Читать книгу Siberian Hearts - James Anderson - Страница 8

Natalya had taken the picture to work and borrowed a magnifying glass from the science room to look more closely and memorize every detail: the way his hand rested on Greta’s shoulder, the way the other arm rested on his knee as he squatted down to be on Greta’s level. She marveled at how, even though he was motionless, she could sense his strength. She studied his smile - a nice smile, a manly smile. He wasn’t a truly handsome man in the classical sense, but he was nice-looking, his features even and his skin clear. They were exactly the same features she dreamed about so many years ago.

There was a fierceness about him, although it did not disturb her. She was sure he could be intimidating if he wanted to be, although she knew she had no reason to fear him. Nevertheless, he had a look which could cause men to fear him. Ludmilla said he was a boxer and a karate expert. That meant he was an excellent fighter. She thought about Jakob but put any confrontation between the two men out of her mind. At this point, he didn’t even know she existed. It is too early to imagine this man as your savior, she told herself in Yakut, but that didn’t stop her from believing he was.

Ludmilla said he was rich. How did he make his money? And what does rich mean, anyway? To her, rich was being able to pay her bills and have a little left over. Besides, rich didn’t matter to her. All she cared about was that he was no longer a dream to be kept in her mind and reserved for the nighttime in her bed imagining his hands on her. He was real - he breathed and ate and laughed and slept. He looked up at the same moon and relished the warmth of the same sun. He felt sadness and happiness, just as she did. He was human, just like her.

She wondered what she should do. He was literally on the other side of the world, but he lived next door to her cousin Ludmilla, and had she not spent time with Ludmilla? So, if Ludmilla could be close to this man, then it was possible for her to be close, also. He was on the same planet - that was a wonderful start.

She looked again at the color of his eyes. How wonderful to really look into them. His wife and daughter had been killed in an accident. She wondered what his wife was like. Did he ever beat her? No. His eyes were too kind. Was she beautiful? Yes. Natalya decided she was beautiful. She was already developing fantasy scenarios about them being together - how their wedding would be, what their children would look like. She knew she was acting like a silly school girl but she couldn’t stop herself. She was absolutely out of control. She spoke out loud in English: “Natalya Valentine. Mrs. Natalya Valentine. Michael and Natalya Valentine of Sacramento, California.” She loved the sound of it.

She looked around to ensure no one had heard her. She sat down the magnifying glass and put the picture carefully into her purse. It was lunchtime and she had a few minutes before her art class started so she went to the geography section of the library and found information on Sacramento, California. The book was almost thirty years old but it would at least give her an idea.

Let’s see, she thought, scanning the information, it’s the capitol city of California with a population of about two hundred and fifty thousand. Probably more now. It’s called the River City because of two rivers running through it. Hummm. She wondered if they were as big as Mother Lena.

She continued scanning. It rarely snows. Oh, good! But it gets very hot in the summer. Oh, not so good. It is located about a hundred and sixty kilometers east of San Francisco, close to mountains and Lake Tahoe. What a strange name for a lake.

She looked at some agriculture and recreation pictures. The people in the pictures were all smiling and happy. People in Yakutsk did not smile often. There weren’t many reasons for smiling in Yakutsk. Life was one discomfort after another. Every day in winter people froze to death, and every day in summer people drowned in Mother Lena, or were crushed or chewed to death in unsafe machinery, or beaten to death by drunken husbands or criminals.

Paging through the book, Natalya saw Sacramento’s beautiful capitol building with a dome shaped roof, looking much like the American White House. And that was all the information she could find. The school did have one computer with access to the internet but she had never tried to use it. She would have to ask for help and that would mean explaining why she needed it and she didn’t know anyone in that area well enough to comfortably ask.

She put the book back on the shelf and heard, “Natalya.”

She turned around and saw one of her best friends, Enna, who taught math and social studies. “Hello, Enna. What are you doing?”

“Just on my way to my math class. What are you doing?”

“I was just looking up some information on California. I have family there.”

“Really? I hear a great many Russians and Ukrainians are moving to Sacramento.”

“Yes! That is where my cousin lives. Her husband is rich and she has a big, beautiful house.”

“Ah, lucky her. Well, da skorava, Natalya.”

“Da skorava, Enna.”

The rest of her day was spent wondering what she should do. She was going to write to Ludmilla tonight, but what should she say? Should she just be honest and tell her that she wanted to marry her next door neighbor? No. Get serious, Natalya. That might get back to him and scare him off. She would just write to Ludmilla and tell her that her neighbor seemed very nice and to tell her more about him. That was a start. Ludmilla knew the story of the picture but had never seen it. Natalya did not want to tell her yet that her neighbor was the man in her vision – that was too much too soon. She had to proceed carefully; she had to think clearly and be smart.

