SCENE TWELVE (XII)
“язык хорошо подвешен”
Pronunciation: yaZYK haraSHO padVYEshen
Meaning: eloquent, talkative; in possession of the gift of gab
“THE TONGUE IS WELL HUNG”
Sebastian Adonaev awakes on Onderdonk Fields and Dasha is still in his arms, tits still plump and cutely snoring. Fucking amazing luck, two whole nights! She is warm and breathing deeply. She clutches his hand to her ample breasts and thus is pressing her body against and besides him. Very much engorged he presses his hardness into the plump of her buttocks as if waiting for her to wine.
It is Sunday and everything would repeat itself again. Indecisive lusty flirtations with nothing to support the imagined memories and Oleg the bear stood by taking pictures. The festival of the Gypsy’s continued as the city braced for Monday’s West Indian Day parade. The dress rehearsal for any insurrection.
Eventually that Sunday evening Dasha and Kawa broke camp and headed towards the underground. They arrive at a small tavern across the street from the faded green light posts of the L underground train in bombed-out warehouse zones of so-called “East Williamsburg”. The tavern is paneled in old wood and is made up like some old school prohibition tavern; the name of the joint is ‘the Cobra Club’. It professes to combine mix-ology and light yoga. Much to the delight of Kawa who cannot think of two activities worse suited for each other than drinking and yoga, perhaps drinking and driving an ambulance.
It was here that he notices that Dasha has a dragonfly necklace and matching wrist bracelet, which he had not noticed previously adorning her. Although not on her person for the previous two and part days of the festival, now they were back on. And that all other times which has been twice before the festival she was wearing some accessory piece with this image it occurs to him. How curious. Or perhaps he’s making another enormous battery of false-positive conclusions, based on cumulative sleep deprivation.
“What then does the dragonfly symbolize?” he asks her.
“It doesn’t symbolize anything at all man. I just like the way it looks,” she responds.
It seems to gauge if she is lying, he thinks. After three days of general revelry, they are both a little out of body.
“Your eyes are now green,” she smiles.
“Normally they are…” he starts.
“Hazel Brown as pure bullshit, I know,” she smiles.
“And yours are now silver where before they were blue.”
“What kind of Amerikanski are you? You’re not like them exactly and yet you are them and you also have certain qualities that are Russian and yet surely not of us, at all. You’re a mad man aren’t you?”
“I am only half-mad,” he replies.
“Do you have anything else you need me to know?”
“I could help you with your anything.”
“But I need nothing from you. Not even some physical help.”
“Where are you and we gonna be when the weekend is finally over,” he asks.
“You’re an indomitable woman.”
“Are you a jealous man?” she asks. Beware any woman that ever asks that ever in history, it means nothing good.
Never go after a woman who asks that, says his father in his head.
He looks into her thinking; he could learn to be. There had been some deliberation on options, such as her joining him in the Hamptons at the family dacha (country home) or participating in the West Indian Day Parade. Honestly there was a lot going on that weekend, it didn’t matter if he could just keep being with her. Nevertheless, politely she said he could take her number again and call her later since she had to soften the conspicuous blow to her keeper inflicted by two night’s disappearance. One had to have a little, just a little bit of shall we say tact, attention to the protocols. Formalities of fidelity, anyway she doesn’t go into any details for the sake of his fragile ego, all men have a mostly fragile ego.
“I do not know if we shall meet again tonight, or ever, new wild stranger, but I did quite enjoy this time with you,” she explained and then they took the L toward the city and went their separate ways, she to district Brighton Beach and he to the District Financial. In his sketchbook on a drawing they colored together she writes in Russian; “Shame that it all will end.” Though you could translate that several different ways, all were pretty bleak.
Daria later, by about three hours, informs him by telephone later that evening she will be forced to remain on the coast of Breuklyn.
“Have a good time at the Neg parade or in your happy Hamptons, whichever you decide upon this year.”