Hell and paradise. Марина Кужман

there. Suddenly, I saw a free space near a very elegant man. I didn’t think long; I went and sat.

      “What you like to drink?” right away the bartender politely asked, holding out to me the menu.

      “Absolute,” I answered.

      I made my first sip. The sound of music playing was “Welcome.” I felt very relaxed. My very handsome neighbor, seemingly inaccessible, suddenly turned to me. Oh, what a wonderful face it was. If the eyes are the mirror of the soul, it was a mirror that in one moment can fix all the damage, create harmony, fill you with light to enjoy life right here and right now.

      I was reminded of the words of my old friend: “Wealth is the man himself” – it was in this case.

      He looked at me so carefully with the restrained greed of the artist going to capture your image for centuries and centuries. He looked at me with almost amazement. I felt really happy, as in like my early childhood when I was just over a year old and the whole family gathered at the samovar at the table over which hung a beautiful pink shade with fringe in my father’s hands; such a serene state when you are loved only for the fact that you are you. “What you drink?” he asked with pleasantly vibrating voice, so touching, smiling. “Absolute,” I answered, smiling to his smile. “You have accent,” he noted slightly absently. “From where are you?” I was feeling that he likes me and he was interested about me, and I understood that he is not the man who likes yes, yes – no, no, and I was curious what he thinks about me.

      “What you think from where is I?” He started guessing. “From Germany?”

      “No.”

      “From Fr“From Czechoslovakia?”

      “No.

      I am from Russia,” in the end I recognized. “From Russia,” he repeated with amazement and asked right away,

      “How is Russia?”

      “Good. Democracy,” I said with sadness in my voice.

      “But people hungry?” he said as if reading my thoughts.

      “What is your name?”

      “My name is Charlotta.”

      And then he introduced himself.

      “My name is Steve Benderoth. I work in TV. I make music for a commercial channel.

      What about you?” he asked.

      “I am an artist.”

      Of course, I was not. But I cannot and didn’t want to say that I am a cleaning lady or massage therapist or masseuse or economist or bookkeeper. It will look very prosaic. But I want something miracle like he is like my mood now. He is looking for a relative soul, and I don’t want to disillusion him. I want that he will be happy in that moment like I am now. “I feel scared,” I said. I was reminded of the moment I was afraid to come in the bar. “With me, you cannot be afraid anything,” he said confidently in his own voice. My glass already

      was empty. “Can I buy you drink?” “Later,” I said shyly.

      “When later?” he asked again.

      “When later?” the barman repeated with a friendly smile, pouring me a glass.

      “And also I am writing poetry.”

      And I read a few lines that really came to my head in that moment.

      “I will put this with music,” he said approvingly.

      “Are you married?” he asked. “No, I am divorced.”

      “Do you have children?”

      “Daughter. She is eleven, and she is with my parents.”

      “Why did you come here?” he asked again. “It is very hard to stay in one city and even in one country with the man whom you love a lot and with whom everything is finished.”

      He looked at me with understanding and wonder.

      “I am going through divorce too,” he said, “and I have two daughters, four and six years old. I have a house in Long Island, and tomorrow I have to go to see my children. Do you want go with me?” I didn’t answer. It will not be pleasant new woman and especially in their house. It may be even painful for her. I don’t want be the reason for somebody’s pain, I thought, but I didn’t tell anything. “Can I invite you for dinner?” he asked.

      “Maybe tomorrow,” I said indecisively.

      I felt a magical attraction to him. My close plan on the eve of back to Russia. I miss my daughter very much, and I felt that this new meeting will turn on me here again. I thought, from where it is unknown this cosmic attraction is such an incomprehensible yet sudden affinity with this man? We got out of the bar. It was a very unusually warm evening. It was the beginning of spring, March 16, but like summer. Steve was without a jacket even.

      Soon, we were in a beautiful classic-style Italian restaurant. The hall was almost empty; it was very late that time already. We sat at the table face-to-face. When I looked at him, it was amazing – how wonderful he was so excellent, magnificent, and superior.

      And he looked at me with wonder and pronounced, “Madonna.”

      I felt so full of confidence in him. It is like one sheet of paper torn many times ago suddenly connected and became whole again and everything came together so exactly and easy. Later I wrote this poem:

      I remember that evening in Irish bar, We were sitting there in half-nightmare. Jesus Christ, Virgin Mary—

      That thought suddenly came to us. We’ve known each other for a thousand years – That’s our attraction’s secret.

      What does this meeting mean When a moment equals to eternity?

      The waiter brought the menu. I ordered salmon. I didn’t understand why, but Steve wondered about my choice. Our dinner finished after midnight. Then we walked to his apartment. It was close, on West Fifty-Fifth Street between Eighth and Ninth Avenues. He has a small onebedroom apartment on the sixth floor in the building with an elevator. When we came to his apartment, I sat on the sofa in the living room, and he told me about his life. Recently, his father died, and his partner too, like result he got depression and became almost impotent, which started a problematic relationship with his wife. He was talking and I was listening, but, mostly, I was admiring him, how wonderful he is. His voice – every word, every syllable, every sound – made big sense. I understood that a lot of sad events happened to him, but it is so nothing compared to what he is now and here, so unusual, marvelous, extraordinary with his beautiful face and astonishing voice that you want to listen to, like music. Voice in which has everything: feeling, sense, sensation, sentiment, pulse, significance, point, denotation, intellect, mind, intelligence, common sense, wisdom, opinion, account, and belief. Here I saw abundance. I saw a shining semicircle above his head. It was a halo – a sign of holiness, how it was later explained to me in church. Steve was a Protestant, but he does not go to the church.

      Then I asked about his religion. He smiled and said, “God is in my heart.”

      Morning came not visibly. I had a short sleep on the sofa, and Steven went to his bedroom. In the morning, I did not feel that it was a night almost without sleep. I felt a huge energy between us, which was giving power.

      We were in the elevator. A woman, his neighbor, was there too. He used to live for a long time in this building. It was his apartment before marriage.

      “Charlotta,” he introduced me. “She is from

      Russia.”

      The woman nodded friendly and told her name. We went to have breakfast. The evening’s charm did not go away; it became even stronger. I was enjoying every moment with my new friend, and he changed his plan and did not go to Long Island that day.

      We