Igor Eliseev - One-Two

I was on the brink of falling asleep, when the cabin door briefly opened to let the champion in. To tell the truth, we didn’t expect to see him so soon, let alone in such a state of intoxication. Scared, I squeezed myself into a corner and drew the blanket over my head. Meanwhile, he was swearing heavily and spitting on the floor, then he sat on the front seat and started fidgeting, shivering and breathing heavily. All of a sudden he got up and sharply pulled the blanket off us. I was struck by the combination of his wildness and our tameness, and I pressed myself into the berth, horrified not at what he might do to us but more at him seeing our deformity. I think you felt the same. But the champion didn’t notice anything; he was panting and puffing right over me. I can still distinctly remember the terrible, alcohol-laden breath pouring from his mouth, and then this huge shapeless hulk lay on top of us with all his weight. We were powerless to cry out or to move; it seemed that my ribs were cracking under his pressure. At first I thought he might have forgotten that he had picked us up on the road and was simply following his usual routine, settling himself in his bed, getting ready to sleep, but when his fingers, like slippery worms, started crawling all over our bodies, I realized that he had it in for us. Everything happened very quickly. The next moment sharp pain pierced my body, and I felt someone else’s flesh penetrating my flesh. Fighting with disgust, choking and swallowing my tears, I tried to escape for all I was worth, but with no luck. I don’t know how long it lasted; my memory carefully hides from me everything that happened that night. I only remember that he suddenly stopped and started breathing rapidly and limply as if he were about to faint. At that moment I thought we were doomed, that we were going to die and be buried alive under his huge body. However, in a minute he regained consciousness, slowly slid on to the floor, took off his wife-beater in one movement, wiped off the after-effects of a rough night, and having lovingly put it under his head, fell asleep at once. New spots that had been left on his wife-beater became forever a part of its history which he would probably never remember to tell anyone about.

I had a throbbing sensation in my temples on both sides; it was hard to breathe; the air became stuffier and stuffier. I longed to strip off all my clothes and to pour cold water over myself to wash away the hurt, the pain and the humiliation. I remember the only question tormenting me was why I hadn’t closed my eyes. Those memories are so repulsive; every time I think of them I feel just the same disgust as that night. I fell into a slumber and when I woke up, the ruthless world regained its outlines, muddy like stains on glass. I felt that you were also awake and expected you to give me a couple of words of support or consolation, but you did not speak, and I wanted you to die.

“Faith,” after all, you curled your fingers around my wrist and whispered, “nothing happened. Do you hear me? It was just a disgusting nightmare. Remember, only a nightmare.”

“A nightmare shared by both of us?”

“Yes, that was the only time we went through it together. This nightmare will never happen again. We will forget it once and for all. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” I nodded; and you have indeed forgotten everything, but not me.

In sleep, I heard an alarm clock ringing and opened my eyes. As if nothing had happened, the champion was sitting at the steering-wheel picking his teeth.

“Are you up already? Gee, how I managed to get drunk again yesterday.”

We replied with unfriendly silence.

He scratched the clotted, sweaty thickets on his stomach with one hand while starting the truck with the other.

“So what’s your name, gal?”

He addressed us both as if we were one person, thinking of us, beyond any shadow of doubt, as one whole creature.

“One…” you began spitefully but stopped short and turned away.

“I am Faith,” I reluctantly forced out.

“Well, Faith, well, well,” he grinned. “My mother’s name was Faith, too; she passed away a while back. I used to hit her, but not from malice. Listen, kiddo, excuse me, if there was something wrong; I didn’t mean it. It’s all because of my feet, my damned feet.”

The truck pulled away and the champion started a new story about his old wife-beater, as tiresome and boring as his entire life. And we kept silence as if we were angry at each other for the world being angry at us.

As we drove into the capital, we saw high brick buildings, wide, level streets, and huge monuments – overhanging, suppressing, frightening. A stray thought came into my mind: a person’s life doesn’t mean anything here. Everything seemed to be planned, designed and constructed to emphasize the insignificance of all your acts, thoughts and desires. It seemed useless to fight for anything because someone had decided it all for you ages ago.

The champion dropped us off near a subway entrance, and before leaving explained that it was a special place “to see new people and let them see you”. Actually, the whole city was absolutely the same. However, at this point in time, we didn’t have a clue what he meant, but being afraid to detain him in more conversation, for he would surely talk about his wife-beater status yet again, we didn’t say a word.

Near the subway, an enormous exhibition complex was located. So, for the rest of the day we hung around it and measured it with timid steps. The uncaring wind pierced our lonely bodies; heavy gray and white clouds resembling patches of dirty cotton-wool were sternly etched into the sky above our heads, crawling into an unknown future. Thousands of people were flashing before our eyes in a roundabout of life, changing faces, moods and clothes, a whirlpool of giddy, useless action. It seemed that in a little while we, too, would get stuck in this huge, impenetrable mass and go round and round forever. That giant city swallowed us on our very first day there.

It started snowing. Having got out of the endless exhibition maze by a miracle, we wandered about the frosty streets, uselessly peeking in at yards, trudging gloomy back streets. And all the time, I couldn’t get rid of an intrusive feeling that you knew where to go. At last, having come out onto a spacious street, we stopped near a crooked, abandoned lantern.

“It’s late. We need to find a place to spend the night.” You summed it up in a level, calm voice. “We will look for a hospital tomorrow.”

I had seen an unlocked door to a basement. I decided to share all my observations with you.

“Where?” you revived, rubbing your hands together as an expression of joy.

“Round the corner in the backstreet; we passed it not long ago.”

“Can you find the way?”

I nodded. We turned back and set out to search for that much desired lodging where we could spend our first night. I noticed a narrow tunnel that looked like it was leading to the underworld; behind it we could see a playground and the political leader’s bust with a heap of snow on its spacious, bald head. Between two entrances, a hunched basement “crowned” with a withered door with a torn-off lock stuck out like an unnecessary knuckle. Nearby lay empty wooden boxes and broken bricks.

Like inexperienced thieves, we stealthily opened a door and glanced inside. Dampness and the stench of excrement invaded our senses; we saw low steps leading to… pitch darkness. “Feels like in a crypt,” I said, thinking, “It’s scary and unpleasant. I don’t want to descend but I have to”. That’s how hardship and extreme conditions often force you into acting in a way that is completely alien to your usual way of behaving.