Escaping with Prévert by Maria Pavlova

Ordinary… She was hopelessly ordinary. Nothing special about her eyes, nose, eyebrows, hair, not a trace of any distinctive charm. She was like scenery that you see when your soul is empty. Sharp at five she would finish with the accounts, turn the computer off, tidy up her desk, and leave. She usually spent evenings alone – Ivan traveled a lot and the twins were going to school far from here since last fall.

Saturdays and Sundays were the hardest. That’s when Vera would thoroughly clean the house, shake the table covers and blankets, mop the floors, iron, water the flowers, and cook. She had the feeling that if she stopped doing all those things, her heart would stop – they were a part of her now. She was like a mechanical doll or more precisely like a robot that would vacuum, then puree the soup, load and unload the dishwasher, roll the zucchini in flour before frying, iron shirts and pants, and keep breaking the same cup with strawberries painted on it – all this in an endless déja vu.

The only thing Vera was doing with rage was dusting. She would do it last. That’s when she felt all this nonsense the most and couldn’t stand it anymore. There would be not a particle of dust, but she would wipe off her tears falling on the polished furniture, and the towel would get more and more damp because they kept welling out.

When Vera wasn’t crying, she felt that her tears somehow hurt.

Ivan was constantly on business trips and rarely came home. It’s been a long while since he stopped noticing her; he didn’t touch her, didn’t even kiss her. In some infinitely distant past she would light up from his kisses and even from the thought of him. And now he would watch TV or read a newspaper or visit his favorite sites with pretty girls, and wouldn’t even hide from her. He had his life while she didn’t.

That’s why what happened to her a month ago felt like an earthquake. The well-arranged rhythm was shuttered all of a sudden; she didn’t expect it; there were no signs. In fact, it only seemed this way – some animals can feel the earthquake.

The same thing happened with her. It wasn’t expected since she was covering her depressions and her rare nervous bursts were considered nothing but regularity. The only person Vera told about her dizziness on the street was Eva. Eva was her friend and a physician. She didn’t find anything wrong with Vera. Her blood pressure was okay, the hemoglobin level too. But Vera felt exhausted and dizzy all the time.

… She was just the lonely inhabitant of a planet that was killing the senses. The only things growing undisturbed in this emptiness were her longings before she fell asleep. They didn’t even appear in her dreams – Vera had no dreams. But it was so good there – on the verge of falling asleep! Where exactly is “there”? Perhaps in the nothing. How was it possible, she wondered, that the world with all these thousands things in it was so empty and reminded stage props. She hated their big house; sullenly picked roses in the garden and put them in vases; only by habit arranged the glass figurines and decorative pillows over and over. Nothing, absolutely nothing made her happy.

Vera was a prisoner of small things. It was hard to explain all that. Being a rebel wasn’t a feature of her spirit. Vera thought that her spirit was like her appearance – invisible to the others. So she did her chores without protesting. The three men would sit at the table; she would bring them plates and take them away, make coffee, clean the ashtrays. It wasn’t like she didn’t love them, just… During the first years Vera didn’t mind – she enjoyed doing it. They helped, of course, then and now, but it was like going to the movies or discussing a concert, somehow artistically, once in a blue moon. How would they feel if she cooked once a week? Or if she had clean socks ready for them only in spring? She even laughed imagining that, but it wasn’t funny. In addition to her chores she also worked – were they forgetting that fact? Vera was wondering which the main course was and which – the side dish.

… She would become different only in the beautiful darkness. The first step of going there at night was the feeling that she died somehow. Vera knew that the human soul is very tender and ethereal like a dove and that it doesn’t stand barriers. That’s why only in her dreams Vera’s soul was breathing. But first Vera would die because all the layers that were squeezing her would disappear. But there wasn’t an empty space after the last one – a little sparkle was waiting there, somehow timid and intangible. It was the little particle from where her happiness would grow, and it wouldn’t be controlled by the world.

