The Rascally Romance (in a single helluva-long letter about a flicking-short life) - Сергей Николаевич Огольцов

The prowling circle of light carved in the darkness by a flashlight frisked over the leveled layer of cinder for thermal isolation ahead of our sneaking feet to where the plank partition crossed the attic. Deducting the approximate location of the catwalk screened by the sturdy planks, we started to split and break them so as to produce, by application of the ax, a sizable hole. The wood turned out rather hard, besides, our work was slowed down at lulls in the combat actions underneath.

It’s only after splitting one of the planks in two halves, we realized the additional problem we had run into—the supposed partition was, actually, a double wall of planks with a sheet-iron layer sandwiched between 2 wooden partitions. You can’t cut iron with an ax, that’s why we failed to make a manhole to the magnificent world of the art of motion pictures. The builders of yore knew their job all right, I warrant…

As it turned out, and pretty soon too, the whole manhole plan was not needed at all, because Raissa taught us taking pass-checks from the Club Director.

About six in the evening, Pavel Mitrofanovich was, as a rule, already jolly screwed, and when someone from the Children Sectorians appeared in his office with a humble petition, he tore a page-wide slip off a sheet of paper on his desk and, snuffling his nose so as to keep in check the booze on his breath, wrote an illegible line yielding “let in 6 (six) people” when deciphered, or any other number of those who wanted to watch the show on that day. Then he added his ornate signature running much longer than the previous line.

When the show began, we went up to the second floor and handed the precious scrap of paper to auntie Shura, who unlocked the treasured door to the balconies, suspiciously comparing our quantity to the hieroglyphics in the pass-check…

The Club Director was short and thickset without having a pot-belly though. His slightly swollen, and oftentimes ruddy, face was accompanied by the combed back grayish hair with a natural wave. When the Club stuff together with the amateurs from the Plant staged a full-length performance of the Ostrovsky’s At the Advantageous Place, the Club Director just parted his hair in the middle of his head, smeared it with Vaseline and turned out a better than natural Czar-times Merchant for the play.

Electrician Murashkovsky acted Landowner and appeared on stage in a white Circassian coat, constantly clutching a riding-whip, instead of a handkerchief, in his thong of the disfigured hand.

Even the Head of Children Sector, Eleonora Nikolayevna, partook in the full-length production of that classic play. Her position at Club was unmistakably higher than that of Raissa, who was the Artistic Director of Children Sector and reported to Eleonora because the latter appeared in Children Sector much seldomer. On those visits, as elsewhere, she invariably arrived in dangling earrings studded with tiny bright sparklers, as well as in an immaculate white blouse with a lace collar, which rigging was further emphasized by mannerly retarded movements of her hands, in contrast to the energetically Plebeian gesticulation of Raissa.

The only occasion when I saw Eleonora without those tiny shining strips hanging from her ears was in the one-act play, where she was acting the underground communist caught by the White Guards. The Whites locked her in the same prison cell with a criminal, acted by Raissa, and Eleonora converted her into a Communist supporter before Stepan, Club House Manager, together with Head of Variety Band, Aksyonov, both in white Circassian coats and ballet high boots, took her away to face the firing squad…

If the Club Director was absent from his office, I had to buy a ticket like mere mortals from the ticket office next to his locked door. On one of such occasions, I entered the common auditorium and chose to land into a seat right in front of two girls, my classmates, Tanya and Larissa, because even though in the sold tickets they always marked the row and the place no one paid much attention to those marks.

Sometime before, I secretly liked Tanya, but she seemed overly unattainable, so I pulled wisely up and switched over to courting Larissa. After the classes at school, I tried to catch up with her in Nezhyn Street because she also went home that way. However, she invariably walked together with Tanya, her close girlfriend and also a neighbor in their Maruta Street.

When Larissa was a participant in Children Sector, I once happened to see her along Professions Street to the Gogol Street corner because she did not allow going with her any farther. At that period Tanya also participated in Children Sector activities and there, actually, were 3 of us walking Professions Street. On the way, Tanya kept urging Larissa to walk faster but then she just got angry and went ahead alone.

The 2 of us parted at the aforesaid corner, and I went along Gogol Street enthusiastically recollecting Larissa’s sweet laugh in response to my silly yakety-yak. On reaching the ice-coated water pump under the lamppost at the Nezhyn Street corner, all of my enthusiasm evaporated because of the two black figures, contrasting crisply against the white snow, who called me to come up.

I recognized both, one was a guy from the parallel class, and the other – Kolesnikov, a tenth-grader from our school, they both were from somewhere about Maruta Street. In a privately threatening tone, Kolesnikov began to make me understand that if I ever would come up to Larissa again and if he ever would hear or be told that I dared then, well, in general, I should get it what he would do to me. And so he kept rehearsing those general concepts in a circle, with slight variations in their order of priority, when I suddenly felt something snatching at my calf. I thought that was a street dog and looked back,