 GLORIA By James MACKINTOSH |
Deneil first met Gloria at the bar of the British embassy in Kyiv. Back in the winter of ninety-seven there were so few 'normal' places to meet in this beautiful but forgotten 'mother of Russian cities', with its gilded domes of churches and monasteries. There were so few western style bars or cafes for the rapidly increasing number of foreign residents attracted to the city - 'the pioneers of the Wild East' - that every Friday night the embassy opened its doors to the expatriate community and their friends. When Deneil first arrived in the city he got into the habit of going to the embassy hoping to meet interesting people and of course, women. One early December evening he set out from his flat in a blizzard. It was a short but very beautiful walk, past the great Golden Gate of Kyiv, the neon green M of the Metro sign hardly visible in the driving snow - left along Volodymirska, where it opens out into a vast, unlit square - on one side the magnificent, thousand year old St Sophia cathedral, its green-gold coloured domes glistening, lit up against a crystal sky. There were almost no cars. All sound was muffled by the blizzard. Deneil turned right onto Desyatina and stepped carefully through the piled-up snow towards the welcoming light of the British embassy.
Once he had been checked by security at the entrance and handed over his coat and hat he went down some stairs to a cellar area that had been converted into the likeness of a small English pub, complete with its dart-board, juke box, beer on draught and even a large photograph of the Queen. When Deneil entered the embassy pub, Gloria was sitting perched on a bar stool at the bar and he noticed her immediately. She was smart and bright, with intelligent, friendly brown eyes and neatly bobbed dark brown hair. She looked cool and efficient. She seemed slightly out of place in this smoky, crowded cellar. She was chatting to the first secretary of the British Embassy who was on the other side of the bar serving the drinks. It was a very democratic system. All the senior members of the embassy were allocated to bar duty and tonight was the turn of the first secretary, the image of an eighteenth century toff, to pull the pints.
Deneil sat down on the vacant bar stool next to Gloria, introduced himself, ordered a drink and offered to buy one for her. He soon found out that she was a diplomat posted to the Argentine embassy in Kyiv, and also a recent arrival and wildly enthusiastic and curious about this beautiful but forgotten capital. Gloria somehow combined a natural South American exuberance with a sort of over-refined upper-middle class Anglo-Saxon approach to life. Even her perfect English accent was slightly over the top. She was charming and sociable. 'Oh how interesting,' was her standard interjection, 'please tell me more,' and she would proceed to ask one a series of penetrating questions, which was rather flattering, unless one overheard her asking the same questions in the same manner to someone else.
She was soon busy interrogating Deneil and he rather enjoyed opening up to such a sharp, clear mind. She was in her early thirties, he guessed, a vulnerable age for women - still young enough to enjoy her independence but old enough and old-fashioned enough to understand the necessity of making a good match. As they sat together at the bar she quickly ascertained that he was a potentially eligible bachelor. That first evening she questioned him closely about his life and occupation. They seemed to get on well, he thought. She was the bluestocking type, cheerful, smart and nice-looking but definitely neither coquettish nor flirtatious. However from her questions Deneil began to feel that she was summing up his social and material status very shrewdly. Was she mentally crossing him off her list of potential suitors? She was rather sure of herself and she was a snob.
The weeks leading up to Christmas were very hectic. More and more foreigners were piling into the city and of course there were so few places to go in the evenings, everyone met in the same handful of bars and restaurants. Deneil visited the British embassy on Friday nights and each time Gloria was there, usually perched at the bar. She was always polite and charming with him but somehow she was never quite as friendly after that first evening. He had been judged and condemned to the outer circle of her acquaintances.
When the British embassy pub closed at the regulation eleven pm, everyone would go in a big group along the poorly-lit, icy roads and down the hill to the latest, happening place, O'Briens, the first and only Irish Bar in Kyiv, (and for a thousand kilometres around the city.) Approaching the bar they saw the lights flooding out onto the otherwise dark and silent street and could hear the din of expatriate voices baying and all the windows were steamed up with the commotion. Once inside it was like a large, extravagant private party. There were faces Deneil recognized in all corners of the bar and people waved at the incoming group and roared at them to join the fun. What an oasis of western brightness and glamour in the despondent gloom that made up the winter city.
Gloria was immediately in her element in O'Briens, swept off by a group of diplomats and then moving on to socialize with the banking crowd. Deneil met her in the crush at the bar and, as you do at such parties, they exchanged a few hurried words.
