Eka togonidze acinkrony (sample eng)

Asynchrony So now no longer am I the one doing it, but sin which dwells in me.

Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, 7:17

Part One The postman was ringing the doorbell when Rostom arrived home.

‘Oh, you’re back, are you? I was about to leave,’ he said as Rostom came out of the lift. He asked him to sign for a letter and went down the stairs.

The letter was from the hospital. He glanced through it. “Concerning expenses incurred by your children… Payment is compulsory…’

He stopped reading. He didn’t have any children. He turned the paper over and read the last sentence: “Our sincere condolences…”

‘What the hell’s this about?’ he muttered, looking down the stairwell. The postman was nowhere to be seen.

Indoors, clothes lay on the chairs in dusty heaps. His shelves were stuffed with tatty books; in the squalid kitchen, dirty cups without handles and chipped plates were piled high. A large black-andwhite photo of his mother hung on the wall. Rostom went to put the letter down on a shelf, but instead chucked it in the bin. He switched on the TV and put a pan of leftover fried potatoes from the day before on the cooker. On the news there was something about a circus that was closing down.

He took a bottle of sauce out of the fridge and poured some vodka into a glass. The words ‘funeral expenses for your children’ drifted back to him from the letter. He looked up at his mother’s photo and shook his head. She gazed down at him with her sad eyes... or so it seemed to Rostom.

Whenever the thought of selling the house crossed his mind, he avoided meeting her eye. He didn’t dare take it down. He was ashamed even to think of taking her picture down.

*** Diana’s Diary 6 March Lina has this habit that I can’t stand. She fills up a bowl with water, dunks her head in it and stays under. She says she’s resting like that – or is she thinking - I can’t remember... anyway, she says it’s fun... and then she blows bubbles. She splashes me. Then she comes up, takes a breath and does it all over again ... Once I tried it. We have the same horoscope, you’d think we’d like the same 1

things... but no way, it’s crap! I don’t like her copying me either... she’s always trying to look at my diary. I have the feeling she’ll start writing her own diary soon. She can start, who cares – I know she’ll give it a go soon.

When she puts her face underwater, she makes her hair wet too. I keep telling her not to get her hair wet but she doesn’t understand. Then it takes her hours to dry it..

Whereas I just scribble away, I don’t bother anyone. When she cuts pictures out of magazines for her scrapbook, I don’t object. If she wants she can cut up all the magazines we’ve got ... I don’t care!

I found this note book in my grandmother’s wardrobe. When I’m writing it feels as though I’m somehow more alive, my life seems more important. So far I’ve only done one page, but I’ve written lots more in my mind. I have so many ideas ... I’ll write them all down gradually. There should be proof somewhere that you exist, that you are real. Time goes by and then we’ll vanish and nobody will know anything about us . We don’t even have a picture of ourselves, not a single one. Everyone has a picture of themselves except us, I reckon. Probably no one would miss us. Although what has missing us got to do with anything? Why am I talking like Gran? She talks like that... apparently it’s the way things are done “outside”. Very strange, confusing rules they seem to have out there.

When to be sad, when to laugh- not that we really know anything about their real lives. TV is our only window onto the outside, TV and Zaza. ... but what is the point of people mourning for us? Maybe it would make more sense to mourn over our life, not our death. Oh God, I’m sounding like Gran again.... *** 9 March I write to exist. I’ve said that already, haven’t I? But I have no idea why I should exist. There’s no way out of it, that’s why. I am, in other words we are. This “we are” is the reason for everything.

The words stick to my tongue like leeches and I can’t get rid of them. I can’t speak in the singular those words won’t allow me to be alone, they won’t let me live.

Sometimes everything’s so pointless.

Occasionally I wake up earlier than Lina and somehow I’m just so happy for those few minutes. It feels as though the only time I really live is during those minutes. And in my diary.

