The Russian Wife Ch. 06

"You have made my son struggle, have you?"

"Struggle?" I wondered, looking at the nape of my man. What did he say to his mother?

"Before to sleep with him! To go to bed with him!" she said, cheerfully. My man snorted, shaking his head and smiling.

"Mom!"

"Let me talk, "bìschero"!" she said. Something like "fool", but told with affection... Then she looked at me, always cheerfully. "Well done! That's the way to do, with the men!"

My "in law" was a widow since quite a long time, and she lived quite happily on her own: many friends (men and women), no new serious companion. She had her interests, travels, exhibitions, and was fully self-sufficient.

She had informed all the neighborhood that his son ("il su figliolo") had married a Russian girl. I noticed it the first time I went to the local supermarket. I had no problem doing what the other people did, as Shakespeare teaches, with the trolley and all the rest (a girl asked me where was the special offers sector, like I've been a regular attendee of the place...) and going around among the shelves, looking at what there was (a lot of things, of course) and at what there wasn't (no "kefìr", no "smetàna", and only rice, no other cereals. Always "risovaya Kasha"... Boring!), but when I lost my control and thanked the cashier in Russian ("spazìba") she smiled to me and answer with a perfect "prashù va's". She was studying Russian at the university, and had been in Moscow for a month.

"It's a little bit different here, right?" I asked, with a good "understatement", nodding at the shelves. She shrugged.

"You get used to everything!"

I snorted, smiling, greeted her and went to the exit, but she called me: "Signora!"

"What?" I asked. Had i forgotten something, or made another mistake? She was smiling.

"You are the wife of doctor Rossi, right?"

"How do you know it?" I asked, very surprised. She smiled wider.

"Words passing by..."

Even in Russia, a borough or a block (we say a "kvartàl") are small villages, sooner or later people discover many things about you. But I did not think that in the West, in Italy, it was the same. "Radio Sarafàn", OBS, "odnà bàbuska skasàla", a granny said...

Then I realize. No "bàbushki", or at least, not so organized. Just my "in-law", and her joy to tell everybody that his son had found a girl who met her approval, because she was Russian, because of her heroic father, and because she was "serious"...

Well, what was wrong with that?

Of course, even the kids on the block knew that there was a Russian in the zone. And they were very curious. They lived in a tourist city, so they were used to see foreigners around. But "foreigners" was a deal, "Russian" was another. It was like having a Martian next door. A fine Martian too...

Indeed, the "màlchiki", the little boys, were those who seemed more impressed by the new fact. I had the precise feeling they were "counting my steps" as they say in Italy. No hostile approaches, indeed, no approach at all. But a constant attention.

I was not annoyed about that. It was fun, after all. I guess I was the argument of many lively discussions. I guessed that those who had seen me, acquired a special status: "he has seen a Russian!". And all the friends wanted to know, as we say, what was that, "and with what you can eat it"...

"Well, how is that Russian?"

"She's beautiful... very beautiful..."

"But HOW beautiful?"

"Well, how can she be? She is a Russian!" (tautological, but true)...

"Oh yes, they ARE beautiful!"

"Yes, "tovàrish"..."

""Bìschero", politics has nothing to do with that, the point is the chromosomes..."

The few times I had exchanged some words with them, they seemed clumsy (understandable, at their age), very shy, absolutely harmless, and somewhat disappointed by the fact that I spoke a quite normal Italian language, although with some accent. "It's unfair!" they seemed to think. "If you speak like us, where does the mystery go?"

Of course, not all was positive. I had to get used to the fact that the lights in the stairway of our block did not remain always turned on, as in Russia, and I saw that really, winter in Florence was cold, and the heating did not work as well as in Moscow (not always so well, at least). And I was lucky to live in a town where there was an effective centralized gas supply system: when I met some other Russian women who married Italians who lived in smaller centers, I knew that they had to take care to the gas cylinders: they did not last forever. And those girls had "nostalgia" of when they could cook without minding the cylinder getting empty... Some of them said that this was a "third world stuff". A bit exaggerated, but...

