Happiness is Possible by Oleg Zaionchkovsky Page A

when I was at their place – I can’t remember for what reason – I met Lida Surkova again. She arrived with someone, a sandy-haired, balding individual with an embarrassed smile.
    â€˜This is Tim,’ said Lida, introducing us. ‘He also answers to Timosha.’
    We all smiled at Tim-Timosha and said we were very pleased to meet him. And then, without moving from the spot, Lida informed us that she had found him on the Internet, and although he looked a fright and was nothing at all like his photo, he had a beautiful soul. Tamara remarked that she shouldn’t say that in front of the man himself, at which Lida laughed and said:
    â€˜It’s all right in front of him. Timosha’s from Canada and he doesn’t speak a word of Russian.’
    â€˜Not speak a word,’ Timosha confirmed with a smile.
    That evening Timosha was our main topic of conversation. He really seemed like quite a decent guy to us, but he was rather timid.
    â€˜Just imagine,’ Lida laughed, ‘he’s even afraid to go to the bakery. And why, do you think?’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜He’s afraid of the KGB.’
    Hearing that acronym, Timosha sprang up in alarm, but Dmitry Pavlovich (who had already drunk quite a lot) gave him a friendly hug and started explaining in broken English that we didn’t have any KGB any more, we had the FSB, which wasn’t interested in half-witted Canadian visitors.
    After a while Tim, unaccustomed to the liberal scale of Russian hospitality, fell asleep on the sofa. But we carried on discussing him at the table.
    â€˜His surname’s Aiken,’ she said, ‘which sounds almost like “I can”. But actually he can’t do anything.’
    We learned that Tim didn’t have any job and he had no financial resources, apart from his disability benefit. He found Lida very attractive as a woman, of course, but he never went to bed with her without Viagra, and even then it took her a long time to persuade him.
    As we listened to her, Tamara and I were astounded: Timosha’s image was so far out of keeping with Lida’s descriptions of a genuine man. He might have a beautiful soul, he might even dote absolutely on Lida’s daughter. But surely we had plenty like him here in Russia? Why did she have to import yet another lame duck from distant Canada?
    â€˜So tell me, what do you really see in him?’ said Tamara, trying to worm an answer out of her. ‘Confide in me as your friend.’
    And that was the first time I ever saw Surkova blush.
    â€˜I don’t know. . .’ she answered, almost whispering. ‘I suppose I fell in love with him. . .’

NASTENKA
    Have I really missed her?
    As she unpacks her suitcases, Tamara twitters incessantly about the charms of scuba diving – she has clearly spent more than enough time in underwater silence. Dmitry Pavlovich has barricaded himself off with phones and is booming something in a deep, authoritative voice – he’s already completely engrossed in his business affairs. I stand there, looking out of the window at a distant plane glinting in the sky. I wonder if it’s taking off or landing. Seen from their windows, Moscow is quite different from the way it looks from mine. At my place I can see an area for walking dogs, the roof of a grocery shop and the neighbouring panel-built high rises, some lying on their side, some standing upright; they are, of course, arranged according to a specific architectural concept, only from my balcony that concept doesn’t make any sense. The view from here is quite different. From the height of the twenty-fourth floor, the city unfolds in a majestic panorama that is perfectly intelligible. I’m sure that the estate agents who sold this panorama to Dmitry Pavlovich charged him extra for it. Well, never mind, Phil and I have admired it for two weeks entirely free of charge, while the amorous couple have been