Kolia by Perrine Leblanc Read Free Book Online Page A

over a headline — STALIN’S REMAINS REMOVED FROM MAUSOLEUM.
    Like all masters, Bounine had the last word. There would be no mention of disturbing the corpse. They had to choose something else.
    â€œTomorrow night we’ll be in Yaroslavl. You know those cheap dresses with the yellow flower pattern that women are sick of wearing and we’re sick of seeing? Well, I’m going to ask Eva to make us a couple of costumes with yellow flowers all over them.”
    The next night, they performed their short gag a total of ten times — frolicking around an Oka-3 refrigerator in yellow dresses, while the other acts got ready. Eva and Masha slept in the caravan.
    For five years, Eva had used the same deck of tarot cards. The backs of the cards were so worn that the elaborate design embossed on each card with her initials, EAB , was barely distinguishable. On the other side, the cards depicted the usual archetypical images of the Tarot, but they were set in everyday scenes from the nineteenth century. Bounine was not in favour of Eva doing tarot readings in Moscow. On tour, he would look the other way on the condition that she didn’t ask for money — bread, flowers, a sausage, or a book were okay. Regardless, Bounine would never let her do a reading for him. The darker tone of her skin and her distinct features betrayed her Roma heritage. She was attractive, but most importantly, she was reliable and took good care of Pavel’s daughter.
In time, he relented and allowed the gypsy to give him advice about his health. Be careful in the ring tonight. You could injure your right hand. And about women. Stay away from the brunette — she’s got diseases . Advice which, once again, he was too proud to follow.

ONE HOT NIGHT
    TWO LONG MUDDY TRACKS trailed out of the cloakroom and pointed the way through the empty foyer, past Mitya’s office, and down a hallway to the small smoke-filled theatre. It was packed. The house lights had been dimmed and on the stage, at the far end of the room, Kolia and a handful of other actors.
    Pavel squeezed into a chair between a rather unattractive girl with long legs and a guy wearing a singlet with the word Mir printed on it in red, who smelled vaguely of rotting apples. Everyone was already in their seats, and the room felt as hot as a Turkish bathhouse. Girls were quietly fanning themselves with whatever was at hand, while the young men mopped their brows, necks, and underarms with handkerchiefs. Pavel’s arrival had gone unnoticed, and he quickly removed his shoes and sat cross-legged on the straight-backed chair.
    Most of the actors overplayed their roles, which Pavel found unbearable. The absence of subtlety and nuance showed an ignorance of the text that was almost criminal. They were ripping the play apart limb from limb — something any professional artist, circus clowns included, would find painful. Exerting as much self-control as he could, Pavel followed the performance attentively, closing his eyes or staring at the floor during the worst moments. Kolia had very few lines and hence little opportunity to overact. Alongside the characters of Oliver Twist and Fagin’s pickpockets, who were all adolescents in this production, he had been given the role of the Artful Dodger. But the face that had intrigued Pavel when they first met in the tavern — an ageless face that was marked with a personal history that could be understood without him saying a word — was completely transformed. Kolia fully inhabited the character, he became someone other than himself. At least, he made the audience believe that. On stage, he moved with a fluid precision which his few lines in no way diminished, and it gave Pavel an idea.
    The troupe took its final bow. After the audience’s applause for their friends had been dispensed, and their cigarettes disposed of on the muddy floor, Pavel remained seated. He didn’t want to be noticed. “Quite a