The sparkle resembled the sky – you can look at it, it’s in your sight, it fills you with enchantment and emotions, but at the same time you know that it doesn’t exist – you learned about this in physics class. There is no way you can reach it, touch its blue, be in it. If you go up in an airplane or a balloon, it won’t wait for you because it was never there. The same way Vera was sure that if she moved toward that sparkle, it would be impossible to touch it. It was an illusion of her heart, just like the sky is an illusion of the eyes. She could have it only at a distance. Perhaps everybody knew that. It looked like all of her acquaintances had the only goal in life to build brick walls around them – it couldn’t be any other way. A brick, some lime and mortar, and over again… Just like she was cooking, cleaning, ironing. Of course, somebody had to do it. Genetically she was totally suitable and there was no point in complaining. When she was particularly nervous and couldn’t hide it, Ivan would say that it was probably PMS. God, how she hated him at those moments! He wasn’t retarded – Vera was sure he knew what her problem was. And she had the feeling that if she started screaming, she would never stop. Ivan took her for granted, for a part of the interior – she was expected to always be there. That made her sick! Ivan didn’t drink, and this fact was enough to call her desire for a glass of champagne a deadly sin. Vera understood that it was going to be like this about everything, so she hid, sank into the deepest waters. What stayed on top was the scum, not the froth from an open bottle. Like something without a face. Maybe that was why she couldn’t remember herself anymore.

So she became faceless.

I’m a gray cloud, she would tell herself as she was putting down the iron. She would look at the trees and fall into reverie; put her hand under the shirt and idly caress her breasts. A short sigh would fly out of her mouth; Vera would slightly pull on her aroused nipples as she was listening to the rustle of the leaves outside…

A sip of champagne, a sip of fresh air – how she missed them! Recently Vera started looking often through old photos. Here is her beautiful wavy auburn hair – now she was wearing a pony tail; the tenderness in her eyes – it’s long gone too; and there – the tight pants and shirts that looked so good on her because she was thin and had a good body; Vera stayed thin, but now she was wearing shapeless skirts – maybe because she was losing her shape too. On the other pictures she was happily hugging the twins and Ivan was hugging her… Vera would often joke with Eva that they should make up for what they have missed in another life. We have to make up for more than fifteen years, but when did they pass?! The time flew away; the change was a long process; stitch by stitch they were weaving the boredom.

Her voice became coarse too; she got it from shouting after the boys and from constantly reminding Ivan to not put the cucumbers in the fridge. Was he doing it on purpose in order to irritate her or maybe he just didn’t care how she felt?

It didn’t matter anymore. Now the kids were away and she had time for herself. But could she rewind the tape, have the previous Ivan, erase the wrinkles, be young again?

Seventeen years slipped by just like that, like sand through her fingers. Waking up, breakfast, clothes for school, work, the same mill again in the evening, rare and ever more boring entertainment. In the end of the day she had energy only to lie down and watch half of the movie. And all this would repeat the next day. She wanted so much to sleep in one day until noon, but there wasn’t such a holiday in the calendar.

Now she could do it, but how do you make up if you didn’t get enough sleep for so many years? The exhaustion, the interwoven fingers under the pillow, the small black dress that she hasn’t worn for ages… Signs of cellulite on her thighs. Vera didn’t even wear lipstick – she would look like a black and white picture with one color spot.

It was Saturday.

She heard a ring at the door. It was drizzling outside. The washed street, the houses and the yards, almost modeled, were suggesting tranquility.

She went out, ran to the front gate, and opened it. He wasn’t particularly interested in working today, but started advertising the merchandise. Vera looked at him as she was trying to conceal her impatience to send him away, mixed with some curiosity toward him.

In fact, he wasn’t sure if there was any curiosity. He liked her lips; the lower one was full and fresh. Often women didn’t wear any makeup when answering the door, so he had the advantage to see them the way they were. Sometimes he would stay for an hour or two or until morning.

He liked her eyes too. They were very sad. Even though she would nod from time to time, it was unlikely she was listening.

“What’s your name?”

He smiled. This question always surprised his customers.

“What?”

“What’s your name?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Who knows, just because.”

He wasn’t pressing, wasn’t showing anything; he was just smiling. He didn’t want to scare her. And he didn’t care about her name, but he liked her uneasiness. She was about to close the door, but hesitated for a moment and changed her mind.

“Vera. I don’t like my name.”

“Don’t say that. It’s quite good! Well, aren’t you going to order any of those appliances, Vera?”

“I… don’t need them, but I’ll think about it. Maybe I’ll call you if I decide to order.”

She will decide, yeah, right! But he noticed that her pressing sadness had melted away a little. He wasn’t a dedicated altruist, but he liked it.

