Rhythm of rebellion

Father Simran, Mr Moss, belonged to that part of the American society which fought hard for the preservation of cultural traditions and values, so that some members of the younger generation did not accept his spirit. Outwardly he was no different from any of us, except in height. Tall, he didn’t need to get up on the stepladder to change a burned-out light bulb. Narrow-necked, but with a proud posture, which indicated his character, manifested mainly in the workplace. Mr Moss hid his hair under a police cap, rarely taking it off: either in the presence of a lady or indoors. Anet Moss allowed herself to joke that, if her husband had the will, he would never have left his cap in bed. But is he to be blamed when he so faithfully serves his people? Mr Moss has been in the police force for more than twenty years; he has never been seen to be guilty of corruption or abuse of authority. The man, so to speak, at the very dawn of time, threw himself under bullets, showing courage, catching hooligans and taking part in raids, personally imprisoned the caught violators of peace. In short, Mr Moss, also known as Benjamin, is a true law-abiding citizen, an exemplary father and respected man in local circles. Love, such people, is expressed either in actions or not at all - the fruits of old-good army training. But Mr Moss loved Simran in a special way, as the stars cherish the moon, as the chicks make their first flight or as the lambs feed the shepherd’s hand. No bond stronger. Fathers pamper their daughters, their eyes are always full of tenderness, and the embrace is strong. That’s why Benjamin was strict - behind this parental rivalry was the fear of loss. The child needs to be protected, to sacrifice himself if necessary; it is not by the spider-mother that she feeds herself to her progeny, thus guaranteeing the children rapid growth and chances of survival. This is a natural process, both in the animal world and in humans. - I can’t get used to it,' Benjamin glanced at his daughter through the rearview mirror. He had been driving an old forty-eight-year-old Flyline Chevrolet for nine years. Held the wheel restrained, because the rich growth, which became for him at the same time dignity and inconvenience, constrained his movement. In a limited space the grace turned into a deficiency, because he stooped, holding his shoulders up and his head down so as not to beat it against the roof. Benjamin repaired his car more often than he drove, but he did not complain: he enjoyed digging through the hood and cleaning up the engine. Machines for men are also a kind of children requiring care and attention. - What can’t you do? - Clenched to the heart of sleeping Marly, asked Simran. The mother and her second baby were in the front seat. - That you’re here. I’m very glad, smiled Benjamin, and Mrs Moss looked a little bit over her shoulder to say: - He missed you, Simran. Almost cried! - You’re overdoing it! said Mr Moss. Simran chuckled and stared at the view from the old woman’s window. Brookline was a longing. Gloom was waiting in every corner. The car, pale-pistachio colored, was escorted by long bronzes. They were made of classic brown-beige stone or red brick. Not tall, but noisy, for on the narrow iron balconies every now and then they sounded in the labile harmonies of ordinary stone slums. Simran smiled: but before on such balconies sounded the melody of trumpet. All over the sour river poured jazz. Since then, there have been so many genres of music that you will not have time to love one, as something new and interesting comes into fashion. This was with the twist. Before it boogie-woogie, rock n' roll... It is an endless chain. As long as the man lives and the idea lives in the man, the world progresses. But we have moved away from the topic… The remaining weeks Simran spends on taking care of brothers, household duties, needlework and preparing for a new school. In the boarding school for girls our heroine studied diligently and did not fall behind in any discipline. She was easily given exact sciences, read a lot and sat in the library. Her voice is angelic, pure-clean; before the translation Simran was awarded the title of principal vocalist of the choir. The school was happy to welcome such a pearl into its ranks, and Simran was not averse to show off and brag about her merits. The summer holidays were over, and on the first Wednesday of September the pupils crossed the threshold of institutions. Simran trembled with excitement. She felt strange, ridiculous, naive, as if she had come down to earth straight from space. She seemed to be stared at and whispered nasty things. They looked at every detail, laughed at her hair, were horrified by her sense of style, which, to be honest, did not exist. Simran wore what her mother advised. In the spirit of conservatism, it is skirts to the knees, dresses of pleasant shades with closed shoulders, without a bold cut. Nice thin jackets with embroidery, blouses on the buttons with pockets on the chest and without. From the trousers only black cowls just below the kneecaps - their Simran wore at home. What now?.. Kiwi had previously experienced feelings of shame and insecurity unfamiliar to her. How else, when there are so many beautiful girls around? They looked different, talked differently, and obviously didn’t think like Simran either. The girls' skirts barely covered their hips. They are of different lengths, fabrics and models. Bright eye-catching, gentle modest. The jackets are tapered, as if purposely showing elastic forms. On the feet stockings, and if socks - colored. Variety of haircuts: short, like boys, with hair - the latest trends. Now where do not look, in the hairdressers hung posters with beauties from the film industry, and their haircuts looked. Speaking of our Simran, she had none of it: neither pixie trimming, nor beehive, like the famous Hollywood actresses, nor current beam... It was just one length of hair, that is up to the shoulders. By nature, Simran has good, thick hair, she did not like to experiment and combed them, laying on one side. For the sake of variety, she could add a headband. Admittedly, last year Kiwi cut off a rare bangs that barely