Hell and paradise

“From Fr“From Czechoslovakia?”

“No.

I am from Russia,” in the end I recognized. “From Russia,” he repeated with amazement and asked right away,

“How is Russia?”

“Good. Democracy,” I said with sadness in my voice.

“But people hungry?” he said as if reading my thoughts.

“What is your name?”

“My name is Charlotta.”

And then he introduced himself.

“My name is Steve Benderoth. I work in TV. I make music for a commercial channel.

What about you?” he asked.

“I am an artist.”

Of course, I was not. But I cannot and didn’t want to say that I am a cleaning lady or massage therapist or masseuse or economist or bookkeeper. It will look very prosaic. But I want something miracle like he is like my mood now. He is looking for a relative soul, and I don’t want to disillusion him. I want that he will be happy in that moment like I am now. “I feel scared,” I said. I was reminded of the moment I was afraid to come in the bar. “With me, you cannot be afraid anything,” he said confidently in his own voice. My glass already

was empty. “Can I buy you drink?” “Later,” I said shyly.

“When later?” he asked again.

“When later?” the barman repeated with a friendly smile, pouring me a glass.

“And also I am writing poetry.”

And I read a few lines that really came to my head in that moment.

“I will put this with music,” he said approvingly.

“Are you married?” he asked. “No, I am divorced.”

“Do you have children?”

“Daughter. She is eleven, and she is with my parents.”

“Why did you come here?” he asked again. “It is very hard to stay in one city and even in one country with the man whom you love a lot and with whom everything is finished.”

He looked at me with understanding and wonder.

“I am going through divorce too,” he said, “and I have two daughters, four and six years old. I have a house in Long Island, and tomorrow I have to go to see my children. Do you want go with me?” I didn’t answer. It will not be pleasant new woman and especially in their house. It may be even painful for her. I don’t want be the reason for somebody’s pain, I thought, but I didn’t tell anything. “Can I invite you for dinner?” he asked.

“Maybe tomorrow,” I said indecisively.

I felt a magical attraction to him. My close plan on the eve of back to Russia. I miss my daughter very much, and I felt that this new meeting will turn on me here again. I thought, from where it is unknown this cosmic attraction is such an incomprehensible yet sudden affinity with this man? We got out of the bar. It was a very unusually warm evening. It was the beginning of spring, March 16, but like summer. Steve was without a jacket even.

Soon, we were in a beautiful classic-style Italian restaurant. The hall was almost empty; it was very late that time already. We sat at the table face-to-face. When I looked at him, it was amazing – how wonderful he was so excellent, magnificent, and superior.

And he looked at me with wonder and pronounced, “Madonna.”

I felt so full of confidence in him. It is like one sheet of paper torn many times ago suddenly connected and became whole again and everything came together so exactly and easy. Later I wrote this poem:

I remember that evening in Irish bar, We were sitting there in half-nightmare. Jesus Christ, Virgin Mary—

That thought suddenly came to us. We’ve known each other for a thousand years – That’s our attraction’s secret.

What does this meeting mean When a moment equals to eternity?

The waiter brought the menu. I ordered salmon. I didn’t understand why, but Steve wondered about my choice. Our dinner finished after midnight. Then we walked to his apartment. It was close, on West Fifty-Fifth Street between Eighth and Ninth Avenues. He has a small onebedroom apartment on the sixth floor in the building with an elevator. When we came to his apartment, I sat on the sofa in the living room, and he told me about his life. Recently, his father died, and his partner too, like result he got depression and became almost impotent, which started a problematic relationship with his wife. He was talking and I was listening, but, mostly, I was admiring him, how wonderful he is. His voice – every word, every syllable, every sound – made big sense. I understood that a lot of sad events happened to him, but it is so nothing compared to what he is now and here, so unusual, marvelous, extraordinary with his beautiful face and astonishing voice that you want to listen to, like music. Voice in which has everything: feeling, sense, sensation, sentiment, pulse, significance, point, denotation, intellect, mind, intelligence, common sense, wisdom, opinion, account, and belief. Here I saw abundance. I saw a shining semicircle above his head. It was a halo – a sign of holiness, how it was later explained to me in church. Steve was a Protestant, but he does not go to the church.

Then I asked about his religion. He smiled and said, “God is in my heart.”

Morning came not visibly. I had a short sleep on the sofa, and Steven went to his bedroom. In the morning, I did not feel that it was a night almost without sleep. I felt a huge energy between us, which was giving power.

We were in the elevator. A woman, his neighbor, was there too. He used to live for a long time in this building. It was his apartment before marriage.

“Charlotta,” he introduced me. “She is from

Russia.”

The woman nodded friendly and told her name. We went to have breakfast. The evening’s charm did not go away; it became even stronger. I was enjoying every moment with my new friend, and he changed his plan and did not go to Long Island that day.

We went to the street. There was a strolling celebration in honor of Saint Patrick. We walked little bit, and after, we went to my room.

I needed to change clothes. In my room, we made love.

Then Steve proposed to go to a striptease place where his acquaintance, a girl from Czechoslovakia, was working. She was very young and very beautiful and lovely, and we became friends right way.

“I am stupid. I am stupid that I work in this dirty place,” she said, “but what to do? We don’t have legal documents for work, and our choice is limited and here with good pay.”

Steve said that when he saw her, all his thoughts lightened up, and she was wonderful, really. And also he said that a lot of men hide other women from the woman they love, but he is different, and he doesn’t want to hide anything from me. I accepted and understood his view. We already said goodbye to each other, and he had collected his briefcase and was going to go by train to Long Island. We embraced and kissed. I did not follow him and look after him. I turned back on him and began to look at the fountain as the water fell. It was very sad. I thought that I knew his whole life and was saying goodbye for an eternity. Suddenly, I heard his footsteps. He came back. He changed his mind. He will go later; it was too sad to leave me. He suggested to go to a Russian restaurant that was nearby called Samovar. It was not too late, and there were not much visitors. The restaurant seemed huge for me. We sat at a table. The waiter brought the menu. I looked at the prices, and they were not cheap at all. I had no idea about Steve’s financial condition, and because he was not a businessman but a musician, I doubted his solvency. I had $100. I told him about it. He smiled. “Don’t worry,” and began to order.

In the distance, there was a white grand piano. A pianist came and played. He played wonderfully. When we left the restaurant, Steve gave him $10. We went again to walk on Broadway. There were shows with different sexual times. Cravings from one of the little windows, an African woman showed a full chest. We took turns kissing her like people kissed a cross in the church. It was late evening.

We went to dinner again at some expensive American restaurant. By night, we were so drunk. I just wandered. We hardly got home, which was two steps away, and taking a taxi was not advisable in the New York traffic, which can stand for hours. Steven eventually went to Long Island two days later.

This meeting completely pulled out of routine my life before. I became absolutely different. I was looking in the mirror and did not recognize myself. Who is this extraordinarily beautiful, shining, happy woman? I asked myself. Would I see him again? I have his phone number, but I don’t want to call first. My massage business continued, a man of about forty years, an art professional, came to have a massage in my place. He invited me to take a walk in Central

Park. Then we went to the Metropolitan Museum, where the richest collection of paintings in America is. He asked whom I worked for in Russia. I modestly replayed: “I was an artist.”

He said that he immediately noticed that I’m unusual and that even it is clear that I can communicate with people from a past life. I did not quite understand what he meant, but it flattered me. I went out with him from the Metropolitan Museum. I was really very fond of painting and everything beautiful, but that day, I felt so happy that everything seemed beautiful and not only recognized masterpieces.