because of the pregnancy, the doctors advised Nok not to fly to Thailand, and the wedding was held in Russia. Brevich exhibited his strengths to their full degree – nothing could stop him. A dozen petty officials suddenly found themselves a lot richer, but every single bureaucratic issue connected with the marriage was resolved in the blink of an eye. Just as quickly – and very brutally – he concluded his divorce with his wife, giving her what he thought she deserved: an apartment in the center of Moscow and some money. She became indignant and started to talk about a full-fledged division of his capital and business, but Brevich pressured her, threatening to leave her with nothing, and she signed the papers. As a result, one beautiful April morning, Ivan and Nok found themselves standing in front of the registrar at a local registry office.