It seems to my I've fallen in love with you, Joanna Arkadievna. Joanna's Page 20
Yulia Ivanova
It seems to my I've fallen in love with you, Joanna Arkadievna. Joanna's Page 20
At her place she enjoyed her precious suffering until Peacock came to her as if nothing had happened
"Would you cook cutlets for me?"
He came as if there were neither long days of silence, not his reverted eyes, nor his fatal girl, nor her hand on his shoulder. He smiled. Denis - a sunny day.
Yana fried cutlets in the kitchen for the first time in her life. Mother and her neighbor didn't return from work yet, and nobody could help her. Yana was a discoverer; she again discovers cutlets.
The time stopped, the kitchen resembled an alchemist's laboratory where Yana experimented with ingredients: a piece of frozen meat in a string bag behind the window and a dry loaf which didn't want to get soaked and a fierce onion which Yana for some reason decided to grate. She smelled of garlic and onion and smeared herself with flour; being tear-stained and half-blind, Yana at last cooked three brownish, fresh and appetizing masterpieces which deserved to be put into Denis Gradov's mouth.
Of course, too much salt was put in her culinary masterpieces. Yana put the pan on the table and wiped her hands by her apron. The wardrobe mirror reflected Yana with disheveled hair and her insolent guest who paid no attention to her; he was sitting in the armchair and was absorbed in reading.
He had encroached on her genies! Peacock held a thick grey folder in his hands. The folder is divided in two and sheets that were covered with writing were falling to a pile of already read ones.
How dared he to encroach on her genies! Their eyes got together in the mirror. She wanted to shout at him and pull out the folder. His careless word or movement would have been enough for that.
Peacock smiled as if nothing had happened and stretched himself. He did it as if it were good of him to grab her manuscripts and smile at the same time.
"It's sounds fascinating" Denis shut the folder, "and it seems to me I've fallen in love with you."
He had so light and transparent eyes, and Yana's gaze was sunk in their transparency. She was bewildered and even forgot about her folder. Tactless and horrible Peacock's act and his foolish declaration of love when he ate cutlets and talked about a French woman-singer who toured Moscow not only antagonized her but adorned Peacock with new and even more attracting colors.
Yana was in complete confusion and realized it, and except that her cutlets were too salty, and Peacock can think something bad of her. She sat being clothed in her dressing-gown and couldn't say a word. She had no strengths to get up and go to the kitchen where a kettle had boiled for a long time already.
The key turns in the lock - her mother came. They have not seen each other for two weeks.
Mom burst into the room, being frozen, impetuous, smelling of snow as the blizzard itself, and spit it at the Peacock.
Cold hands and lips glowing cheeks burned Yana.
"Mom, come on you ... Well, passed, passed, all is well. Then, my mother...
Everything in it is protesting against this disaster - the invasion of the mother.
Sitting with a peacock, that he devoured the salted chops, drank tea and ruffled...
If only you could silently spread on oilcloth pattern of bread balls.
And that view rises and falls, rises and falls, breaking every time a gently-transparent ice of his eyes.
Sparrow beating in the window glass.
But everything collapsed. Peacock is in a hurry, because he evening shooting. They will shoot dancing in a club. He invites Yana, if she has such a desire.
"You have a wonderful daughter."
Mom does not doubt it.
Peacock kisses her hand in farewell.
"It seems to me I've fallen in love with you, Joanna Arkadievna."
Yana all stuffed and crammed with full of that phrase. Pierced her through and through, as the backbone.
The mother in the kitchen pouring from the kettle into a basin of hot water, whisk the foam of baby soap.
Wash the head of Joanna Sinegina is its honorary right, happiness, sacred ritual - as much as two weeks, she was deprived of it!
Yana feels at the temples, crown, nape blissfully slow movement of her mother's fingers, squints, plunging face-weightless in the fragrant warmth of froth.
"It seems to me I've fallen in love with you, Joanna Arkadievna."
Could this be just a little true? They are from different worlds.
Peacock and...
She does not know with whom to compare themselves. She tries to see herself through his eyes.
Peacock, with its exotic plumage, long cigarettes and fireworks unknown to her name and information grin corner of his mouth.
With a fateful girl in sheepskin coat, with a motley cine his retinue.
At the thought of the girl in his chest as if turned over Jana hedgehog. Spiny and, moreover, are poisonous. Sea urchin.
His poisonous spines burned and stabbed, stabbed and burned.