That night, she wrote the letter. The part she put in about him was very simple.

Your neighbor looks like a very nice man. Tell me more about him. I am interested. And, it wouldn’t hurt to send more pictures of him.

That was it. A strong hint that she was interested, but not too blatant. If she had been writing anyone other than Ludmilla, she would have been more discreet. But, knowing Ludmilla, this would be handled properly. She thought this would do. Now, all she could do was wait.

The night after the fiasco with Donna, Mike was at the Hermann’s for, according to Ludmilla, a good Siberian dinner. It was delicious. They had meatballs in heavy, spicy gravy, a cold pea salad, black bread, and borsch, followed by some fruit paruskees that reminded Mike of apple turnovers.

After dinner, Mike insisted on helping them clean up. It didn’t take long. Ludmilla had cleaned most of it while she was preparing it. She was an immaculate housekeeper.

When Ludmilla was out of the kitchen for a minute, Rolf asked, “How was your date last night, Mike?”

“It couldn’t have gone worse if I had planned it.”

“Oh?” said Rolf. “What happened?”

“Well, according to her, I should be ready to marry her right now.”

“I see,” he said.

“I mean, that was only our third date. I told her I just needed some more time and that wasn’t what she wanted to hear.”

Rolf leaned up against the counter. “How did the subject some up?”

“Well,” he said sheepishly, “she wanted to, ah, …”

“Consummate the relationship?”

“Yes. In several different ways.”

Rolf laughed. “Interesting.”

“She’s a beautiful woman but it’s like she wants me to commit and I’m not ready for anything like that.”

Ludmilla came in. “What are you two talking about?”

“Mike’s date last night.”

“Oh? Did it go well?”

Rolf shook his head. “No.”

“No? Why not.”

Rolf looked at his wife. “Various levels of commitment.”

“The greater on her part?” asked Ludmilla.

Rolf nodded. “The greater on her part.”

Mike folded his arms and leaned back. “She’s a nice lady. But, to tell you the truth, she just doesn’t ring any bells for me.”

Ludmilla looked puzzled. “I’m not familiar with bell ringing in a relationship.”

Mike leaned forward and explained. “No sparks, no chemistry, no magic.”

“Oh,” she said. “Ya ponemyyo. I understand.”

“She’s beautiful. But I look at her and, I don’t know, there’s nothing special.”

“Yes,” said Rolf. “That’s important.”

“Well,” said Ludmilla. “Perhaps in time.”

Just then Greta came in with a large scrapbook in her hands. “Momma said that tonight we should show you pictures of her home in Siberia.”

“Really? Great. I would be very interested.”

They all moved to the large family room and Greta placed the scrapbook on the huge oblong coffee table. She smiled up at Mike. “Sit by me.”

“Love to,” he said.

Rolf sat on Mike’s other side and Ludmilla on Greta’s. The little dog crawled up on Greta’s lap. The first picture Mike saw was some shaggy, tough looking little horses in a picket corral. A hard, lean, Japanese looking man was standing by them.

“This is my uncle Misha,” said Ludmilla. “That is Russian for Mike. Those are his horses. He is very proud of them.

“He and the horses look tough enough to eat nails.”

Rolf laughed. “You Americans have such a wonderful way of expressing yourselves.”

The next picture looked like a mini circus tent made of hides pitched literally in the middle of nowhere.

“My tribe lives in tents such as this. They are called yurts. They are quite comfortable and easy to move.”

“Have you ever slept in one?”

“Many times when I was a little girl. My cousin Natalya and I used to” she pantomimed with her hands, “get milk from the horses so everyone could have mare’s milk.”

“Your job was to milk the mares.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

The next picture made Mike inhale loudly.

“What’s the matter?” asked Greta.

“Who is that?”

“That is my cousin, Natalya,” said Ludmilla. “She is a schoolteacher in Yakutsk, where I come from. She is a very nice woman. She lives with our babushka, our grandmother.” Ludmilla pointed. “That is our babushka there. We think she is seventy-two or seventy-three years old. No one is sure.”

Mike saw a grizzled but smiling old woman with no teeth and liked her immediately. He looked back at Natalya. Ludmilla noticed Mike’s interest in her cousin and suppressed a smile. Rolf raised his eyebrows at his wife. Even Greta could tell Mike liked Natalya and sat smiling up at Mike.

“You like her, don’t you?” said Greta.

Mike blushed. “She’s beautiful.”

The picture showed Natalya handing a pot of food to the old woman while looking back over her shoulder at the camera. She had a lovely smile and long, thick, pitch-black hair hung down to her waist. The way she was turning, Mike could distinguish a slender waist and everything else shaped perfectly to his liking.

