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No, Dina simply could not comprehend that – to go to university but not to study, to get the diploma but not work in the field!
It seemed that Konstantin Kolotozashvili also could not comprehend this – Dina heard rumors that Arthur had to try five times to pass every exam, and that Konstantin Konstantinovich was tortured every semester in the Chancellor’s office, who made him change Arthur’s mark from “Satis.” or “Unsatis.” to “Good.” Then they would send Davlatyan to another teacher to retake the exam, who would then give him a four.
Dina occasionally considered Arthur as a possible partner. Especially as he had paid her special attention since first year, and even invited her to Armenia with him every summer. He told Dina that she would not have pay anything for the trip, that he would buy her the tickets and food, and even new clothes, and that he would take her to sea, whichever one she prefers, the Black Sea or the Caspian Sea…
When Dina told her mother about this, her mom started to actively persuade her daughter to go with Arthur to his homeland. But the Inner Voice, although brief, persistently told her not to go. “Don’t… don’t…” it repeated quietly but very firmly.
Dina never told her mom about Arthur again, and in response to questions about him, said that he had a long-term girlfriend. What if Dina told her mother that Arthur was proposing to marry her in the last year of university, and for her to go to Armenia, where she could live like a queen?
Dina did like Arthur. He was courteous, well-mannered and generous. She liked his appearance too. He was tall, slender, with slightly darker skin, beautiful hands and dark, kind eyes. Once, not so long ago, just before this spring term, Arthur had almost kissed Dina…
She had written him a rough draft of a term paper, and as usual, he had taken something tasty out of the cupboard, placed it on the table, and hugged Dina. Dina stood up from the chair and looked at him in surprise. He took her by the shoulders and brought his face close to hers. He was looking into her eyes, as if asking: May I? If he had not asked, Dina would have been all for it. She had never kissed anyone as an adult. She even got nervous as she waited for the kiss. But he was waiting for her permission, which she did not like. She said, “Don’t, Arthur.”
Arthur dropped his thick eyelashes over his eyes, smiled slightly, and let Dina go.
And Dina had left his room without taking the packet of dried fruit, back to the three-person room where four girls lived.
If Dina became the wife of Arthur Davlatyan, she would live with him in his very non-student-like room with carpets on the floor and the wall, the KVN television set and the Comet tape player. But she was not sure that she loved Arthur. It was one thing to like someone, but love… love was something else completely, Dina was sure of it, so she continued to live in the cramped room with one table for four people.
Neighbors
“Did you pass?” Vera and Valya asked almost in unison when Dina appeared in the doorway.
They sat on either side of the rectangular table, which served as both a desk and a kitchen table, with their books and notebooks spread out. Dina’s artisanal cheat sheets lay in two piles at the edge of the table.
Vera and Valya were studying in a parallel group, so their exam with Konstantin Konstantinovich Kolotozashvili was tomorrow.
“Did you have any doubts?” replied Dina, and started changing.
“About what?” asked Valya.
“Ask something more interesting!” said Vera and threw a curious glance at Dina. “You got a five, I bet.”
“Really?” asked Valya incredulously.
Dina did not reply, taking off the whispering weightless cloak and changing into her fur-trimmed home slippers, which were slightly worn out but still quite neat.
She approached the table, looked over Vera’s shoulder into her notebook, then at the book, turned a few pages and said:
“You should memorize this. Kokon always fails people on the additional questions.”
“Kokon fails everyone on everything,” Valya said quietly.
Valya came from a village in the Vologda Oblast and could not get used to the big city even after four years. She spoke quietly, either because of her strict domestic upbringing, or because she was embarrassed by her country accent and provincial appearance, or maybe because of all of the above.
Once, Valya had asked Dina to work with her on grammar and pronunciation, flushing with embarrassment. Dina had written out a long list of Valya’s mistakes, which she had successfully fixed during the academic year. It was only the characteristic okanye[1 - Okanye – A particular way of pronouncing the vowels ‘a’ and ‘o’, characteristic of certain Russian dialects (trans).] that seemed incurable.
“Yes. Everything,” said Dina. “But this is his favorite this term.”
Vera rushed over to the larger pile of cheat sheets and started rustling through it, looking for the right one.
“What did you get?” she asked.
Dina replied calmly:
“That’s what I got.” She added after a pause, “But he gave me five points automatically.”
Both girls stared at Dina in amazement. “Kokon?! Automatically?!”
Dina sat down on her bed and leaned back against the pillow. “Well, not quite, not automatically… semi-automatically.”
Vera and Valya again exclaimed almost at the same time, “Semi-automatically? What does that mean?”
