Guillermo Erades - Back to Moscow

‘Young,’ I say.

Stepanov flips the record on the turntable. Then he crouches and lowers the needle with precision onto the edge of the vinyl. ‘How young?’

I regret bringing up the subject. ‘Is this KINO?’ I ask, when I hear the first beats of the song.

‘Fuck yes!’ Stepanov mimics guitar playing, then drops onto his leather armchair. ‘The Black Album .’

‘Sounds good,’ I say. ‘Is this before or after Gruppa Krovi ?’

‘Their last album,’ Stepanov says. ‘Released after Victor Tsoy died. That’s why it’s called the Black Album , the rest of the group decided not to name it. You know, some people think Tsoy was killed, that his car crash was no accident, because he was against the system and all that.’

‘So Martin’s banging a little girl,’ Colin says. ‘What’s the legal age in Russia anyway?’

‘I don’t really know her age,’ I say. ‘She’s not that young.’

Stepanov takes the bottle of vodka and fills our four glasses. ‘I don’t think we have age limits in Russia.’

‘Where did you find her?’ Diego asks, not bothering to look up from his mobile phone.

‘At the Moskva Bookshop,’ I say. ‘A couple of weeks ago. She was standing by the foreign language books.’

‘The foreign language shelves are a great spot to pick up dyevs,’ Colin says. ‘In Dom Knigi there are always hot dyevs around the foreign books. It’s like just by being there they are giving you a green light.’

Diego looks up. ‘Why’s that? I don’t think you need much encouragement to hit on a girl.’

‘You know,’ Colin says, ‘if they are trying to learn English, they are more willing and interested in meeting expats.’

‘So you took her home right away?’ Diego asks, now looking at me.

‘I took her for a cup of coffee,’ I say. ‘She’s a lovely girl, but a bit shy. Next day we went to the new sushi bar that just opened in Bolshaya Dmitrovka.’

‘Haven’t tried that one yet,’ Colin says.

‘Don’t.’ I stand up and walk towards the large piano in the middle of the room. ‘The sushi’s crap. But it was Polina’s first time, so she didn’t notice.’

‘I had a Polina two or three months ago,’ Colin says. ‘From Irkutsk. Or was it Tomsk?’

‘So Polina tried to eat with chopsticks,’ I say, ‘but she kept dropping the sushi. At some point the sushi fell onto the soy plate and the splash stained her shirt. Instead of running off to wash the shirt she just blushed and apologised.’

‘That’s cute,’ Colin says.

‘I told her she could use her fingers. She seemed relieved.’

‘I can’t understand the whole sushi revolution,’ Diego says. ‘What did they eat before in Moscow?’

‘So from the sushi place you took her home?’ Colin asks.

‘Not really,’ I say. ‘Next day I took her to the cinema in Pushkinskaya. Then I asked her to come up to my apartment.’

Colin smiles. ‘Man, your apartment has the best location in town.’

‘Guess what she tells me when she’s undressed?’

‘I need to move to the centre,’ Colin says. ‘Get a flat around Tverskaya.’

‘Martin,’ Stepanov says, ‘don’t tell us she was a virgin.’

I nod. ‘I didn’t know, of course. So she’s lying naked on my couch and I can see from her face that she’s kind of panicking. So I asked her, “Are you OK with this?”’

‘Man,’ Colin says, ‘you should never ask.’

Diego looks up from his mobile phone. ‘If she’s a virgin you are supposed to ask.’

‘Good fucking etiquette,’ Stepanov says, laughing.

‘Seriously,’ Diego says, ‘you want to be sure she’s really up for it. Wouldn’t you?’

‘Anyway,’ I say, ‘she just told me to be careful because she’d never been with a man before.’

‘Who gives a fuck about age anyway,’ Stepanov says, standing up and raising his glass of vodka. ‘If she’s into you, why not.’

I raise my glass. ‘That’s right.’

‘Let’s drink to our friend,’ Stepanov says, pointing his glass at me, ‘Humbert Humbert.’

Diego and Colin laugh.

‘Fuck you,’ I say.

We all drink up. Stepanov starts to sing along to the next song. Colin joins in for the chorus.

When the song is finished, Colin turns to me. ‘Remember Marusia, from the Real McCoy?’

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘The TV presenter.’

Colin shakes his head. ‘She’s driving me crazy, man.’

‘Haven’t banged her yet?’

‘She’s just playing with me. I took her for dinner twice, to expensive places. But she’s so used to this kind of treatment, must have plenty of guys after her. She would not put out, the bitch.’

Stepanov is pouring vodka into our glasses. He realises he’s miscalculated the amount of liquor left in the bottle and there’s not enough to fill the last glass. He takes his own glass and pours half of his vodka into Diego’s.

Diego lifts his glass, now full to the brim, takes a small sip. ‘Is that one of the famous half-German sisters?’

‘Yeah,’ Colin says. ‘That was a great night, when we met them.’

‘You’ve told us the story a hundred times,’ Diego says.

‘If only you had slept with her that first night,’ I say, pointing at Colin, ‘you wouldn’t give a shit about her right now.’

‘If only,’ Colin says. ‘But shit, we were so wasted, remember? And now I can’t get her out of my mind. If I could fuck her just once I would be able to move on. Maybe we could double-date them again?’

‘I’m done with the sister,’ I say. ‘She’s so messed up. Anyway, they are too high maintenance, the kind of dyevs who end up with oligarchs.’

‘Listen to this song,’ Stepanov says. ‘The best on this album.’

‘If only I could fuck her once,’ Colin says, to himself, gazing despondently into his glass.

Stepanov stands up and raises his glass. ‘To tonight.’

We drain our glasses.

Diego has now pocketed his mobile phone. Then he asks about the bomb in Pushkinskaya. ‘So close to your place,’ he says, looking at me. ‘Did you hear anything?’

‘Only the sirens. It all happened underground, the earth must have muffled the blast.’

‘Poor people,’ Diego says. ‘I don’t understand why Chechens do this.’

‘I doubt it was the Chechens,’ Stepanov says.

Diego shrugs. ‘That’s what I heard on the news.’

‘You guys shouldn’t bother watching TV news,’ Stepanov says. ‘It’s all propaganda. TV in Russia is where the government says whatever they want the people to believe.’

‘That’s true,’ Colin says. ‘Fucking weird, if you take Russians individually, one by one, they are the most honest people on Earth. They are so direct, so straightforward, they just can’t lie. Not in their genes. Russians can’t do hypocrisy, not like Westerners. That’s why they come across as rude. It’s not rudeness. It’s fucking honesty. But, shit, when it comes to the public sphere, that’s another story. Everything in this country is a big fucking lie.’

Stepanov lowers his voice. ‘True. The bomb in Pushkinskaya was most probably planted by our guys. Nashi.’

‘What do you mean your guys?’ I ask.

‘You know, the FSB, the secret services. It’s like the building they blew up last year in Pechatniki. They killed dozens of people, just to make a point.’

‘What point?’

Colin turns to me. ‘To show the common people that Russia has enemies.’

‘Precisely,’ Stepanov says. ‘You need to understand that for Russians to feel united we need an enemy, someone who wants to destroy us, an external threat that helps us come together. Mongols, Poles, French, Germans, Americans, anyone will do. It’s a tradition, it has always been like this.’