Part One – There
(Eastern Hemisphere)
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE – OUR COMPANY. RARE LUCK OR “NICHURTA”
I always communicated with decent girls, but at the same time I passionately wished that they would behave much more freely in the area of feelings and relationships. These dreams in that place of the Earth were somewhat ahead of their time, and in most cases I found joy only “beyond the ridge,” that is, beyond the Caucasus Mountains – in the fraternal republics. However, I have never used the services of women of questionable behavior.
Despite the terrible shortage of love relationships in my city, one day a story happened to me, which I will tell you now. We had one friend, Vic Abakansky, a graduate of the theater institute – a great original. According to him, he was born in a prison camp in Abakan, and thus acquired his surname. He lived with his wife and children in a communal apartment in the very center of the city – on Rustaveli Avenue. However, despite his family, Vic led a bachelor’s lifestyle. At home, in the large room, there was a passage yard. There, like in a club, familiar and unfamiliar people came day and night to socialize, chat, and drink (rarely just tea). They sat right on the floor. They ate what they brought – Vic had no supplies.
The owner of this club was a colorful personality. He knew a lot, talked, invited interlocutors to discussions, had a good sense of humor, and joked. He looked in the hippie style: huge hair, periodically a beard like Tolstoy or a mustache like Dali; he dressed very simply, sometimes even poorly, but cleanly, thanks to the efforts of his invisible wife. Vic could often be found on the avenue, walking and looking at passers-by with marine binoculars. It was all kitsch, but he was a kind and talented guy.
So, once in the summer, I stopped by Vic’s house to talk and to listen. As always, the room was filled with guests, and I sat down on the floor against the wall, next to a stranger, a girl of about twenty-five with a beautiful pale face and fluffy brown hair; her name was Mzia. We met, but spoke little, mostly listening to the debates of those present about modern trends in philosophy. I sipped tea, Mzia sipped wine.
Different speakers defended different positions, and everyone challenged everyone. In general, it was ordinary intellectual chatter. But among the debaters a new guest appeared who said,
“I will try to show with examples that existentialism reflects the loneliness of its fans, who at the time of their fascination with this theory did not have enough feminine warmth and love. But if the lady of my heart does not support my performance, I myself will jump into this company of masturbators.”
Mzia leaned towards me and whispered,
“This asshole is going to try to get attached to me now. I’m so tired of him! Listen, Nick, you seem like a decent guy, can you get me out of here without being noticed?”
“I’ll try,” I said, “I’ll distract this philosopher for a while, and you go out into the corridor, walk along the balcony to the right to the stairs to the courtyard and start going down. There I will catch up with you and lead you through the courtyards to a side street.”
That’s what we did.
The avenue was crowded, townspeople and visitors strolled after sunset, when the heat began to subside.
“Thank you,” said Mzia, “I am now your debtor. You can’t even imagine what a good deed we did by sneaking out of there. One might say – divine.”
Of course, I couldn’t understand what was so divine about Mzia getting away from the guy who wanted to flirt with her. I also might want to. Only now did I get a better look at my companion. Her figure was excellent, her hands were beautiful, and her facial features were regular and attractive.
“Your acquaintance is not such a fool, in any case, I share his choice,” I mentioned and Mzia smiled.
“The difference is that he pesters, gets into trouble, and you want to push him away, but you behave modestly and with dignity, so that I…” here she lowered her gaze and paused… “Want to hug you.”
Everything went cold inside me. Our women didn’t say that to men. It was a challenge. And I accepted it immediately.
“I would really like to hug you too,” I said, anticipating that we would go to the park by the river, we would kissing, and I would have a girl from an unusual circle, but beautiful, brave and frank.
“Do you have an apartment where we can stay together tonight?”
I almost fell. What a fool I am! I dream about the park and kisses! All this was very unusual, but I felt like a hero-lover, whose conquered beauties throw themselves on his neck.
“I have to call,” I said, remembering that Denis’s parents had gone on vacation.
A minute later I was already passionately persuading my friend to give us his bedroom for the night, and to move into the free parent’s room. Finally, I managed to break his indecisive resistance, and Mzia and I rushed towards adventure.
Hospitable Denis put on the table tea with sea buckthorn jam from Orenburg, from his grandmother.
“Tea… Jam… It’s like I am now in childhood, in the village,” Mzia admitted, “Is there anything strong to drink?”
“I have nothing,” Denis was embarrassed. “But my father’s vintage cognac is in the sideboard, but the bottle is sealed.”
