‘That comes to three thousand seven hundred roubles.’ The officious woman declared stern faced, already writing the Krasnodar to Moscow ticket. 10pm the following evening was the earliest available. Another 270 beers Bronte lamented.
Fortunately the other airline accommodated the dilemma more cordially. Their replacement cost was only one hundred and thirty beers or 80 euros. He paid in euros. But if he was despondent with the news of another day’s delay and the chunk Alessiya had indirectly taken from the five hundred cash she’d refunded, Tanya was elated. She had him for another night! Who knows what could happen?
‘Let’s go shopping. I want to celebrate that you must stay here.’
Oh no, not more boots. And wait, we haven’t even played cards! ‘What for, Tanya?’
‘I want to buy you something, a memento from me.’
She chose a set of ten pieces in a glorious hand painted array of pinks and creams with gold leaf. Later, admiring his ‘matroshki’ or Russian dolls and the delicate craftsmanship that had gone into all the pieces fitting so perfectly inside one another, he mused that he had not seen any in any Russian home yet. Then again, no one he knew had boomerangs on their walls back home.
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‘I hope you understand I won’t see you off at the airport tomorrow,’ she said as she brushed her new mousey blonde coloured hair. Then, adjusting her g-string panties and walking back to bed continued, ‘I have to get home before tomorrow evening. You know how it is, family stuff.’
‘Hey that’s okay, I understand. I’ll go with you to the airport and see you off first.’ He kissed her on the arm and shoulder as she slid under the sheets.
‘But that’s hours Joey, what will you do? You should stay here and relax… sleep until the early morning.’
‘I know it’s quite a while, but hey, I’m doin’ nothing and it’ll save the extra day of hotel charges. I’ll get something to eat, have a few beers then hang around the airport ‘til my flight leaves. Besides, I can probably crash somewhere for a while.’ Doting Joey pulled Alessiya back under the sheets. She giggled.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Zhana also took the next day off, declaring she was ill. She couldn’t deal with work at that time. Tanya on the other hand had to leave for her sister’s place. In front of Zhana, she kissed Bronte goodbye with more intensity than he was expecting. After all that had transpired with Zhana, the kiss in the park, the closeness prior to Willy’s intrusion, he detected a degree of uncertainty between the two girls. After a few days with him gone and out of the picture, it was nothing a chat wouldn’t fix. Tanya stepped in nobly to dispel doubts and fears Willy harboured on arrival. But Bronte also guessed her swift action to take up position on his lap was a move with a romantic ulterior motive. Now her kiss had verified that.
Up to that time Tanya would’ve probably described her life as meaningless. Meeting Bronte had shown that although she lived in Woop-Woop, the chance for something meaningful falling into her lap out of the blue was possible. She departed with an unfamiliar ray of hope the Australian had shone into her life. Anyway, she’d be coming back to stay in three days. Zhana had found a position for Tanya at the shop so they’d have ample time for reflection and any conflict resolution then. Bronte on the other hand knew he’d probably never see her again and he wondered if she’d sensed he was thinking just that. Truth was he was relieved she had gone. It was appropriate that his last hours in Russia should be spent alone with Zhana.
‘You know I was almost glad to see Willy walk in on us the other night.’ Bronte said reluctantly.
‘That’s kind of you to say that… and so was I really… I wasn’t sure which end was up… anyway, I have my beautiful ring.’ Zhana looked at the sparkling stone on her finger for the thousandth time.
‘Hey, I said almost… and probably almost glad he stayed and shared your bed.’
‘Probably not as glad as Tanya…’ Zhana gave a cunning smile.
‘That’s what I’m speaking about. I’m not sure what you may have saved me from doing with Tanya, had you guys not been six feet away.’
‘I think I know what I saved you from doing with Tanya. She really fell for you, hook line and sinker.’
‘Sounds like I caught the wrong fish but then again, I never do have much luck fishing. The picture I sent you… the one with the fish… it was a fluke - a lucky day. I’m no Rex Hunt you know.’