“Wow,” he said.

“Oh,” said Ludmilla, “you would like her. She speaks fluent English. In fact, she teaches English and Russian to advanced students. She also teaches art. She’s a very talented artist, much better than I am.”

“Wow,” he repeated, unable to take his eyes off the picture. He could even hear the bells in his bad ear.

Ludmilla looked at her husband. His eyes were still raised. This American was as transparent as glass. Greta was grinning broadly.

“I will show you some more pictures of her.” Ludmilla turned the pages and showed him a picture of her holding up a Doberman Pincher puppy to her cheek. Her Yakut features were much more salient in this picture. And, to him, she even looked more beautiful than in the first picture.

“How old is she?”

“Twenty nine.”

“Is she married?”

“No. She has never been married.”

“A woman that beautiful? Why not?”

Ludmilla didn’t mention the vision. “She is a very intelligent and independent woman. I think she is just waiting for the right man to find her.”

“Wow,” he repeated. Then he remembered himself and sat up. “I’m sorry. I must seem like a masher.”

“What is a masher?” asked Rolf.

“A man who bothers women.”

Ludmilla laughed. “No, Mike. We don’t think you are a masher.”

“Masher. I have never heard that word before,” mumbled Rolf.

“I have an idea,” said Ludmilla. “If you want to, you should write her a letter. I’m sure she would be glad to have a friend in American, besides her family.”

“Good idea,” said Rolf. “I have met her and she is an excellent lady.”

Greta slapped her knees. “Write her. Write her.”

Mike smiled. “Ok. I will. I will probably sound like a complete idiot. She’s a school teacher and I’m just a dump cop.”

“I promise you she will not think that,” said Ludmilla.

The remainder of the evening was very pleasant but Mike couldn’t stop thinking about Natalya. What happened was exactly what he was talking about before - he felt sparks and heard bells, and all that just from her picture. It was exactly the feeling he had when he first saw Maria. Maria. For the first time in almost two years, he had forgotten about Maria. Was this OK? Would it be all right with Maria? He knew she would want him to be happy and not be alone. He also knew that someone like Donna would be questionable in Maria’s mind. But this woman. Natalya. Maria would approve; he felt it.

The next day, he got up early, had a big breakfast, and did his standard Monday workout. He alternated three minutes on the heavy bag, the speed bag, and the jump rope for forty-five minutes. Then he alternated a hundred push-ups and twenty-five pull-ups doing four repetitions each, one after the other. Then he did his thousand kicks and finished with running five miles along the bike trail of the American River.

Afterwards, he ate his usual: Sirloin Tip Chunky Campbell Soup, cheese, milk, and an apple. When the doorbell rang, he opened it and there stood Ludmilla.

“Hi. Come in. I was just eating. Forgive my appearance. I’ve been working out.”

She came in. “I can’t stay long. I have to pick up Greta. I’m here to tell you about an interesting coincidence. I got a letter from Natalya today.”

Mike perked up. “Really? Is she OK?”

“Yes,” she smiled at him. “She’s wonderful. But I forgot to tell you before that we sent a picture of you and Greta to her. She wrote back and is interested in you as well.”

Mike looked at her. “You’re kidding.”

“No. I’m would not tease you about something like this. In fact,” she pulled a picture out of her pocket, “She asked me to give you this picture.”

She handed the picture to Mike. He saw Natalya sitting on a sheet covered sofa. She had her arm around her grandmother and both were smiling at him. She looked even more beautiful than before. Her brown eyes twinkled through Oriental features.

“Wow,” he said.

“Yes, well, I’ve got to go. See you, Mike.”

She went out the door. “Thanks, Ludmilla,” he called after her.

“Pajalusta,” she called back, which he correctly took to mean “you’re welcome.”

He stared at the picture. Damn, she a good-looking woman, he thought. He sat the picture up on the mantel by Maria’s picture. “You two talk while I take a shower,” he said.

After he showered, he sat down at his computer to write Natalya. He wanted to impress her. But how? She had to be at least a little bit like Ludmilla, and she could see right through people. That was one smart lady. Well, best to just tell it like it is. He was a crappy typist so this would take some time.

Ludmilla went home, delighted with what was happening. That wonderful man next door truly liked dear Natalya. She deserved a nice man like that, and he deserved a nice lady like Natalya. She didn’t tell him, but she wrote a letter to her cousin last night after Mike left. She told Natalya about Mike’s reaction to her picture. The poor man was smitten. That’s the word she used in her letter – smitten. And then to receive a letter today from her cousin saying she was interested in Mike; it was as if larger forces were at work here.