“Great! The cognac is quite good,” Mzia said, “Go ahead, and unseal it.”
Denis blushed, but he took out the bottle, waved his hand, saying, “No matter how many indictment counts you have – the trial is one”, and opened it. In a word, we killed the bottle and during this time we somehow befriended. Denis pulled out a guitar, we played, sang, Mzia ordered Yesenin’s poems and even shed a few tears couple of times.
“Okay, guys, I’m going to bed,” Denis said eventually and went to his parents’ bedroom.
And we went to his room, where I had already laid out fresh linen.
“How great and unusual everything was,” said Mzia and took off her dress, followed by everything else.
I was absolutely agreed with her. But for me, drinking tea, playing the guitar and singing songs was a common thing, but a girl who comes to you with the intention of spending the night together and undresses at one moment – that was unusual and incredibly exciting. I quickly took all my clothes off and as soon as I embraced Mzia, before I could begin the love pleasures, I immediately got an orgasm. The unusualness of the whole evening so exhausted my anticipation of this moment that I had no strength to restrain myself.
“Wow!” Mzia said, “So you even don’t need me for love?”
“This is “nichurta” (doesn’t count),” I justified myself, “I’ll take a ten-minute break and we’ll start all over again.”
I was calm for myself. I knew my physiology. And Mzia… well, what could she do? Just to believe. She believed me and I did not disappoint her expectations.
The next morning I insisted on taking Mzia home. She refused for a long time, but eventually gave in.
“Understand, Nick, this is of no use. We shouldn’t be dating. And we weren’t supposed to meet yesterday. But God wanted it, and I’m grateful to him for that. And now let’s forget this meeting and let’s go our separate ways.”
I didn’t understand her well every time she mentioned God. But Mzia looked the least like a real believer or sectarian.
“Okay, so be it, I’ll allow you to accompany me, you deserve it, but don’t wag your tongue anywhere and first promise to forget everything that happened between us.”
“What are these secrets of the Madrid court?” I thought, but, reluctantly, I promised.
We arrived in a good area of the city and began to climb the streets leading up the mountain. Here, at the foot of the hills, Mzia lived in a small private house.
“Wait a minute,” she said and disappeared into the house, but indeed, soon she called me inside.
I walked in and was stunned. It was… I don’t even know what it was – housing, sacristy, brothel? Candlesticks, icons in silver frames, and crosses decorated with precious stones glowed in the twilight. The shelves were full of crystal, daggers and firearms. Apparently my look expressed bewilderment, and Mzia explained.
“I belong to someone else, along with all this wealth.” Have you ever heard of Vakhtang the Bloody?”
I did not hear.
“Otherwise you would understand that we saved this fool philosopher from torture when we escaped from his inappropriate advances at Vic’s. So don’t argue with me and forget yesterday forever. And for Yesenin’s poems – special thanks!”
“Who are you thanking?” a restrained roar was heard, and in the doorway appeared… a character from Georgian folklore – a dev or a fairy-tale evil giant. He was a tall, powerful man dressed all in black, with a shock of black curly hair and a huge tar beard. His face reminded me of some pirate from a children’s book, but in my life I had never known such a Samson.
“This young man,” Mzia introduced me, “brought me lyric poems that I ordered from Vic Abakansky. We need to thank him, Vakhtang,” and with these words Mzia handed me a bottle of vintage cognac, just like the one we finished yesterday.
“Okay,” Vakhtang rumbled, “But it’s in vain that you order home delivery. People can get into trouble. Forget this address, dude!” he said, furiously piercing me with his gaze, and, not finding any danger for himself, added,
“If I see you here again, you’ll be in trouble!”
I realized that he told the truth, as did Mzia, who had been trying to explain it to me for a long time with her vague refusals to meet and accompany her home. Later I asked Vic who was the beautiful young woman as a guest of him?
“She is just a gang member and a morphine addict. She used to be a prostitute, but a thief in law, by the way, your “Vorontsov Chevalier,” fell in love with her and pulled her out from the very bottom, or maybe, on the contrary, he dragged her in even deeper.
These words and vague suspicions made me feel somewhat uneasy.
“Well, well,” I thought, “Could hormonal treatment really change Chivali beyond recognition? And Mzia? After all, I never mess with hookers. And now, was I hooked? But she didn’t ask for anything, what kind of prostitution is this?” I convinced myself.
However, I realized that when writers claim something, it is worth taking it with a grain of disbelieve. Tell yourself, “Nichurta!” It never hurts.
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