‘What… Rex who?’
‘Rex Hunt… he’s an Australian bloke with a show about fishing. It’s really popular... o never mind’
‘Never heard of it… anyway, I don’t like fishing’ Zhana added.
‘Yeah well, he doesn’t keep fish he catches. He kisses them goodbye before throwing them back…’
‘Like you with Tanya?’
‘I could say like you with me’ Bronte answered.
‘And what about you… will you be alright? What will happen to you? I am not sure that Tanya or I will see you again.’
‘Unless you send me a message Willy died, I don’t see myself back in this place in a hurry.’
‘I think if I stay in this city with Alessiya, I have more chance of dying than he does.’ Zhana started picking the lacquer from her nails, something she appeared to do when she stressed.
‘Don’t worry dear, I’m sure everything will settle down now. She’s had her fun and probably thinks she’s wrecked your love life - with Willy and me. But we’ll have the last say, you’ll see.’
‘God, I hope you’re right’ Zhana said before stopping. ‘If Willy hadn’t arrived… well who knows what we might be planning or discussing right now.’
‘I don’t think a lot would have changed… I’d have run out of time before you’d resolved your heart’s dilemma.’
‘…and you’re about to run out of town before you resolve Tanya’s heart dilemma. God Bronte, I don’t think anyone will ever create such a fiasco in this town again as you have this last week.’
‘You have Alessiya and Rita to thank for that…’
‘and the fact you stopped writing all those months ago... so what was her name?’
‘Lena… but it was only for sex’ Bronte grinned.
‘I won’t tell Tanya that…’
‘Thanks… but why not? It doesn’t matter now anyway…’
‘Because her sister’s name is Lena.’
‘Is she nice?’
‘She’s beautiful actually…’
‘Damn!’ Bronte laughed. ‘Zhana, seriously… now that the tide of separation is creeping closer, I’m wondering how on earth I can get up and leave. I feel like we’ve been war mates, watching each other march off to their fate. While you know I will be lost, I know your safety is guaranteed after a deal with the German enemy… but all’s fair in love and war I suppose.’
‘Maybe you should come back and start a relationship with Tanya?’
‘Thanks… but not now. Anyone else is a compromise for me, if you know what I mean.
In the cab to the airport that night, he felt a terrible sadness rush over him. Zhana, well aware of the fragile emotional state made no attempt to release the constant squeeze on his hand. She was the first to break the lengthy silence.
‘Everything will be okay. You know… I do love you Bronte. I hope we’ll stay in touch.’
Stay in touch? He hated hearing those formal all too nice words. Already bound by the strange and turbulent circumstances that brought them together, it was a tragedy they were not really a couple. It felt so right just to be with her. But he was leaving. There could be no turning back after he got on the plane. Why couldn’t he straight out acknowledge how he felt and insist she must be feeling the same way? She would have no recourse to alter his affections after he left. When he’d gone, there would be no simple way to drive over and see her, nor could she take a marshutka bus to him. Meanwhile, Willy could march on Krasnodar like the invading German army. His proximity alone
gave him the upper hand.
Bronte wanted to tell her she was his and that she may as well accept that they loved each other more than they could possibly know and feel right now. He would plan to return as soon as he could. Cruel as it may be, she should dump Willy while the opportunity existed and realise they should never be apart again. Yes, to hell with Willy. He was the chief agent behind the cold war, this stand off between pride and responsibility. A tear broke and he bit his lip. Zhana still held his hand with a grip which could have said, Don’t leave me, ever.
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When they reached the airport, he held her for the last time and felt genuine regret that he would not have the chance to be in this position for some months, six at least he estimated. She snuggled in and slipped her hands in his trouser pockets. He loved she could be so carefree about her affection in a public place. It was exciting and gave him the sensation of a teenager all over again.
‘Final boarding call for flight SU 417 to Krasnodar’ the speakers blared.
