Читать книгу Siberian Hearts - James Anderson - Страница 9

A few days later, Natalya received her cousin’s letter. She couldn’t believe it - this man liked her! He thought she was beautiful. Her cousin said the man was smitten - that’s what her cousin said, smitten! She read the letter to her babushka.

“Finally you will give me some great grandchildren.”

Natalya smiled. “We’re not there yet, Dear Heart, but perhaps someday.”

But now her fantasies were running wild. She chastised herself again and again, telling herself she was acting like a schoolgirl.

Two days later, she received a letter from him. She picked it up at the mailbox and saw the return address written in English. She had to sit down on the bench along the wall and force herself to breathe evenly before she hyperventilated. She was so taken aback that she could not hold the letter and walk at the same time. Her head was spinning and she needed to gain control of herself before she took another step. She read the address written in his own handwriting.

Mike Valentine

2701 Fulconi Circle

Sacramento, California 95670

USA

Unbelievable. But what made it even better was that it was a large envelope, not just a letter. And she could feel pictures inside! Pictures of him! She stood up and tested her legs to see if they would hold her. Then she forced herself to move, putting one foot in front of the other, one hand tightly holding the envelope, the other hand on the wall to steady herself. On her way home, she was very careful not to trip. She had visions of her falling and breaking her silly Yakut neck. That would truly be terrible, now that she found her dream. When she got home, dinner was ready but she was much too excited to eat.

“Dear Heart, guess what I received today?”

“Let me guess, Little Bird, ten thousand rubles.”

“Better! I received a letter from him!”

“Him who?”

“Him! From Sacramento!”

She cackled. “Really?”

“Yes, really!”

“Little Bird. Read it. Read it.”

She carefully opened the envelope and pulled out some type written pages in English.

“It is in English,” said Natalya.

“You mean he can’t speak Russian?”

“Of course he can’t speak Russian. Why would he learn to speak Russian?”

“Read it in English and then tell me what it means,” the old woman said excitedly.

“All right.”

“Read it! Read it!”

“All right!” she laughed. “Give me a chance.

She looked at the pages and read out loud in English, forcing herself to stop and translate, her heart in the throat and her stomach full of butterflies. The words were sometimes very confusing but, to her absolute delight, she understood.

Dear Natalya,

My name is Michael Valentine. My friends call me Mike. I live next door to your cousin, Ludmilla. They have a great family. I love little Greta. She’s a sweetheart. I’m very happy to call all of them my friends.

Ludmilla said you are interested in me and I know she doesn’t lie. So, I guess the best way to do this is just tell you who I am and how I feel. I want to be honest. Then, if you’re not interested in me, I will understand.

Two years ago, my wife and four-year-old daughter were killed by a drunken truck driver. I loved them more than I can tell you. My wife, Maria, was the most wonderful woman in the world. I loved her and I still love her. And my little girl - so sweet and pretty. Well, anyway. Since then, I have buried myself in boxing and karate. I’m very good at it. I do it because, if I don’t, I’m afraid I will go insane. I don’t want to start drinking or taking drugs to forget. I just keep hitting things, hoping it will make me feel better. It doesn’t, but at least it doesn’t make me feel any worse.

Please don’t misunderstand. I don’t hit people unless they are willing to meet me in a boxing ring or in a dojo, that’s a karate school. I would never in a million years hurt someone unless they were hurting somebody who was weaker and could not protect themselves.

Anyway, since my wife’s death, I have not been interested in women. I have dated a lady a few times but there’s just nothing there. No magic. No sparks. But, when I was at your cousin’s for dinner, the family showed me some pictures from Siberia, and I saw you. I have seen two devastatingly beautiful women in my life. Maria was one, and you are the other. There is something in your eyes that tells me I must get to know you. And, I want to help you. I know this sounds a little crazy. I’ve never met you but I want to protect you from everything.

Well, there it is. The truth. I know I sound like a schoolboy. I know I sound corny, that means silly, goofy, like a child. But that’s the way I feel. I hope this doesn’t sound too silly to you. And I hope this doesn’t offend you or scare you. I know it’s normal to build up to these things but I feel I should tell you everything now – what my hopes and dreams are – what I want.