'How great this has opened,' she said delightedly and he agreed. 'Let's do lunch one day?' she said. 'How about dinner?' he countered. So they agreed upon dinner. Later that evening they all jumped into taxis and went to Dynamo Lux, the premier nightclub in Kyiv named in honour of the great Dynamo Kyiv football team. The dance floor was swarming with astoundingly beautiful girls. When their group ventured on the dance floor, Gloria bounced up and down like a sexless puppet. 'She really was too mechanical,' Deneil thought, 'not at all feminine.' It seems they had mutually decided not to make any strenuous attempt to see each other again.
However Gloria was at every event Deneil went to after that - a performance of the English-speaking theatre, a wonderful Carol Service in St Nicolas Catholic Church, the ice sculpture exhibition on St Sophia square. She was always the same - polite, cheerful, inquisitive and unfailingly snobbish. Just once she let down her guard and confided in him.
'It is difficult being a single, western woman in this society. Some of the girls here are so forward with the foreigners and quite grasping you know.'
'And so extremely sexy,' Deneil felt like adding, but didn't.
'As for Russian and Ukrainian men' she continued, "it's difficult to know what they are thinking. You start up an acquaintance and they seem to sort of fade away. They are very self-effacing, at least with me.
***
Soon after this conversation Gloria met a Russian scientist at one of the embassy socials, called Anton. He was a year or so younger than her and unmarried. He was a big man; slightly overweight, with untidy blond hair and gentle blue eyes. He spoke excellent English and was highly cultured, dynamic and obviously intelligent. They started going for lunchtime walks in the city park near her work place. She found out that both his grandfather and father had been distinguished theatre directors in the city - and by going into science he had bucked the family trend. 'I have no regrets with my choice,' he said but she realized there was a deeper, creative side to his personality. Then Anton invited her to a free jazz concert in Hydropark on the river island Peredmestnaya Slobodka. He insisted they travel by metro and this amused her, as she always used taxis, and had never taken the city metro before.
The metro stations amazed her. At the Golden Gate it took almost three minutes to descend. The platforms were vaulted like a church and covered with Byzantine style mosaics, marble floors and ornate chandeliers. 'Anton noticed her astonishment. 'The communists destroyed some of the cathedrals above ground but built them down here,' he chuckled. After the concert they went to one of the many little cafes looking out on the frozen river.
'I think we should sample some Ukrainian cuisine,' he grinned. He treated her to shashlyk (Caucasian Kebab) and fried rice, garnished with chopped green onions, followed by halushky (light dumplings) filled with cottage cheese. They got slightly drunk together on hot Moldovan mulled wine and he escorted her, flushed and happy, back to her flat.
After that they met every day. Anton always had a plan for an evening of free or inexpensive entertainment. They went to the Museum of Fine Arts. They explored the wonderful mediaeval churches. They climbed through the snow and trees to the high banks of the river Dniepr. They walked along the streets of the ancient port area; Podol and he explained the history to her. Each time he insisted they travel by metro and most evenings they sampled Ukrainian street cuisine, as he called it - borscht, vobla, (salt-covered dried fish) and salo, pure fat of bacon, with black bread salt and garlic and washed down with gorilka vodka or Crimean cognac. They never went to restaurants or any of the western bars.
This was one of the first times in her life that Gloria felt truly relaxed with a man, someone she suspected was her intellectual superior. He was so different from anyone she had met before. Their exchange of cultures was endlessly interesting. In the back of her mind though was a warning not to get too involved. There was something a bit elusive about Anton. He said very little about his work. She never went to his flat or met his family and friends.
One morning her boss the ambassador called her in to his office. Gloria had introduced him to Anton some days before.
'Just a word of caution about your friend,' he said. 'A scientist who speaks English as well as he does, might possibly have been trained by the KGB in the old days and could still be in contact with the Ukrainian successor, the SBU. I'm sure that's not true in his case but in our profession it's always better to tread carefully.' He smiled at her. The conversation was finished.
That evening instead of going out they went back to her place and they made hard, passionate love and spent their first night together. Lying in bed Anton relaxed. He told her of his ambition to get selected for a year's research programme at a university in Australia and how he dreamt of buying his own place and one day of settling down and starting a family.
'I love my country,' he said, but right now there are no opportunities in science. It's a very difficult time for nearly everyone. I'm not the type to turn my back on problems but a secure position doing what I love, with a good salary, in Sydney or Adelaide seems a bit like paradise to me.'
After that night it was as if the scales had fallen from her eyes - something about the strength and gentleness of this man had touched her like no other. Her manner became more sympathetic, less mechanical and less judgmental. Deneil met her soon after this arm in arm with Anton at some social event and immediately noticed a difference. She was glowing. He came away from the evening event thinking, "wow, Gloria's changed." Instinctively Deneil guessed she had fallen in love with this man, and it was a feeling so foreign to her that she didn't recognise it, didn't understand what was happening and most importantly, didn't know how to value it.
