EDA KRISEOV
A
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"He loves her," Jana said, looking at me kindly, with the wisdom of
one who already has the worst behind her.
"I know," I said. "But what am I supposed to do? I tried yoga and Zen
and they work when nothing much is going on. But when you're in trou–
ble, they're weak. I took drugs, but they made me incapable of doing
anything. I got drunk twice a week, but I can't drink anymore-[ throw
up before [ get drunk."
"He'll come back," said Jana. "And he'll be all yours again. But you
have to be patient and wait until he gets over it."
" It's hard," I said, wanting to cry. "You don't know how hard it is."
"Would you like another cup of coffee?" Gabina asked, putting her
arms around my shoulders. [n doing so she lifted me off the chair slightly
and rocked me gently back and forth, comforting me. I laid my head on
her breast and felt her whole warm body, stately and safe.
"You're the kind of woman who has to see everything out to the bit–
ter end," said Jana. "There'll be more to enjoy-as I'm saying, your
husband will come back to you, and you'll have another child. But then
you will meet a man who is everything you've ever imagined and you'll
fall deeply in love, until you become distraught. He'll be married. Then
you'll remember us."
Gabina took my head in her hands, stroked my hair and smiled in my
face. Her face, softened, was beautiful now. If I were a man I would choose
Gabina. She can take anything, and if her man were
to
collapse she wou ld
take him on her back and carry him along their common path. And she'll
always be opening her arms, comforting and stroking.
"I'll pour you a drop of cognac, OK? We keep it here for especially
difficult cases." She took a glass with a thin stem out of the cupboard and
as she held it in her hand I realized how delicate she herself was. She's the
most feminine of us all. Such women triumph most often, as do those men
who are the most masculine.
"Drink up," she said, handing me the glass. "We women have to put
up with everything."
Radio Star began to play the national anthem and it reminded me that
I had to go to work early the next day.
I started to say goodbye.
"The best is yet to come for you," said Jana. "You have a husband and
children, and you will have a great love. You're the happiest one of all of us."
Suddenly it seemed to me that I was. I was like the juniper, which
stands on the edge of the field, raised high against the sky, alone but happy.
The juniper with eyes fixed in all directions and beneath itself deep,
immovable roots.
"Thank you," I said, "but I really must go."
