Sometimes I Think About You

Явор Емилов Тодоров (явор64)

Раздел: Проза на чужд език  Цикъл:

The writer carefully examined the outer door of the dental surgery. There was a mailbox, a white cardboard sign with black letters that seemed quite simple, stone step, very roughly carved, as if left by the centuries.
He always loved to return to his hometown although he was not able to do it often. Many things were not changing, at least at first sight, or were changing slowly. The trains were the same, evergreen and dirty, with the same rude, crude and ill-dressed passengers and young women, retiring in themselves, traveling to the capital for the next examination and then back. The station was the same, left over from the post-Renaissance era and brought to mind nice feeling, filled with nostalgia for a time in which there was progress, there was ferment. The round hospital to the right. The two-way boulevard with park and promenade in the middle. Before the subway they were there to meet him, professionally-bold, the prostitutes, as in Sofia, on "Lion`s Bridge", at night. In one of the cafes a great fighter with shaven head served him coffee with majestic gesture. Usually he was walking on the street with the huge chestnut trees to the square with the post office and the officer`s club. The long surrounding street where trolley-bus was budging sluggishly was tiring him out. And here also the time was pressing some memory as gingerly touched key of piano. The school in which he had studied. Theodora with the blond hair and the red patent leather jacket. The hospital in the left with its endless alleys. He had just to go that way and a million of memories were unlocked immediately, the film of the childhood was turning on. The first day of school. The black silk blouses with white collar, binding at the time. During the first day of school, during the great break, he was so sad, as if he was forever excommunicated from home. He was remembering Darinka, Nedko, Branko, Drago, and, of course, Theodora. They were accompanying each other to the front door almost as great people. On the way back from school they cast their bags and they struggled in the garden at the foot of the hill. They were struggling sometimes for hours and they were leaving only when it was coming in their minds that they had to study for tomorrow. A little further there was a bakery. It stands there until now, although perhaps locked - with the stone stairs without railing, just at the stop to the restaurant which no longer exists. He was always purchasing two "maslenki", biscuits, sprinkled with plenty of powdered sugar. It was following the second garden - steep park at the foot of the hill where the children were driving winter sleds. He wasn`t knowing to drive the sleigh and get stuck in a thicket.
Nobody met him in the little vestibule. There was a rack, black leather sofa, small table with two magazines. The writer leaned curiously and smiled again. "Playboy!" On the hanger hang on a black leather coat and her spare white apron. Would she recognize him? Two hours he was staring by the window and he was imagining how he would open the door, tapping gently like any other patient, sitting indifferently in the dental chair with resignation to the inevitable, with the hope that it would not hurt.
She recognized him immediately, although those years in which he stopped only one time to see her, would-be occasionally, as a former resident of the city. They went for a walk, they were ambling along in the melancolic streets, he was remembering his jacket, it seems it was autumn, and before they realized it, they stood in front of an old house in post liberation style, the house of his cousins for whom he had never told her.
- Let`s go in! - he suggested.
In the basement of the house there was a restaurant. They found Dancho inside who had come from America to settle some questions, in company with old friends, classmates probably. Out of courtesy Dancho immediately abandoned his company and joined their table.
- This is your wife, right? - asked Dancho.
- Oh, no, we are just friends. - she hastened to say.
- So, how is America? You disprove the saying that from the next world and from America no one has returned to tell us whether it is good. - joked the writer and all laughed politely. Then they started a conversation about the dental care in America. It turned out that in modern surgeries, the dental nerve, to be not touched in the operations is monitored on computer screen. Surprisingly for him, she was quite aware, though only by the magazines "Lancet".
This time they didn`t make love. The evening ended in this way, he escorted her in the falling dusk, they went on familiar streets, because it was already dark, side by side, without touching each other, as good friends as they actually were. He remembered her with the rod in her hands, dressed in his men`s shirt, cowboy shirt in red, black and white squares, it was fitting her very well, making her more slender. Physically she was quite strong and if she was born as a man certainly she would have been a dangerous opponent for him. They were sitting in the room, lit by the afternoon sun, Ellie, her permanent partner for bridge was also there, and she began:
- My colleagues were going sweathearting for a long and I just sat untouched. I got tired of it and went to a colleague. I still remember his hairy black hands. After that the wash basin with the bloody sheet stayed one week under the table of his student accommodation to flaunt with it. He said nothing. They played cards all night in an apartment of hers and the whole time he had to excuse himself he was still a novice. In bed he failed and he apologized that he was worn out. The next weekend both were better prepared for each other. He smiled internally at the memory of how he was pleased of her naked gold body as if he was put in posession of a little treasure, given to him personally and for his personal use and with which he was authorized to do almost anything he wanted. He was kissing her breasts long and carefully, then he turned her with her back to him and continued to pinch their nipples, filled with tension and then he was stroking those big heavy breasts, pulling them at regular intervals until she, without a sound, was waiting for him to satisfy his curiosity to that part of her body.
