The Suitcase / Чемодан. Книга для чтения на английском языке

Most people consider problems whose solutions don’t suit them to be insoluble. And they constantly ask questions to which they don’t need truthful answers.

To cut a long story short, I was meddlesome and stupid.

I acquired debts. They grew in geometric progression. By November they had reached eighteen roubles – a monstrous sum in those days. I learnt about pawnshops with their stubs and receipts, their atmosphere of dejection and poverty.

When Asya was near I couldn’t think about it. But as soon as we said goodbye, the thought of my debts floated in like a black cloud. I awoke with a sense of impending disaster. It took me hours just to convince myself to get dressed. I seriously planned holding up a jewellery store. I was convinced that all the thoughts of a pauper in love were criminal.

By then my academic success had diminished noticeably. Asya hadn’t been an outstanding student to begin with. The deans began talking about our moral image. I noticed that when a man is in love and he has debts, his moral image becomes a topic of conversation.

In short, everything was horrible.

Once I was wandering around town looking for six roubles. I had to get my winter coat out of hock. And I ran into[11 - to run into (smb) – случайно встретить] Fred Kolesnikov.

Fred was smoking, leaning against the brass rail of the Eliseyev Store. I knew he was a black marketeer[12 - black marketeer – фарцовщик (фарцовка – сленговое название запрещённой в СССР покупки или перепродажи импортных товаров)]. Asya had introduced us once. He was a tall young man, about twenty-three years old, with an unhealthy complexion. As he spoke, he smoothed his hair nervously.

Without a second thought, I went over to him. “Could you lend me six roubles until tomorrow?” I tried to act pushy when I borrowed money, so that people could turn me down easily.

“Without a doubt,” said Fred, taking out a small, square wallet.

I regretted not asking for more.

“Take more,” said Fred.

Like a fool, I protested.

Fred looked at me curiously.

“Let’s have lunch,” he said. “My treat.”

His demeanour was simple and natural. I always envied people who could be that way.

We walked three blocks to the Chayka restaurant. It was empty. The waiters were smoking at a side table. The windows were wide open. The curtains swayed in the breeze.

We decided to go to the far corner. A young man in a silvery Dacron[13 - Dacron – дакрон, название полиэстеровой материи] jacket stopped Fred. They had a rather mysterious conversation.

“Greetings.”

“My respects,” said Fred.

“Well?”

“Nothing.”

The young man’s eyebrows rose in disappointment. “Absolutely nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“But I asked you.”

“I’m very sorry.”

“But can I count on it?”

“Indubitably.”

“It would be good sometime this week.”

“I’ll try.”

“What about a guarantee?”

“No guarantees. But I’ll try.”

“Will it be a label?”

“Naturally.”

“So, call me.”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember my phone number?”

“Unfortunately I don’t.”

“Please write it down.”

“With pleasure.”

“Even though this is not a conversation for the phone.”

“I agree.”

“Maybe you’ll just come by with the wares?”

“Gladly.”

“Do you remember my address?”

“Afraid not…”

And so on.

We went to the far corner. The clear folds of the ironing showed on the tablecloth. The cloth was rough.

Fred said, “See that wannabe? A year ago he ordered a set of Delbanas with a cross-”

I interrupted him. “What are Delbanas with a cross?”