Natasha and Other Stories by David Bezmozgis Read Free Book Online Page B

had been rabid with excitement to see Sergei, but seeing him in person, I couldn’t speak. I stood behind my father and waited to be acknowledged. It seemed like a very long time before Sergei turned his attention to me. When he finally did, he looked down and appeared not to know me.
    –And who is this?
    –You don’t recognize him?
    –He looks familiar.
    –Think.
    –It’s hard to say.
    –Take a guess.
    –Well, if I had to guess, I would say he looks a little like Mark. But he’s too small.
    –Too small?
    –Mark was much bigger. He could do fifteen, maybe even twenty push-ups. This one looks like he couldn’t even do ten.
    –I can do twenty-five! I do them every morning.
    –I don’t believe it.
    I dropped down onto the red and gold Sutton Place carpet and Sergei counted them from one to twenty-five. Panting, I got back up and waited for Sergei’s reaction. He smiled and spread his arms.
    –Come on, boy, jump.
    I leapt. Sergei carried me into the hotel room and I hung from his arm as my father called Gregory’s room. Sergei’s competition was two days away and it was decided that he would spend a little time with us the next day and then he and Gregory would come for dinner after his competition.
    When my father and I returned from the hotel with the good news, my mother was scrubbing every available surface. Floors, oven, furniture, windows. She presented us with several bags of garbage which we dropped down the smelly chute in the hallway. My father told her that Sergei looked good. As though he hadn’t changed at all in the last five years.
    –What did he say about the way you look?
    –He said I looked good. Canadian. Younger than the last time he saw me.
    –If you look young, then I must be a schoolgirl.
    –You are a schoolgirl.
    –The ambulance comes once a week. Some schoolgirl.
    The next morning my father stopped at the hotel on his way to judge events in the middleweight class. Sergei wasn’t competing that day and I took the subway with my father so that I could guide Sergei back to our apartment, where my mother was waiting to take him shopping. As we crossed the lobby toward the elevator I noticed the KGB agent making his way over to intercept us. I noticed before my father noticed. From a distance I had the vague impression that there was something not quite the same about the agent. As he drew closer I saw that his face was badly swollen. With every step he took the swelling became more prominent. It was as though the swelling preceded his face. From a distance he had been arms, legs, torso, haircut, but up close he was a swollen jaw. My father, distracted by his obligations to the competition and nervous about being late, didn’t appear to recognize the man until he was standing directly in front of him. But then, on seeing the agent’s face, my father stiffened and seized me by the shoulder. My God, he said, and simultaneously drew me back, putting himself between me and the KGB agent.
    The KGB agent clapped his hands and broke into what appeared to be a lopsided grin. His distended lips barely parted but parted enough to reveal white cotton gauze clamped between his teeth. When he spoke, it was through this gruesome leer, like a man with his jaw wired shut. My father tightened his grip on the back of my neck.
    –Roman Abramovich, looks like you really did me a favor.
    –She’s the dentist for my family. I go to her. My wife. My son. I swear she always does good work.
    The agent’s jaw muscles twitched as he clamped tighter into his grin.
    –Good work. Look at me. I couldn’t ask for better. She put in three crowns and a bridge.
    –She’s a very generous woman.
    –She knows how to treat a man. Anesthetic and a bottle of vodka. I left at four in the morning. A very generous woman. And beautiful. It was a wonderful night, you understand.
    –I’m glad to hear you’re happy.
    –Roman Abramovich, remember, you always have a friend in Moscow. Visit anytime.
    Laughing at his