White Blood

by James Fleming

  We reached Znamenskaya. The horse-cabbies stared at us. I held her at arm's length.

  "Oh, Charlinka, what you do to me . . . my poor heart, it's out of practice, there's so much it still has to learn."

  "Then it must learn quickly."

  "Zhivo, heart, zhivo. Get on with it down there." That was what she said, giving her breast a couple of taps with her light fist.

  I never was so satisfied with a woman, I mean from a practical sense, quite apart from all the crashings of our love. Smiling, we gazed upon each other.

  Then Kobi called out to me.

  A locomotive howled.

  She was gone.

  I looked down at my trembling fingers. I spread them before my eyes. Empty! No one! I threw back my head. Goodbye love! Goodbye sorrow! Goodbye Russia!