Another not so positive fact: maybe for the problems he found in its new position, my man became more nervous, and we started to "argue". Nothing really serious: we barked to each other for a while, but more to "vypuskàt par", to "push the steam out", than for real hostility.

But I never saw my man getting angry, and it was a bad thing. He could hardly talk to me in Russian in those moments, and has a very harsh, almost roaring tone. I thought that was the way he talked in his office in Moscow, when he had to show who called the tune. It was acceptable in Russia, in a working situation (it was the minimum a man had to be ready for, indeed), but he had never used that tone with me...

Me too, on the other side, was not such a delicate "Turgènevskaya bàrishnya": if he shouted, I shouted too. And I must be honest: my man had never beaten me. He could slap my butts (and I liked it!), but not my face... Some women accept a slap, some poor women even more slaps and poundings. I knew I never risked any of the above. My man could be nervous, but never violent, neither in bed nor out of it. But all the same, they were very bad moments. I tried to avoid them, as they say, "it takes two to argue". And I repeat, not for fear. Just because... because I did not like to see my man angry...

But I loved to see him when he was NOT angry! He was always as when I met him: cheerful as a boy, affectionate as a big puppy, and always positive, dependable, effective... "Kosyàin v dòme", as we say, master in his house. Although he had understood: a Russian woman is the real mistress of her house. Wherever that house can be...

He had also understood the matters on which I would have never given up. It was when I kept calm. And he could insist at his ease, but I would have never changed my mind. So I drew the line. On this side, it was my turf, my space, the things that I decided. Across that line, well, he could play the "second-in-command- after-God". Indeed, he played that role very well. Without taking it too seriously, first of all...

So why we argued? I asked him about that. He said "because we do. Because everybody does. To make a society, it takes more than one person, and two persons are too many already... "

"Only for that?" I snorted. He shook his head.

"No... It's even the job... Do you know the Peter's principle? "A person is promoted till he reaches his own level of incompetence"... And maybe I have reached mine... "

"Why?" I asked. It seemed a bit worrysome.

"Because... they promote you because you did your job well. But this doesn't mean you can do well, even the job at the next step of the ladder. Sometimes you need different skills for that. And maybe that's my case, now..."

"No worry. It's just the first period. You got used to your last job, to Moscow... Now things have changed. You just need to adapt..."

"Improvise, adapt yourself, overcome!" he snorted. "I hope you are right..."

So we did, regularly, after an argument. Nobody had codified it, let alone fix it in some decalogue or written deal. It just happened. When we were in bed, we tried to appease with each other, if we could not do it before. And always without sex. He didn't want to give the impression that sex was the reason why he asked for peace. And he was right: it would have been a wrong tactic.

I know, somebody thinks sex is a good way of appeasing, and that an argument can be exciting: discharge of tensions, adrenaline and the like. It could work, in some cases, for some people, I don't doubt it, we all are different. But not for me. When I argued, I felt as the soldiers of "Goodnight Saigon": "Our arms were heavy but our bellies were tight...". Not an erotic sensation, at all...

Sometimes, incredibly, he was right on the issue we argued about. And we argued all the same, even more than usual. Once it happened in the summer. A typical, very hot Florence's summer, about 41°C (I swear: it happens). Maybe it was that heat, which got me mad: it was WORSE than Moscow in July, and that's all said.

At night, I know it was my time to ask for his pardon. And I asked it. But it was not enough for me. I was really sorry for all I've said... I would have liked to pamper him, even make love with him. But he seemed distant, following some thoughts in his head. He did not refuse my kisses and my caresses: he even stroked my hair... But when I tried to hug him and pull him over me, to offer him my body and my sex, he shook his head no.

"Tìkha, devchònka. Dièd ustàl", he said, without even looking at me. Cool it, little girl: grandpa is tired...

I understood. He was not angry at me, but he was not ready to make love with me. Something was puzzling him. And this time it was not the work. It was something more serious. If there were more serious things than work...

I kissed him on his shoulder and lay on my side to sleep. And I feel his hand patting my butt...

