The Postal Pigeon

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THE POSTAL PIGEONA Sketch

Dmitrii Emets

Translated from Russian

by

Jane H. Buckingham

Jane H. Buckingham 2011

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http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3463868.Dmitrii_Aleksandrovich_Emets
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In the courtyard in March, the sun is shining whimsically, tears of icicles are

flowing, but here, in apartment 15, where it smells of old things and where porcelain

knickknacks stand on shelves, it is always autumn.

The old lady is Gods dandelion, you blow and she goes to pieces. On the wrongside of eighty. The hair is sparse, thin, just a bit of fluff. Smooth throughout, only one

strand above the right ear rebels, which imparts a little flippant look to her. She isstanding by the window, pinching the dry flowers off the violet. Only her thoughts arenot here, not in the violet and not in the sound of water dripping. It is evident that theold lady is rather impatient, she looks back, moves around, opens her mouth, and thenimmediately closes it. Finally, having decided, with quick mincing steps she approachesthe door and calls ingratiatingly, Coral Alekseevna! Coral Alekseevna!

After the second call, the squeaking of a bed and an annoyed huff are heard in thenext room. Dandelion is frightened. What is it? Are you sleeping, love? You have anap, my darling Tamara Vasilevna! a thick voice mimics in irritation. Barely struggledwith blood pressure and now woken up, old fool! Dandelion pulls her head into hershoulders. However, she has already decided, she will back down later. Coral

Alekseevna, will you be so kind Can I trouble you? she calls with the delicate hyper-politeness of an old woman. The bed frame squeaks furiously. The muffled thud of barefeet on carpet, and then louder on linoleum. Dandelion, listening to these angry steps,shrinks even more.

A stout moustached old woman about seventy starts to walk into the room. This isCarol Alekseevna Shvydchenko, the niece of Gods dandelions brothers wife orsomething in this vein. Flowers, a cross between a poppy and a rose, nonexistent innature, scatter like large spots on her blue robe. Her speech betrays the Ukrainian inher. Her g sounds as in Ukrainian, with an audible puff of breath. Her t after sh ismuted, and at moments of surprise or happiness, she lifts her hands, utters Pooh! GoodLord! with an indescribable expression. But now is not such a moment. Now the

awakened old woman is out of sorts.After entering the room, Coral fixes a scowl on Gods dandelion. How much morecan there be? Cook me, the market me, prescriptions me Now Ill die like a dog,and youll outlive me still, she hisses. Well what can I do for you, Tamara Vasilevna?Read again? Gods dandelion nods with hope. Why read? You must know it by heartalready. Or will something new appear there from reading? Coral Alekseyevna is beingsarcastic and, walking along the room, begins to grumble.

Gods dandelion blinks guiltily and waits until the storm passes. Finally, the stoutold woman takes the tattered letter from the table, brings it up to her eyes, and isalready about to read, but here it comes into her head that she still has not yet needledenough for the interrupted sleep. Why dont you read it yourself? Its written to you, notto me! Here, read, enough for me! she snorts, jumping from the formal you to theinformal and shoving the letter into Gods dandelions hand.

The old lady takes the letter and, squinting, twists it. Coral watches searchingly.Her entire massive figure expresses superiority and provocation. Suddenly Dandelionchanges. She is ready to give in to everything else, but not the single most importantthing to her. She is choking with indignation, stutters, and even does not finish herwords.

The moustached old woman listens indifferently. There is nothing unusual for herin Dandelions agitation and stuttering, she has already heard all this repeatedly. Coral


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already knows that now, among other words, the word cataract, biting like a crab withclaws, will be heard. Carol waits. Finally, the word cataract rings out, and the verydistant relative nods with satisfaction.

Dandelion pauses to breathe, and, hiccupping, blinks her slightly swollen eyelids.You would go to Vinnitsa Just that they dont really expect you there she sobs.

This observation disrupts the customary flow of disagreement. An offended Coralseethes and begins to shout. She shouts loudly, defeating the enemy not so much by thevalidity of argument as with the power of sound. She isnt wanted? They dont expecther? And what on Earth has this Moscow yielded to her! Why the hell is she babysittingan old woman here? Coral shouts so loudly because she actually knows: she isnt wantedin Vinnitsa, and even nobody there for her to go to.

The decibels increase. A frightened Dandelion huddled up her flabby back to thewindowsill and gets ready to squeak Help! But at the very moment when, according toall expectations, a monstrous explosion must take place and break Dandelion intopieces, Coral suddenly loses steam. She still mutters for some time, but already listlessly,without heat, and finally falls silent.