***
One Saturday evening on an impulse Gloria took Anton to O'Brien's, the Irish Bar. It was as full as usual. She bought him a Guinness.
'This is my first ever visit to an Irish bar and my first ever Guinness,' he said. 'Cheers,' and he drank deeply.
At another table were a group of junior diplomats. They all knew Gloria quite well. There was one man at the table, a German diplomat, who was rich, flashy and extravagant. He was debonair and fun, but his sense of fun was always tinged with cruelty. Gloria intrigued him and he was a little irritated by her air of superiority and her obvious interest in this Russian man.
'First time in an Irish bar, eh. Join us,' he gestured to them. 'Come on, join us, the more the merrier.' He was slightly drunk.
When they came to the table he leaned forward heavily.
'What's your name? Anton huh. I'm Wilhem. What are you drinking? Guinness? Bought by the girlfriend I suppose. You know the thing with you men," he added lightly, 'always caging drinks from westerners, even western women. Come on Anton; let's have another drink. I invite you. It's on me - on me - can't expect a local to pay can we. Another round" - he called to the bar.
'I'll pay,' said Anton flushed at this sudden attack.
'Yes of course you will Anton. You'll pay for yourself - once. And we'll foot the rest of the bill. We live in your bloody country but honestly, you are like shadows, you men - shadows!'
'Wilhem. That's enough,' said Gloria. 'Come on Anton, we don't need to stay here.'
'I said I'll pay. I'll pay for the evening,' Anton replied in a voice with an edge to it.
'You will pay for all of us," Wilhem gestured at the crowd in fake wonderment.
'Yes - that is what I said.'
'It doesn't matter what we order?'
'Order what you want.'
'OK, here goes. French champagne, Moet & Chandon all round. Anton's paying - we have a local guy paying, original huh. Roll up, roll up.'
Gloria opened her mouth. She must put an end to this intolerable teasing, she thought and then she paused. 'Why not? Why not let Anton pay. He had always been so careful with money, too careful. Why not let him be extravagant just this once. After all, the diplomatic friends she mixed with wouldn't think twice about the expense - She shouldn't behave so differently with him. He had to adapt to her world too.'
So they all drank the beautifully chilled Moet & Chandon champagne together, one bottle and then another. And Wilhem, German diplomat drunkenly lifted his glass.
'Cheers. The evening's on Anton - only time ever folks, so drink up now - there's plenty more coming - Anton's footing the bill - aren't you now?'
And Anton nodded, "Yes" and the young diplomats brayed with drunken laughter. The evening passed in a blur.
'I say,' smirked Wilhem, 'lets take a bet on that tab. How about double or quits?'
The two men looked at each other with obvious and drunken dislike. Anton rose from the table.
'That's enough for now. I told you I was paying. The bill please.'
O'Briens was one of the very few expatriate bars in Kyiv and the prices were western prices, except that for some reason they were not just that - they were New York or London prices. Moet & Chandon champagne was outrageously expensive. The bill came. It was two hundred and seventy eight dollars. Anton's lips tightened.
'I need to go and pick up some money from my flat. I wasn't expecting this expense tonight,' he said dryly. 'I'll back as soon as I can." He glanced briefly at Alexandra and left the bar.
'Well I don't expect we'll see him again," Wilhem sniggered as he drained his glass.
'Of course he'll be back,' replied Gloria indignantly.
Fifteen minutes later Anton came into the bar. He extracted two one hundred dollar bills and four twenty-dollar bills from his wallet, threw them casually on the table and immediately turned to leave. No one except Gloria even noticed him leaving. The fine champagne had made her feel pleasantly lightheaded and she was looking forward to taking Anton back to her flat and spending the night in his arms. She was surprised to see him leave so suddenly and immediately got up and followed him out into the street.
'Anton, come back - wait. I'm just about ready to go.'
He turned savagely on her.
'You westerners, you just don't get it do you? How much salary do you think I make as a scientist? How much?' - he hissed - 'about sixty dollars a month, and not paid every month - and how would I get more - by becoming corrupt and dishonest, like so many people here - by cheating, by stealing, by exploiting people poorer than me - and I haven't done it - I won't do it' - he almost shouted. 'That money was for my mother - how can I even begin to tell you how much she needs it - the bloody Germans killed her father and now they're back for more.'
Gloria was appalled. 'Look I can give you the money,' she said.
'No, I agreed to pay for the evening. I always keep my word. It is one of my principles. I have paid for this evening. I won't be paying for another one. Good Night,' and he walked off into the darkness.