Denis - a sunny day.
"Where are you going with a wet head?"
"By Linkov, I need to get a book"
Running and tying kerchief, Yana rolled down the stairs.
Deafening claps brown door with diamonds, cold air with a taste of snow - anesthesia, relief.
Yana ran past an empty bench under birch trees, past the entrance, where Linkovs live.
Along the path, further, further, for the rotation, where they are no longer seen a house where the street begins Ovrazhya with one-story houses is and front gardens, pristine white, windswept snow.
Ovrazhya with three dim lights under which swarms of whirling snowflakes.
Yana ran and her brand new boots in the snow printed narrow crooked tracks-beans.
She ran into the enemy camp, to the only one that can help her. For hipster and baggage Lyudmila.
The same gate, rickety porch, shabby broom that sweeps Jana same with snow boots.
And bitter smelling fumes room, because the mother is always too early to save the damper slides. And she, Yana, in the heat of carbon monoxide with Lyudmila whispering behind a wardrobe.
Only this is another Yana. And another Lyudmila. Eight years they went their separate path, not understanding, condemning, chuckling over each other.
But now Lyudmila forgiving; She generously, it winner.
Lyudmila, Yana wants to be like you, to those whom composing satires, on the fateful maiden in sheepskin coat.
Become Peacock for "their", even wearing a peacock feathers.
Lyudmila knows nothing of this.
Ian wants to transform itself from a Cinderella into a princess, and the role of the Fairy instructs her Lyudmila. That's all.
Eight years ago Ian ink redraws itself at arm tattoo Lyudmila.
Yana returned to her, that's all.
The angle of the wardrobe was an old Lyudmila's residence.
It nailed to the back wall mirror in antique carved frame.
Before the mirror is a desk, over which hangs from the ceiling by a dusty lamp shade paper.
Lyudmila studied in some college. In preparation for classes, she always sees herself in the mirror.
Among compasses and textbooks have eyebrow pencil and a box with cosmetics.
"To cut?" Lyudmila weighs more in the palm of the wet strands of hair Ioannina.
"As you wish," Yana cheeks burning, her hands are cold.
She is aware that her condition - abnormality, disease.
Two Jana how would coexist - the former understands everything, condemns, and wonders curiously waiting for - what in the end is the one of the new Yana?
"Now is the squeak - very briefly, you know, such a haircut typhoid. You will not go. Want to like me? "
Poisoned hedgehog again stirs in her throat.
"Maybe it's tail?" She squeezed,
"So-called" Horse Tail ". On the fringe? "
"As you wish."
"Paint with Henna?"
"Paint," Yana blinked.
Sassy is cast copper mane intercepted at the nape blue plastic ring. The same blue clips squeeze the earlobes.
Oh, God...
Yana with horror and delight looks like a Fairy-Lyudmila turns her face into something puppet-theater.
Is it her such a huge gloomy eyes with heavy brows shot up to the most lashes, this pale pink velvet skin and Negro, cherry-purple mouth?
"Last squeak of GUM girl got," says Ludmila this lipstick - If you do not like, there are maroon.
"Let this."
A "fatal" is the same lipstick.
"Stand up!" Ordered Lyudmila, "skirt is come, and the sweater is not mine. Something must be airy and open. "
Chinese yellow sweater have pride Yana. She bought it in Moscow Passage, having stood for three hours.
"For example."
Blouse from trendy smoky-gray nylon pouch on with lush transparent sleeves. Black leather belt.
"Awesome," purrs Lyudmila, smoothing on their thighs chinese yellow sweater. Catlike her eyes, absorbing the golden yellow of sweaters, flared brighter, "You should wear a neck, you have beautiful shoulders!
"Let's change, Sinegina."
Inflates, as usual?
No, they really are now both compelling - extravagantly romantic-Jan and advertising-sports Lyudmila.
"Let's change it."
"And what shoes?"
As for the shoes. You cannot, in fact, going to the 56th year of the club in the boots as the forty fifth.
Back home for shoes, appeared before the mother in such attire is not yet possible.
Fairy-Lyudmila, maintaining the role until the end, Jan donates a pair of worn-out boats.
Shoes Yana high, it is to cram them wool.
"Say hello to him," Lyudmila winked at parting.
Her teeth, once black and white keys, exactly sparkle and humid, one to one.
A smile, this will mean: guessed, but did not ask. Tell myself, not going anywhere.
She never met Lyudmila more.
Home page