The morning after it was Sunday. We had our very normal breakfast, but he keep being strange, silent. At a certain point, while I was finishing putting away the dishes and all the rest of the kitchen table, he stood up and asked me if he could turn out the TV. There was really nothing so interesting, so I said "yes". He turned it out and remained there, his back to me. He would have said something to me, I understood it, but he had problems to start. Then he did.

"Do you remember something about the Titanic?"

Weird! We were far away from the sea, the day was sunny, calm, not stormy at all, I could see just a nice small garden across the street, and he was talking about Titanic! But why?

"Yes, I remember..."

"In your opinion... Why it has been such a disaster, with so many dead?"

"Because... there were too few lifeboats on the ship, as far as I remember..." I said. He nodded.

"Too few lifeboats... " he said. Then he looked at me. "Do you think our marriage is a Titanic?"

"No!" I shook my head. Surely no, hell no! "Do you think so?"

"No, but... you know, they all sad Titanic could not sink... It was brand new... and then..." he muttered. That's what he was thinking! I stood up and tried to speak, but he stopped me waving his hand: "No, please, don't stop me... Sit again... Please..."

I sit again and looked at him.

"I hear you..." I said.

"Well..." he sighed. "You have been a really good wife, in these two years... And I've tried to be a good husband... But maybe I've failed!"

"Oh, no... " I shook my head. "You didn't..."

"However... If you are disappointed of me... If you want the nationality, and nothing but that... well, no problem... You can stay here, until you get the right to ask for the Italian passport... In the meantime, you can look for a job, for a house on your own... You know, I can help you, at least for the job... So when you can have the nationality, we go to my friend, the lawyer... It will take 3 years, and then you will be free... With everything that belongs to you, in accord with the law... And if you want me not to touch you anymore... Okay... "

"But what are you saying?" I stood up and came close to him. He tried not to look at me, but I turned his face. He was pale, breathing hard. He was struggling to say all those things. But why did he tell them? "Do you want me to leave? Is it for yesterday? I've asked you to excuse me, I'm very sorry, I've told a lot of crap... You did not deserve them... Or maybe you have found another woman here, now? A woman nicer than me and my friends?"

He did the thing I less expected, in that moment: he snorted and shrugged. Than he looked at me.

"I DON'T want you to leave. The point is: do YOU want to leave?"

I breathed. No, there was no "other". He really did not want to leave me. It was just that he got really scared, the day before, when I had gone so mad. And this had awakened all his fears, first of all, the idea that I just wanted to "go west"...

No, it wasn't so: I wanted to go with him, no matter where (surely, better off Florence than some American or German rhubarb...). But I tried to put myself in his shoes. What if I WANTED to go west, and nothing more? He could have asked me, surely. And what would I've answered? The truth? Quite unlikely.

So he just had told me all those things about "West-is-not-Heaven", but no direct question. "Don't ask questions, and they won't have to tell you lies". And as for all the rest, he had REALLY tried to be a good husband. Even if I had had the intention to leave him once I had the passport, likely I would have changed my mind: good sex, no economic problems, love and respect, a good "in law", a beautiful city to live in... Why the hell should I have had to run away? Just for the freedom? Freedom is solitude, and there were very worse places than Florence, and very worse men than him, I knew. Even in Italy. Let alone abroad...

Add to this the fact that I NEVER thought to run away from him, after all the proofs of love he had given to me in Russia... Patience, honesty, top-class sex, when I had wanted it, support (and patience again) when I had lost my parents...

And HE was thinking that I was so FOOL to leave HIM? Knowing what I knew about the male gender, for hard-bough wisdom? I smiled, shaking my head.

"Duràk!" I said. Fool! I put my hands on his shoulders. "I'm fine, with you! I love you, I like your mother, I like this town, I like this house! Do you really think I want to leave you for a fight? Do you think I would not fight with another man? I would do it, dead cert!"

"You could live alone..." he said, uncertainly, downcast eyes. "Once you find a job..."