Gloria stood there stunned, listening to the braying of the expats at the bar, horribly aware of a tremendous social divide that had opened up in front of her. She stayed for a while in the cold night air and then went back inside. The expats greeted her enthusiastically.
'Said goodbye to your boyfriend, huh. What about another bottle of champagne,' they roared and the German diplomat extracted a hundred dollar bill and flung it across the table. Gloria's mind was in a whirl. 'So that's why we never went to anything that cost any money,' and she recoiled in horror at the thought. 'I'll call him tomorrow and apologise for their behaviour,' she decided as she accepted another glass of champagne from the grinning Wilhem.
The next day she tried calling Anton a couple of times but with a certain reluctance. He wasn't in. She felt a little relieved. She planned to go out that evening to another diplomatic event, fifty dollars a head. 'Well, Anton couldn't come to that anyway,' she thought. She went and thoroughly enjoyed herself. It was a great party and then the final week up to Christmas was filled with such a clamour of socializing, she hardly had time to think.
She did call Anton a few times but he was never at home. And he never called her. Just before the Christmas holidays she got through to him.
'Anton, where have you been all this time?'
'I've been working longer hours at the Institute,' he said, and she immediately and guiltily wondered if this was to make up the money he had spent that evening.
'Anton, I'll be going to Argentina for four weeks, the day after tomorrow,'
'Oh, I didn't realize that, otherwise I would have contacted you before. Can we meet tomorrow? We need to talk.'
'Anton, tomorrow is the British Chamber of Commerce Christmas Ball. I've been invited along with my ambassador. I have to go. It'll be such fun.'
'Yes, of course," he said quickly.
'I'll call you when I get back from Argentina after Christmas. I don't suppose you will be going anywhere.'
'No, I have no plans."
'We must meet up as soon as I'm back. Ciao,' she trilled and rang off merrily but feeling slightly ashamed.
***
When Gloria came back to Kyiv she was immediately swept into the expatriate social whirlwind of parties and outings. She kept meaning to call Anton but she put it off. It was almost as if she was frightened by his moral authority. It was much easier to chat with the expat crowd. But after some weeks Gloria started to get bored with the vapid, unchanging expatriate community. She recalled the times she had spent with Anton with great fondness and gradually realized that this man had so much more to offer than the people she mixed with - that he was all she had ever looked for in a man - someone fearless, intelligent, with a strong character and yet very gentle. Suddenly she yearned to see him again, to tell him what she was thinking - to draw closer to him.
She called Anton's home. There was no answer. So she called the Institute.
'Could I speak to Anton please?'
Anton's assistant answered.
'I am afraid he has left for Australia on a year research programme, in the physics department at the University of Adelaide. It came up very suddenly a few days ago and he had to accept the offer to start immediately. We're thrilled for him. Between you and me I think after this year, they will offer him a fellowship. He won't be coming back.'
Gloria put the phone down.
'Well perhaps it is for the better,' she thought. 'It would never have worked out.' But all the same her heart felt heavy and sick with disappointment.
Months went by and Gloria could not shake off this vague feeling that somehow her life had taken a wrong turning. Her birthday came and went. She looked in the mirror and detected the first incipient signs of early middle age. She no longer enjoyed her solitude in her comfortable flat. She found herself having arguments with her expatriate colleagues. When Deneil bumped into her she seemed lonely and dissatisfied. At one event they attended together she told him she had decided to apply to leave the country for another diplomatic posting after only one year of service instead of the usual three. Soon after that she accepted a new posting in The Hague. At her leaving party she got drunk and became slightly bitter. She had not met anyone she could really make friends with all year, she explained to Deneil. All those expatriate social events were so superficial and you were always with the same people and then of course she really hadn't been able to get to know anyone from the local community. The men here were so closed, unlike in Argentina.
'What about that scientist friend of yours,' asked Deneil, 'he seemed pretty dynamic and a nice guy too. I thought you got on very well together,' but Gloria had already turned away and was explaining her personal dilemmas to someone else.
When Gloria left, no one regretted her leaving. No one missed her. She created no waves. She left no ripples - no trace except in one man's heart and he learnt painfully that money, status and conformity were more important to her than her emotions.
Now she attends cocktail parties in another country, politely listening and providing intelligent conversation as she always did, socializing frenetically she did, still without a special friend and her eyes are not so alive, and her mouth has settled into a curve of disappointment.
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Read also previous issue' articles:
Cows and Parachutists
Vietnam, Cobra-laced rice moonshine and those smiles
Gambling on the Slope
Manners Cost Nothing
A Roger By Any Other Name
Never Underestimate the Mark!
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