Stained conscience

Moscow. Evening. End of the working day. The streetlights came on, illuminating the asphalt roads, rarely used by cars, and the pavements, along which pedestrians hurried. "Hello, yes, hi, Mum!" Bella Raymondovna began the conversation, standing inside an iron telephone booth. "How are you, how's Dad?" The girl nodded in response to her mother's question. Her beloved voice had an effect on Manezhnaya: she smiled broadly and mumbled something indistinctly before answering. "I'm fine. I decided to call you on my way home from the circus, since we haven't talked in so long. Right?" Is it hard for me? Not at all!" Bella exclaimed cheerfully, hanging up the phone and biting her dry lips. ’My roommates here are all nice, cultured, circus performers...‘ A smile flitted across the corners of her lips. "Huh? A fiancé?" Raymondovna's voice trembled. The girl blinked and cleared her throat, coughing. "Mum, I'm almost a star! What men? What? At my age, Motya was already...?" Bella clicked her tongue. "Well, Mum..." the girl said theatrically, clutching her blonde head. The conversation seemed to go on too long: a girl who wanted to talk to someone began banging on the booth. "Auntie, are you going to be long? You've been chatting for twenty minutes!" a thin voice came through the glass. "And there's only one booth working here!" Bella, hearing the annoying child with big white bows on her head, nodded. She said goodbye to her mother, hung up the phone and opened the door. "Okay, you can come in," the girl smiled. Suddenly she stopped, looked at the girl, then at the phone booth, "You can't reach it..." "Yeah," the little girl nodded, "can you hold me, auntie? I won't be long. I need to call my dad," she folded her hands in a pleading gesture and batted her light eyelashes. Bella shrugged, smiling slightly. She couldn't refuse after such a reason. Taking the child in her arms, Raymondovna helped her dial the number with her other hand as the girl dropped a penny into the coin slot. "Hello, Dad. I accidentally broke the phone at home. How? I was trying to call you.’ What? Mum will kill you? I'll protect you! It can really be fixed, and you have golden hands, you can definitely do it! Okay, Dad. Bye, Dad! I love you too!" With her last words, the little girl pursed her lips and tried to imitate the sound of a kiss. The phone went dead. Bella hung up again and put the girl down on the floor, carefully adjusting the hem of her red dress. The girl could barely contain her laughter at the context of the conversation and the whole situation. "Thank you very much, auntie. What's your name?" "Bella," the circus performer replied calmly. "Wow, Belka!" the girl clapped her hands. "Bella," Manezhnaya repeated, shaking her head. "Bella." "Okay, Aunt Bella. Goodbye, Aunt Belka," stammered the little stranger, and turning around, she ran towards a low apartment building, humming a song. Watching the girl go, Manezhnaya exhaled and hid a smile, digesting this comical episode in her mind. The dormitory was still far away. The girl knew the way there like the back of her hand. Soon, the sidewalk with planted trees and new houses that smelled slightly of paint was behind her. The ornate metro stations, which impressed visitors from other cities with their monumentality, did not surprise Bella: she had been living in Moscow for several years, and all the unfamiliar beauty had become too familiar to her. Even the stucco and marble, which attracted the gaze of even the most sophisticated culture lover, were no better for Manezhnaya than the new cladding in a dormitory. The girl did not understand where the familiar joy had disappeared to. The noise of the wheels lulled the circus performer into a light slumber.

"Dynamo stop. Next station, Airport," said the familiar voice of the announcer.

The crowd lived its own life. People ran from carriage to carriage, trying to catch up with something, to catch something. Bella looked around as if she were looking for someone. She glanced at her watch:

19:57.

