The Lovers. Юлия Добровольская

word, every gesture… analyze what you liked and what you don’t like about him.”

      Dina was overjoyed to hear this response, so the first thing she did was take out her notebook, open it at the right page and let her eyes roam over the letters KK, the telephone number, and the small heart drawn beside it. She pressed the page to her lips and sent a mental hello to the hand that had left this precious memento of the long day, which had started at eight in the morning at the exam and finished after midnight, when she had returned to her dorm room.

      Dina remembered the touch of this hand on hers. And the way this hand lay on her back for a long, endlessly long time… when they danced to the Moonstone… and then briefly, but firmly pressed Dina to him…

      Konstantin Konstantinovich. What would be a more affectionate name? Kostenka… My darling Kostenka… Kostyusha… Kostik. Kotik… Or simply “my darling.”

      No, all this made her head spin.

      The way he looked at her knees. No, the way he looked into her eyes. Yes, eyes are much better. He sat so close to her there, in the cinema, and looked at her. Then she had turned to him, and his face was so close… His eyes sparkled and his slightly parted lips were smiling. And later, he wanted to kiss her… His face was so close again, close enough to cup his face with her hands and press her lips to his forehead, cheeks, his lips… touch her lips to his…

      “Can I think about this?” Dina asked, embarrassed that she first imagined it all and only then asked for permission.

      “Yes, yes,” grinned the Inner Voice. “You can think about whatever you want if it’s love.”

      “Well,” Dina said. “It is love.”

      “Just remember that this is about your love,” said the Inner Voice, emphasizing the word your, “you don’t yet know anything about his feelings. Right?”

      “Yes,” agreed Dina. “I will only think about my love for now.”

      “And don’t go too far, don’t expect what you simply can’t… have no right to expect from him. Or you’ll cry bitter tears later on.”

      “All right,” promised Dina and went back to thinking about Konstantin Konstantinovich… Kostya’s lips.

      They were so lively, so mobile… it was so nice to look at them whenever Konstantin Konstantinovich… whenever Kostenka said something… when he smiled… It must be so nice when these lips kissed you…

      What would it be like? Dina had only seen kisses in the movies. Arthur Davlatyan’s kiss did not count – he had barely touched the corner of Dina’s lips with his lips. That was when she had helped him with the first project. He had said, “Thank you so much,” and kissed her.

      “You’re welcome,” Dina had replied. “But don’t ever do that again!”

      So he never did, even though sometimes Dina wanted him to repeat the kiss. But he was waiting for her permission, and Dina did not like that.

      “Look at yourself,” thought Dina, “He kissed you without your permission, you didn’t like it, and when he waited for your permission, you also didn’t like it.”

      Valera Revyakin did not wait and did not ask for permission. He kissed her for real, but that was a very long time ago.

      Konstantin Konstantinovich had also waited for permission… No, that was different – he was not waiting for permission, he was simply being considerate. He did not want to offend or upset her. That was something else.

      If he had decided to kiss her, what would it have been like?

      Dina did not know the answer to that question. She did not have enough experience. But she wanted to find out. She dearly wanted to know… She was willing to pay with bitter tears for it, only to find out how it feels to be kissed by her darling Kostya…

      Darling Kostya?!

      Yes, darling Kostya. Dear Kostya. My dear, darling Kostya.

      Mom

      Dina’s mom stood on the platform, a little distance away from all the departing and arriving passengers. Dina hadn’t told her the carriage number, she had passed a message on through Aunt Ira that her mom didn’t need to meet her. She could find her way home with no problem, she wasn’t a little girl anymore. Although she knew that her mother loved train stations and loved welcoming and saying goodbye – it was always a big deal for her. In all these years, she hadn’t seen Dina off only once.

      Her mother saw Dina immediately and waved to her.

      “Dinochka! Daughter!” She hugged Dina.

      And Dina felt the indescribable warmth, sensed her mother’s love – so clear and simple, like drinking water when you are consumed with thirst.

      “Mom… why are you here? I’m not a little girl.”

      But her mother just beamed and couldn’t stop gazing at Dina.

      They got on the bus. It was only three stops until home and her mom only had time to ask about the semester and the work placement.

      “My clever girl. I am so proud of you!” She held Dina under the arm the whole way, pressing her close.

      The house smelled, as always, of comfort, warmth, and delicious food. As always, Dina’s mother had made her daughter’s favorite dishes. The table was set and while Dina showered after the trip, her mom warmed up the hot food and put a bottle of champagne on the table.

      “To you, darling!” Said her mother as she raised her glass.

      “To you, Mom!” Said Dina and for one elusive moment, she saw herself sitting opposite Konstantin Konstantinovich: with a glass of champagne slightly raised above the table, his laughing eyes, a lock of black hair falling onto his forehead, the parted mouth, and the attractive large fingers holding a glass.

      “Dinochka, what’s going on with you?” Her mom looked at her closely.

      “Nothing, Mom! Everything’s fine!” Dina tried to act natural and even laughed. “Why do you ask?”

      But it’s hard to hide from your own mother. Especially a loving mother.

      Примечания

      1

      Okanye – A particular way of pronouncing the vowels ‘a’ and ‘o’, characteristic of certain Russian dialects (trans).

      2

      The Black Cat – A popular song of 1963, composed by Y. Saulsky, lyrics by M. Tanich (trans).

      3

      The Moonstone – A song composed in 1966 by A. Ostrovsky, lyrics by I. Kashezheva (trans).