 NADIA by James Macintosh |
Every Friday evening without fail when he was in town, Deneil would make his way to the Arizona pub in Podol, the old merchant district of Kiev on the banks of the river Dnieper. Arizona's Happy Hour was until seven and this particular Friday, when he arrived at a quarter to seven there was a sizeable crowd seated and standing at the long, wooden bar. Deneil knew just about all the foreigners in the place and enjoyed the Friday evening camaraderie. As he waded through the crowd he spotted the calm, reassuring face of his friend, Stefan sitting at the far end of the bar. Stefan was from Sweden and managed the local operations of a Swedish company. He had been living in Kiev for about a year with his wife and two small children. He was a rather correct, deliberate, middle-aged man, slow talking and thoughtful rather than dynamic. He always dressed smartly and his regular features, kind blue eyes and frank open expression suggested someone of honesty and integrity. Deneil liked him. Sometimes though, he wondered how Stefan was fairing in the corrupt, murky waters of newly capitalist Kiev.
This evening Stefan was looking animated, his face flushed red from the heat and the beer.
'Cheers, Deneil. Good to see you. Well, I am about to achieve a personal ambition,' he announced dramatically. 'Starting tomorrow, I am taking a cruise on the Dnieper, going all the way to Odessa via Zaporozhe, Dnipropetrovsk and Kherson. Ever since we moved to Kiev it has been a particular obsession of mine to go on a big, river cruise in the Russian Empire following in the footsteps of the Viking merchants.'
'You lucky old dog,' Deneil said. 'Why can't I think of such original holidays? Is your family coming with you?'
'No, my wife doesn't share my enthusiasm for river cruises. She's taken the children for a week's holiday at the beach. We'll meet up in Odessa. I have a few days of freedom without the family.' Stefan's eyes glittered as if he relished the thought of his hard-won independence. 'In the whole ten years we've been married I don't think I have ever spent four days away from my wife - except for the occasional business trip,' he confessed.
'Freedom is never a bad thing,' Deneil commented. 'It focuses the mind.'
With that rather vague comment they each ordered another beer and gazed slightly intoxicated around the crowded bar. It was a warm, early September evening, already getting dark. Some time and some beers later they said goodbye to each other. Stefan was to leave the following afternoon.
***
Next day Stefan embarked at four pm in broad daylight as had been requested in the travel brochure. The cruise ship was set to sail at dusk. Apart from the crew there was a large group of Americans of Ukrainian origin, mostly middle-aged visiting the homeland of their grandparents for the first time. There were a few German and French couples seeking adventure, some Russians and Ukrainians traveling the slow way to relatives in Odessa and also an entire Ukrainian dance and music folk ensemble practicing in the corner of the large saloon. Stefan was shown to the small cabin appointed to him, he slowly unpacked, showered and dressed again for the Captain's Cocktail at six prompt.
A few minutes after six, he rather diffidently entered the saloon, which was already crowded with guests and crew. Bottles of Crimean champagne were being uncorked and glasses promptly filled and refilled by waiters dressed in spotless white. The Captain made a brief welcome speech and invited everyone on deck to witness the first few kilometres of the cruise through the centre of Kiev. Dusk was falling, groups of men were drinking kvass and vodka in little booths under the chestnut trees, riverboats whistled and the city smelt of dust, lilac and warm stone. The ship slowly eased into the middle of the wide river and was soon passing under the bridges thundering with early evening traffic.
The lights of the city reflected out on the darkening water. Stefan stayed on deck until the evening became cloudy, the stars disappeared and it began to rain. He retired to his small, comfortable cabin and was soon falling asleep content in the knowledge that he was drifting down one of the largest, most dramatic rivers in Europe following the Viking route to Constantinople.
***
The first full day of the cruise culminated in an evening's entertainment, Cossack folk dancing, in the main saloon. Stefan deliberately arrived late to avoid having to join the boisterous Americans. The performance had already started. Stefan mingled with the crowd and watched appreciatively. His attention was drawn by one of the dancers, a petite brunette with a sweet face, her hair swept back in a ponytail accentuating high cheekbones. She danced with such lightness and elegance he found himself mesmerized by her supple movements.