“I took a question sheet, prepared my answer, approached the table and sat down, and then he said to me: ‘I don’t doubt your knowledge and won’t waste time asking you.’ He didn’t even look at my draft.”
Vera tsked. “What a beast! Why couldn’t he say so straight away?”
“That’s Kokon for you!” Added Valya.
“But do you know of any other teacher who loves his subject as much as he does?” asked Dina.
“He loves the ladies, not the subject,” interrupted Vera.
“Well, he’s not such a beast after all…” Valya interjected. “I remember how in the first lecture, he made it sound like I should just pack up and leave the university immediately, and then he ended up helping me on the exam.”
“What about his humor?” Dina suddenly wanted to discuss Konstantin Konstantinovich, for some reason. “Everyone at university quotes his jokes!”
“Oh yes!” Valya agreed. “Yet he never repeats himself… not like that man… who teaches scientific communism… when he makes a joke, you don’t know which way to look…”
Vera rolled her eyes up dreamily. “Yes, Kokon is not a man you’d forget even after university. He’s a ray of light in a dark realm!” Then she remembered where she was, and picked up a book again. “All right, enough chit-chat, I’d like to pass the final exam on first try!”
Dina stretched out on the bed and put her hands behind her head.
“Go ahead, I’ll have a rest. Let me know if you’d like some tea.”
She looked at the color portrait of Muslim Magomaev, whose songs she adored, especially the recording in Italian. She had cut out his picture from a magazine, maybe the Soviet Screen, and it hung opposite Dina on the side of the cupboard, together with a few other portraits, each one with their own story.
There was Jean Marais, smiling from a glossy photographic print, which Dina had begged from her aunt, and who had received in turn from her friend. There was an autograph in the lower corner, done in blue ink. Although Aunt Ira tried to explain to Dina that the signature did not belong to Jean Marais himself, that her friend had added the autograph herself, Dina refused to believe it.
Next to it hung the terrible quality picture of Anna Magnani from a film Dina had never seen, which had been copied from a tiny photograph and enlarged to the size of a magazine page. She had once read a small article about the Italian actress with the beautiful name that was so well-suited to her unusual appearance. The article was illustrated by a few black-and-white shots from the films that she starred in. The image that was hanging on her cupboard now – the actress’ face with contrast lighting – was the one that Dina had liked the most, and she had asked the laboratory technician from the school physics laboratory to copy and enlarge this portrait.
Slightly to the left hung Dina Durbin. An attractive woman, but not in Dina’s taste. It was her mother’s idea: to name her daughter after a famous actress with a surname that was so similar to her own.
“When you become famous,” her mom would say, “people will only remember Dina Durbin because her name is similar to yours!” And she would chuckle.
There was the portrait of Dina’s favorite author. Dina had begged her mother for this portrait for a long time, done photographically on embossed paper that looked like fabric, with a loop attached to the thick cardboard backing – a serious, well-made portrait. It had cost two rubles and ten kopeks, serious money for their budget, especially since Dina’s mother did not consider a writer’s portrait to be an essential item, even if he was a favorite. Nevertheless, when Dina finished nine classes with almost perfect marks, with only one four, her mom remembered the strange request and decided to reward her daughter for her hard work. Besides, it was when her mother had been promoted at work, and she started to earn eighteen rubles and forty kopeks more every month. Dina’s mother was not in fact greedy, just very practical.
And Muslim Magomaev… He does look a little like…
Never mind! It’s not important right now! Dina wanted to remember how the exam for her toughest subject had gone. She mentally rewound the imaginary film, which had recorded the events, and started watching.
Here she is walking to the teacher’s table, catching his eyes, which are staring at her legs, and stopping midway. Konstantin Konstantinovich Kolotozashvili, dressed in a loose red shirt, with a high collar and wide sleeves, gathered at the cuffs, which is open at the chest and tucked into tight black pants, rises from his chair and stands to his full considerable height. He extends his arms towards Dina and says in a rich baritone, “Congratulations on an excellent finish of the semester, Dina Aleksandrovna.”
In the exact moment that Dina, trembling with happiness, realized that her teacher was actually Muslim Magomaev, somehow here, in the exam auditorium, her neighbor Vera stuck her head through the doorway, and unceremoniously interrupted this incredible moment of meeting her favorite singer:
“Dina, why aren’t you getting changed? Some tea would be nice.”
Dina clearly knew that Vera was not present at the exam…
She opened her eyes.
