No Way Out at the Entrance

“Hey! Pass it on!” he hailed and shook the shoulder of the person sitting directly in front of him. The person turned around. Out of surprise, Sashka jerked his hand back. He thought it was a guy there but “hey!” turned out to be a girl.

The beauty of the girl was so obvious that even a catty sharp-tongued old hag would not call it into question. True, she would feel obligated to add that there are signs of dystrophy from the long legs and there cannot be a brain in such a pretty head. However, there is no getting away from envy: you cannot climb up to the fence at least to spit on one who sits on it.

Noticing what impression she had made on Sashka, the corner of the girl’s mouth twitched and this spoiled seventy percent of the impression. Roosters are not the only smug ones. Simply one can more readily forgive hens.

“May I ask an improper question? What camouflage is this? English? Bundeswehr?” 6 she asked. Sashka answered that for the time being the camouflage was Russian. Three more improper questions were posed to him in the next forty seconds: “Why the hanky on the neck?” (Cool.) “Why a smell of burning from him?” (A fire.) “What does Sashka want to express with his military pants?” (Simply comfortable.)

6

Bundeswehr is the Federal Defence Force of Germany.

It turned out Sashka was not the only one who saw the beauty. The young fellow with the patch on his eye also gave her the once-over. “A bet on your phone number, your name’s… eh-eh… Natasha!” he plunged in, not wasting time on display of fantasy. His calm neighbour raised her eyebrows and with defiance shook the crumbs off her skirt onto his knees.

“Nevertheless, well done!” Sashka mentally approved. “He has no fear of a snub. He flies through life as a woodpecker. Knocks, doesn’t open, flies further.” Sashka himself was unable to be this way. For Sashka the world was too detailed, and the people too. He could not talk in phrases prepared ahead of time. He vaguely caught that for each person there exists special words, which reach him like a key and unlock his soul. But he did not know these words. Therefore, when he talked to a girl, he would carry on with the usual stock nonsense. What music she likes, what sites she visits, and so on.

The beauty looked dully at Cyril. Likely he scored even less points than Sashka. Still, Sashka was passable. Light-brown hair, grey eyes, an open face. “So what’s your name?” Cyril repeated.

“Don’t remember,” the beauty answered with defiance.

“What? Really they didn’t write it down in the passport?” Cyril was amazed. “Cool!”

The girl gave in. “Oh, fine. I’m Lara! Anything else?”

“Yea, smile!” Lara smiled, obediently and tiredly.

“Got a bite!” Sashka praised.

Vlad Ganich – the name of the precisionist in the suit – suddenly got up with a pressed knee on the seat and glanced back with suspicion at the last row. “Ah-h! Well then, yes!” he mysteriously drawled and sat down.

Sashka also half-rose in order to figure out what had attracted Ganich’s attention. He looked behind the high back hiding this spot from him earlier and lost his way in simple feelings and words, like a baby among table legs. The beauty Lara was instantly forgotten and simply faded into the background.

In the last row by the window sat a girl. Her face was cheerful like a person waiting for a gift of life, although also catching some bumps. Many small freckles added character to the skin. There were even freckles on the earlobes. The short, slightly pulled-up nose was similar to a sparrow’s beak. It seemed that the nose was not quite right at first – absurd, as if it had strayed from another’s face and got stuck. Only later you feel that there cannot be another nose here. After sculpting this girl from clay, life looked over its work, remained contented, as a last stroke merrily flicked the nose with its forefinger, and whispered, “Well, why are you standing? Go! Breathe! Live!”

“What are you?” Sashka foolishly asked, trying to comprehend how he could have missed her. Then he understood: the high back had been blocking the girl.

“Me? A person!”

“Pardon?”

“A person by the name of Rina!” a mocking answer followed.

“And what are you doing here?”

Rina slammed shut her book. She was reading a textbook on horse breeding. Sashka made out something on her wrist like a massive leather shield going into her sleeve. “Riding the bus!” she said capaciously.

Someone pulled out the money from Sashka’s fingers. “Give it here!” Makar again. Of course, “brotello” had long since changed seat and had settled himself next to Lara. Interesting, did he find out if the girl is local? Did he advise her to take care?

Makar leaped up with a knee on the seat and, jumping together with the rushing minibus, called out to the driver, “Hey, man! Hello! Are we taking the money?” No answer. The driver did not even attempt to stretch out a hand. They saw only a blue sport jacket with the collar raised high and a baseball cap.

“Hello, garage! Deaf?” Makar began to yell quite insolently. He obviously considered that to humble someone in the girl’s eyes was an additional way to earn points.

“Now the driver will stop, and he’ll fly out like a cork, given a send-off with tender strokes of the crowbar!” Sashka gauged and was mistaken. No one even turned to Makar. For such as he, this was a challenge. Yet, the great person fidgeted on the seat with his precious knee, dog-eared the money in his sweaty palm, and was ignored.

“I’m left with the money! Did you all see, people? We ride for free!” Makar announced for everyone to hear.

“He’s simply deaf! Someone, shake him!” the bossy girl with the flower-stalk neck demanded. She had just been introduced to the fan of gallows and army dog tags, and Sashka heard how she presented herself, “Freda.” Interesting, is that her real name? It does happen that a person disagrees with his own name and runs around his whole life as someone obscure.

Sashka put down his knapsack, jumped over to the empty seat next to Makar, and tried to touch the driver’s shoulder. Specifically, he tried, because the minibus made a sharp turn, passing a bus. Sashka, not holding his ground, tipped back, and in an incredible way pulled the driver off with himself.

He yelled, expecting a crash; the minibus continued to rush along. A second later he realized that he only had the blue sport jacket in his hands. Having decided that he had torn it off the driver’s shoulders, he leaped up and saw that there was no one at the wheel. Only a baseball cap was dangling in the air. Now, when Sashka had the jacket, it could not be kept secret that there was nothing under it.

Chapter 2 Coming from Nowhere to Going Nowhere