Morphine the phantom of love. Ром Амор

      ‘Good evening, Vladimir!’ Two old women greeted me at the porch of our five-storey house.

      ‘Good evening! How have you been keeping, Galina Olegovna?’

      ‘Well, dear, thank you. Meet my old friend, Olga Dmitriyevna. She, too, knew your mother.’

      ‘Nice to meet you,’ I answered pulling a smile to a sincere “nice to meet you” on her part.

      ‘I knew you when you were small still,’ the woman of about sixty years continued. ‘Your parents once brought you with them to the central railway station. At the time, I was working as an accountant there. Your family was travelling to Crimea on vacation.’

      ‘Unfortunately, as is often the case, our childhood memories are replaced with the memories of subsequent years. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you at all.’

      ‘That’s fine, I’m glad to see that you have grown into such a handsome and healthy man.’

      ‘Thank you for your kind words. Excuse me but I have to run, it’s been a hard day,’ I tried to extricate myself from getting to know each other any further.

      ‘Ah, Volodya, by the way,’ Galina Olegovna interrupted having recalled something, ‘an employee from the public utility service came by again today. Haven’t you repaid your debt for the apartment yet?’

      ‘No, not yet, haven’t been able to come up with money,’ I answered in embarrassment before the new acquaintance.

      ‘She said a large penalty had already accrued and asked me to pass you this envelope.’ The old woman opened her old-fashioned handbag and after fumbling around medicines packaging and newspaper scraps, she found the white envelope in question, which probably held another court summons for non-payment of debt. ‘Here you go.’ After taking a closer look at my packed paintings, she added: ‘I see you’re bringing them home again.’

      ‘That’s right, I always keep all that is mine with me,’ the old women smiled, and I, taking one more note from the utility service, bid them goodbye and went up to the fifth floor.

      As soon as I disappeared behind the door of our entrance, and my steps up the stairs were no longer heard, Galina Olegovna, having again zipped close her handbag, began sharing the latest gossip and stories about the neighbourhood with her friend.

      ‘Olga, what a shame about Volodya. He used to be such a good boy, brought up well by such loving parents, always dressed to the nines, such a gentleman and so sociable. Fate was kind to him. I’ve lived in this house for almost forty years now and I had known his mother and father for more than three decades. They were so proud of him! Not only they, but we all were so proud of this boy! He received an excellent education and, by the age of thirty, became the director of a huge company, a corporation, as they say these days. Volodya was respected by everyone in this neighbourhood – from the baker to the mayor. He often travelled abroad and was always the object of women’s desires.’

      ‘So, what happened? Why can’t he even pay for his apartment now?’ the friend interrupted Galina Olegovna holding her breath in anticipation.

      ‘Oh, my dear, when a man is in a mess, some woman is surely to blame,’ Galina Olegovna tied a knot with her little silk scarf around her neck with affected dramatism and continued, ‘Who else but a woman can inspire or ruin a man.’

      ‘Has he fallen in love?’

      ‘Of course he has, sweetheart, what else,’ the companion said. ‘Head over heels.’

      ‘What was her name?’ asked Olga Dmitriyevna with aroused interest.

      ‘Marina.’

      ‘Marine almost.’

      Ignoring her friend’s contribution, Galina Olegovna continued with her usual emotional tone: ‘They were such an incredibly beautiful couple. They were a pleasure to look at. And I should know, I would see them here often when they came to visit his parents, when they were still alive. They loved Marina as if she was their own flesh and blood. She was a bit younger than him but a perfect match. Beautiful brown hair, wasp waist, graceful gait, and her manner of speech… And what lively eyes! You could lose yourself in them. Perfectly charming. You know, she reminded me of myself when I was young.’ A sense of personal self-worth flashed on Galina Olegovna’s face. She glanced at her friend, who was completely immersed in the story and continued: ‘They were a couple for a few years, and their love added colours to this house and street.’

      ‘So, what happened?’ Olga Dmitriyevna asked impatiently.

      ‘Olga, please don’t rush me! Where was I? Well, their love was like in movies. He gave her flowers, carried her in his arms, bought her cars.’

      ‘Cars?!’

      ‘Yes, I think I have already mentioned that he was quite successful, haven’t I?’ Galina Olegovna approached her friend’s ear and slowly dragged the words, ‘Rich, very rich,’ and having straightened up again, she continued: ‘He was a paragon of the independent and successful type!’

      ‘What about her? What did she do?’

      ‘As for that, my dear, it remains a secret,’ the old woman said raising her eyebrows. ‘I had asked his mother several times about it. It was impossible to get Volodya to say one word about his personal life, and his mother dodged my questions. Obviously with my aristocratic descent, I wouldn’t insist. You know, I’m quite a modest woman and don’t like to meddle in other people’s business,’ remarked Galina Olegovna, adjusting her scarf again as if it was some halo of dignity. ‘But one thing I know for sure: it was Marina who taught him how to paint. She loved painting. One day, she showed me a drawing. And literally on the spot I was able to tell that she was talented. I remember, Volodya even opened an art gallery for her on St. Sophia Square.’

      ‘What a man!’ exclaimed her companion in delight.

      ‘Yeah, a real man is one capable of great deeds. And Vladimir was such a man. I remember, he even quit his career and business for her sake.’

      Olga Dmitriyevna could not believe her ears and kept shaking her head in astonishment.

      ‘Of course, I do not know whether any of it is true, but I know for sure that there was a time when they moved to southern Europe. The tears his mother shed, anticipating having to part with the kids. I consoled her. Assuaged her. I kept telling her that it was all for the best. And to myself I thought that we all make reckless decisions when in love. After all, you have to agree that a person in love is a person who is out of his mind.’

      ‘Oh, how I wish my granddaughter would meet such a groom,’ put in Olga Dmitriyevna dreamily.

      ‘Don’t be so quick to wish someone else’s life for yourself. You never know what lurks beneath the surface.’

      ‘So, what happened to such a successful man? Why can’t he even pay bills?’ the friend asked Galina Olegovna snapping out of her daydreaming. ‘How could someone who had everything hit rock bottom? Did you see how he looks? He’s tall and has handsome features, but his skin is grey and there are bags under his eyes.’

      ‘When he broke up with the love of his life–’

      ‘Did she leave him?’ asked Olga Dmitriyevna, perplexed.

      ‘You can say so,’ Galina Olegovna looked at the lit windows of his apartment and sighed softly. ‘You know, my dear, evenings are still chilly these days, and I am not dressed for the weather. Moreover, it’s rather late, we’d better go home.’

      ‘Wait, tell me what happened. Did she leave him?’

      ‘I don’t know. All I know is that he is alone here. And has been for several