Saving Anna Karenina
Part 9
Start with Part 1, and read a short synopsis of the the original book.
IT WAS STARTING TO SNOW when he climbed down the red stoop to the sidewalk, and Seryozha was glad to have his furry hat from Petersburg. As he arrived at the corner near the staircase to the underground train, a group of boys on the other side of the street shouted at him and pointed to his head. He grinned back, thinking of the day when he could speak English with them and play the game of throwing a ball into an iron ring in the sky.
The first shop on the road was a curio shop with a red, yellow and green flag in the window. Inside, it smelled like church as he looked around for one of the music machines. A man spoke to him in English. Seryozha shrugged timidly.
“Tu parles Francais?” said the man.
“Oui! Francais,” said the boy.
The man was short, middle-aged, with a pot belly and a bald head. He asked Seryozha where he was from. The boy explained in French that he was Russian, and that his mother was sick so he was buying dinner, and some clothes, and, a music machine.
The man had clothes, and he had just the right machine — black, easy enough to hold in one hand, with many parts to push and activate responses with. It was $20.
“Do you have the music the boys in the train listen to?”
“Ahhh,” said the man, smiling. “You sure you don’t want African music? My country, Guinea, we make beautiful music, and you can dance to it,” he danced a little bit with his hips, making Seryozha blush.
“Okay,” said the boy. But he wanted music with jingles and shots mixed together in it.
The man showed him how to use the boom box. “What religion do they have in Russia?” he asked.
Seryozha didn’t know. There were clothes in the shop as well, very colorful shirts he started to flip through.
“You like soccer?” asked the man.
Seryozha didn’t know.
“I have never met a boy who doesn’t like soccer.”
“Maybe I like it?”
A few minutes later the man came back — he was holding a small pair of blue speckled trousers. Seryozha almost jumped up with happiness. The man also had a package of white clothing, and a rather large, bright green shirt with red sleeves.
“This is the smallest jersey we have,” said the man. “Let’s see how it fits you.”
The fabric was slippery and shiny. On the back were English numbers. The shirt reached the middle of Seryozha’s thighs. It was big. But this is how the boys wore their shirts in America. It was a good size.
“That’s from Cameroon, the team,” said the man. “Cameroon is in Africa. You want to look at yourself? I’ll get a mirror.”
He went into the back room and came out with a long mirror, which he held before Seryozha. The boy took off his fur hat and smoothed his long, light brown hair down on his head. He had never worn such bright colors. And with the blue speckled pants, he would look even better. What was soccer?
“You like what you see!” said the man, laughing. “Now, in this package are underwear. Not the shorts that you see those boys wearing and showing to the world. Rude boys. You want underwear.”
Seryozha nodded. He handed him all the notes Anna had given him. The man handed back one and then went over to the counter to get change. He handed Seryozha many coins — silver, copper.
“Come back and visit me child.” He put the fur hat back on his head affectionately. “Now go and take care of your mother. Buy her soup at the halal restaurant. Those people are Senegalese. They make good food. Cheap and healthy. You can also speak French with them.” They went to the street and he lit a cone of tobacco, pointing towards a bright red sign.
With so much joy in his chest, Seryozha walked to the restaurant. He felt tremendously free. This was better than Papa’s lessons, and always being watched by a governess, and only being asked about his studies, and shouted at since Mama left to live with Count Vronsky. Eat faster Seryozha, go to sleep, don’t wet the bed. And he would not call Countess Lydia “auntie” because she was a demon.
BACK AT THE BROWNSTONE, he went to the kitchen. Elena smiled at him, and spoke in English to her husband, who also smiled at him. A young man sat at the table who Seryozha had never seen, drinking from a minuscule steel barrel. He waved by moving his hand slowly in one direction and fake smiled. The baby was sitting in her high seat with the belts around her, and Seryozha kissed her on the forehead. She touched his face with a little hand that had orange mush on it. He bowed to the new man. He gestured to indicate that he needed eating utensils. The father of the house rose to open one of the drawers, and handed him several forks and spoons and knives.
Anna was asleep on the bed, but she woke slowly as he brought in the containers of food and put them down on the little coffee table in front of the green sofa.
“I met a man who speaks French!” he said.
“Really?” said Anna.
“Yes! Look at my shirt, and my trousers, and my underclothes!” he said, ripping open his jacket and dumping the package and the speckled pants on the floor.
“Marvelous!” Anna clapped. What a bright shirt, and way too big for him. “When in Rome, let us do as the Romans do. Now what is this you’ve found for dinner?”
“The Senegalese man said it was good for sick people, mama.”
Seryozha ate the rice and potatoes straight from the container with his hands, fearfully at first, because Papa and his governess would never allow that. But he saw that Anna didn’t notice, and continued more easily.
“Delicious!” she said, tasting the orange soup. “You have made a good choice, cheri. Did you say something about music, too?” Seryozha stopped eating and ran over to the bag.
“You should wipe your hands first before you work the machine,” said Anna.
“But where?” They had nothing but their clothes and a few clean bath towels Elena had given them. He hurriedly wiped his hands on his pants and Anna laughed a little and felt a little guilty.
He put in the African music case and pushed the buttons as the man had instructed him.
Anna’s drowsy contentment mounted to buzzing stimulation. Seryozha started dancing, stepping up and down to the frenetic beats and walking in a circle around the room. Anna got up and danced with him, swinging his arms, laughing at her incompetence. The Viennese waltz was the fastest dance she knew.
When they had danced and filled themselves with food, Anna began the ritual she knew she would have to carry out, regardless of her mood, for the boy’s sake. Thirty minute English lessons before bed.
“Good day,” she said. “Farewell.”
When Seryozha imitated her, smiling, with a talented accent, she remembered the achievements she had once counted as a mother. It had been her identity before meeting Vronsky. And her recent troubles seemed… only symptoms of not caring for others, really. It felt like a lot of effort to act, but only before doing so, and now, in progress, teaching him breathed life into her.
“How do you do,” he repeated after her.
The time was hard to gage, but at some point Seryozha curled up on the little green velvet sofa at the window, putting his jacket over his legs.
“Come and sleep with Mama. We’ll stay warm together while we wait for the linens.” He had always wanted to sleep with his mother. Once, around age four, he put up a long and dreadful tantrum about it. But Papa wouldn’t permit it.
He fell asleep quickly, jackets and sweaters draped over them. Anna too. She dreamed that she was with Margaret and Jean in a restaurant. The Italian waiter with the military insignia on his jacket came over and whispered in her ear: You will never feel full, it is like eating bread, bread only. He seemed to know Anna’s whole situation, or he wouldn’t be whispering to her. It seemed terribly urgent to understand his message.
“What do you mean, tell me!” she said in a whisper to the back of his head, getting up to follow him.
“Anemia, you know it?” he said, turning his head halfway to whisper to her. “But I am not talking about food, I am talking about people.”