I guess I should tell you something about myself. I’m thirty-one years old. I was a policeman but I lost the hearing in my right ear from an explosion. I am medically retired and receive a pension. I also received a large amount of money from the company the drunk driver worked for. In the millions. I don’t need to work so I spend my time doing what I want - that’s boxing and martial arts. I also like fixing up my house. It’s a nice, big house. I think you would like it. Ludmilla is helping me decorate it. I just do whatever she tells me. Her house is beautiful and I know she knows what she is doing.

I was born and raised here in Sacramento. My parents live in South Sacramento and I see them often. I have one brother, Jason. He’s younger and lives close by. He’s a contractor and builds houses. He has a great wife, Tracy, and a little boy who has more energy than any ten people. His name is Job. It’s good to have them around. They really helped me when Maria and Amy, my daughter, were killed. Also my friends helped. It’s good to have friends.

The letter went on to explain more about him. She read it carefully and translated. She had to use her dictionary several times and that worried her a little. She thought she spoke English better than this. She read the ending.

I’m sending you some pictures. I hope you don’t think I’m too ugly. You’re beautiful, and you deserve a handsome man. But, hopefully, I’m acceptable.

If you want to, please write back. I really want to hear from you. If not, if I was too forward and you don’t want anything to do with me, I understand.

Sincerely,

Mike Valentine

After she read it, she put it down and looked at her babushka. “Oh, Dear Heart, he’s a kind and wonderful man.”

“Excellent! Now let’s see what he looks like.”

Natalya took a deep breath and took the pictures out of the envelope. Her grandmother moved closer to get a better look.

The first picture showed him with some people who she assumed were his brother’s family. Next to the younger man, Mike was a little taller but much broader and stronger. They were standing in front of a large and wonderful fireplace. A pretty blond woman stood by the brother, no doubt his brother’s wife. She held a little boy brimming with mischief. That would be little Job. Both brothers had the same startlingly sky blue eyes and hair color. The family resemblance was obvious but Mike’s facial features were squarer. He had on a tee shirt which showed his powerful chest muscles and his upper arms strained against the sleeves. She looked on the back and confirmed the identity. It read, “This is me, my brother Jason, his wife Tracy, and my nephew Job.” She turned the picture back over.

“Eyiiiii,” said her babushka, “if he were a stallion, he could service twenty mares a day.”

“I’m only interested in him servicing one mare.” They looked at each other and broke out laughing.

“I can see you’ll have trouble sleeping tonight.”

Natalya nodded. “And every night.”

The next picture showed him standing next to a Black man, also hugely powerful. They were obviously good friends because they had their arms around each other. They both had on very sweaty tee shirts and their hands were wrapped as if they had been boxing. She turned over the picture. The explanation read, “This is me with my best friend, Willie Hawkins. He was my lieutenant when I was a cop. We still box together often. We just finished five rounds when this picture was taken.” She wasn’t exactly sure what that meant.

“I don’t know what ‘rounds’ are,” said Natalya

“You’ll have to ask him.”

She nodded. The next picture was of him standing in front of a large blue truck. The name on the truck read ‘Tundra.’ She knew what tundra was, but why was it on a truck? She turned the picture over. “This is me by my truck.” She made a note. ‘Why is tundra on your truck?’

The next picture was of him in karate pants and a black belt fighting another man. They both had padding on their hands and feet. The man was trying to kick Mike but he was blocking it with his left arm and his right fist was on its way to the man’s head. Neither man had a shirt on. Natalya stared at the taunt, rippling muscles on his chest and arms.

“Make that thirty mares,” said her babushka.

Natalya nodded, “Maybe forty.” She felt wetness start between her legs and crossed them. She cleared her throat and turned the picture over.

“This is me sparring with another martial artist. I ended up knocking him out with this punch.” She translated and her babushka nodded.

“I think you should tell him about that fat pig you pay rent to every month.”

She smiled at the thought and looked at her grandmother. “I wonder who would win.”

Her babushka cackled and rocked backward. “I wonder.”

The last picture was of him in a tailored suit.

“Oh,” said Natalya, “what a handsome man.”

“Is he really walking around in California unmarried?”

She turned the picture over and read, “This is about as good as I can look. I hope I’m not too ugly.” Natalya shook her head, “Unbelievable,” she whispered. Babushka nudged her granddaughter. “Let’s read the letter again.”

She translated the letter again and they analyzed each line, writing down questions to ask him. That night, Natalya hand wrote back to him in English.