“But we’ve waited for so long…”
“This is a public abuse. I demand the
“I’m sorry, comrade, we don’t have one here. You would have to go to the Central Information Bureau on Nevsky. But they close at two today, so you’re too late. And tomorrow is their day off.”
“That’s the whole problem… Whatever the reason, Russian people love to complain… I would have prohibited those
“And who are you, mister? Are you a People’s Deputy, or what?”
“No, I am not.”
“Well, we’re very glad that you’re not a People’s Deputy. People have a right to information. If they can’t get the information, they can complain…We’ve been silenced for too long…”
“So what? Before we didn’t have any information and now it’s all over the place… But who needs it when we can’t afford toothpaste! We don’t have toothpaste, but we’ve got glasnost to freshen our breaths… Information… If you want my opinion, there’s too much information these days, too much talk and no change…”
“Excuse me,” said Anya very politely. “It says here clearly: ‘The Information Kiosk is open from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday through Thursday’. Today is Thursday and it’s quarter to four now, therefore the Kiosk should be open for another hour and fifteen minutes.”
“Hey, lady… who do you think I am? Do you think I can’t read or something? You try working here for a fucking hundred rubles an hour. I would be making twice as much in the cooperative bakery… But I stay here any way… I feel sorry for folks like you, having to fill out those fucking inquiry cards in the cold… Someone has to give people the information they need…”
“Excuse me, miss… Where are you from?”
THE OPERA by Sonia Rykiel
translated by Maxim Jakubowski
Goose bumps.
Skin bumps
moving
singing
and moving again.
Legs held up high.
Embroidered material slashed open,
Opened skirt,
unhooked, wanton.
Above him.
Brilliant gems.
Exquisite surroundings
Beautiful
Start again, and again.
On the ground for a long time,
Terrific.
Invention, insolence
Touched front and rear, everywhere
Moving again
touched behind.
At the Opera, two salons bordered with mirrors, a thousand mirrors. Warm mirrors, mirrors like the sun, cold mirrors, mirrors like the moon.
Endlessly watching myself listening to the music from
Was I right?
Making love to Mimi’s tune, pulling her skirt up, holding on to her legs, her arms, her heart, her cunt.
Straightening her back, holding her tight.
She is held aloft, he is under her.
Crying, screaming.
Your sex is inside me.
Unveiled.
Even filled, I will not cry.
I am hollow, flat.
But still I keep on lying.
Don’t put the phone down.
Where is chance, where is beauty? I slide, I leave, I move on.
You turn round. Look at me. I feel a need to see you in those thousand mirrors.
“Raise your face, raise your cunt. Where are your eyes?”
I can no longer see you.
The most exquisite pain takes hold of me, a moist exquisite languor. Where is my dress, where are my stockings, my shoes, my hands? Where is he, him?
I seek ecstasy.
“Get up, come here.”
Waiting to be picked up, labelled, manipulated, passed around like a bottle.
I sigh, almost drunk.
The liquid is melting me inside.
Have I fallen, am I obscene, deranged?
Like a newspaper from hell.
Made up, painted, my lips so red, my eyes so dark my skin so white, my hips so curvy, my arse so voluptuous.
No, not voluptuous, exciting, lustful, on offer.
And my pear-shaped breasts, and my thin waist.
I gifted him with all of me that evening at the Opera, in the “Moon” boudoir, in the “Sun” room.
Whose existence no one else is aware.
Beauty.
Lost.
Enigma.
There is no more beautiful sight than those two rooms connected by a long, ornate walkway.
The atmosphere is electric. In five minutes, it will be
I was dressed in pink, with orange seams.
But stark naked in the golden salon.
Spread like a saint, arms laid out like a cross, legs wide open, scarlet toed feet.
Outrageously on offer.
All that is missing is a cushion under my head.
“Here, take this scarf.”
“To cover myself?”
“No, for your head.”
The man is standing, shameless, his cock at attention, handing me the scarf.
His eyes are sharp, moving from my face to the upper area of my thighs. He bends over, moves closer to me, takes my head into his hands, squeezes me, approaches, bites my lips, caresses my face, pulls my hair back, holds
