– 1 –
“Wa …
Rita, née Smirnova, and I were in the same class. After graduation, our paths diverged. I went to pedagogical school, she went to medical school.
We occasionally exchanged holiday greetings, and saw each other a couple of times at class reunions. Once, I think, we even hugged for the sake of it. And that was it. There was no emotional intimacy left for a long time, only memories of the past and the occasional, dry phone call.
And then, here you go…
“Hi. I’m sitting. What happened?” I ask warily.
She doesn’t answer right away. First she sighs theatrically, snorts, and then laughs too loudly.
“You won’t believe what happened! I’m going to tell you such a story, you’ll just collapse! You’re Rykova, right?”
“Yes, Rit. My husband’s last name is Rykov,” I say, starting to lose interest in the conversation.
“Wow!” she says, even more excited. “We had something like that here in the emergency room a couple of days ago! Guess what, they brought in a girl. Young, eighteen, maybe twenty. I can’t remember exactly. You know, they ask, as they’re supposed to, full name, address, who to contact. And she gave her father as a contact. Just don’t freak out! Gordey Vladimirovich Rykov!”
For a second I don’t understand the meaning of the words.
– AND?..
“And when I heard it, my ears just stood up! I thought: probably a namesake of your husband. Who knows, there are Rykovs? There are tons of them. But the name! Gor-de-y! It’s rare!” Rita practically sings each letter. “You’re Rykova, right? Your husband is Gordey, right?”
“Rita,” I stop her, feeling my fingers grow cold. “What do you mean by this…”
“Oh, come on,” she snorts again, and you can tell from her voice how much she’s enjoying this. “I have the hearing of a bat! Besides, I asked the nurse, ‘What’s his middle name?’ And she said, ‘Vladimirovich.’ Well, there you go! Does it match? What’s yours like?”
I swallow. The room is getting cramped.
“Vladimirovich,” I say, surprised at how even it sounds.
“Well, there you have it! Vladimirovich!” Rita’s voice rings with triumph. She’s enjoying the situation, chewing over every detail. For her, it’s a joke, a juicy piece of gossip, worthy of retelling to everyone she knows. “I said, ‘Madam, are you sure you’re right? Is Rykov Gordey Vladimirovich? Maybe he has a different middle name?’ And she, this young woman, said, ‘No, he’s my daughter’s father, here’s his phone number.’ I’m sitting there saying to the girls, ‘Just imagine, girls, this is probably my school friend’s husband!’ We had a good laugh, of course. How stupid. Your Gordey—he’s so proper, a military man, all that, right? No, he’s just a namesake, for sure.
I get up carefully. Slowly, I approach the window.
“Rita,” I repeat. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Oh, come on,” she immediately turns into a good friend, who, of course, has no ulterior motive, only concern. “We’ve known each other for ages. What if we really do have the same last name? We’ll have a laugh together later. But what if we don’t…” She smiles clearly into the phone, and I can practically feel that sticky smile. “You know, stories like that are all over the wards. She’s being discharged today, by the way. And then my jaw—bang!—hit the floor. Because daddy came to pick up his daughter. Can you imagine? I personally saw him standing in the hall at the counter, in a suit like that…”
Rita pauses again, letting me feel the full depth of her shock. But inside me there’s no longer any shock or curiosity, only anxiety, squeezing my temples.
“Well? Who’s here?” I hoarsely urge her.
– Yes, the dad really did come! For his daughter! In his… well, big black car! Do you understand?!
“No. I don’t understand,” I say, irritated at her. “This is some kind of stupidity. A mistake.”
“Don’t be offended!” Rita immediately loses her composure. “I’m just being friendly. If suddenly… well, you never know. Just check. Ask him… how are you two doing? Everything okay?”
“It’s all fine,” I interrupt coldly. “Don’t make things up.”
“Okay. Okay, okay,” she rattles off quickly, as if rushing to finish the performance before the audience starts throwing slippers at the actors. “You don’t worry about it, and rightly so. I just… well, you know, when coincidences like that happen, it’s hard to keep quiet. I thought it was funny. Okay, okay, I’ll be behind you. Call me if anything happens. Hugs and kisses, take care of yourself, you hear? And take care of your nerves. We only have one! Okay, I’m off!”
Beeps. Silence.