reached the thin eyebrows, but gave the face the right shape. Simran is beautiful and modest, however, to her own misfortune, modesty at the present time does not make a girl. The bolder the lady, the more she has suitors. There are new rules that need to be learned by everyone who is looking for attention. Meanwhile, she stood in the courtyard, not daring to walk into a building that preserved the Parisian aesthetic - French chic with elements of renaissance. She still thought she was condemned. Nonsense. For the crowd, Simran is nothing more than a ghost. - You came to us from «Saint Mary’s» school, didn’t you? It was five minutes before the call. Kiwi, accompanied by the teacher, went to the biology room. She was given the key of the locker, brochures to familiarize with local rules, a list of literature and, of course, the timetable. - Yes. -Good place,' nodded Ms. Brown with approval, 'was it useful for you? Simran told what was required of her. For example, that in «Saint Mary» gave religious lessons and read the bible. - Wonderful. Very wonderful. I welcome the love of theology. -On Sundays, I sang in the choir. - You can join the choir here too. Every year, at Christmas, we put on a show. They entered the classroom by the time the students sat down in their seats, buzzing like bees. Miss Browns greeted the graduates and introduced them to Simran. Now they were really looking at her. These were different views, mostly curious, sometimes sarcastic or, on the contrary, indifferent. Simran, who had grown from such ceremonies, flapped her thick eyelashes. It seems that she realized in that second that she also had to study with boys. - This is Simran, your new classmate. Show her everything here, said Miss Brown in a hurry and fled behind the door, leaving the poor sheep to be eaten by the wolves. The first few seconds in the office were quiet. - Simran? - curled the girl’s eyebrows with thick painted eyes. - Have you been to «Merry Larry»? With these words, a new life began for Kiwi. By the end of the week she had made friends. Later, having shown interest, Simran enrolled in extracurricular classes, sewing and sewing lessons. Even after a while the boys started to look at her. In the second half of September, Simran became one of the popular girls at Hanscher-Foy School. *** Being in a stone box, as unflatteringly referred to «Saint Mary» schoolgirls, it is hard to follow the changes in the world. There were no news about politics, scientific discoveries or the situation in a particular state. It was forbidden to listen to the radio. In the city came only to the theater, the school approved performances and musicals like «Nutcracker». Or to important family holidays that would be considered a crime. However, Simran was then too young to be interested in the state of society, the problems of adults and the aspirations of a new generation. Time went too fast - it was necessary to keep up with it, but many refused to give in to the reforms that were dictated not by young people, not by a changing era. New buildings were built, skyscrapers piercing the sky tent with domes, became higher. Cars more, people independent. From the «lost generation» we went to the «broken». It started in the middle of the forties. Writers, musicians, to put it simply, creative souls conveyed a vision of life quite differently. Their ideals, thoughts and ideas were obviously ahead of their time. In consequence of their words, joining this intoxicating current, the present generation was infected with a firm conviction that it is necessary to live exactly as the «idol of today» dictates. Young people wanted free morality. No censorship. Bohemian way of life. Burst of emotions. High. In a keen desire to make their point of view, to prove to everyone around them that their goals cannot be considered mundane, the teenagers went on experiments with appearance. They formed groups, went to demonstrations and each had their own grand plan. So in the streets of New York you could meet a crowd of young men and women with posters and whistles. They wanted to speak - they spoke. Freedom of speech, anti-war movement against the war in Vietnam, struggle for women’s rights, freedom of expression, orientation and much more. Main slogan of the sixties - «Do love, not war». Of all this our beauty Simran, naturally, has not heard. But, whether you like it or not, the moment of adulthood comes, and adulthood is an entry into relations with the outside world, with a feeling of urgency, with a mass. Kiwi often encountered a horde of hippies, dressed obscenely strangely, with lots of strange cords on their heads. They held up posters on top of their heads with slogans written by hand, with gouache drawings. Gorlanilii songs calling for love and peace, danced on throats, blocking traffic, to the music of guitar and harmony. Surprisingly, Kiwi even liked them. Her curious caramel eyes liked everything unusual and bright, and hippies were a sample of exoticism. Only did she stay away from them, without leaving her mother’s memory; moreover, one day, she was not lucky enough to be a witness of disorder when the police dispersed these Amazons, threatening arrest. Simran was very scared. Her heart poked at the sight of the boy’s car being rolled over on the hood. Handcuffs were put on his hands. This spectacle is imprinted in the memory of an impressive, unaccustomed to the cruelty of the girl. At night, when she was in bed, she would put on a record and fall asleep to «What we did last summer». The honeycomb, brooding voice, uttering into the world, often shouted a bastic, disgruntled father’s howl behind the wall. Benjamin scolded the youth, condemned their views and aspirations. He moaned at reality because he feared the future. - America will sink into darkness! - spat out with all the passion of Mr Moss, and his wife comforted him. - Not true. - We forget our history. We die! - Don’t say that. - What will become of our children? With our Simran, would she fall under the influence of this mess? - She’s not like that. Simran clenched the edge of the pillow in a fist and breathed heavily. She didn’t feel threatened, and yet she had a feeling that something was going to happen.