“Vera, Vera, little Vera, tell me, are you alone?”

She looked into his sneering eyes and a thrill rushed through her body. Or maybe she felt the thrill and then looked at… Goodness, that was nonsense!

She imagined how he walked in the house with her. Ivan kept telling her, as if she was a child, not to let anybody in the house. Not that she let anybody in! But at this moment she terribly wanted to do something that Ivan wouldn’t like.

“I’m alone. My husband is on a business trip and will be back tomorrow. The kids are not coming home soon. I’m completely alone – don’t even have a cat. And you… what’s your name?”

She blushed at the last question. And that’s when she felt this quince taste in her mouth that stayed there forever.

The sun dozed off and slowly started falling down. She felt as if her dress was falling down too. She had finished cleaning. She would invite him into her sparkly clean and tidied house. She had wiped off every single tear from the polished shining surfaces – just like her painfully polished reticence. She had covered the tracks, but still the crime scene of her long destroying was the most suitable place for a sin.

“Kaloyan.”

Her heart started pounding.

Vera was watching the woman who walked with the man inside. Thank God, she took a shower, but her underwear! She didn’t have nice underwear at all. And she should have removed the hair from her legs – it could be easily seen. No, she told herself, she would only invite him in, make him coffee and talk to him, maybe even about the appliances, and then he would go. Kaloyan would go.

She put on some music. Just look at him – he was making himself at home! Nice thought… His hot hands were impatiently taking her clothes off just minutes later. She tried to hide – didn’t want to look at her own body.

“I want you.”

He hugged her as she was half undressed and she knew he wasn’t lying. At this moment she relaxed and her nervousness passed – this aroused part erased all her discomfort. Somebody wanted her. A very nice looking man passionately wanted her and she was trying not to think about his age. Such a forgotten feeling that was so normal long ago! You want me, and I want you; your hands are all over me; my hands are looking for yours; I’m falling to your feet.

Something new was pulsating and spreading around… And she forgot about him – not even for a moment did she remember Ivan. There was nothing besides her escape. Her lips started moving faster; his moans were flooding in her hair, motley in the late afternoon.

She wanted to do that day and night, to meet all his desires like a melted drop of wax. She wanted that there would be nothing else. There was nothing else.

… Vera sighed, looked at her ugly dress on the floor, wiped herself with it and smiled at the sight of the mess. He noticed her smile and decided to stay.

Vera liked the taste of quinces since she was a child. That night tasted the same way. They danced or maybe made love – it didn’t make any difference. Perhaps that sparkle in her had a quince color. When their bodies untangled, she felt it in the air.

Vera was dreaming for the first time. And yet isn’t the sky only a memory of the unborn time? When she was still alive, completely alive, she believed that even when her hair turns gray, her eyes would stay young. Her hair didn’t change – she inherited this from her grandmother, but her eyes grew old. It happens, perhaps, when you give up.

All of a sudden, when the night was half over, Vera felt that her exhaustion wouldn’t disappear. She wouldn’t be different in the morning. Short escapes in the wonderful darkness, either with somebody or in her dreams, didn’t lead anywhere. Magic wands exist only in fairy tales, that’s why we like listening to the stories. But then why does it feel… good?

Nothing outside her could bring her where she wanted to be. Not Kaloyan, not the men appearing in her imagination before the sleep won over her. Not even her kids. She adored the boys, was nervous about every step they took when they were toddlers, and now she worried even more. Their life became her life when they needed her care – they were just sucking in her love; but now they grew up and had their own lives. That’s the way it should be, of course, she didn’t mind, but since they left the loneliness became unbearable.

… A night with a stranger. Vera liked the fragrance of cigarettes. She told him about her – the words were flooding, dripping on the bed, on her skin. He managed somehow to wipe them off, and she felt relived.

He said he would bring champagne next time. “Next time”… It sounded good. Her despair got stronger than ever.

But she felt good anyway.

Perhaps because… It felt like at that darkest moment, just before the morning breaks, when the stars are still on the sky and the sun hasn’t arrived yet. It was something like that now – the layers covering her were dying forever one after another, but the joy wasn’t close enough to feel it yet. Vera was just sensing it. And that’s exactly when she felt the despair; it coincided with the darkest part of the night. But there was a background – the invisible dawn.

