winter weather

Winter weather can be very nice sometimes.  It freezes up your emotions, so all you care about are the pretty snowflakes...

but really: Why Not?

Then Marusya found herself in his bashed-up car, coming back from the Del Monico restaurant, with Lyova asleep in the back.  And the hand with the fake diamond ring wa petting Marusya's hand.

"No," Marusya said.  And she put his hand back on the hot seat.

"Why not?" the Latino asked.  And tenderly touched her rounded knee.

"No," said Marusya.  And put his hand on top of hers.

"Why not?" the Latino asked.  And reached for the top of her blouse.

"No." She put his hand back on her knee.

"Why not?" He put his hand back on her hip.

"No." Marusya pulled his hand up.

"Why not?" One of his hands was pulling at the buttons on her blouse.  The other was pushing her knees apart.

Marusya had time to think, How is he driving the car?  With what?

The car, neverthelss, moved smoothly, though they did scrape a Mercedes once.  The Latino didn't take his hands off her, even then.  He merely moved his knees arounds.

"You're crazy," she said, trying to speak loudly.

Rafael, without stopping the car, took a blue felt-tip pen from his pocket.  He brought it to his bulging chest, which was dressed in a nylon snit shirt.  He quickly drew an enormous heart.  And started kissing her.  Now he was facing Marusya completely.  He turned the wheel (according to Marusya) with his not ver skinny rear end.

Marusya didn't want to invite him to her house.  She was embarassed by the empty apartment.  Lyova slept in a caved-in vinyl armchair, Marusya on a creaky cot (we had dragged all that in from the street one day).  There were only bluish chicken legs in the friedge.  That's all.  How could she have guests?

The Rafael opened the trunk and took out a rolled-up mattress in a plastic bag, a bottle of rum, a six-pack of Pepsi, four oranges, and cookies.  The mattress was brand new.

By then Marusya had stopped being surprised.  She said, What's your name?"

He replied, "Rafael Jose Belinda Chicorillio Gonzalez."

"Short and sweet," Marusya said.  "I'll call you Rafa."

"Rafa," the Latino said in confirmation.  Then he added, "Musya!"

He stuffed the food and rink into his pockets.  He carried Lyova on his shoulder.  The mattress (and personally I believe this!) rolled on its own.  With his free hand the Latino caressed Marusya.  And he smoked and gallantly opened the doors.  Suddenly Marusya heard a strange ripping sound.  It was the Latino's trousers tearing under the pressure of lusting flesh.

Another detail must be noted.  as they were coming out of the elevator on her floor, the boy unexpectedly woke up.  He looked at Rafael with irrational eyes, like those of a month-old puppy, and asked, "Who are you? My papa?"

And what do you think that Latino answered?  The Latino said, "Why not?"


Sergei Dovlatov, from "A Foreign Woman"

On Patriotism

Watching the Olympics, I am once again reminded of how patriotic I am, and how much I sometimes feel for my home country.  How tense I become when the Russian competitors step out onto the ice, how happy to here them exchange Russian words with their coaches while waiting for the marks, how proud when I see the Russian flag going up to our national anthem...
I can't hide it, and even if I could I probably wouldn't.  And people see this in me; and they laugh it off uncomfortably, "Oh, you're so Russian."  But am I wrong to feel this way?  Am I wrong to want the Russians to win?  Am I wrong to be proud of the fact that Soviet and Russian figure skaters have dominated the sport for nearly half a century?

Highschool Poetry

Василёво (Vasilevo)

The waves of oceans
The peaks of mountains
The sand of desserts,
All that will never
Compare to my home.

My home is Russia
With birds and birches,
And endless fields
Each in a different,
Gorgeous shade of green.

And then the rivers,
Little shiny streams,
With soft calm water,
And underground springs
Hidden here and there.

Forests full of pines,
Soothing rustling leaves,
Berries to be picked,
Mushrooms to be picked,
Moss covers the ground.

And then the village
Of course! The people,
Wooden cottages,
Dirt roads, no cars, dogs,
Gardens with fresh food.

Around seven
During the evening
The cows come back home,
Cup of fresh warm milk
On a wooden bench.

The fresh air, the peace,
The nature, the trees,
The quiet, the wind,
The sun, the sky, the clouds

What more could I ask?


--12th grade

Still-life

De Sousa

How long did it take you? :)