A Plantain

The party was coming to an end. The guitar music was getting quieter and drunk friends began to nod off to sleep. The ones, who stayed sober, took the remains of the wheaten beer, calling a cab, and went home to continue the party there. In the flat there were not so many people left. Someone settled in the living room, someone settled in the bathroom, while sitting on the ceramic throne. The room, which was still crowded, was a kitchen. It all drowned in the blue light and the humming of the Chinese fan. And this atmosphere was being spoiled by the smell of the fried patties. A young guy in his twenties was standing at the stove. He was low and fit. His face was neither ruddy nor swarthy, nor pale, but filled with some ambiguity. His physiognomy, which was tend to every representative of “the small but proud nation”, was adorned with the beard, which is now called “the old Holland beard”. And right now you could take him as a skipper, with who you would go to catch a white whale. His friend was sitting at the table. He was the youngest among the invited people. And he drunk mostly Perry, explaining it with the fact, that beer has very strange and unpleasant taste, although this friend wasn’t an alcohol expert at all. Comparing to “the Holland”, he was a little bit paunchy and had teenage sideburns. “Whiskers made of pubic hair,” Jested his elder friend. “Oh, Boryan!” Said Kolyan, drinking up the last drops of the cider. “Anyway the atmosphere here is awesome, don’t even stand close to ours.” “If you want the room to feel with something special, you should put all your dreams and wishes into it. What wish do you have?” “A wish? Well, I don’t know. I want to find a girl, or just someone, who will get laid with me.” “Really? You don’t even try to turn on your imagination. Harems aren’t common in Russia.” “No! That’s not it. I just wanna do it. The hormones have already driven me crazy. More than that, someone loses virginity while they’re fifteen or thirteen. Am I worse than them? I think it’s normal to lose it when I’m seventeen.” “If we consider this point of view, it’s rather late, — joked Borya, flipping the patties. — Dude, don’t hurry with it. You’ll get enough fucking. And I’m not talking only about girls.” “Yeah, of course. You’re a Casanova here. Who has fucked all the girls in town. And I want to have one at least. So I could understand, what is it.” The very King sang: “Oh, sex is amazing.” “But It’s not only about sex. Sex isn’t a relationship; it isn’t something new. It’s just a need, which comes when you’re getting older, like a dementia. Sex — it’s just an unimportant moment for you. It won’t stay in your memories. The memories should be so vivid and clear, that they won’t get dull, won’t blur and disappear in the shade of new events and worries…” After that Borya interrupted his thought, taking another bottle of beer from the fridge, pouring the liquid in his glass. It was already late outside. And it was warm, and calm, and smelled like home in the Borya’s house. Everyone who visited Borya at least for once, remembered distinctly this smell. It was unique. The one who came to him (doesn’t matter whether this person was alone, with a friend, or with a company) immediately became different. If it wasn’t Borya’s flat, it wouldn’t gain such a popularity. Borya was a special man. Despite him making friends once and for all, Borya himself didn’t feel any connection to them. It was just interesting for him to talk to people, and on the other hand, they were also happy to do so. If he got a girlfriend, he did only to get laid with her, or for another profit. Finally, the patties were ready. The guys at once began to eat. Kolyan played a good knife and fork, unlike Borya, who had been picking the overfried dough for a few minutes. The beer began to make itself felt. Gradually Borya’s brains were becoming relaxed and not capable of thinking. But looking at his face one could notice that he had his head around some thought. He wanted to tell something. People, leading a lonely life, always have something, that they are eager to tell. Usually such people go to clubs or cafes only to talk, sometimes they tell very interesting stories to barmen or waiters. But Borya wasn’t of this type. He usually poured his heart to his guests only under two circumstances: if he was drunk, or if this person had gained Borya’s trust. In this case it all worked together. “You know, Kolyan, I’ll give you an advice. Never make friends with women. They’re very guileful. This friendship always turns into a sympathy, and then one of you will eventually fell his head over heels in love. And that’s it. Finita la commedia.” Kolyan swallowed his food in hurry and asked: “So, you had such a case?” “Yes. I had such a case, but back then I hadn’t understood my feelings to this girl would be mutual.” And Borya began telling his story. “Once I had an acquaintance, her name was Julia. She appeared in my life a long time ago. Our meeting took place also in my flat, but at that time she was an unknown girl to me, that had been invited… I don’t even remember by who.” I’m an open-hearted person by nature. Every single acquaintanceship has led me to something. And always, after having met with a person, I decided, whether he was interesting for me or not. I know, sounds stupidly, but I still live with such principles. And then I noticed something strange and attractive in her. She was the quietest and the most unnoticeable mousy. She didn’t drink a lot. And sat, hugging with some guy. She was very thin. As I discovered later from my friend Volodya, she often took the thing, for what one can be sent to prison for five or six years. She didn’t conceal it at all. Only said that it helps to cure her soul. And her boyfriend, Jura, was a real junkie. Maybe it was he to get her hooked on all this stuff. We hadn’t talk a lot. It seemed to me back then she was just like an empty within. But for some reason she was constantly coming to