The leaves began to wither,

Like the promises we made.

The song was coming to an end, but the record was spinning on the backing disc of the player, and a small fall rain was knocking on the window. *** Little by little, Simran has become accustomed to the way of life in New York. She was no longer surprised by fights in the streets, not embarrassed by passionate kisses between lovers and sultry comments from boys who did not miss a single woman’s skirt. Circling the edge of newspapers and other rubbish did not disturb the eye. It all became a single whole and precise mechanism in the Simran days. When she was free, she changed herself too. For the friends there was a brave Simran Moss, but inside her parents' house she is a humble Kiwi. - On Saturday... - Jody broke herself on the sidelines and frowned when the school bell interrupted her speech. She waited for the silence and, swinging her shoulder against an iron locker, continued: - On Saturday in «Tau-Hau» there are concerts. I know Robbie, he’s a bouncer there, you can go for free. Shall we? Friends, that is Jody, Nancy and our Simran chatted in the corridor. The first one was talking, the second one was correcting her makeup by looking at herself in a small mirror, and the third one was locking the locker, throwing the necessary textbooks into the bag. - Concert? - Yeah,' said Jody, encouraged as soon as Simran showed interest in her proposal. - They often have boysbands there. Well, you know, rock, indie-rock, ballads. It’s actually fun. - Damn, - ironically pointed Nancy, clenching her lips and putting the make-up in her backpack. She combed her voluminous and wavy hair with her fingers. - If you like when the fingers are pressed. - It was only once, said Jodi. -And I had enough for a lifetime. -Oh, come on! - What are the bands? Popular? - Connected to the conversation Kiwi. - Well, not the Beatles, of course, but listen once - Jody, a redheaded blabbermouth, bent forward conspiratorially as if to reveal a terrible secret, whispered: They are so beautiful! It’s a miracle! Simran smiled, imagining tall guys in leather jackets and hairstyles like Elvis Presley. On the feet necessarily rough shoes, on the face - a smirk. This is how she imagined musicians. - What time is it? - Nancy sighed. Three of them, they went out to the school yard, headed for the parking lot where there were three school buses waiting for the children. Each of them went around certain parts of Brooklyn. Here the girlfriends had to break up: Nancy lived closer to the central part, next to her Jody, so the girls took one bus. Simran House is located further south - from there a nice view of the Brooklyn Bridge connecting them to Manhattan. -As usual, half past nine. -All right, get in touch with your Robbie, let’s go dance,' said Nancy and, sending a kiss of air to her friends, slammed into the bus. - You’re with us, right? Kiwi wanted to shout «of course!», only she knew that her parents would hardly let her go. These places are always full of trouble and bad company. It is not fair to say that Mr and Mrs Moss did not keep their daughter in captivity like a princess from a fairy tale. Simran could go with friends to the cinema, amusement park or any other place that parents would consider decent, but there was some «Tau-Hau» did not belong to those establishments. Inside, they were probably selling booze to minors, and the guys were taking liberties, grabbing girls' chests or buttocks. And there are certainly hippies or other subcultures. - It’ll be fun. Haven’t you ever been to a dance before? said Jody, and her swamp shade blinked. Simran had a dreamy smile, closed her mouth. Jody grabbed her by the shoulders and shook. - Agree! I won’t let go until you agree! - Good! - Good! - giggled the redheaded blonde, whom her friends often called Joe, and quickly gave Kiwi a smack on the cheek. - Tomorrow let’s talk about all the details and go for updates! We urgently need three beautiful dresses! Infected with anticipation, Simran waved goodbye to the girlfriends and, keeping a smile, climbed into her bus. Already at home, helping his mother to set the table, Kiwi shook with excitement before the coming conversation. In the end, while she was eating dinner, it occurred to her to lie. Perhaps for the first time in her seventeen years. But this problem is not easy: an