Happiness is Possible by Oleg Zaionchkovsky Page A

come to celebrate the purchase of a new flat, where were all the fanfares? Why was she not flaunting her triumph? An alarming premonition was already constricting my chest, but I didn’t jump in with any questions, deciding it would be best if things were clarified over a glass of cognac.
    Finally everything was ready and we sat down at the table. Tamara opened the cognac herself and poured some for both of us.
    â€˜Off we go!’ she said, obviously nervous as she raised her glass.
    â€˜Where are we going?’ I enquired cautiously. ‘What are we drinking to, dear?’
    â€˜You’ll find out in a moment . . .’
    She downed her glass in one and took a bite of an apple. I did the same.
    â€˜Well, let’s hear it.’
    Toma became embarrassed again, but made an effort to carry on.
    â€˜Here goes then . . . Basically, as they say, I’ve got good news and bad news. Bad for you, that is . . . or maybe it isn’t, I don’t know, I don’t know anything. Let’s have another drink.’
    We had another drink, only it didn’t seem to help Toma much. But she ploughed on notwithstanding.
    â€˜The first piece of news is: we’re not selling our flat. Are you glad?’
    Taken aback, I simply shrugged.
    â€˜And the second piece of news is: I don’t live there any more.’
    â€˜Now that is interesting . . .’ I muttered. ‘May I have a few more details?’
    Tamara had to take another drink. And so did I.
    â€˜Well you see,’ she said, steadying her breathing, ‘we met in this estate agency, he was buying a flat too. And so we thought, why do we need two?’
    â€˜We?’ I asked, turning numb.
    â€˜We,’ she whispered, and tears sprang to her eyes.
    I got up. I was fearsome, appalling.
    â€˜I called you!’ Tamara cried out. ‘I called and called! Why weren’t you available?’
    I dropped the stool and walked out of the kitchen. A minute later I came back. Toma was sobbing and gnawing on an apple. Without saying a word, I grabbed the cigarettes off the table, jerked my umbrella off its nail and ran out of the house.
    I marched on and on. Striding along without even seeing where I was going. It started raining, but I kept on marching. Suddenly I heard a thin, childish voice.
    â€˜Mister! Mister!’
    But my ears heard without hearing and it was some time before I realised the voice was talking to me. When I did realise, I automatically flung up the hand with my watch on it.
    â€˜Quarter past two, little girl.’
    Only then did I realise there really was a wet little girl standing in front of me, clutching some kind of bundle in her arms.
    â€˜Mister, take the doggy,’ she said, obviously not for the first time.
    â€˜All right,’ I said without giving it a thought and took her bundle, in which something promptly started whimpering.
    â€˜Thank you,’ the little girl said with a smile and ran off through the puddles.
    I ought to have asked what the doggy was called, but I didn’t think of it. And I didn’t know the little girl’s name either. When I got back home, I studied the contents of the bundle carefully. The creature proved to be a male, about six weeks old. I glanced into the calendar of saints and baptised him Philip.

MARINATED ORCHIDS
    What is the absolutely primary public good? Of course, a shop that’s only a step away from home, an EAS (Easily Accessible Shop). Price accessibility is taken as given, although this is a relative term. If we had EASs everywhere, there wouldn’t be any need for the president’s CC (Civic Chamber), because every shop like this is a citizen’s forum
par excellence
. We assert our rights loudly on the sales floor, we conduct protracted debates on the steps, and in the alleys behind it we exercise personal freedoms that are not established in law. And all this without distracting the