Muslim Magomaev was looking at Dina from the photographic print, with a red shirt open at the chest, extending his arms towards her, with his mouth wide open, as if he was saying “Congra-a-atulations.” Vera was sitting at the table, leaning back on the squeaking chair.
“You’ve got nothing to do anyway,” she added. As if Dina needed to be persuaded or compelled!
Dina stood up, fixed her clothing, and picking up the kettle that stood on the windowsill, stepped out of the room. She headed to the kitchen to boil the water on the gas stove, and so couldn’t hear the conversation of her two neighbors behind her.
Vera: “She’s so lucky, getting out of this exam.”
Valya: “Yes, and with perfect marks too.”
Vera: “Well, she doesn’t get these fives easily.”
Valya: “Yeah… only this one seems to have dropped down from the sky.”
“Yup, you don’t say. And from Kokon, of all people!”
“Maybe she has really caught his eye?”
“Hmmm, maybe. She’s not gorgeous but she can present herself well.”
“That’s true.”
“She’ll be an idiot if she falls for him.”
“Yeah… Like Rimma, and then she’ll need to get an abortion… Where is our Rimma, by the way?”
“In the reading room, maybe.”
“Ha! Rimma in the reading room! Don’t make me laugh!”
“She needs to retake the exam with Barbara, and unless she studies her butt off in the reading room, she won’t pass.”
“True.”
Dina entered the room in that moment, together with the boiling kettle and Rimma, the fourth occupant of the room, whom Vera and Valya had just been gossiping about.
Rimma
Rimma, an eye-catching brunette with dark gray eyes and the graceful moves of a capricious cat, was a very attractive girl. Yes, it could be said that Rimma was the only exception to Dina’s theory that beautiful people were either not real or lived in faraway places. Like Anna Magnani.
Rimma was good at utilizing the modest arsenal of makeup that the poor university students could afford: pearly eye shadow in either gray or light blue, often bought from gypsies, made from goodness knows what, and placed in a plastic black or white checkers piece, covered with a piece of cellophane, and dark pink lipstick, which she saved for special occasions. Her eyeliner was the same as most of the other girls: a black pencil from the Artwork pencil set. Rimma wore her hair in a ponytail, like Dina and most of the girls, but her hair was thicker and shinier than the others. Yes, Rimma could certainly be called a beautiful girl.
She was also very good at drawing. She had a large set of pencils in a huge carton, which opened and could be set up in a special way, so that the pencils were displayed at a few different levels, and a box with pastels. Rimma used the pencils for the usual drawing album, and the pastels for large and small pieces of black paper, which were used to cover photoplates, and which, Rimma said, her father especially collected for her from his photograph friends. Rimma Yakovleva also sang beautifully and played the guitar.
But she studied at university without any desire or diligence. Maybe not everyone, but Dina knew that it was not because Rimma was stupid. It was just that she found it boring. Nobody knew what she was really interested in – perhaps drawing, singing and reading?
* * *
Dina poured the hot water into the special infusing teapot that Vera and Valya had prepared, while Rimma said cheerfully,
“Hi! I’m just in time, as usual.”
Vera, who liked to say something spiteful at every opportunity, did not fail to do so. “Oh yes, as always, straight to the table.”
Rimma, who must have been in a good mood, laughed. “All right, Vera! I’ll wash the dishes today.”
“What wonderful news!” Vera replied sarcastically.
Rimma did not respond to that, but took out a block of chocolate and placed it on the table.
“I almost forgot – here – I got a present. I haven’t even taken a bite of it myself!”
Vera, deciding to completely kill Rimma’s unexpectedly good mood, spoke again. “So who is feeding you chocolate, then?”
“Someone,” Rimma replied mysteriously and started spreading butter on a slice of baguette.
“Someone Someonevich Kolotozashvili?” asked the horrid girl.
Rimma looked at Vera in bewilderment, her eyes filled with tears, and she threw the unfinished sandwich on the table and ran out of the room.
Valya timidly criticized Vera. “What did you say that for? You know that…”
Vera, feeling guilty but refusing to admit it, snapped back. “No, I don’t. She didn’t say anything to me personally.”
“I told you.” Valya spoke timidly but reproachfully.
Dina took Valya’s side. “Go and apologize.”
“I won’t. What a princess! It’s her fault for being such an idiot around a guy like him.”
Valya stood up and left the room.
Vera, who had learned since childhood that the best form of defense is attack, turned to Dina. “Did Kokon give you an automatic five just because, or is he making a move on you too?”
“Could be just because, and could be because he’s making a move,” Dina spoke calmly, without pausing her tea drinking.
“Why the vagueness? Is he making a move or not?” Vera persisted.