After the main performance the folk group invited the audience to join them as the musicians struck up Cossack favourite songs. With a deal of bravura and clapping the male dancers gallantly escorted overweight Ukrainian American matrons onto the dance floor and the young girls came and shyly insisted on showing the elderly men the simplest dance steps. Stefan shrank back not wanting to participate but against his will he was sucked into the whirling mass of people. As the music swelled he was 'spun' from one dancer to another and even tentatively began to enjoy himself. They were very tolerant of his clumsiness. After a short while he found himself with the attractive brown-haired girl who had caught his attention. They chatted a little whilst dancing together. Her name was Nadia and she was from Moldova, and studying at ballet school in Kiev and this was her holiday job.
As they danced together with his arm round this young girl's waist he suddenly realized how long it was since he had put his arm round any woman apart from his wife and at the same time he was shocked by the wave of physical desire that swept over him.
'Are you staying on board?' he asked.
'Yes, we're performing tomorrow at the Cossack picnic on the island.'
Stefan had briefly read about the picnic in the cruise prospectus but wanted to know more.
'Tomorrow we arrive at one of the river islands near Zaporozhe where the Cossacks used to have a big camp. We'll moor by the woods and we all disembark and there'll be a Russian feast with champagne, different kinds of vodka, caviar, sturgeon, oysters -and we will perform typical Cossack dances barefoot on the grass.'
'Sounds enticing,' Stefan said, 'I'm looking forward to it.'
The music crescendoed again and amidst the whooping of the musicians and the shrieks of the American matrons, Stefan was passed on to another girl. Soon afterwards he ducked out of the ring and made for the bar where he drank his glass of complimentary Moldavian wine and ordered another one. The music came to an end and the dancers and musicians began to crowd round the bar. As Nadia was passing, Stefan, on an impulse, said:
'Care for a stroll on deck. It's very hot here.'
She nodded, 'OK' and they walked together up the stairs to the brightly lit deck. On deck they gazed out across the dark expanse of water to the shrouded banks and chatted idly about Kiev and the places they both knew. Here and there they could see houses dimly lit up. Conversation lapsed and they stood looking over the rails at the dark water below.
'Can I ask how old you are?' he said breaking the silence.
'Twenty-three. And you?'
'Forty-six. Twice your age - old enough to be your father,' he replied with an uncomfortable laugh.
'Forty-six is a nice age and you appear much younger,' she was looking directly at him with the Slavic female's acknowledgement of the potency of older men.
Soon afterwards she shivered a little, confessed she was getting cold and anyway it was late and time to sleep.
After she had left, he stayed for some minutes looking down at the water rushing past, reflecting on his life. How, as a young man, he had determined not to make the same mistake as his mother and father, trapped in a loveless marriage. And now, could he really say he had done better? - faithful to his wife from a sense of honour rather than desire. And how the years had slipped imperceptibly by. How his dreams, his ambitions, the happiness and fulfillment he had confidently booked for himself had proved more elusive than he would ever have thought possible and with the passing years came a growing acknowledgement of a lack of energy to change his life and more importantly a lack of real understanding of how to change. He foresaw the long slope down towards retirement and old age, with seemingly nothing bright and glowing to illuminate the path. 'My children,' he said to himself. 'Surely they are the joy of my life now.' But somehow his ten-year old son and eight year old daughter seemed such carbon copies of his wife's family and with so little resemblance to his own that try as he might, he felt a distance between him and them.
'Oh God!' he sighed. 'Now I'm behaving exactly like those weak-minded, middle-aged men I always found so pathetic - lusting after this young girl. Ridiculous!' All the same he was disturbed by the memory of Nadia's white, soft skin, the glimpse he had caught of a perfectly formed breast and a curious feeling of a disturbing lack of distance between them. He turned and made his way to his cabin, undressed and went to bed. Unable to fall asleep, he realized that somehow he was excited about the day ahead and what it might bring.
***
All next day Stefan stayed out on deck. It was a little blustery with the first hint of autumn in the air. On the nearby bank he could see peasant women dressed in coloured headscarves and felt boots. Villages dotted the horizon like clusters of boats hidden in the hollows of a running sea. The cruise ship drifted past dirt roads, occasional lines of willows trees and little jetties and the white cloudy sky and trees were reflected in the water as in a mirror. Stefan felt a sense of almost sensual indolence.
At about four o'clock in the afternoon they came to a bend in the river with a largish island covered with birch trees, oaks, willows and poplars. The steamer slowly approached the island and Stefan could see broad, green water meadows with sheets of water glistening in them and in the distance a herd of cows. Immediately the steamer docked the crew started to carry out fold up tables and chairs and baskets of food. Soon the picnic was splendidly laid out. The tables were covered with fresh, trim, white cloths and strewn with champagne flutes and goblets. There was an assortment of flavoured vodkas, Moldavian red and white wines, a huge sturgeon sliced open revealing its pink belly, glistening squares of red and black caviar, blocks of pale yellow Russian cheeses, oysters laid out on ice in trays and by each table a frosted silver tub filled with champagne bottles.
