Guillermo Erades - Back to Moscow

Perhaps these divagations of my mind were due to the fact that, precisely at that time, I’d started to sleep badly. Regardless of when I went to sleep, even after a long vodka night, I would wake up early in the morning. As soon as I regained the smallest spark of consciousness — an awareness of who I was and where I was — my brain would be bombarded with dozens of fresh thoughts that grew out of control and then I couldn’t get back to sleep. Lying on the couch, my eyes open, I often ended up thinking about Lena.

I also thought about Lena after a bad night out, when I hadn’t met any promising girls and it was time to go home. As the music in the last club of the night stopped and the lights went on, and people gathered on the street, and new couples kissed, and phone numbers were exchanged, and taxis were shared — as the night was ending and a new Moscow day was about to begin — I would stand alone in the street and think about Lena. But I would not think about the drama or the tears. I would think about her body and I would visualise the exact moment when she unfastened her bra for the first time and offered her perfect breasts to me. This vivid image would produce a sharp pain in my chest. The night gone, I would take a taxi home, crash on my couch and wank myself to sleep.

IT WAS DARK OUTSIDE, freezing, close to minus twenty. I walked down Tverskaya, wearing my heavy coat, scarf, hat and thermal gloves. I turned left at Kamergersky — the cold seeping up through the soles of my winter shoes, reaching my feet. By the time I arrived at Pirogi, my nose was frozen numb.

Inside it was warm and lively — all the tables were occupied by young people drinking beer, eating, talking loudly. I walked towards the back room, where the books were sold, but couldn’t see Ira.

The day after Sergey’s unannounced visit, I’d called Ira to see how she was doing. She’d suggested meeting on Thursday for dinner.

I walked down the stairs into the basement rooms and found her sitting at a small table at the back. In spite of her make-up, she looked tired, the bags under her greyish eyes darker than usual. We kissed hello. After taking my winter gear off, I sat at the table.

‘Have you ordered yet?’ I asked.

‘Only tea. I was waiting for you. We should order right away, it usually takes ages in here.’

She beckoned the waitress. We both ordered mushroom soup, which Ira said was very good, then kotlety, salad and a bowl of pelmeni.

‘So,’ I said with a smile, ‘what have you done to poor Seriozha?’

‘What did he tell you exactly?’

‘That you are sleeping with an American guy from work.’

‘It’s more complicated than that.’

‘He was pretty drunk when we met. He didn’t look great.’

‘I’m sorry that he came to your place like that,’ she said.

‘It’s OK, I just felt sorry for him.’

One of the other tables in the room was occupied by two girls in almost identical woolly brown sweaters. I noticed one of them staring in our direction, with a red lipstick smile. For a moment I wished I was with Colin, instead of Ira, so that we could chat the two girls up.

‘This isn’t any easier for me,’ Ira was saying.

‘So, what happened?’

‘Not much,’ Ira said. ‘There’s this guy at work. We became friends and he made it clear that he was interested in me. Then we went out a couple of times. And we started to have a thing. Nothing serious.’

‘Who is he?’

‘His name is Rob. One of the consultants.’ Ira unbuttoned her cardigan, revealing a tight black top with unusually deep cleavage.

‘Were you seeing him the last time we met?’ I asked. ‘You know, when we had lunch at MGU.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I think I tried to tell you, but you didn’t seem interested.’

The waitress brought two bowls. The cold from the street remained in my bones. I took my spoon and went straight for the soup.

‘That was quick service,’ Ira said.

‘Moscow is changing after all. You cheat on Sergey. Quick service at Pirogi. What’s going on?’

‘Not funny.’

‘This is delicious,’ I said.

‘I told you.’

‘Creamy and tasty.’

‘They make it with white mushrooms.’

We savoured the mushroom soup in silence. The dyev with the red lipstick kept staring at me. So did her friend now. They giggled and I wondered if they thought Ira and I were a couple. I hoped they realised she was just a friend.

‘So,’ I said. ‘Who’s this Rob? Married with kids?’

‘Nope. Young, single. A babnik, like you.’ Ira ate some soup. ‘You might have met him in your nightclubs, he goes out with other expats.’

‘I don’t really hang out with Americans. Except Colin, of course, but he’s been Europeanised.’

‘Rob’s fresh from New York. His first time abroad. He’s been in Moscow for four months.’

‘These things happen,’ I said, hoping these words would close the subject. ‘I just thought you were happy with Sergey.’

‘This has nothing to do with Sergey.’ Ira pulled her black top down, readjusting her cleavage.

‘Whatever,’ I said. ‘It’s fine. These things happen.’

I had promised Sergey I would talk to Ira. Done. Now we could move on.

‘Really, it’s not about Sergey,’ Ira insisted.

I looked at the other table. The dyevs were emptying a jug of beer and seemed to be having a good time. If only Colin were here. Even Diego would do.

Ira was looking at me with an angry expression, as if reading my thoughts.

‘But it does have to do with Sergey,’ I said, trying to pick up the conversation where she’d left off. ‘He was your boyfriend and you started to fuck someone else.’

‘I can’t believe my ears, Martin. Are you giving me lessons on fidelity?’

‘I just mean. I don’t know.’

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I know you’re trying to help.’

She placed her spoon on the empty plate. ‘You know, Martin, I think sometimes you forget I’m a woman. I’m not only your friend but also a woman, even if, for whatever reason, that’s not how you see me. I need attention and courtship. Someone to give me compliments. Rob likes me, he makes me feel appreciated, as a woman .’

As a woman. Kak zhenschina.

‘So it’s a serious thing, the American guy and you?’

‘Of course not,’ Ira said. ‘He’s an expat, he just wants to have fun, like all of you. He probably has other women on the side. But that’s not the point. I know he’s not crazy about me, but at least he cares enough to make an effort. Women need that. We need to feel that men try hard to get us.’

‘And buy flowers.’

‘It has nothing to do with flowers,’ Ira said. ‘It’s about feeling wanted.’

‘But Sergey worships you. He’s mad about you. And you understand each other so well. Ira, you don’t need other people to know how much you are worth.’

‘But I do,’ she said. ‘I do need other people to tell me. I know I’m good enough to be Sergey’s girlfriend or to be your “just friend”. But maybe that’s not enough for me.’

I finished my soup, pushed my plate aside. I took a sip of beer, trying not to look at the girls on the other table. ‘What I’m saying is that sometimes it’s better to be with someone who really appreciates you for who you are than with someone who just wants to sleep with you and have a good time.’

‘Sergey is a great guy,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want someone I need to take care of. I want someone who takes care of me . Sergey spends all his time complaining about his problems but doing nothing about them. Getting drunk is all he does. In the end, no woman wants that kind of man, Martin. At least before he was more fun to be around, but now he’s so gloomy.’