The Russian Dreambook of Color and Flight by Gina Ochsner Read Free Book Online

answers.'
    'But...'
    Head Administrator Chumak held up his hands. 'I can't ask Daniilov, anyway, he's far too busy cleaning. It's all Ludmilla can do to sit behind the ticket office. Zoya, though artistic in her own fashion, is limited to a discussion of art as it pertains to hair styling. And Yuri, well, he's Yuri. So you see, it has to be you. And if you do a good job, I might even be able to do something about those black marks on your work record. If we get the grant, I could even get your wages caught up. Just think how all of our situations would improve. So be creative,' Head Administrator Chumak finished with a knowing wink, 'but not too creative.' He slid the thick manila envelope across the desk. Then he laced his fingers over his chest, tipped back in his chair and closed his eyes.
    Tanya wedged the file into her plastic shopping bag, tiptoed to the door, and stepped into the hallway. Before the door had fallen back into its lock, Head Administrator Chumak was already sound asleep and snoring.
    ***
    Outside, darkness settled on rooftops, gathered in corners. The sodium streetlamps cast a sullen orange haze in the frost-filled air. Tanya stepped around the potholes and asphalt gashes trembling with antifreeze and hurried toward the bus station, a long stretch of sidewalk that disappeared beneath a shelter of tarps and construction scaffolding. Beneath the makeshift awning, kiosks stretched from one end of the platform to the other selling anything from dried fish to hosiery to pirated CDs. Music blared from competing kiosks and, of course, the veterans, pensioners, lame, drunk, and holy stood at either entrance, their cups, caps, or hands held ready. A veteran, too young to have fought in the Great Patriotic War and too old to have done any time on the Chechen fronts, sat in a wheelchair, his service cap balanced on his one remaining leg. Beside him stood a double-sided wooden advertisement.

Calling all Casanovas! Would you like to have biceps every woman from Moscow to Vladivostok will caress with her appreciative glances? Call now for 3.5 kg weights for arms. Ask for Sergei. Speak loudly: the phone is hard of hearing.
    On the reverse side, the advertisement was much more to the point:
Ladies: find your rich western prince here. Hurry.
    It was considered uncouth to say so in public, but the highest aspiration for many girls since the Soviet Union dissolved was to find a 'sponsor', the richer the better. But when the services screened the female applicants, they were not looking for girls like her. Like everything else in this world, beauty was a test and Tanya knew with a single glance in a mirror whether she was a pass or fail.
    The number 77 arrived with a push of wind. The doors hissed open and Tanya allowed herself to be herded inside with the crush of people and their briefcases, newspapers, umbrellas, and many plastic bags full of kiosk purchases. Ordinarily Yuri and Zoya stood beside her and held hands. But her meeting with Head Administrator Chumak had run her just late enough that instead of Yuri and Zoya, a woman of indeterminate age stood behind her, her bosom jostling against Tanya's back. The woman's perfume, though applied generously, failed to mask her powerful female smell. In front of Tanya stood a short man wearing a winter hat, a cheap knockoff meant to resemble an astrakhan. He kept one arm braced against a metal support and clutched in his other arm a fish wrapped in newspaper, the oil of which dripped onto her shoes.
    The bus lurched down the street, careened into turns. With so many people crammed together, the air grew thick and the windows slick with condensation. Tanya squeezed toward a window and rubbed a circle clear with her glove. Travelling
silently beside them was a trolleybus. Behind the window panes were the tired figures of people just like Tanya and the fragrant woman behind Tanya and the man in front of Tanya.

    But the windows were weeping so thoroughly that the faces of the