David Bezmozgis - The Free World

It was like this, in the clandestine darkness of a Riga movie theater, that Alec had, at the age of twelve, entered into manhood. That time, not Frenchmen but Hindus had been on the movie screen and the girl beside him was Olya, Karl’s ostensible girlfriend. Karl had decided he wouldn’t go to the movie and forever changed Alec’s life.

Karl was sixteen then, as was Olya. It was a Sunday afternoon and Karl had simply changed his mind. He’d already seen the movie with her and he didn’t want to see it again. Instead, he said he would stay home and study. But since Olya had no telephone and lived in the center of town, he had no way of contacting her.

— Hey, dimwit, Karl had said, what are you doing?

And, just like that, Alec was riding his bicycle to the center of town to inform Olya that Karl couldn’t make the movie.

Karl told him to look for Olya outside her building where Krisjan Baron met Karl Marx Street. Alec had never seen her before, he’d only heard Karl mention her in passing. But since Karl wasn’t one to bare his soul, the only thing he knew about her was that Karl had described her as a little nuts. When Alec asked how he might recognize her, Karl said that it would be easy. She would be the only girl on the street wearing an Indian sari.

— What’s a sari? Alec had asked.

— It’s like a sheet. All wrapped around. You can’t miss her.

True, as Karl said, Alec spotted her immediately as he coasted down Krisjan Baron. It was a warm spring day and, even though there were very many people out on Krisjan Baron, Olya was conspicuous among them. It wasn’t only because she had wrapped herself elaborately in a red sheet, but because Alec noticed that she was very pretty. She had dark hair down to her shoulders, fair skin, a thin, straight nose, and green eyes the color of bottle glass. As he rode toward her, he tried to think up a reason that would allow him to remain longer in her presence. He was still trying to come up with something when he brought his bicycle to a stop beside her. Olya was scanning Krisjan Baron and Karl Marx Streets and didn’t immediately grasp that the boy on the bicycle had stopped beside her deliberately. She retreated half a step to let him pass, but when he didn’t budge, she fixed him with a wry smile, as if she knew better than he did what he was up to. As she regarded him, Alec gazed wordlessly back. He felt neither nervous nor awkward, only content. This was love. It was his first experience and he was certain that the feeling would never abate. There was nothing he wanted to do except look at her. And he knew that as soon as he opened his mouth and delivered his message he’d have to stop looking and pedal home.

— Didn’t your mother teach you it’s not polite to stare? Olya said.

— I’m Karl’s brother, Alec replied.

— You don’t look alike, Olya said, which, though he knew it to be true, Alec was nevertheless disappointed to hear.

— Some people say there’s a resemblance.

— No, not at all. You’re completely different. The shape of your face, your eyes, the nose, the mouth. Look at your eyelashes. You’re like a little doll compared to him.

— Karl sent me to tell you that he can’t come to the movie, Alec said brusquely, to show that he was no doll.

— Oh, Olya said, with a swell of sadness that caught Alec by surprise.

A quaver entered her voice that made her sound not like a sixteen-year-old goddess but like a little girl.

— Why couldn’t he come? she inquired.

To spare her feelings, Alec lied and said that Karl was sick. He had a temperature.

— Oh, Olya said again, only this time with an upward lilt in her voice.

She seemed satisfied with the excuse. In an instant, as quickly as she’d been devastated, she recovered and showed no trace of having been hurt. She fingered a thin gold chain around her neck. It was fairly long, and it dipped into the folds of her sari and down between her breasts. Suspended from the chain was a small golden locket. Olya plucked it up and opened its case. Inside was a miniature clock face.

— The movie starts in ten minutes, Olya said.

She snapped the case shut and let the locket fall back down into her sari. Alec expected that she would go on her way and leave him, but she looked at him in an enigmatic way.

— Do you like movies? Olya asked.

— Sure, Alec said.

— Do you like Indian movies? Olya asked.

— I like every kind of movie.

— Have you ever seen an Indian movie?

— Of course, Alec said, lying instinctively.

— Which one?

— I don’t remember the name. But it was full of Indians.

— Did it have Raj Kapoor?

— Maybe.

— Nargis?

— Who?

— Nargis. She’s the most glamorous Indian actress.

— Well, then, probably, Alec said.

Olya cocked her head and flashed that same skeptical, amused expression.

— You’re not a very good liar, she said.

— I’m not lying, Alec protested.

This only caused her to laugh.

— You know, you really are like a darling little doll, Olya teased.

— I don’t like being called that, Alec said.

— No? Why not? What’s wrong with being a darling little doll? Some people would say it was nice.

— Not me, Alec said.

— That’s too bad, Olya said.

— Why? Alec asked.

— Do you like girls? Olya said.

— Of course I like girls, Alec said. I’m not queer.

— Well, there are lots of girls who like dolls.

— So what? Alec said.

— So, Olya grinned, would the little doll like to come with me to see The Tramp with Nargis and Raj Kapoor?

Before they set off, Olya safely stashed Alec’s bicycle in the courtyard of her building. Then she took Alec by the hand and led him down Krisjan Baron Street to Perses Street and then over to Suvorova, where the Palladium movie theater stood.

Since Alec hadn’t planned on going to a movie, he had almost no money on him, but Olya paid for him and also bought him an ice cream. On their way to the theater and also while climbing the steps to the balcony, Olya talked about her love of Indian movies and of The Tramp in particular. Already, she had seen it six times. Once with her mother, four times by herself, and once with Karl. She’d memorized nearly all of the dialogue and knew the lyrics to all of the songs. On Suvorova Street, as they had approached the Palladium, she sang one of the ballads, releasing Alec’s hand long enough to demonstrate some dance steps — prancing backwards and making big, sweeping flourishes with her hands. Onlookers gawked at her, a few smiled, more raised their eyebrows disdainfully, but if Olya noticed she clearly didn’t care.

The tickets Olya purchased were in the balcony, in the front row, at the railing, high above the gallery, from where they could peer down upon the scattered people below. In those moments before the movie started, Alec became aware of the magnitude of what he was doing. He still didn’t know where it would lead, but even if nothing else happened he felt that he had crossed a boundary. His parents didn’t know where he was. He was in a movie theater alone with an older girl — a girl who happened also to be his brother’s girlfriend. He had lied to her, and he anticipated that he would lie to his parents and to Karl when he got home. He had a sense of all of this, an intimation of significance, but he couldn’t have formulated it in words. Later he came to see this moment as the one in which he took his biggest stride out onto the promontory of life.

The movie, as Alec recalled, was incredibly long. For its entire length he concentrated far less on what was happening on-screen and much more on what was happening in the span of centimeters that separated him from Olya. He followed her silent example, and stared raptly at the screen while his hand, in incursions measured in fingerbreadths, crept up her arm and across into the folds of her strange garment. He didn’t even know where his hand was going, but like an advancing army, it took whatever territory was conceded to it.