"I don't WANT to live alone! I want to live with YOU!" I smiled. Poor, beaten cub! I caressed his face, as if it was the face of a dog. "Why are you making such a big deal about this? It has been just a fight! Nothing more!"

"Well... Insecure personality, you know... "

Yes, HE, an insecure personality... Maybe for the things he really cared, why not? The things he was scared to lose. And I was one of them, maybe the FIRST of them... This had triggered all his fears, and his weaknesses... It happens, in a situation of stress... But now he was the man I knew, again!

He hugged me very strongly, making my feet take off from the ground. I was surprised, winced a bit, but did not try to resist. If I ever could have done it, of course...

"It's just that... I want to be sure that... if you remain with me... it's not because you have no other choice..."

"But what do you say, "durachòk"..." I smiled. It was the Russian equivalent of "bischero", more or less... "silly goof", "just a little bit fool", take your pick...

"Ya liublyù tebyà, Sashka..." he said, kissing my neck. "Liublyù!"

"Snàyu, snàyu!" I smiled: I know, I know... He was almost crushing me in his hug, but he was mine, TOTALLY mine... Just like a dog saved from the street... Don't leave me, "baryusha", little mistress...

"Uh-oh!" he said. And put me down, my feet back on the ground. But I held him tight.

"What's that?"

"HM... I guess we better stop..."

"Why?"

"Well... something is getting..." he muttered, eyes downcast again.

I looked down too, smiling. I just saw my breast and his chest, but I knew what was getting... more precisely, I was FEELING it! And HOW it was getting! Getting HARD! I look in his eyes, as kinky as I could be.

"What's wrong? I'm your wife!" I breathed, and showed him the tip of my tongue between my lips.

"Oh, no..." he shook his head. Don't play with the fire, little girl...

"Am I NOT your wife?" I inquired, and licked my upper lip.

"Oh, NO!" he shook his head again. Don't wake up the beast in me...

"Yes, I AM!" I moaned, making my eyes misty and pushing my breasts under his nose...

"OH, NO!" he said, righteous. You will pay the consequences of all that!

"I SWEAR I am..." I breathed on his face, my pubes against his "getting" crotch... He took a deep breath, loudly inspiring, and then grabbed my hips.

"Well, you've WANTED it!"

He raised me from the ground again, but this time as a man who seizes a woman: he put me down with my spine on the kitchen table, while I laughed and tried to convince him to stop, but he did not stop. I found myself with my skirt on my belly, my legs wide open and the crotch of my panties pulled aside in half a minute...

"Oh, no..." I said.

"Oh, yes!" said he.

"But I was joking!"

"And I was not!"

"HELP!" I cried. But he knew that I was joking yet. He played for a while with his sex at the gates of my own, without pushing too hard, letting my vulva twitching and my inner juice grease his tip, while I moaned and laughed and begged him to stop... And then he speared me, his sex inside of mine up to the hilt, with a single blow, and this time I cried not completely for fun!

He breathed, satisfied, while he started ploughing me. Yes, I had played with the fire, and that was my fair punishment...

"Did I hurt you?" Said my compassionate Punisher. I looked at him as a partisan woman under torture could look at a nazi soldier

"Duràk!" I hissed. But I had to force myself for not to laugh...

"HM? Repeat, if you dare!"

"DURAK!" I roared, almost doubling the "r".

He speared me again, strong as before, up to the bottom of my sex. I moaned, pushing back my head, but Iooked at him again, with the same face.

"And now?"

"Duràk!" I repeated, with the same tone.

He did the same thing, and I pushed my head back again, but when I looked at him, I was smiling, and he too...

"And now?"

"Duràk (another blow)... Duràk (another blow, even harder)... Duràk, duràk, duràk..."

"Hey! Not so fast! I'm not a machine!" he said.

And we both laughed... I hugged him with my legs, crossing my ankles on his backbone, and he kept ploughing me, slower...

"Ya tòje tebyà liublyù ..." I said. I love you too... "Duràk!"

He speared me with another strong blow. And I laughed again...