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? :)

Viene!

One of my favorite scenes from Bertolucci's movie.  It is beautiful and humorous, and immitates the structure of the whole film.  More than anything, I love the gorgeous dance of Anna and Julia.

tulips on the table

The camera happened to be sitting on the table during dinner; and so did the tulips...

Me Gustas Cuando Callas

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente,
y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.
Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado
y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca.

Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma
emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mía.
Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mi alma,
y te pareces a la palabra melancolía.

Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante.
Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo.
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza:
déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.

Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio
claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo.
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada.
Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente.
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto.
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan.
Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.

Pablo Neruda

¿Por qué me gusta Joan Miró?

Very often we think of our lives in terms of the future: "next year I will graduate," "next week I will start my job," tonight I am going out."  And we are surprised and sad when all of a sudden we realize that a year has gone by and didn't notice.  However, it is hard to focus on the present moment even when we try.

Miró manages to catch a moment in all its splendor.  His works are not like those of Picasso, where cubism describes a few sides of a moment or the immediate past and future of that moment.  In fact, Miró's art is generally abstract enough for the viewer to be unable to guess the next action in a particular painting.  So the image is still, almost stopped.  And yet it is so vibrant and vividly described that it is not frozen.  The image is filled with life and action through the details.

In this way Miró builds a whole and complete present, without the need of basing it on any other moment in time.

Joan Miró

The Red Sun 1924

Phillips Collection

a family

I was looking at the other people in line while waiting to pay in a store and noticed a face with bright make-up. The next time I looked in that direction I saw shiny high-heeled boots. The woman was Russian, as later confirmed by her accent. She was with her American husband and son. It looked like they were out doing family shopping. I immediate remembered the movie "Birthday Girl," about mail-order brides from Russia because I had recently seen it. So I tried to guess at the relationship of the couple I was watching. I could relate to both of them. The woman was very warm and smiling. She loved this man and surrounded him with gentleness. The man looked like any other man that had just spent a couple hours in the store with his family. But he tried to smile back and get involved in a conversation. Yet there seemed to be a thin wall between them.

As they moved through the items displayed along the cash registers, something grabbed the boy's attention and he commented on it. The man asked what he said, and the boy's quick response was "Nothing." The woman asker her husband what was going on. "I asked him what he said, and he said 'Nothing,'" he answered. It felt like this wasn't his son. The woman explained, "He's talking to himself again."

I saw them again as they were walking out of the store. The woman looked strange shopping in this small town in heels and a fancy coat. I remembered when I dressed up for basic daily activities, trying to fit into the society that I came from. I wondered if this woman is happy here. If she felt like she fit in. If she felt like her life fit in here. And the man, does he understand his wife? Is he happy with a beautiful foreign wife?