Читаем Fall and Rise полностью

“Telephone, Dee,” a woman says from the door. Attractive, blackhaired, shiny black dress with several silver chains of various widths around her waist and neck. Bracelets, fingers full of rings.

“Is it an accent?”

“Pronouncedly Slavic.”

“Have him — no, I should take care of it.”

“You’re busy. I speak the lingua messenger. Have him what?”

“Cibette, this is Dan — Tell him the address and directions here right up to the fourth floor and where we’re situated in relation to the top step, and just to come, you hear — no excuses, but speak extra intelligibly and have him repeat everything back.” Cibette goes inside. “Some of the newer émigrés. So bright and talented. But the language is such a problem, they get lost or are spooked by our subways and have no money for cabs, besides getting cheated by them. I should have spoken to him. But you, that’s who. Marble of surprises, you look practically impeccable. Or does that sound incredibly mean? It does suddenly to me.”

“No. You mean, well, that you’ve never seen me out of my bathing suit, bathrobe, assorted worn-down T-shirts and jeans. But wait’ll I take off my coat. Almost the same old summer ho-hum clothes.”

“Now now, don’t be so unduly. Whatever. Been hitting this nutritious green wine a Hungarian friend sent over and I think too much. But that you wore shoes instead of sneakers is a positive sign of nattier garments to come.”

“How fancy,” touching the aluminum coatrack. “Yours?”

“Rented, as is the fur coat you see on it, to make the best impression on my very impressive guests, though I’m not impressed. Your umbrella isn’t that ratty to embarrass me, so leave it in the holder, though I can’t guarantee it’ll be there when you leave.”

“I’ll take another then.”

“Don’t you dare. Only the guests I don’t know or who can afford it are allowed to be thieves.”

I stick the umbrella into the holder, hang up my coat while she’s looking me over and nodding at my pants and shaking her head at my shirt, and hold out the flowers. “For you.”

“But I have no spare vases.”

“Hardly the gracious way of accepting.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure they’re beautiful, few and smell nice too. But the person who plans to present them should think beforehand of the harried hostess and myriad problems she’s apt to have with her party and that all her vases and hands will probably be filled. But what are we indulging in all this small hallway talk for? Usually you just kiss and are quickly in the room for a drink and by now my time should be too occupied for even a lingering hello and I’m getting worried it’s not. Ah, there’s the bell. Give a kiss, then get in there and ring them in. First left in the kitchen, and before you get a drink. First press the button marked T. Ask who’s there. Then release that button and listen while you press the L-button and then ring the R-button to let whoever it is in.”

“What should I L for?”

“Just if someone says it’s Harry, David or Andrei. If he says he’s a crazed razor-blade wielder who’s going to slice up us all, don’t ring him in. But go. Quick. Kiss. They’re ringing again. And find anything but an empty applesauce jar for your beautiful flowers,” and she gives them to me and I kiss her cheek and go inside. Bell’s ringing. I press the T-button and say “Hello?” and release it and listen and don’t hear anything and bell rings and Diana yells “What are you doing, Dan?” and I press the button and say “Yes?” and release it and press the L-button and a man says “Velchetski and friend,” and I ring him in. I take my sweater off, put it on top of the coatrack and see Diana leaning over the banister. “Grisha, how are you? — up here,” and I suppose it’s Grisha who says “I can’t see you but can only imagine your loveliness face from below and I feel simply great. Send me the elevator.”

“For two short flights?”

“These are not short. Only my legs and breath are, which make the stairs long. But you have no elevator car, don’t lie to me,” and something in Russian, “but I will still walk upstairs.”

“Dan,” Diana says, “you must meet this madman, but first plant those.” I didn’t know I still held them. Maybe I put them down, picked them up when I came out here. I go into the kitchen. Bell rings. I press it, put the wrapped flowers in a tall glass of water, get a glass of green wine at the bar, go to the cheese table and slice a piece of brie and introduce myself. Phil and his wife Jane. Bell rings. “Translate,” I say. “I’ll get it,” someone says near the kitchen. “Sculptors,” Phil says. “That so? What do you sculpt, or what with?” “Rubber,” Jane says. “Plastic,” Phil says, “but I really hate those questions, for my own idiosyncratic reasons, but understand why people ask them.” “Because they’re interested I guess,” I say. “But you actually sculpt with those materials?” Bell rings. “Oh no,” Jane says. “Molding, twisting — you know.” “Something like that for me too, but it’s too difficult — and again excuse my idiosyncrasies — for me to explain.” “Some art forms are tougher that way I suppose,” I say.