Morphine the phantom of love. Ром Амор
to ask you over for a cup of tea, but –’
‘Not to worry,’ the companion interrupted her, ‘I also have so many things to do before my husband gets home. Promise me that we’ll get back to this story later,’ and catching a promising look, she continued with gratitude: ‘I was glad to see you, to know that, at your respected age, you are full of health and strength, even just a year after your loving husband passed away.’
‘I’m very grateful to you for your support,’ the friends kissed each other on the cheek, like young coquettes and parted.
‘Why in the world did I loosen my silly tongue with a person who has never known the taste of loneliness,’ Galina Olegovna thought, returning home with small slow steps.
I arranged my seven paintings in the spot where they spent each night and sat in the armchair by the fireplace.
I stared for a while at the yellow flame, at how it was devouring the dry pieces of wood with abrupt pops expelling air from them. I was seeing off another evening of my life. I was recapturing the warm touch of Marina’s loving hands, taking in warmth from the fire. I could see her sitting on my lap, laying her head on my shoulder, pulling at the top button of my shirt with her delicate fingers, sharing her dreams and experiences with me. And as long as the fire was slowly burning, I would spend my time with her – the woman I love. I love just as I did before. Just as I promised to. Dearly and forever. Her only, my Marina.
Chapter 3
It was rather chilly in the apartment. Only a handful of ashes were left from yesterday’s fire. I had spent the entire night in the cosy chair without undressing. I glanced at my watch and got up with jolt – it was already eleven in the morning. I had to hurry up if I did not wish to miss another trading day. I was fully confident no one would buy them today, so I had breakfast, picked up my burden and rushed to Andriivskyi Descent.
‘Good afternoon, Vladimir.’
‘Good day,’ I said to a woman who was examining my works, as I put my coffee down. ‘Do you wish to buy a painting? There’s a discount today,’ my tongue let slip those two silly phrases.
‘A discount? So, what’s the price?’
‘Which do you like most?’
‘Any,’ she replied with indifference, as she looked fixedly at me with her brown eyes.
‘Wait a minute, how do you know my name? I don’t recall you as one of my regulars.’
‘Regulars?’ The woman broke out in laughter, so I had to take out a cigarette. ‘You haven’t had one single customer in 6 months, and I doubt anyone in the neighbourhood would be willing to pay for this junk. My name is Viktoriya Aleksandrovna Shlepko. I’m the head of the public utilities service, and you, my honourable artist, top our list of the biggest debtors. It seems you are no longer concerned about us having cut the central heating and telephone line in your flat for non-payment? Well, our next step will be electricity and water.’
‘Hold on,’ I interrupted this wound-up woman, ‘you won’t be able to do that if only for technical reasons.’
‘Believe me, nothing is impossible for me!’ she shouted.
‘No, you’re wrong. It seems that there is one thing you find difficult,’ I said with a smile.
‘What thing?’ Ms. Shlepko asked.
‘You can’t figure out how to make me pay my debt, isn’t that so?’
She took out some document and hurled it at my stall where my paintings were displayed, adding: ‘Legal action has been taken. Keep in mind that I will no longer wait till someone buys your paintings. Find the money and show up at court with it. You will pay dearly for my nerves! And for the time I’ve wasted on you!’
Her shoulders winced in irritation and as she turned around and was about to walk away, my bleak words caught up with her: ‘I have no money for you!’
‘Well then, we’ll have to take away your desolate and most likely rotten dwelling.’
‘Are you planning on throwing me in the street, out of my own home?’ I was seething with anger. I took three steps, and was standing right in front of her, looking straight into her stony eyes.
‘Vladimir, if you’re unable to make a living from you blobs of paint, maybe you should think about drawing caricatures and cartoons?!’ she retorted grinning.
‘I’ll make sure the first one will be of your nasty face, Viktoriya!’
‘See you in court!’
She turned around and left me in the street with the summons and the disapproving glances of my colleagues and passers-by who had witnessed the entire scene.
The day went by over seven cigarettes. Perhaps the woman from the public utilities service was right to some extent: today, too, went by without me selling any of my paintings. Maybe my drawings were really good for nothing? Since I had never dreamed of becoming an artist. I had never studied painting. I merely painted what I felt… But apparently, those feelings were not enough for the paintings to sell. Not to worry, I’ll paint a dozen more. If I need the money, I can allow myself to draw a trite field of poppies or the domes of St. Andrew’s Church against the background of the spring sky. It’s very simple.
I collected my pictures and trudged home. Perhaps, you are familiar with the mood of a person who has decided to give up on his or her principles or, to be more exact, just decided to digress from them for a short term. To change the angle of perception. And for what? Obviously, for the money. Money is that for which many people veer away from their principles and views.
As I passed the benches near my house, I greeted Galina Olegovna mechanically, who completely alone this time was enjoying the fresh air of the still chilly spring evening.
‘Dear Volodya, the head of our public utility service, a highly respected lady named Viktoriya, passed by today–’
Not waiting for her to finish, I said: ‘So it was you who gave her directions to where she could find me?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry if this has caused you trouble.’
I was getting worked up and about to let the old woman have it for being a blabbermouth, but I stopped in time, showing tolerance and respect for her age.
‘She said that if one tenant fails to pay his utility bills, she has the right to raise the issue of cutting off the whole building from the services. Please, have pity on us, quite a few elderly people live in this house. I don’t even dare think what diseases we might catch at our old age if it gets cold in our flats. Immediately mould, mildew and who knows what else will appear on our walls,’ the old woman continued to dramatize. ‘But most importantly, Volodya, I wouldn’t like see any tenants denigrate your good name and the memory of your parents.’
With an affected sadness, she adjusted the silk scarf that enveloped her neck with a sea of blue.
‘Yes, of course. I will take the necessary measures. No need to worry, Galina Olegovna.’
I approached her, placing my paintings on the bench, and hugged her, thanking her for her support. The woman seemed to cheer up at once: her sad face transformed into a face full of understanding.
‘I’d love to help you. But my pension barely covers my medicines. And my children don’t earn much either.’
‘Oh, no, I would never think of asking you for money.’
‘But remember Vladimir, I may not have any money, but you can always come to me for advice.’
‘Yes, of course.’
I was about to pick up my paintings, when the woman asked me to see her home, as in such chilly weather she could easily catch a cold. Thus, she emphasised again that she would not survive were the public utilities be cut off from the house.
I took her by the arm and led her little by little, with small steps, into the entrance.
As soon as I was in my flat, I prepared a quick dinner,