He turned her on her back and he admired her smooth belly which he gently stroked for its exquisite form. He put his finger into her vagina without a lot of ceremonies and was delighted when she, despite of her will, began to gasp and breathe more and more heavily. Then he decided to look at her more closely and he made her to lie on her stomach and kissed her on the shoulders as every good girl deserves, then he started to have fun acting as masseur. She submissively let to his caring fingers to rub her neck, shoulders and waist. Her butt was her weak spot, it was not in harmony with the other parts and it was not as smooth and curved as he wished. However, he stroked and kissed it briefly with respect before he asked her to turn to her back again. She crossed her legs around his waist in the most convenient way for her, then with a well premeditated move she put her hands under her body, thereby reducing the springing of the bed to a minimum. He penetrated without a problem into her femininity, prepared in that way, to determine what he already knew - she was completely frigid. Finally, as a token of love appreciation, he made her a cunnilingus.
In the surgery she welcomed him with unperturbed calm as if she never knew him, that would be completely normal after the seven or eight new years past and because he had changed his appearence - he had grown a beard.
- I have caries. - he said and he smiled with his shy smile as a patient, embarassed in his kindness.
- Sit down! - she just said to him.
- I thought you did not recognize me.
- I recognized you immediately.
He was knowing about her that she was very good in his profession. There was nowhere to retreat.
He was in fear but he wanted to show at least a little manliness before her. With confident movement she looked in his mouth with her inspiring fear instruments. He shrank up, his muscles were tense, but he was decided, no matter what happens, and he endured for his immense astonishment that horrible sound of the small high-speed machine that filed off some amount of his dental tissue, insignificantly little probably and for not more than thirty seconds which seemed to him an eternity. She withdrew the machine and injected water into his oral cavity.
- Spit!
He spat blood in the little basin with automatic circulating water stream. It was as his first time.
- A little more! If it hurts, give me a sign! - in principle she was very laconic, this was the only phrase in more which she afforded to herself.
Just in time he mooed. She interrupted her work. It was necessary only a little more. She gave him a slight break. Every new start was requiring more courage.
- Just a minute! - he obeyed.
- That was it! No more. - she looked at him, their eyes met for a moment. He was knowing the color of his eyes - blue with white spots. They never meant anything to him.
- This is the drug. It will kill the nerve. Come on Thursday.
Thursday was after two days.
"One hundred fifty-two kilometers to go to the dentist." - the writer thought, already accommodated in the passenger compartment in eight and thirteen. Outside the winter was severe and the new impressions were preventing him from focusing in his memory of her and the youth, which was still over.
On Thursday he went again through the underpass. In the early morning the challenging prostitutes were already gone. He examined the books in the bookstore, his eyes stopped on the ads, he carefully left behind the next bookstore, had breakfast in the first sweetshop which he liked. Then he extended his way through the city park, just to see it, but it seemed that things were not already in place, though the old fountain and the faucets, everything was there. He started again in the main street, looked at the poster of the movie-house "Balkan", passed along the theater and looked up at the windows with decorative railing, where it was his first childhood memory.
He would not be able to come again soon, so he looked at everything carefully as for the last.
In the small hall of the surgery she was chatting with a man and a woman of her age, it was obvious - they were good friends. She invited him to sit down and he listened to their conversation. He was loving to listen about the bourgeois past of the ancient city, about her grandmother, from which she kept a dress, about her grandfather who went about all groceries, "because everyone should live" and when he was building the big house he was checking personally each brick.
Soon they left and she invited him into her surgery before the tragic dental chair. The writer smiled again at his overwhelmed by associations consciousness. Who was the first that had used the phrase "to the tragic white sheet"? Perhaps Edgar Allan Poe? Or another classic of English-speaking literature? Or Spanish?
With several revolutions of the machine she removed the arsenic that has killed the nerve in the last two days. The more painful stage of the process was left behind. He waited quietly two minutes while she prepared the material which would cemented forever the two cavities in his teeth. Finally she remained satisfied with his own work:
- Till the end of your life there will be no problems. Healthy teeth can "give wastage", but those two - not anymore.
He smiled at her words as he remembered her favorite idiom from one time: "There isn`t such a movie! They didn`t show it already!"
- Today I have more work. - she sat in the huge armchair, she moved her feet below her, a huge cat, beautiful, lazy, flexible. Then again she let down her feet as if with the speed of lightning she changed her mind and slipped on the convenient clogs. - Do you want to come at six o`clock, we will drink coffee and talk?
- That happens to coincide with my plans to walk me through the Old City.