And all of a sudden the happiness started crawling over her eyelashes.

Everything in life has an end, even the worst period. At that point her long night was over. Was it because of the infidelity or just because the time had come – it didn’t matter.

Kaloyan was looking at her and wanted to caress her, but didn’t do it so she wouldn’t disappear again. She was staring at the ceiling like a little girl enchanted by her fairy world before she fell asleep. When Vera fell asleep, he hugged her and thought about her for a long time. Then he put his clothes on and left. He could bring some champagne, but that would be it. Or at the most he could buy her a cat. Even a street cat would do.

He left the house almost in panic.

“I knew you would come back.”

“Somehow I started missing you.”

He undressed her and took the nightgown out of the paper bag. The curtains whispered from the wind. The silk rustled, her hair too. He started caressing her; her fingers stretched and then cringed. Vera raised her arms, intertwined them and stayed like that.

He was feeling for her fingers and started kissing them. Then he tasted her shoulders and sneaked under the strap. She was frequently breathing because her time started running faster. And during this quick running time a rock turns into little particles in a second, somebody’s palms are filled with a treasure. That’s also the place for thirst when the love is starting – or the resemblance of love.

Vera was making up for her life. She felt free. It was her own freedom, a nuance number eighty or five hundred. Her eyelashes were shining again.

You are a strange woman, do you know? Of course you don’t since you consider yourself faceless. Yes the place around your eyes is so faceless! It’s scary. But I admit it, it’s beautiful. At least you are not sad anymore.

They fell asleep when the others were supposed to wake up. Just before that she remembered about the chaos – in the room and in her. Yes, she told herself, I’m a strange woman. I can hear your thoughts. And finally everything is where it’s supposed to be.

He put his arm around her, and they fell asleep.

… Vera let her hair loose and went to the nearest hair saloon. She had her hair trimmed and dried. She was amazed how little she needed to look better.

Her torpid expression was slowly disappearing – like a fog that had layered for a long time. One day she woke up completely healed.

Now she didn’t clean as much as before, didn’t cook every day, didn’t tidy the house so often. She told Ivan it was because of her nerves. He didn’t pay attention. He didn’t notice a thing – not her hairstyle, not even her face. And when she took her things and moved out… In fact, she didn’t do it. Vera didn’t move out. The impulse to do it didn’t last long. The change was something inside her. Why force the world around her and make dramatic decisions – she had suffered enough. She was happy with the feeling of freedom. It wasn’t necessary to ruin the sand figures around – they weren’t real anyway. Why should she rearrange them and waste time?

The only thing she changed was the place where she would meet Kaloyan. She didn’t want the neighbors’ gossip. Not that she cared about that. She just didn’t want to complicate her life instead of enjoying the affair. They wouldn’t notice her if they hadn’t so far, with her loneliness and longings. The sandy transient is always in the bullseye. She was probably the same in her accepting or judging of the others.

People with small souls like big words, her grandmother told her once, very long ago, but Vera still remembered it. If a person doesn’t care whether you have laughed or cried and doesn’t comfort you or share your joy, he or she has a small soul. They are not worth anything.

Perhaps her soul was small too, but at least she tried to peek into the open.

Vera was telling Eva everything. Eva gave her a nice book of poetry and wrote inside,

“To my best friend! I love you, dear, and admire you…”

The first thing she read was something by Jacques Prévert that she liked from before:

Three matches one by one struck in the night

The first to see your face in its entirety

The second to see your eyes

The last to see your mouth

And the darkness all around to remind me of all these

As I hold you in my arms.*

* Translation of poem by Jacques Prévert from French by Matthew Akins // Matt’s Poetry Corner. August 28, 2008 . – Translator’s note.

Translator of story’s name: Juliana Chakarova

Maria Pavlova was born in Plovdiv, Bulgaria and graduated from Paisii Hilendarski University of Plovdiv. She has a degree in Slavic studies. She writes short stories, poetry, as well as essays, and her works have been published in the press. Her book, The Rival, tells a story about a girl who was born blind and tries to understand colors in order to find a way to the world of the people who can see. (English publications – only two upcoming publications (“Cezanne’s Carrot” (XII. 2008) and “Forge”)) Maria is married with one daughter. Website:http://MariaPavlova.net