Silence hangs in the room with pink shutters. Dandelion blinks, Coral thuds herheels on the carpet, cooling down. After about ten minutes, the distant relative stopsangrily and takes the letter. Dandelion gingerly sits down on the edge of the sofa. Thereis truce. Well, listen, Tamara Vasilevna, my dove! Coral says sourly and begins to read.She reads clearly, loudly, but without expression. She does not separate the sentences,the reason why it seems that at regular intervals a large bean is dropped onto an ironsheet.

Dear Granny,Each letter you ask me how I am. Everything is as always with me, that is,

nowhere better. I live in Tyumen. My health is good, no pain, no frostbites, also do notneed to stay in the hospital. Do not worry, old lady. I no longer drink vodka, because it

is all wrong, only wine and beer sometimes, but only for special occasions or holidays. I eat well. The stomach works normally and this is good, because many here

acquired intestinal ulcer from dry food.

Oh, good gracious! Ulcer! Dandelion exclaims with horror. Coral looks sourly ather and continues reading.

I dress warmly. Recently bought myself an imported jacket with a high collar,called Alaska. I also wear shoes that the weather demands. So, Granny, do notworry. Every night I watch TV, including News to keep track of what is happeningaround the world. It shows here perfectly, although the tower is rather far away.

Read about the skinny ones, read about the skinny ones! Dandelion promptsimpatiently. Coral frowns and raises her thick voice.

Granny, you ask in a letter if I am married. How is one to get married as thereare no decent girls here, and those that are, are all married. They paint their lips, theskirts are stretched in such a way that you see their bottom from underneath, and theway they walk, parade, even when the stockings freeze to their legs. Disgusting even


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just to look at them. Besides, they are also so skinny. I recently went out with one. Allskin and bones, as the saying goes. You try to hold her and she will slip between yourfingers.

After reading to this place, Coral would spit loudly, look sideways at Dandelion,

and continue.

So, Granny, I am not married yet and have no intention to Well what else towrite to you? You write that I should come soon or bring you here with me, else youwill not live long, and there will be no one to bury you. Do not even think about it,Granny, you will live for a long time, you are my strong old Granny, but I cannotbring you here, because here does not suit you and even the climate is not good. And Ialso cannot come, because the tickets are so expensive and also so far to travel. For thesame reason that with little money I cannot help you materially. Please forgive me forthat, Granny.

Well, that is all for now, I am wrapping this up, because the whole sheet isalready filled. Have to go drill a hole.

Your grandson Serozha.

The letter is read, and Dandelion sits all the time on the sofa with a peaceful andhappy face. She has listened to the same letter both the day before and the week before.If there were no letters to her, she would be completely consumed with worry, and therewould be nothing to live for. Pity that her eyes cannot see, even cannot make outSerozhas handwriting. Well, that is okay, Coral will read, although it is difficult withher, with Carol, well, that is okay too, God be her judge.

Then the old women have supper. Dandelion chews, swallows, but does not taste.She is again in dreams. Coral Alekseevna, love, well write back? she timidly asks. Andhell read them, nothing doing! Carol answers with a good-natured tingling in her voice.

Dandelion sighs, but does not insist, only asks, And you filled in the address correctly?Coral stirs, but without offence. She has already become silent for today. The first time,or what? she grumbles.

In an hour, Dandelion again gets worried and minces over to Coral. Seems a longtime no new letters from Serozha! Something has happened, perhaps? Youll have tohex Men just dont write much. No news is good news, Carol answers.

So passes this day, one of the many days in March. The same was in February,January, the same, if they keep living, will be in May. In the evening, when Dandelionhas fallen asleep, Coral quietly looks into her room. After standing for a while by thedoor, she goes into the kitchen, takes out a sheet of paper and, almost without thinking,begins to write.

Dear Granny,Here I am writing to you again because I know that you are already worried. My

health is good as before, no aches, even colds do not stick

Carol writes enthusiastically, even, perhaps, gets into the role. Nevertheless,indeed she has become skilled at it. What is this letter? The thirtieth, the fiftieth? Shehas already lost count.


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Dandelion has no one else besides the grandson. But the grandson at seventeenhad already left for Yakutia to drill oil wells there and disappeared. No letter, nopostcard, no phone call. Coral tried to find out, but really what to find out? The answerwas the addressee has left, period. Either the grandson has forgotten grandma or thevillage, but most likely he has been dead for a long time. The usual story, in the north,

get drunks, falls asleep in freezing weather, then you are ready to die. And earlierSerozha loved to drink hard.Having finished writing, Coral yawns and, after re-reading the letter, hides it in

one of the old envelopes. Then she gets up and, resonantly waddling on her stone heels,goes to bed.

March 2001


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The Postal Pigeon