me. And always in different states. She could be sober, drunk or stoned. It seemed though, Julia looked like an ideal, but when she began to talk, it was like: “What’s gotten into you?” But step by step I managed to find something in common with her and we began to mingle more closely. While drinking only one glass of beer we could discuss so many things. As long as I knew Julia, she hadn’t been changing outwardly. She was tall, thin, unsightly, with a low voice and long straight hair. She was usually dressed up in some sweatshirts with the rock bands' logos, long skirts, and ripped jeans. A mix of emo and punk. But nevertheless there was always something charming about her. We could usually find a common topic for discussion. And over time we became close friends. I frequently met with her, because I needed this pretty conversation, and she wanted to get rid of her problems, which were troubling her soul. The more I talked to her, the more she was getting alive. Her skin color as though was becoming beige. And it was cool. I was saving the person, and this thought was going around in my head all summer. Soon she broke up with her boyfriend and stopped taking drugs. She was shining with happiness. And everybody, who knew her, noticed it. She was always glad to see me. I was also happy to talk to her. It appeared that she knew a lot about art. Our friendship was becoming stronger day by day. There was no talk about relations. Although I had a wish to spent a night with her, I always banished this thought. But the time was passing by very quickly. Summer was coming to an end, and I had to go to Moscow to continue my studies, and, maybe, to stay there forever. I decided to visit all my friends, and Julia was the last in this list. I can recollect even now, that we were in the kitchen. The cold August rain was dripping outside. The end of summer was completely spoiled by the rains, which weren’t stopping at all for the last week. We were sitting there for a very long time. And I saw her smile. She was happy to have me around. Julia talked about her plans, discussed the meaning of some songs, coughing and laughing from time to time. She was so involved in her talking. And I, as if hypnotized, listened to her crazy current of thought, so she felt my preoccupation. When she finished, I told her that I had to leave forever. Her face expression changed immediately. It showed the mixture of fear and some misunderstanding of what had happened. She asked me only about one thing: not to leave. I didn’t get her words. How can I not leave? Suddenly one thought occurred to me: I was the object for Julia, which she could use any time, at any moment. Then we had a quarrel. She was convinced, she wouldn’t be able to live without me. And I didn’t understand back then, when this girl had become so cheesy. I was telling her, she was just afraid of losing me, but she shouldn’t be afraid of it. Moreover, we were just friends. After these words Julia silenced. And I told her: “I will be certainly calling you. Or you can text me, I’m always at your service. I’ll be very pleased to hear your voice. I’m sure, you’ll be able to live without me.” She didn’t say a word and, leaning to the window, I saw, that she was biting her lip, trying not to cry. “What’s happened, Juli?” “Leave me alone…” “What’s the matter?” She only whispered. “Nothing.” And, springing out of the windowsill, she ran into her room. I didn’t manage to say goodbye to her, so before leaving I told Julia: “I’ll call you, when I’ll be moving away.” Then I went home, thinking, why she was so mad at me. The rain had stopped a while ago. The whole street was covered in the warmness of the August dark; the dim stars were scarcely glistening in the cloudy sky. When I had come to Moscow, my telephone broke. I changed my number, while buying a new one with a new SIM card. And it appeared, that I forgot to warn everybody, even Julia, despite my promise to call her at any cost. But the time passed, and I completely forgot my promise. Back then I was up to my ears in studies and just wanted to focus on that. However, a year ago I felt an anxiety. It was a short felling of worry, and now I recollect about it without a smile on my face. On December night I was walking around Moscow, and then I felt that I should call her. But she didn’t pick up the phone. I tried to call her the next day, and the next week. But all I was getting was a single phrase: “Number is not available”. And after that I gave up this idea. Finally, the long-awaited summer came. I passed all my exams with flying colors and decided to go for a few days to Svingorsk to meet with all my friends, to remember good old boozes, and, of course, to meet Julia. Coming to the town, I immediately called her. But she didn’t pick up the phone again. After writing some messages, I gained only silence in reward. Apparently she hadn’t forgiven me for breaking my promise to call her. Then I understood that all my attempts would be vain, so I decided to invite Volodya and drink ourselves into oblivion. In a few minutes I got a voice message from him: “Hi, Borya! Everything is fine. Whenever you want, you can call me, I’m all for it… Listen, do you know Kopenova Julia? She passed away not long ago.” Then the entire world extinguished for me. It got dark. The stones were creaking under someone’s sandals, someone was snoring, and I was listening to my breathing, which couldn’t be heard by anyone else. Everything was covered, turned into the impenetrable darkness. Had she really committed a suicide? No, she couldn’t do it. I didn’t know any details yet. But I was afraid to ask Volodya. I didn’t even know, had Julia left a note or not, I didn’t know who and how found her. Didn’t know. I wanted to find out, hoped to hear information, that would explain something at least. But I couldn’t ask a single question. It was like something had died within me. Then I met Volodya and asked him, what had happened. He drank a tea and began to