“Whom are you winking at?” asked Vousi, through lingering laughter.
“It’s Len,” I said. It was really a pleasure to watch her, as I love to see people laugh, especially such a one as Vousi, beautiful and almost a child.
“Where’s Len?” she wondered.
There was no Len in the doorway.
“Len isn’t here,” said Aunt Vaina, who was sniffing the brandy with approval, and did not notice a thing. “The boy went to the Ziroks’ birthday party today. If you only knew, Ivan…”
“But why does he say it was Len?” asked Vousi, glancing at the door again.
“Len was here,” I said. “I waved at him, and be ran away. You know, he looked a bit wild to me.”
“Ach, we have a highly nervous boy there,” said Aunt Vaina. “He was born in a very difficult time, and they just don’t know how to deal with a nervous child in these modern schools. Today I let him go visit.”
“We’ll go, too, now,” said Vousi. “You’ll walk with me. I’ll just fix myself up, because on account of you everything got smeared. In the meantime, you can put on something more decent.”
Aunt Vaina wouldn’t have minded staying behind to tell me a few more things and maybe show me a photo album of Len, but Vousi dragged her off and I heard her ask her mother behind the door, “What’s his name? I just can’t remember it. He is a jolly fellow, isn’t he?”
“Vousi!” admonished Aunt Vaina.
I laid out my entire wardrobe on the bed and tried to imagine what Vousi would consider a decently dressed man. Until now, I had thought I was dressed quite satisfactorily. Vousi’s heels were already beating an impatient rat-a-tat on the study floor. Not having come up with anything, I called her in.
“That’s all you have?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
“It really isn’t good enough?”
“Well, it will pass. Take off the jacket and put on this Hawaiian shirt… or better yet, this one here. They sure have dressing problems in your Tungusia! Hurry up. No, no, take off the shirt you have on.”
“You mean, without an undershirt?”
“You know, you really are a Tungus. Where do you think you are going — to the pole or to Mars? What’s this under your shoulder blade?”
“A bee stung me,” I said, hurriedly pulling on my shirt. “Let’s go!”
The street was already dark. The fluorescents shone palely through dark foliage.
“Which way are we bound?” I asked.
“Downtown, of course…. Don’t grab my arm, it’s hot! At least you know how to fight, I hope?”
“I know how.”
“That’s good. I like to watch.”
“To watch, I like, too,” I said.
There were a lot more people out in the streets than in the daytime. Under the trees, in the bushes, and in the driveways there were groups of unsettled-looking individuals. They furiously smoked crackling synthetic cigars, guffawed, spat negligently and often, and spoke in loud rough voices. Over each group hung the racket of radio receivers. Under one streetlight a banjo twanged, and two youngsters, twisting in weird contortions and yelling out wildly, were performing fling, a currently fashionable dance, a dance of great beauty when properly executed. The youngsters knew how. Around them stood a small crowd, also yelling lustily and clapping their hands in rhythm.
“Shall we have a dance?” I offered.
“But no, no…” hissed Vousi, taking me by the hand and increasing her pace.
“And why not? You do fling?”
“I’d sooner hop with alligators than this crowd.”
“Too bad,” I said, “They look like regular fellows.”
“Yes, each one by himself,” said Vousi, “and in the daytime.”
They hung around on the corners, huddled around streetlights, gauche, smoked to the gills, leaving the sidewalks behind them strewn with bits of candy paper, cigarette butts, and spittle. They were nervous and showy melancholic, yearning, constantly looking around, stooped. They were awfully anxious not to look like others, and at the same time, assiduously imitated each other and two or three popular movie stars. There were really not that many, but they stood out like sore thumbs, and it always seemed to me that every town and the whole world was filled with them — perhaps because every city and the whole world belonged to them by night. And to me, they seemed full of some dark mystery, But I too used to stand around of evenings in the company of friends, until some real people turned up and took us off the streets, and many a time I have seen the same groups in all the cities of the world, where there was a lack of capable men to get rid of them. But I never did understand to the very end what force it is that turns these fellows away from good books, of which there are so many, from sport establishments, of which this town had plenty, and even from ordinary television sets, and drives them out in the night streets with cigarettes in their teeth and transistor sets in their ears, to stand and spit as far as possible, to guffaw as offensively as possible, and to do nothing. Apparently at fifteen, the most attractive of all the treasures in the world is the feeling of your own importance and ability to excite everyone’s admiration, or at least attract attention. Everything else seems unbearably dull and dreary, including, perhaps above all, those avenues of achieving the desirable which are offered by the tired world of adults.
“This is where old Rouen lives,” said Vousi. “He has a new one with him every night. The old turnip has managed it so that they all come to him of their own will. During the fracas, his leg was blown off…. You see there is no light in his place, they are listening to the hi-fi. On top of which, he’s ugly as mortal sin.”
“He lives well who has but one leg,” I said absent-mindedly.
Of course she had to giggle at this, and continued.
“And here lives Seus. He is a Fisher. Now there’s a man for you!”
“Fisher,” I said. “And what does he do, this Seus-Fisher?”’
“He Fishers. That’s what Fishers do — they Fisher. Or are you asking where he works?”
“No, I mean to ask where does he Fisher?”
“In the Subway.” Suddenly she stopped. “Say, you wouldn’t be a Fisher?”
“Me? Why, does it show?”
“There is something about you, I noticed at once. We know about these bees that sting you in the back.”
“Is that right?” I said.
She slipped her arm through mine.
“Tell me a story,” she said, cajoling. “I never had a Fisher among my friends. Will you tell me a story?”
“Well now… shall I tell you about the pilot and the cow?”
She tweaked my elbow.
“No, really…”
“What a hot evening,” I said. “It’s a good thing you had me take off my jacket!”
“Anyway, everybody knows. Seus talks about it, and so do others.”
“Ah, so,” I said with interest. “And what does Seus tell?”
She let go of my arm at once.
“I didn’t hear it myself. The girls told me.”
“And what did they tell?”
“Well, this and that…. Maybe they put it all on. Maybe, you know. Seus had nothing to do with it.”
“Hmmm,” I said.
“Don’t think anything about Seus, he’s a good guy and he keeps his mouth closed.”
“Why should I be thinking about Seus?” I said to quiet her. “I have never even laid eyes on him.”
She took my arm again and enthusiastically announced that we were going to have a drink now.
“Now’s the very time for us to have a drink.”
She was already using the familiar address with me. We turned a corner and came out on a wide thoroughfare. Here it was lighter than day. The lamps shone, the walls glowed, the display windows were lambent with multicolored fires. This was, apparently, one of Ahmad’s circles of paradise. But I imagined it differently. I expected roaring bands, grimacing couples, half-naked and naked people. But here it was relatively quiet. There were lots of people, and it seemed to me that most were drunk, but they were all very well and differently dressed and all were gay. And almost all smoked. There was no wind, and waves of bluish smoke undulated around the lights and lanterns. Vousi dragged me into some establishment, found a couple of acquaintances, and disappeared after promising to find me later. The crowd was dense, and I found myself pressed against the bar. Before I could gather my wits, I found myself downing a shot. A brown middle-aged man with yellow whites of the eye was booming into my face.
“Kiven hurt his leg — right? Brush became an antique and is now quite useless. That makes three — right? And on the right they haven’t got nobody. Phinney is on the right, and that’s worse than nobody. A waiter, that’s what be is.”