She was early today. The corridor was long, lined with slabs and marble. The lights were bright. The crowd kept walking and running, rushing to live their lives. Bella looked around again: a short young man caught her eye. He was dark-skinned, with short black curls that curled like a lamb's. He was dressed modestly, even poorly. The stranger ran between several onlookers, deftly sliding his hands into open bags and pockets. An imitator followed him, also picking someone's pocket. Bella watched the scene in shock. A feeling of anger and justice overwhelmed the girl. She wanted to scream, to raise a fuss, so that some indifferent policeman in the crowd would catch the offenders. A few moments later, the first thief locked eyes with Raymondovna: Manezhnaya's heart skipped a beat when their gazes met. The stranger put his finger to his lips and winked, disappearing into the crowd. "Could it be him?" — a sharp thought flashed through Bella's mind. — "Am I now... an accomplice? Oh, what a mess!" Once outside, Raymondovna took a deep breath, feeling the fresh air of the cold summer and a slight chill piercing her tired body. It was still too early for the trees to burst into colourful bloom. Occasionally, a few drops of rain fell. Manezhnaya managed to forget about the recent theft, coming up with an excuse in her head: poor people. Reaching the dormitory and passing through the checkpoint of the dissatisfied commandant, Bella quickly climbed the stairs and went to the second floor, where her former classmates and now some of her colleagues lived. The smell of either a burnt kettle or baked cookies wafted from the communal kitchen. Valdeemar, Bella's friend from her student days who worked as a clown in one of the circuses, was busy at the stove. "Bella, hello!" the young man shouted when he saw the graceful silhouette in the corridor and waved his free hand. "Huh? Yes, hello, Vova," Bella waved back. "I baked cookies! Would you like some?" the young man asked in the same loud voice. On the tabletop, in a plate, lay some pleasant-looking pastries with a strange smell. "No, thank you. I'm watching my figure!" replied Raymondovna. Manezhnaya reached her room and rushed in without knocking. The girl landed on her hard bed with her bag and buried her face in the white pillow. "Finally, I'm home... These rehearsals are so exhausting," Raimondovna muttered, clutching the pillowcase. A few moments later, the door opened: Bella's neighbour, Alice, peeked into the room. "Oh! Bella, we've lost you to the whole floor!" came the sweet, ringing voice. "They're about to show Spring on the Other Side of the River. Want to join us? Lena from the room across the hall got a TV. Huh?" Manazhnaya loved gatherings like this: she enjoyed the carefree atmosphere and sense of togetherness, the gentle camaraderie of watching a rarely shown film. But today she didn't feel up to such entertainment. She mumbled something into her pillow in response to her neighbour's offer, pretending to close her eyes. The girl wanted to be alone. A rare occasion. "Tired? Okay, rest," Alice nodded and closed the door. But a moment later, the girl looked into the room again, "You got another letter, I put it on the dresser. Take a look, okay? I feel awkward opening it. All right, get some rest! The door closed behind her. Silence reigned in the usually noisy room. A few minutes passed before the strange fatigue suddenly receded and Bella got to her feet. Manezhnaya had a whole wooden wardrobe and a shared lacquered dressing table with a hidden mirror (that's where she and Alice usually kept their cosmetics). The girl lifted the board: the mirror reflected the same Bella. Inside the shelf, among the cosmetics and trinkets, lay a small photograph — she was in the centre again. On either side were her classmates: some now worked with Manezhnaya on Tsvetnoy Boulevard, some in a smaller circus, and some, after several years of work, had left for other jobs that, in the opinion of society, a creative person would never take. Bella remembered her first exam, her first performance, the thrill of triumph in her chest. Back then, young Manezhnaya stood in the middle of the stage. The lights were on, coloured lights were dancing, and the hall was thunderous with applause. Raymondovna bowed gently to her audience after a long, energetic performance — a complete opposite. The girl's eyes were filled with tears of joy, relief and overwhelming happiness that tickled the back of her throat. Her. Her. Her again. The wonderful, smiling and cheerful Bella Raymondovna. The brightest ray of the collective, an aquamarine splash of life, and simply an active and romantic Komsomol member.

Ovations — to her. Flowers — to her. Attention — to her.

"Bravo, Bella, bravo!" — the hall shouted as one.

Karl Ivanovich often predicted an enviable future for the girl: fame, wealth, universal love and respect. Bella, of course, listened with particular joy and embarrassment, but could not fully believe it. Her heart treacherously yearned for another. As a child, Raymondovna, like all children, dreamed of the impossible in adult life: in her earliest years, she dreamed of conquering the sky. When the war began, little Bella wanted to become a doctor, and then a pilot — notes about soldiers influenced the formation of the dreamy girl's personality. When she finally grew up, she realised that she had never had a choice: her family did not want to break with tradition. There was no suitable educational institution in the town where the Manezhny family lived, so almost immediately after graduation, Bella travelled in a third-class carriage with other non-residents applying to universities and colleges, carrying only the most necessary items with her. The resentment that had settled in her heart quickly faded thanks to her new acquaintances and friends. Successful exams, a new city and new experiences — everything passed like a strange but somewhat pleasant dream. The beginning of the journey was terribly difficult: Bella broke down, trained until her legs trembled and she was almost completely exhausted: she did not eat and could go without sleep for a long time in order to perfect herself. Sometimes the shouts of her teachers periodically resurfaced in her head in nightmares, from which she hid and tossed and turned. When Manezhnaya turned 16, she began to persuade her foreign father to send her to an aeroclub. The girl's attempts were unsuccessful, so Bella patiently waited to leave her parents' nest. After moving, she tried to openly declare her right to her dream: at first, Manezhnaya attended theoretical courses and even managed to jump with a parachute — soon she had to forget about her dream because of the enormous workload at school and the reproaches of her relatives. A memento of that time is a badge given to Raymondovna by a young man who also attended those classes. He is probably flying fighter jets now. "And I entertain and fascinate people in the circus... Such is fate, Bella Raimondovna." The sky remained a romantic dream from the most forgotten and colourful dreams.