Читать книгу Mission 777 Possible - Марина Спроуз - Страница 31

Marianna loved Kharkiv, as it was where her student years had passed. As her teacher used to say, “These are the best years.” Now during her internship, everyone had scattered in different directions. Marianna popped into a bakery, strolled through the center of Kharkiv, bought a bundle of fish (taranka) in case she got hungry later. She was dressed in a light green blouse with frills on the shoulders that tied at the bottom like a scarf with flowing tips.

It was summer. Everything sang and fluttered, and Marianna turned from one main street to another. She unexpectedly bumped into Bulgakov. He appeared at the intersection as Marianna was turning onto Sumskaya Street. They literally collided.

Yes, it was Sasha Bulgakov, her classmate, a true Kharkiv local. He lived nearby, in the center. They struck up a conversation, and Marianna quickly found herself invited to Bulgakov’s home.

Bulgakov’s apartment, his room. Marianna put the bundle of fish on the bedside table, and they sat down for tea. Bulgakov settled into an armchair. He looked much the same as he did in college, just more mature with neatly styled hair.

“I work as a surgeon, currently doing my internship. My wife works as a saleswoman,” Bulgakov told me.

“You always dreamed of being a surgeon, right? Your father is a surgeon, if I’m not mistaken,” Marianna replied.

“My wife is at the dacha today. Maybe you’d like to stay; it’s already late.”

Marianna pondered. “I still have things to do. Oh, I almost forgot about my meeting with the black wizard.”

“I need to run,” Marianna hurriedly started putting on her shoes.

“Maybe I’ll do my errands first, then I’ll come by. Don’t be upset; I really am in a rush,” Marianna said.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Bulgakov tried to stop Marianna. “I’ll wait for you to return when you’re done.”

Some compelling force urged Marianna on. She dashed out of Bulgakov’s apartment, even forgetting her bundle of fish (taranka) on the bedside table.

If Marianna had met Bulgakov, then the tale was just beginning…