The guests were invited onto the island and the picnic began in earnest with everyone eating, drinking and talking. The musicians started played and soon the dancers were whirling, bare feet, on the grass. It was a much wilder, much less rehearsed and much more passionate performance than the night before. The guests were pushed to participate and as Stefan danced with Nadia, he moved her body closer to his. The musicians stopped playing and he invited Nadia to his table. She squeezed into the empty place next to him, thigh pressed against thigh. Later when the music started again all the guests joined in the dancing until they were too tired or too drunk to continue.
After the dancing Stefan and Nadia stood next to each other in the shadows of the trees a little apart from the crowd, staring out at the river. She closed her eyes for an instant, pressed the back of her hand against her cheek and then smiled. Her smile was flirtatious as was everything about this beautifully formed girl.
'I think I'm drunk,' she said. 'What a bad influence you are having on me. I never take more than two small glasses of wine and now, how many toasts have you made me drink? Well I guess it doesn't matter. Oh my head is spinning.'
Dusk was falling and the clouds turned red in the last rays of the sun. A strong, soft breeze rose from the river and blew into their faces. Stefan put his arm round her supple waist lightly touching the soft curve of her hips and drew her imperceptibly closer towards him.
'Let's go somewhere,' he mumbled.
'Where?' she asked, surprised.
'Lets follow that path.' He pointed to a path leading through thick undergrowth along the banks of the river.
'Why?'
He didn't answer but very gently started propelling her in the direction of the riverbank.
'You're mad!'
'Lets get away from these people, Stefan repeated dully, 'please.'
'Oh, all right. As you wish' she said turning towards the path.
They moved slowly away from the party without exchanging a word. The path became more overgrown. Buried in the thick tangle of wild pear, crabapple and young oak trees, clouds of tiny black flies swarmed round them. They covered their faces with their hands. A moment later they were crossing a patch of ankle-deep sand until they reached a concealed grassy patch by the riverbank. The summer dusk was dying out. It glowed in drowsy, muted colours. An immense flock of crows flew cawing over the river.
Stefan drew Nadia towards him and embraced her and for years afterwards he would not forget the intensity and pleasure of that embrace. He sank to his knees starting to pull her down with him. 'Not on the ground,' she murmured, 'someone could come' and she turned away from him, leant against a tree for support and slowly parted her legs.
They remained joined together for some minutes, hardly moving, as if in a trance and Stefan raised his head and gazed wonderingly at the velvet sky and the slow flowing river. The stars had come out and reflected here and there in the dark water they quivered and were broken up. Drowsy sandpipers cried plaintively on the further bank. With measured strokes of its wings a gull flew upstream luxuriating in the deep-blue waves of the air. Then, for one instant, Stefan felt that nothing before and nothing after would ever matter. He gradually dropped his head against the girl's shoulder. She remained leaning forward against the tree, her eyes dimmed, and then quietly she freed herself.
They sat down together on the cool, slightly damp grass and he put his arm round her shoulder and hesitantly started to talk about himself, about his wife, his children, his work. She leant against him and gently ran her fingers through his hair as he spoke. Half an hour passed and the evening grew dark. The steamer hooted. It was the signal to return. 'My God,' she said scrambling to her feet, 'we mustn't delay or we'll be stuck here.' They hurried back along the overgrown path in the near darkness winding around the bushes that hung on the bank and were soon mingling with the crowd returning noisily to the steamer. She turned to him.
'I have to wash and pack now. We'll be in Zaporozhe in thirty minutes. Will I see you before I go?'
'Go where?' he said dumbly.
'Our dance troupe is leaving the cruise in Zaporozhe,' she said hurriedly. We're taking the night train back to Kiev. Meet me on deck in twenty five minutes, could you?'
Stefan remained on deck looking into the darkness. Gradually the lights multiplied and scattered in profusion along the river. The ship's brightly lit deck was crowded with people and the steamer engines churned against the backwash as she came to rest at a small jetty and the gangplank was quickly lowered to allow the passengers off. Nadia came up the stairs with the rest of the dance troupe. She had a bag slung over her shoulder. She came hesitantly towards him. As she neared he could smell the freshness of her clean, healthy, youthful skin.
'So - the journey's end,' he said lightly.