‘Okay, you should run. Your plane leaves in twenty minutes and that was the last call’ he said, holding her as if his statement was meaningless.
‘I will miss you terribly my love. Please write’ Alessiya said.
‘Of course, I will send you mail as soon as I get in the door. You know I love you very much and… I want to marry you.’
‘Wow! Joey not now, let’s talk okay? I love you too.’ She kissed him once, twice, and then ran off. He watched her leave and while she waved he blew kisses.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Bronte cried watching Zhana walk away. He hoped the customs officers nearby weren’t looking at him. She hadn’t looked at him and in fact, not once did she turn back and glance or even wave. He felt shattered that perhaps it was easy for her to do that, while for him, it was agony. How was it possible she show no emotion, certain she had been as transfixed to him as he was to her? He stood stunned, lost for a moment. Then as she passed through the exit, he noticed her hand slip into her bag and retrieve a tissue and the last thing he saw was she raised it to her face. Zhana wasn’t just crying too, she was sobbing.
It is strange how two people can harbour intense feelings, bottled emotions with deep seated longings and desires for each other, but never actually express them. The myriad of fears, expectations and the possibility of rejection all act together as a well oiled machine to cause seizure of the tongue. Equally tragic are the true loves lost to feelings of responsibility and commitment. Together, these become the immovable object meeting the irresistible force, acting to create a dam of confused feelings with strength to withhold the waters of love, passion and romance.
Holding her that last time in the terminal was as though they would surely have to be pried apart. Bronte didn’t want to let go of her and if the way Zhana held him was an indication of something, she didn’t want him to go anywhere either. The grip they had on each other was like no embrace he had experienced. Now he understood how couples may have felt in their final moments together on board Titanic. Their clutches held the desperation of a terminal goodbye with the overwhelming hopelessness of lost love and wasted dreams.
They fit together as one entity, like wearing the same overcoat. More than a man and woman in deep embrace, they were male and female united in resignation of their own finality. And no matter what they were feeling it was almost impossible to say anything, all words inadequate. Zhana only repeated whispers of ‘I’m so sorry’ while he kept replying ‘I love you.’ Finally the airline lady told her she would have to leave and somehow, as quickly as that, they were apart and she was walking away.
Bronte wanted to sob inwardly as the plane lifted off, the entire weight of the dramatic ten days finally settling on his shoulders all at once too much. Just days before, the only important thing had been that they had finally met. Now, the only thing that mattered was they were gone from each other and perhaps forever. He closed his eyes, allowing the juke box in his head to console him. I’m leaving, on a jet plane, don’t know if I’ll be back again. A tear or two broke and ran down his face.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
His was the last flight out of Krasnodar. It touched down in a cold and frosty Moscow at 11.20pm and after collecting his luggage Bronte headed for the international departures lounge. It was almost deserted compared with the arrivals hall he witnessed just days earlier and now, he might even be able to smoke inside the hall such was the scarcity of passengers and observers. He stopped to look at a departures board, its words, letters and numbers changing every ten seconds from Russian to English. He wondered how the Arabs and Chinese understood their flights and whether they felt prejudice. When his numbers rolled around again in English, he sighed when he saw that indeed the time on his ticket was correct. His flight left at 6am, still more than five hours until boarding.
He headed for the men’s toilet where he desperately hoped to take a shower, since his last had been days before in the hotel. Sure there’d been the traditional Russian outdoor sauna in the mountains and a wash in the icy river, but they were a poor substitute for hot, running water. Even Zhana had showered daily at her mother’s place and Tanya had taken a shower when she visited her sister in Krasnodar every day. With his good shoulder, Bronte leaned on the door into the men’s room. The place appeared to be empty so he dropped his luggage and found a shower. After washing body and hair, he dressed in fresh clothes and then he heard his mobile ring. It startled him. He’d switched it on to call Zhana once or twice but now back in Moscow, it was the first time he’d heard the thing ring in more than a week. In one sense it was good to speak with his brother, who along with the family, had really started to worry.