His plans were to pretend to be a tourist and to look around for last time as if he would die. He allowed himself himself a youth audacity, folded in four, almost crawling, he climbed the most steep snowy path to the riuns of the Thracian settlement. He passed by the houses touching their windows, which were bleak and deserted, then he wandered through the streets covered with fresh, still uncleaned snow. In a cafe he ordered a coffee and stared into a broadcast about scientific progress and new technologies, which seemed to him very interesting. At the next table there were two young girls. One of them was looking like his mother as young girl, as he knew her from a photo of that time. These were the genes of the city and they were eternal.
He climbed on another street, searching the house where her aunt Neshka lived, which was making him coffee for kids from clean chickpea, when his grandmother led him to stay with her. He could not find it, it was so long ago. He was loving to overdo with the coffee and went to another place, very empty and lonely, tiny and with pretty saleswoman. They had passed so many years that he really felt like a tourist.
He was back in the surgery at the end of the workday.
- Do you want to acompany me? I have a little work.
He said nothing, buttoned his jacket and started to put the gloves. Impatient, she put the key in the lock.
They walked along unfamiliar street. It was getting dark very fast. On a street, lying obliquely to the river, she went into the entrance of a block of flats, mansions or something like that. She looked quickly at the mailboxes, pulled out from her bag an envelope and put it in one of them. Then she rang a bell.
- Will you wait for me?
After a while he saw her coming down the stairs, accompanied by a very tall man, uniformed. He sent them to the intersection. The cold was creeping through hats, scarves and gloves and they went without saying anything.
- Do you want some coffee?
- I will not refuse you.
The coffee machine for esspresso was Cuban, the same as this of her mother, only smaller and he was watching with pleasure her movements, relaxing in the huge chair that was lying against the dental chair.
She sat against the ceramic raft on a swivel Ruse`s chair and sipped from the service coffee.
- You have got a nice room here.
- For the dental chair I had to go personally to Vratsa. I had terrible problems with the different architectural solutions and with "Electricity" for some ground, the standards for which were not met. Why am I guilty that they weren`t met? I am not an engineer, I am a dentist. I lead a terrible struggle for anything. Sometimes I want to scream. I want to sell anything and to disappeared. Like you I know to languages, I dream for Canada.
He assumed indifference, as always:
- Bulgaria is the state of the troubles...
- I heard that you are getting better known in the literary circles.
- I haven`t become great yet but I will run for...
The door opened and pink frost rushed into the room.
- This is my daughter!
She was a girl of about nine, which seemed to him madly beautiful.
- What is your name?
- I will not tell you. Elena.
He gave the young lady the chair and, unawares, started to play with her. She had clear blue eyes with a woman intoxicating effects and golden-blond hair. Those blue eyes reminded him of other blue eyes, not those of her mother, which he was once loved and something choked him. Tears began to flow down silently on his cheeks and he could not do anything to stop them, and there was nowhere to hide. They passed one or two minutes before the tears stop. Both women shammed they noticed nothing. It took another fifteen minutes and two friends of Elena, dark as gypsy, dashed into the room. The TV was switched on:
- I`m Elza Beth, a former prostitute! - Elena screamed.
- And I`m Elza Beth, a former prostitute! - cried the other two girls.
They began long awaited chidren`series, which had turned into the hit of the moment.
The time was getting on. The writer was thinking about the train in eight and thirteen, which was already missed. This little blue-eyed girl was for him the daughter of a race of Aryan which seven thousand years ago had descended on the slopes of Tibet and had conquered India. Other tribes of this people had left in West, always in West, through forests and waters, in the course of two thousand years. The Great Migration of Peoples. A little child with wreath of flowers on his head, which clumsily take a step between wheats, waved gently in the wind. They emerged suddenly as a result of mutation and within six thousand years they had managed to build the world.
The writer said goodbye resolutely and went out into the small square. The river was twinkling in the dark. Despite of the cold and the darkness in the streets there were still people. In one of the shops "day and night" he bought something to eat. Then he hurried to the station. The light dashboard was blinking friendly but ruthlessly was showing that the next train was at four in the morning. He took his ticket and walk through the waiting room. There was a lot of passengers who were waiting for night trains like him. One or two hobos were in evidence also. The waiting room was cold and windy. He peered into the faces of the passengers, eager to understand their thoughts. One of the passengers seemed as an acquaintance of him, but it was not. He entered into the clock cafe in which there were standing tables only. He drank another coffee with which he was used to overdo. His way of life was such that he could not without coffee. On the wall was hanging a huge TV that was broadcasting clips without music. Most of the videos were known to him. There was a new one, which seemed pornographic, with vague content and pictures that were fast changed. Such was the contemporary art. Seated on a bench in the waiting room, staring at the mosaic floor, the writer was thinking.