Anzhelica invited me once more to a cafe called 'Four Seasons' near the Park of 28 Guardsmen. There we sat, drinking Soviet Champagne, eating sushi, and talking for hours.
Half-tones, hints, and nuances filled our conversations - this was our secret language.
She spoke of how Alexander had tried to make her open up, but never could. “I wouldn’t mind playing around with hashish,” she added.
“I manage just fine without it,” I replied, which seemed to surprise her greatly.
“A true artist is forced to use drugs in order to paint...”
“No anesthesia is needed for me,” I said. “Your beauty is intoxication enough.”
The conversation turned to perfumes - their essence, blends, and meanings.
“On Saturday, I bought some perfume for myself,” she said, adding, “your eyes affect me the same way my face affects you.”
“I’m still wearing your bracelet,” I replied, showing it to her.
Once the bill was settled, we left the establishment. Anzhelica’s plan was to stop by the station for a ticket to Petropavlovsk, with a later transfer to the evening train for Voronezh. I decided to keep her company - a decision that would soon lead to regret.
Along the way, we stepped into an agency. Anzhelica lacked the funds even for an economy-class ticket; she leaned over the counter, getting face-to-face with the manager as she whispered her questions. The scene was so intimate that it felt as if, in another moment, sex would happen right there. The sight made my blood boil.
My jealousy was perfectly clear to me, yet her self-degradation remained a mystery. We stepped back outside and crossed the street.
“I will give you the money,” I said after a brief pause, desperate to stop her flirting with the young clerks. I checked the banking app on my phone. “There is a small saving; it should be enough for you.”
No sooner had Anzhelica finished her story than we entered another agency. The clerk there seemed stunned by her appearance. I watched indifferently as the man asked: “Won’t we have a cocktail together tomorrow? Say, at three o'clock?”
“No, at six,” she answered flirtatiously, her smile full of feigned intimacy - inviting and seductive.
When we left the agency, Anzhelica began to make excuses: “He was very useful to me. I am not going to the meeting, of course, but I could not refuse him,” she said, showing me the ticket for the day after tomorrow.
“Since you agreed, then you must go,” I replied. A sudden sickness hit my stomach at those words. Tears were close to the surface. My hand gripped her arm: “I cannot bear this, I cannot.”
At that moment, thoughts of prostitutes came to mind - how they stand on the street, flirting with every passer-by. But for them, it is work. The question remained: why does Anzhelica do it?
Sensing the mood, she pressed my hand to her warm breast. The gesture was tender and soft, as if she were comforting me.
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“Did you want me to be rude and sharp with him? But then, would he have sold me the ticket? You know, I can be rude when necessary, but never in your presence. I never meant to hurt your feelings. Forgive me.”
A heavy silence was my only response. At that moment, one of her phrases flashed through my mind: “No matter what trouble I got into, I always found someone to pay for my champagne.”
Of course! She was a woman who borrowed endlessly with no intention of paying it back, even boasting of her sexual invulnerability. She was an extortionist! It was a strange thing - to be so proud of her body and yet so debased, having forgotten all pride.
Then Anzhelica spoke of a falling out with Alexander over buying oil. Money was tight, and therefore...
“No money?” Surprise hit me, as I remembered providing financial help at nearly every meeting. “The sum given on Saturday should have lasted a month, and today is only Monday.”
“Well, there were debts to pay for things already in use.”
The thought of the rented apartment crossed my mind, but then the memory of the perfume bought on Saturday returned.
Hinting at debts, she looked away. Other words of hers came to mind: “They say that if wealth comes my way, I will squander it instantly, and no one will even know how. I never keep track of money.”
While Anzhelica realized that there were obvious inconsistencies in her stories, she left many loopholes for an inquisitive researcher. Matching one detail with another, I saw that the ends did not meet. A final verdict could have been passed - something she feared, as she lived not by rules, but by whim. Such is the reverse side of Anzhelica's fantasies.
We walked down the street, pressed tightly together, but all the warmth of her body failed to reach me; it could not soothe the pain.
The next day, hardly had I entered the café 'Ladya' when the waiter at the door greeted me with unsettling news: “Your friend came in this morning,” he said, “and her goodbye sounded as if she wouldn’t be back.”
“But didn’t we agree to meet here?” Horror seized me. Was it possible that I would never again see Anzhelica walking toward me? Such a thought felt like dying. A desperate wish grew for her to appear - if only for half an hour, even for a moment - wearing that pink dress. No questions would be asked; I would simply watch her, as if at a masterpiece.
And then she appeared. She was all in black velvet, her face even paler and more transparent than usual.
I led her to the table where Yura and I had sat before.
“You know,” she said, “the double pneumonia was terrifying at first, but now I’m glad. My greed for life has grown; I know it better now. All I want is to burn the candle at both ends.”
Admiring Anzhelica's beautiful madness, I would never offer the hollow advice of a caring friend: “You should think of your health.” Since her need is to waste herself in this feverish, bright life, I am ready to follow her wherever she goes.
She continued: “How can faithfulness to Alexander exist, when so much in me is met with his dislike, his scorn, and even his hate?”
“Yes,” I agreed, “for that is the true infidelity: when one loves only a part of a person and rejects all the rest.”
The time came to part. I saw her to the taxi. Once she was in the car, the realization hit: Now she will leave me. Agonizing anguish froze me where I stood.
“Let me kiss you, let me kiss you!” Anzhelica moaned, reaching for me. A long time passed before I could finally tear away from her lips.
“You are a colossal, amazing personality—free and strong,” I told her.
She answered:
“It is good that I’m leaving. Disappointment would have followed once you truly exposed me. At first, my mind decided your eyes were blue. They are so strange and beautiful - gray, with long black lashes. You are the most graceful woman I have ever seen. You do not walk; you slide across the ground.”
Hope remained until the very last that Anzhelica would change her mind, and yet she left. Left alone, the only desire is to fall asleep for many days and simply dream.
Why try to mend those broken mirrors?
They won't reflect your former grace,
For once, you found but only yourself,
When help was nowhere to be traced.
"Believe me, solitude is no accident.
It's not a cause for tragic cries;
By closing doors on all the world,
You shield yourself from gossip's lies.
Brewing your coffee a bit stronger,
Enjoying peace within the gloom,
Embracing themes of quiet longing,
You’ll see that vanity has no room.
You seek out solitude to breathe,
To be at one with heart and mind;
And in the silence, you’ll perceive —
A cleansed soul is what you’ll find.
Why mend the glass of broken mirrors,
Where you’re a parody, bent and small,
Amidst the shards of bitter whispers?
In solitude, you’ve found your all."
- Why do you glue the mirrors… ? Copyright: Irina Ube, 2022. Publication Certificate No. 122070103053