dear Rita the message-girl.
—Rita, he says.
—Selah! We haven’t seen you in quite some time.
—Any messages?
Rita pushes down an intercom button on her desk.
—He’s back, she says into a tiny microphone hidden in the flower vase. He looks a bit skinny, but otherwise no worse for wear.
—I was working, he replies. I heard a story, a good one: There was a municipal inspector who, on a day in October, returned to his work after some time away. He entered the building and saw his dear old friend Rita the message-girl. She was pleased very much to see him and reported his presence to the chief inspector. Afterwards, he took her hand and they did a minuet all around the room.
Rita stands, offers her hand to the young inspector. He takes it and they do a minuet all around the room. Rita is looking especially beautiful on that day, and the young inspector has the urge to kiss her. However he does not, because he likes the way things are at the ministry and does not want them to change.
Into the room then, comes the chief inspector, Levkin.
—Selah, he says. Come here. I have something to show you.
Selah goes with him, spinning Rita once more into and out of his embrace. In the next room, Levkin has set up a 16mm film projector and a screen. He goes along the windowed wall, untying the drapes. The room becomes dark.
—Sit, he says.
Selah sits down in a large leather chair, and Levkin switches on the projector. The film reel begins to turn, and light is thrown onto the screen. Numbers running, and then brilliant sunlight. A woman, regally dressed, a queen of some kind, entering a guarded room. She is extraordinarily perfect in every way, her chin, her nose, her eyes, her throat, the manner of her walking, standing, the motion of her wrists. Selah watches, hushed.
The door is opened by a guard, and the queen is admitted. In the room, seated by a small window, is a grotesque figure. A woman whose features are unpleasant, yes, difficult to look upon. The queen says to her,
—You.
The other says nothing.
—Today you are to marry the man whom I once loved. Do you know this?
Still the other says nothing.
—I am giving to you possibly the most remarkable man that was ever born and raised in this our land of Russia. He is a king among men. His tastes are the most refined tastes, his passions the most refined passions. I am giving him to you, forcing you upon him, because I know how horrible it will be for him who was once raised above all other men to taste the wares of a creature as despicable as you. What do you have to say to that?
To that, the ugly woman continues to say nothing, and the queen goes away. The light pouring through the window has the sheen of new light, of early light bred away in the east and brought here with a spring in its step. It dances through the window, coming in turn upon the face of the wretched woman and the queen, and delighting in both.
And there in the dawn, the ugly woman smiles.
—Still I will make him happy. Ugly as I am, I will please him, if he is so great a man.
The film reel blurs for a second. It is in black-and-white, and very grainy. The guard is speaking. His voice is distorted.
—There is someone to see you, Kolya.
—Thank you, she answers. I would like that.
Then a young woman enters the room, dressed in a sort of flapper outfit. She sits down beside Kolya and takes her hands into her own.
—THAT’S HER! shouts Selah and jumps to his feet. MORA KLEIN!
—I thought it might be, says Levkin quietly.
—This is how things are going to proceed, says Mora Klein to Kolya.
And bending, she whispers something into Kolya’s ear. The film ends, and behind Selah the reel flaps against the projector.
—It was her, he says again. But how?
—We are not certain, says Levkin, of whether that is: a. actual footage taken from the memory of someone who has not been delivered of the facts of their past life, b. a film shot in the 1950s, or c. a postulation on the
—Rita, he says.
—Selah! We haven’t seen you in quite some time.
—Any messages?
Rita pushes down an intercom button on her desk.
—He’s back, she says into a tiny microphone hidden in the flower vase. He looks a bit skinny, but otherwise no worse for wear.
—I was working, he replies. I heard a story, a good one: There was a municipal inspector who, on a day in October, returned to his work after some time away. He entered the building and saw his dear old friend Rita the message-girl. She was pleased very much to see him and reported his presence to the chief inspector. Afterwards, he took her hand and they did a minuet all around the room.
Rita stands, offers her hand to the young inspector. He takes it and they do a minuet all around the room. Rita is looking especially beautiful on that day, and the young inspector has the urge to kiss her. However he does not, because he likes the way things are at the ministry and does not want them to change.
Into the room then, comes the chief inspector, Levkin.
—Selah, he says. Come here. I have something to show you.
Selah goes with him, spinning Rita once more into and out of his embrace. In the next room, Levkin has set up a 16mm film projector and a screen. He goes along the windowed wall, untying the drapes. The room becomes dark.
—Sit, he says.
Selah sits down in a large leather chair, and Levkin switches on the projector. The film reel begins to turn, and light is thrown onto the screen. Numbers running, and then brilliant sunlight. A woman, regally dressed, a queen of some kind, entering a guarded room. She is extraordinarily perfect in every way, her chin, her nose, her eyes, her throat, the manner of her walking, standing, the motion of her wrists. Selah watches, hushed.
The door is opened by a guard, and the queen is admitted. In the room, seated by a small window, is a grotesque figure. A woman whose features are unpleasant, yes, difficult to look upon. The queen says to her,
—You.
The other says nothing.
—Today you are to marry the man whom I once loved. Do you know this?
Still the other says nothing.
—I am giving to you possibly the most remarkable man that was ever born and raised in this our land of Russia. He is a king among men. His tastes are the most refined tastes, his passions the most refined passions. I am giving him to you, forcing you upon him, because I know how horrible it will be for him who was once raised above all other men to taste the wares of a creature as despicable as you. What do you have to say to that?
To that, the ugly woman continues to say nothing, and the queen goes away. The light pouring through the window has the sheen of new light, of early light bred away in the east and brought here with a spring in its step. It dances through the window, coming in turn upon the face of the wretched woman and the queen, and delighting in both.
And there in the dawn, the ugly woman smiles.
—Still I will make him happy. Ugly as I am, I will please him, if he is so great a man.
The film reel blurs for a second. It is in black-and-white, and very grainy. The guard is speaking. His voice is distorted.
—There is someone to see you, Kolya.
—Thank you, she answers. I would like that.
Then a young woman enters the room, dressed in a sort of flapper outfit. She sits down beside Kolya and takes her hands into her own.
—THAT’S HER! shouts Selah and jumps to his feet. MORA KLEIN!
—I thought it might be, says Levkin quietly.
—This is how things are going to proceed, says Mora Klein to Kolya.
And bending, she whispers something into Kolya’s ear. The film ends, and behind Selah the reel flaps against the projector.
—It was her, he says again. But how?
—We are not certain, says Levkin, of whether that is: a. actual footage taken from the memory of someone who has not been delivered of the facts of their past life, b. a film shot in the 1950s, or c. a postulation on the
Similar Books
Long Hidden: Speculative Fiction from the Margins of History
Ken Liu, Tananarive Due, Victor LaValle, Nnedi Okorafor, Sofia Samatar, Sabrina Vourvoulias, Thoraiya Dyer