inexperienced liar is like a civilian on a minefield - one wrong step, and you’re dead. Simran could give eyes, shudder in the voice or always wrong time approached blush. However, the very idea of lying is very bad faith, and it is ironic that Mrs Moss, as if purposely calling for truth, suddenly solemnly proposed: - Thank God for tonight’s dinner? - She reached out her hands to the wife and daughter, looking at them to let them know that they were not being refused. As they held hands, everyone closed their eyes, and Benjamin said a prayer, adding the final «amen» at the end. Soon in the kitchen the forks began to rattle. - How was your day at school? - Having a habit of raising her eyebrows when talking, Mrs Moss asked. -Great. There’s a school musical for Thanksgiving, so we do costumes for the actors in our craft class. - How sweet,' said Annette, grating her spinach vigorously. She never wore rags, even at home. Her hair is always neatly laid out, as if she woke up with a ready-made hairdo. The neighbors shushed about it in an unflattering way: Apparently, Annette is mimicking the moms from the provincial towns of the same, say, Mississippi. Perfect appearance, perfect husband, house and blah-blah-blah». Well, their words are true - Mrs Moss was really trying to make her life perfect. Let’s not judge her too harshly: every woman from an early age dreams of a loving family with a big house. This same dream was instilled by Annette and Simran, so in school compositions often mentioned the idea of a two-storey cottage with a swimming pool and a flat lawn. Two cars, three children, dog, preferably noble breed, gardener and maid. The husband must come from a respectable family with a decent pedigree, by profession a financier, politician or something prestigious. Isn’t that the American dream? - Are the boys asleep? - From under Mr Moss' straight-cut moustache, it’s hard to see that his lips are moving. He kept his eyes focused on the salad and the half-roasted pork. -Yes. They were cranky for half the day and fell asleep fast. - Can I ask you something? - Holding a fork and a knife, coughed Simran. - Of course, Kiwi. - My friends and I would like to go to the movies on Saturday. Do you mind? - Not much, - pierced a pork with the kitchen tool, waved Benjamin’s hand. - But be home at nine o'clock. - Evening session... Mrs. Moss, after a sip of homemade lemonade, pulled out a faint smile. -And when does it start? -9:30 in the morning. - Simran, - held out condescendingly Benjamin, moaning to explain his position. He stopped eating for a moment, leaning on the back of the chair, took a deep breath. His eyes, dark green, were frozen in the figure of his daughter. - Dad, please... it’s not too late for the rest of us. - It’s dangerous in the city at night. - We will be among the people, no one will touch us. Dad, said Simran’s gentle purr, please allow it. I have to spend time with my friends. - You can be friends in the light of day. At least we have. Bring your girlfriends to visit us, I’ll make a cake for you,' said the mother, admiringly, looking at her husband to find support in him. But Benjamin kept looking at his daughter and thinking. Seeing this stalemate, Kiwi, not sad, continued to persist. - My peers have been out for a long time before 11:00. - Yes, and they give birth to their first children,' said Annette with bitterness, throwing another sheet of spinach into her mouth. - Not everyone is. Nancy and Jodie are good. - We’re not arguing. - Well, please! It’s just a movie theater in the moon park. There are lots of people and light. We’ll just have fun. - So are you going to the movies or to the moon park? - Mr Moss arched his eyebrow, seeing Simran in lies. At least, that’s what he thought. Simran was already rapidly reddened. -Both. We want to go for a walk. The husband and wife looked at each other telepathically. No matter how much Kiwi rushed from one face to the other, she couldn’t pick up those signals, because she was just waiting patiently for the verdict. At the end of the silent discussion, Benjamin, having taken again for supper, easily said: - All right, kiddo. You need a break. - Thank you! - With joy, Simran jumped up, banging her knee against the table cover, and even a sharp spasm did not spoil the moment of her little victory. -But at half past ten, I was like a bayonet in my bed.