tell me the details which he knew. In December Julia called him and told to write me a massage, that she didn’t feel good and wanted me to call her. But at that time her voice seemed quite drunk. He thought, she was in someone’s flat and was drinking with some unknown guys. He just hanged up the phone. After that some friends of ours called Volodya and said, that Julia, obviously under her condition, had called everyone just to get my number and hear my voice. She even came to Jura, asking to call me. She was lightly dressed, her hands were shaking, her voice was trembling, and her face was pale. But that idiot only told her go to hell, and said, if she wanted Borya, she had to find him somewhere else. Julia needed support, without which she couldn’t live through during all these months. And that’s why she came back to her previous way of life, hoping, it would somehow help her to cure herself. That day, when everyone turned their backs to her, she decided to get rid of all her problems. And just didn’t determine the right dose. The next morning her body was found on the stair landing. She was holding a small syringe and a mobile phone. Volodya didn’t tell me, where she had been buried. He just silenced. Trying to get at least a word from him, I was only hearing: “It doesn’t worth it, dude. It just doesn't.” Everything had turned white after this phrase. After drinking up a glass, I began to shout, trying to find out, where she had been buried, and why they hadn’t helped her at all. Volodya was also shouting at me. We quarreled a lot. Almost got into a fight. I remember, going away with a hope that Volodya had deceived me. I went to Julia’s house. I was wandering around a town like a drunk fool, believing that a single person who loved me, was still alive. Her house as if got darker, there were no more flowers on the balcony, which she had planted after breaking up with Jura, as a sigh of getting rid of all problems. It even seemed, as though the entire yard was abandoned and overgrew in despair after Julia’s leaving. No one opened the door. I was stubbornly ringing the bell. One time, second one — it was quiet inside, no answer, despite all my knocking and ringing. I was losing all hope, the void like a heavy burden filled my heart. And after that I tried to banish all these thoughts in different ways. I made girls fell in love with me, then we got laid, and in the end I broke up with them. I never felt that warmness, which I had received only from Julia. I drank a lot. Practically every party in my flat or in someone else’s place turned from a peaceful talk about life into disgusting boozes. And it happened over and over again. I was still trying to cure my soul from her sudden death… Having said that, Borya hushed, looking on the empty beer glass. Talking a small pause, he continued: “You know, Kolya, on some days I think I’ve lost my mind. But on the other ones it seems, that nothing troubles me at all. If only the thoughts about her don’t come again. It’s a strange feeling — to be someone’s plantain.” It was a dawn already; a vivid sunrise could be seen from the balcony. Looking at Kolyan, Borya recollected that during his entire life he probably hadn’t loved anyone, hadn’t paid attention that he really had a lot of friends. Julia herself was in love with him and in the end of her life wanted to hear his voice. Maybe, if he hadn’t been such a dumbass, she would have been alive. Kolya left his plate, silently came to Borya and hugged him, “Let’s better take a smoke,” Suggested Kolyan. Coming to a balcony, Borya pulled out a pack of “Marlboro” and lighted a cigarette. Kolya was a passive smoker. He liked neither cigarettes, nor vape, nor others smoking stuff. When Borya was smoking, looking at the part of the avenue, which was seen between the houses, he felt it was getting cold. A smoke with a cigarette steam was flying out of his mouth. There were so many thoughts on his mind, and all they under the alcoholic intoxication were only about her. And he, as if continuing telling some important speech, said: “And the most important thing I blame myself for, is that I didn’t apologize to her. I had promised to call her before moving away, but I didn’t do it…” Borya’s voice trembled. Realized, he wasn’t nobody to her, but a ray of light in her life full of darkness, he bowed his head. He wasn’t there, when Julia really needed him. And now it was only bringing him an endless pain. His mind and throat didn’t have enough space for all his never spoken, never written and half-thought words. His heart wasn’t beating, it was compressing. In the dim gray light his eyes almost weren’t blinking. They became wet. “And I wanted to take her to Moscow with me. To introduce… to some good guys. She was… dreaming so much about acting on the scene. We planned to go to the concert of her favorite band together. Why it’s me, Kolya? Why only I can cure people? And who will cure me?” Kolya looked at him with sleepy eyes and shrugged. Borya smoked another cigarette and the whole balcony filled with the nasty smell. Finally, after getting out of a somnolence, Kolya added: “Like a poet said: 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy'.” This phrase was said in vain, just to fill an awkward pause and to support a friend somehow. But Borya didn’t hear him. He was somewhere beyond this world. Closing his eyes, he shook his head and with all force punched the stone wall. It hurt, but this pain didn’t muffle the one he had on his heart. “Borya, what’s wrong? What are you doing?! Fuck! Where are the bandages here?” Kolyan rushed to the kitchen, looking for a first aid kit. But Borya wasn’t paying attention to his bleeding fist. He sat on the floor, and all emotions from the stories he had heard for so many years from miserable people poured outside with a quiet cry and a pain in his chest. And his sobbing, mixed with a smoke, were being carried away by the wind, spreading the pain on the city, which was slowly waking up.