But the familiar voice from so far away also brought him down. The wrestle within had already begun as he struggled to come to terms with leaving Zhana and the emotional intensity of the past week. Compared to these last days, thoughts of being thrown back into the grind of life at home; work, commitments and pets now appeared as the epitome of a mundane life. No one had heard beep from him for almost a fortnight and although he told his brother little, the cat was out of the bag. Now they’d all know he had been in Russia on his internet adventure meeting Zhana. Thankfully however, there was still so much they didn’t know. As he left the men’s room another man was entering. He held the door open for Bronte who complimented the gesture with a smile and thank you. When the man spoke it was immediately evident he was an American.
Bronte walked to a nearby coffee stall and paid for a cappuccino and a football magazine. There were two other men also sitting at tables alone, drinking cognac and coffee respectively. One extinguished a cigarette, dumping the ashes and butt in his plastic coffee cup. Bronte glanced around for security and lit up. Soon after the American appeared, ordered a short black coffee then sat a table or two away from Bronte. Although the European football magazine Bronte bought was in Russian, the score lines still read the same, so he was busy searching for results when the American spoke.
‘Long wait for you too huh?’
‘Long night alright…’
‘Where you from man?
‘Australia - and you’re from the U.S… right?’
‘Sure thing, you got it. What you doing here?’
‘Good question …but don’t ask. I’m not quite sure yet’ Bronte replied.
‘Ha. Don’t go there, right?’ The stranger gave a cynical chuckle. Bronte looked up from his magazine, no answer necessary. ‘So how do you like Russia?’ The American asked.
‘I’m not sure if I do like Russia. What are you doing here in this crazy place anyway?’ Bronte asked, more politely than from genuine interest in the man or the conversation.
‘I have been visiting with my girlfriend… or I could say fiancé, but I haven’t officially proposed yet. We’ve just spent five days in Moscow… it’s my second visit here.’ He was sitting sideways in his chair, leaning forward facing Bront
e, forearms on knees.
‘Ha.’ His laugh seemed to startle the American, ‘Sorry, just struck me as amusing, that’s all. I thought I might be thinking of proposing when I arrived, but that turned out to be a joke, that’s for sure.’
‘You came to see a girl too? Wow…’ The American was all ears, slowly rotating his cup in his hands. ‘What happened?’
‘Don’t go there…’ Bronte replied, returning to his football mag.
‘Really? It was bad, you didn’t like her? She didn’t like you?’
‘It was a disaster and… anyway, better forgotten right now.’ Bronte closed the magazine and reached for his luggage next to the table. ‘I think I’ll try to find some place I can stretch out for a few hours before my flight. Nice talking with you.’
‘Sure, no problem. I’ll see you ‘round no doubt.’
‘Have a good flight.’
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Zhana arrived home drained and feeling completely numb. The dark, cold and lonely house she walked into only exaggerated her stark isolation. Tanya was with family, Willy was two thousand kilometres away in Frankfurt, her son was at mum’s place and Bronte was gone. Yes, he was gone. She felt her eyes moisten again at the thought. She had been so arm’s length with him and at a time when he needed support the most, especially coming from her. Why had she done that? She sobbed as a wave of anger and disappointment swept her. Just an hour or two before, she had been so close to having him and being with him and holding him and never letting go. Surely never before and never again could she feel the same force of emotions that rushed her as there in the park when they kissed, or at the airport while they embraced. She had caught a glimpse of the horrible pangs that surely gripped her grandmother when Stalin’s KGB came through the front gate and rapped on the door of the family home. Grandma told Zhana she’d held her grandfather so tightly that they had to pull him away from her. She had known she would never hold him again, so she’d made it an embrace she would never forget, long after they’d dragged him off on that blustering, snowy night in 1952.
Kill Cupid: Internet dating just got dangerous Page 25
