Juliet Butler - The Less You Know the Sounder You Sleep

‘Is she a Reject?’ asks Masha. I think she sort of hopes she is.

‘Yeah. Her parents rejected her when she lost her arms. She’s got two healthy sisters. It was too far for them to come and visit…’

‘And what about her precious Slava?’ says Masha, jerking her thumb at me.

‘Precious?’ Olessya looks at me in surprise.

‘Not precious , that’s just Masha being… Masha. We’re b-both top of the class is all.’

‘Teachers’ pets,’ says Masha, and rolls her eyes.

‘Slava, yeah, he’s a Congenital, but he’s not a Reject. His mum visits almost every month, he’s a family kid, they bring him a food parcel of milk and eggs and fruit. His family live in a village. He always shares his food though, he’s nice like that. He’s really nice. I like him.’

I bite my lip. Of course she likes him… We get food parcels too, from Aunty Nadya. She sends us little tins of cod livers and boiled sweets from Moscow. There’s no sweets at all in Novocherkassk, but Masha doesn’t share anything. She just unwraps them and pops them in her mouth when we’re in the dorm and goes mmmmm as she sucks them, so everyone can hear. She sometimes gives me one though.

‘Yeah, and his dad comes on a motorbike, with his brother Grisha in a sidecar. All the girls here are in love with Grisha. You should see them swooning around the courtyard when he’s here, like dead flies on a windowsill…’ she laughs. I laugh too, but secretly I bet Grisha’s not half as handsome as Slava. I wouldn’t swoon over Grisha. ‘The teachers are all nice,’ Olessya goes on. ‘Vera Stepanovna’s pretty strict, but she’s honest. She makes sure all the State funds go where they should and aren’t stolen along the way. But the best teacher of all is Valentina Alexandrovna. She’s young and she only came last year. She’s so healthy! She wants every one of us to be the best. The Best of the Best in the Best of All Possible Worlds, as she says!’

The bell clangs for afternoon lessons.

‘I f-forgot to ask – what class are you in?’ I say as we squeeze ourselves back out into the courtyard.

‘I’m in class 7, how about you?’

‘Class 6,’ I say, and it’s stupid but I feel all good and warm inside that she’s not in our class, even though I really like her. I should want her to be in our class, but actually I don’t. ‘Yeah, we’re in Class 6,’ I say. ‘With Sunny Nina and Little Lyuda. And Slava.’

It’s evening time and we should be in the dorm, but we’ve sneaked out to smoke papirosas and get drunk. There’s four of us hiding behind the cobbler’s workshop in the school yard.

‘Go on,’ says Petya. He’s in year 7 with Olessya, but he likes Masha because he says she’s dirty (although she’s not, we both wash all the time with soap. Masha says I scrub us both so much there’ll be nothing left of us by the time we’re twenty).

‘Take a drag, go on, quick,’ says Petya. Masha sucks on the papirosa she’s found on the ground here. It’s got lipstick on its cardboard end, so it must be from one of the kitchen staff. The teachers don’t smoke because it’s not cultural. Slava’s here with us, so it must be all right, but we might get caught. My heart’s banging around like a drum. Petya kissed Masha on the cheek a week ago and she slapped him. But now he’s got a bottle of cheap wine because he wants to kiss her some more. He bribed Aunty Klava from the kitchen to get it. He’s not a Reject and he gets five roubles a month from his family to spend, so he bribed her to get it from the Vegetable Shop in town.

Masha keeps on sucking on the papirosa and coughs like a mad thing, like she’s choking to death or something.

‘No, no, you’ve got to suck and then hold it in your mouth, and then slowly breathe it in,’ says Petya. ‘Go on.’ Masha does it again and this time she doesn’t cough so much. Petya laughs. ‘See? It’s easy. Go on, go on.’ Masha keeps sucking until I feel all dizzy, and almost fall over backwards. Petya laughs like mad. ‘Dasha fell over first! You two are crazy. Fuck – Dasha’s such a lightweight, she didn’t even take a drag!’ He thinks that’s the funniest thing ever. Slava laughs too and picks me up by pulling on my arm.

Masha told me that boys go crazy for a kiss. She says that’s all they ever think about in their stupid little heads. She says girls can get them to do all sorts of stuff for them, like getting this bottle of wine, if they let them have a bit of seksy koo koo . Anyway, it’s called Red Sunrise, the wine is – not because it’s red, like I thought, but because of the dawn of Communism. Slava and Petya have been drinking it, and Masha’s been drinking it too, but when she does, she just throws it straight back up. I won’t drink because Aunty Nadya says the Consumption of Alcohol Degrades the Personality. That’s what all the slogans say too. Slava’s drinking, but then he’s a boy, and men need to drink. But women don’t.

It’s October. Lessons have all finished for the day, but it’s still not completely dark. And it’s still quite warm. Slava can’t stop laughing, and is taking swigs from the wine bottle. And he’s looking at me all the time. He really is. He’s looking at me all the time. It’s really stupid, but I keep thinking about him. It’s like nothing else matters. It’s like everything, like our third leg, and the people outside the gates, and Icy Valya, and even Masha have all been pushed out of my head to make way for all these millions of thoughts about just Slava. How can you even think about one person all the time, and not think any other thoughts hardly at all?

‘Go on, Mash, take another swig, get it down you.’ Petya shoves the bottle at her and she takes another few gulps. We stand around looking at her and waiting; and then Khryoosh! up it comes again. Petya laughs and laughs. ‘She keeps throwing up! Hey, wait, wait, think about it… think, think…’ He points a finger at his head and then at Slava’s head, and then falls back against the wall. ‘Think… Masha takes a drag and Dasha falls over. So if Masha can’t keep it down, let’s get Dasha to drink! Right? Right?’ He looks around at us, swaying all over the place. Slava’s swaying too.

‘Great idea!’ shouts Masha. ‘Get it down! Get it down!’ She takes the bottle, grabs one of my pigtails and tips my head back, pushing the bottle into my mouth. I try and shut it, but she’s got the neck of the bottle right down my throat and it’s going down, all sweet and nice. ‘Swallow, swallow!’ shouts Masha. I swallow. I shouldn’t, but I do.

‘More! More!’ cheers Petya. ‘ Davai! C’mon, Dashinka, get it down! Quick!’ Masha’s still holding my head back, and forcing the bottle down me so I keep swallowing. It’s all right really. It’s sweet. Then suddenly, I feel like there’s a hand grabbing the back of my neck. Only there’s no hand there, even though I look round. And then I start feeling sort of like they’re all going into the distance and I can hear them laughing like it’s from miles away, and Slava’s still looking at me; all I can see are his big black eyes. I’m not me at all.

‘ February! ’ he says, still looking at me. ‘ Take up your pen and weep .’

‘Fuck me! Trust Slava to start spouting morbid poetry…’ Petya’s voice sounds miles away. Miles and miles. Petya takes the bottle off Masha and lifts it to his mouth again.

‘ Write of February through your tears while the burning black slush of spring thunders at your feet… ’ It’s the most beautiful poem in the world. He has the most beautiful voice in the world. Really, really beautiful. Write through your tears . I start to cry a bit. I love Pasternak. I love…