Albena Stambolova - Everything Happens as It Does

Now she strolled about the city and registered no signs of danger. Every once in a while she felt the weight of her bag and moved it to her other shoulder. What was in that bag, only she knew, whatever to know meant for Margarita.

The window of her father’s apartment gleamed like a beacon. He answered the door almost immediately, dumbfounded to see her. So much so, that for a moment he did not invite her to come in, but let the smell of something burning reach her nose in wafts through the open door.

Are you alright?

Margarita smiled at him happily and he stepped back. He knew that she perceived things differently, but all the same he felt uncomfortable that she could see the remains of his lonely midnight dinner in the black frying pan. He chased away the thought of Maria’s ability to prepare something tasty out of anything, her oven turning out unbelievable dishes as if by itself.

Margarita looked at the piano, but her father waved his hand — not now, people are sleeping.

I’m hungry, dad.

Straight away he put a plate and some bread on the table, poured her a soda drink and took a salad out of the fridge. Margarita began to chew heartily, while her father wondered how he could possibly tell her that he was worried about her.

He asked about Valentin, but quickly hit some barrier and concluded that he needed to find out what was happening at his wife’s house.

Margarita finished eating, suddenly looking sad. He shouldn’t have spoken to her about Valentin. He took a sip of his beer and asked her about the baby. Margarita’s reaction was calmer, her mother and the baby were fine. And dear Boris? She hadn’t seen him for a while.

Her father felt anxious, the way he did every time he received news from Maria’s house. Margarita stirred from her seat like a restless bird before a storm. She wanted to go to bed and her father drove her home. He kissed her goodnight, lightly, as if this was something he did every night.

When she climbed into her enormous boat of a bed, her grandmother’s lamp was still lit. She couldn’t tell if there was anyone in the house.

A tree had to be found, a Christmas tree or a New Year’s tree, it didn’t matter, a tree to put ornaments on. Valentin was a little worried. The house the tree was meant for was very particular — Fanny lived in it. A fabulous beast of prey in a woman’s shape. She had taken him home after a party and here he was — like little Kai in the Snow Queen’s palace. Their first kiss had wiped his memory clean and he had lost his tolerance for his family and little Margarita.

And so a Christmas tree had to be found. He remembered he had a garret, but no tree could get in there, a fir branch or two at the most.

He wanted to go to the cinema, but now he was expected to look for a Christmas tree. That was a fact mandated by Fanny. Well, so what, I’ll buy the Christmas tree and get out of there. She could have a hundred boys at the snap of her fingers, and a hundred Christmas trees. And a hundred bagpipes playing for her. He burst into laughter and finally remembered where Christmas trees could be found in abundance. He would get Fanny a Christmas tree.

Meanwhile, Margarita was wrapping small presents in gilded paper. Tied with purple ribbons. She put them in her bag without having decided which one was meant for whom. She was at home, lingering like a useless whiff of smoke. To come up with something was nice, but to actually do it was a different story. Having put the presents in her bag, Margarita felt her work was done. She took out a book from the bag and opened it. An action that was like what she had just done, but in reverse. The book was a manual for a software program in English. The idea of a computer had sprung into her head a while ago, and after having carried the book in her bag for a long time, she had decided she needed one. A computer, with all the accessories and navigation devices. Why not, Maria had replied. No one mentioned the small laptop, as if such a thing had never existed.

For Mr. V. it was already the second hour in a board meeting with the directors of the bank. Watching and listening to them was amusing. Everything seemed unreal, pre-Christmas kind of unreal. He loved this time of year — people would say the wildest things and take the bravest decisions, because acting upon them was delayed until after the holidays. Visions about the bank’s future flew across the table like comets, circled back and forth; every now and again he wrote down something in his big notebook. Later that evening there was going to be a party for the board members, their wives and several other people with favorable political positions. Mr. V. did not like such parties, but they were mandatory and, as with all things mandatory, he managed very well. He had one worry, however, and couldn’t get rid of the feeling that he was forgetting something, something essential, fateful. If such things really existed.

He would never mention anything like this to anyone, not for the world.

Maria put the baby in a basket in the back seat of the car and drove off on the slippery, unevenly frozen road. She enjoyed driving at this time of year. Almost all traffic was gone and she could leave the city quickly. The highway to Plovdiv was clean and dry, and she hit the accelerator. The car was packed, the weight making it adhere to the road even better. Maria could feel the machine, its engine buzzing, the cars on her right seeming almost stationary. She devoured miles, like an unstoppable wind blowing through the landscape. When she entered Plovdiv, it was already getting dark. She knew the road to Boris’s parents’ village well; she hoped there would be no need to put on snow chains. The back of the car slid when turning every now and then, but it could be kept under control as long as the danger was anticipated. She loved driving, and especially in the winter. She passed through several villages and took turned onto a small, barely visible lane, at the end of which stood a cluster of houses. The last of these, some distance from the rest, was her destination. The headlights illuminated a line of poplars covered in snow. I hope no one comes the other way, Maria said to herself, but just at that moment saw the lights of a car emerging from behind the snowdrifts. She managed to brake smoothly but the car slid sideways and stopped in the middle of the road. The car in front of her had also stopped; a man emerged. Maria stayed where she was. The man approached, walking like a bear, covered in furs.

I’ll pull back, there are about thirty yards to the old folks’ house, he roared as she opened her window. Will you be able to turn?

Maria nodded and started the engine. The tires wouldn’t grab. The car started to shake — it obviously needed a push. Big snowflakes floated down from the dark sky. The lights of the other car had disappeared behind the bend and now she saw the man walking toward her. She remained behind the wheel, while he went behind her car and literally lifted its back off the ground and placed it parallel to the road. Maria was able to start the car, and after several yards stopped near his jeep by the house. The dim little lamp by the doorway was lit; Maria got out. The bear man stared at her admiringly when she turned toward him. She grabbed his paw with both hands and shook it in gratitude with unexpected force. Then she walked back, took the basket with the baby, and went inside.

Doing any kind of job had its challenges. Where to begin, and how to begin? Valentin unloaded the ten-foot tall Christmas tree in Fanny’s living room and rubbed his hands to warm them up. A white box full of ornaments and garlands lay ready by his feet. He lacked only the gentle little fingers willing and able to decorate the tree. But the tree was so pretty and exuded such a sweet scent of resin that he felt it should stay the way it was. Valentin stood motionless for a moment, wistful, wondering if he shouldn’t leave. The sound of a phone ringing sent an echo through the ice-cold rooms, and suddenly he thought of calling Margarita. He searched for the machine, realizing that every single room, except the living room, had a phone in it.