'I'm sorry we didn't have more time to get to know each other.'
'Perhaps we could see each other in Kiev,' he replied.
'I honestly think its better that we don't. You are married and I have a boyfriend, well a fiance really. I don't know what came over us - a kind of holiday madness,' she laughed nervously.
'Yes,' he agreed, 'that was it.'
'Please don't think badly of me,' she continued, 'you're the first western man I've met - you were exotic - it was the wine - and everything - I'm not the way you think I am - I'm serious about Volodya, my fiance,' and then as if guessing at some hidden pain, 'I'm sorry, so sorry.'
Her group was crossing the gangplank and signalling for her to follow. 'I have to go now,' Nadia said and a slight, worried look flashed across her face as if she was suddenly afraid he might make a scene. She held out her hand and he bent forward and kissed her gently on both cheeks. 'A wonderful moment of holiday madness,' he murmured and she turned round and quickly went after the group of dancers without looking back. He watched her go until she disappeared from view.
'Well, well, still life in the old dog after all,' he said to himself in a self-congratulatory tone, 'it was me she found attractive, not those young bloods,' and then suddenly felt he wanted to weep. Why had she not looked round once when leaving? Why had she consigned him so absolutely to history? 'A superficial travel adventure, a touch of holiday madness,' he attempted to chuckle but felt too heavy at heart to do so.
Stefan slept badly that night like
a man who wanted to hide away from the world. He woke early and unable to go back to sleep, lay watching the dawn come up through the porthole. 'For God's sake,' he thought. 'What is wrong with me?' He got up and began to move back and forth in the small confines of his cabin. He remembered everything about Nadia, all the small fine details of her presence, the smell of her white, soft skin and her supple body, the simple dress, the slightly childish voice always seemingly on the edge of a laugh, the sensual plumpness of her shoulders and upper arms. He pictured her gray blue eyes and the way her brown hair was swept back into a single ponytail like a peasant woman and how her lips had slightly parted in expectation of pleasure. The sensations of the evening before remained extraordinarily acute within him. He could still feel the girl's body as if she was there with him, and every twenty minutes or so he shivered from a strange feeling of delight and pain as if he was in for a bout of flu or struck by a small electric shock passing through him.
He went out on deck. The early morning breeze had died away and the air felt as hot and dry as an oven. The excitement of the day before was replaced by a dull, infinite foreboding he could not comprehend. He stared at the huge, gleaming surface of the river in the sun, the yellow sandbars, and the endless open space of water where shimmering water met the sky. The river's measureless expanse shone like bright steel beneath the boat. He ordered a vodka, watched the distant green banks gliding past and then feeling slightly better, ordered another. During the day he downed many shots of vodka. 'I'm falling apart,' he thought. 'She's a student for God's sake, half my age - what right do I have to even think of her - but oh such an elegance - quite unconscious grace.' He wandered around the boat deck as if in a daze.
***
For the rest of the journey, Stefan was unable to stop thinking about Nadia. He kept to his cabin or stayed out on deck drinking shots of vodka. He was indifferent to the cities and countryside they passed through and shunned the company of the friendly Americans.
He neither shaved nor changed his clothes but sat staring into the distance as if trying to work out an insoluble problem. On the evening of the fifth day, the cruise ship approached the port of Odessa. The city lay strung out along the river bathed in the soft, southern September evening light. Stefan had tidied himself up, packed and was on deck pacing back and forth as they docked.
His wife was waiting for him on the quayside with his small son and daughter. She was wearing her habitual smile and waved frantically when she saw him. Something in his heart sank. Before 'Nadia', his marriage had seemed all right, not wonderful but then whose marriage was? So how had this young girl, this 'Nadia' managed to so fundamentally destroy the equilibrium of his family life?
'My dearest,' his wife cried as he came ashore. 'How was it?' 'How was the journey?'
'Yes, very good, wonderful,' he said forcing a smile and kissing her and then lifting up both of the children and kissing them.
'But you look so tired. You weren't sleeping properly? Was the cabin too hot?'
'There was so much to do, so much to see,' he replied vaguely. 'We hardly got time to sleep. Not the last few days.'
'No one had warned him,' he was thinking, 'how fragile a marriage could be. How many hours, days, months could he live with this new reality? And what had he gained? That Nadia. She had gone as lightly as she came - a momentary dalliance - a passing fancy.' He felt a wave of profound despair pass through him.
His wife took his arm and he let himself be led, like an unwilling prisoner, to the waiting taxi.
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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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