*** Rostom was the first to get to work, as usual. The cleaner was bustling about in the corridor. A window was open in the Faculty common room and a breeze rustled the previous day’s newspapers on the table. “21st Century Freaks or Slaves? Circus Director wanted for exploitation.”

He flicked through the pages indifferently.

After lectures were over, his workmates bought some salami, bread and vodka from the shop, locked the common room door and started eating and drinking toasts. They joked, boasting about 2

what a good time they could have at their University, unlike at the stricter establishments where boozing was forbidden.

Rostom staggered home, his mind a blank and his head spinning. Before going to bed he made a pile of the dirty laundry he was going to take to his aunt’s the following day. At that moment a neighbour knocked on the door and announced that the postman had left another letter for Rostom.

‘Since when have I been getting all these letters?’Rostom snapped. Recognising the envelope, he tried not to take it, saying it was some kind of mistake.

‘I dunno …’ The woman shrugged her shoulders, shoved the letter into his hand and turned away. “ Compulsory payment of costs incurred by your children ...”-Rostom sighed ,-“ you are requested to come to the above address“-he slammed the door. Before the letter landed in the bin he caught a few more words: “ It is your duty to pay for storage of the dead”... *** Diana’s Diary 9 March I hate March. The wind is almost blowing us away. The walls are shaking. I hate everything today, including the house. Gran’s watching her soap opera; she wouldn’t let us turn over to the film. Lina’s a moron too; she didn’t say a word. How can they watch this nonsense?! It’s the same thing over and over again. If you ask Gran, she says soaps are rubbish, but when it comes down to it, you can’t tear her away from the screen. I’m sick of it!

Thank God I have a diary! It’s the only thing that’s mine. It’s the only place I’m able be myself… say anything I want, not leave anything out ... Nobody will abuse me here, nobody will interfere... nobody will stop me from doing anything, nobody will hurt me. Here I’ll be able to say ‘I am doing this’, not ‘we are doing’; ‘I want’, not ‘we want’... here I’ll be alone, alone, alone.

*** ‘Let’s drink to mutual understanding! To close friends who really understand each other... Death’s better than loneliness, man! Let my enemy be alone!’

In the Faculty common room, a few late-night boozers were clinking their glasses together.

‘Yup, we Georgians have a saying – “A man who eats alone is a sorry sort of man…”’ they were agreeing with each other. ‘Very true, very true…’

Rostomi shook his head, listening to them. Their conversation, strangely, began to mirror his own thoughts.

‘For a man like you, being alone, what kind of life is that... you’ll never be alone, mate, while we’re with you... but a good man is wasted without a nice woman and children at home…’

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At the mention of children, Rostom hazily recalled the letters and winced, as if the word scorched his throat worse than vodka. *** Diana’s Diary March, 11 When Zaza brought us a handbag Gran muttered to herself, why do they need that? It’s made of multi-coloured oil-cloth. We don’t go anywhere, I guess she’s right - why do we need a bag? But I felt upset by her remarks.

We put some things in it: a beautiful handkerchief, lipstick, hair clips, and some lollipops, and we hung it on the mirror. When I’m in a bad mood sometimes I take it off and look at the things. But sometimes it just irritates me even more. It’s from there too, from “outside!” and it reminds me all the time that we’ll never be able to go there. Our place isn’t there. We have to stay here, by the two trees and the river, tied with an invisible rope, waiting for Gran’s pension and Zaza.

And this place appears to be cursed in some way, it seems to have been left off all the maps, it doesn’t even merit a tiny dot ... Well, it’s definitely not on our maps, we’ve got two of them up on the wall. They cover the cracks and keep the draughts out a bit too.

All this scares me sometimes. Lina just bursts into tears and then she calms straight back down again. Everything’s simple for Lina, she cries and then she feels fine. I can’t be like that... I’m too ashamed to cry. I’m ashamed of how we are. Sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy ... why has it turned out like this? Why us? *** Diana’s diary 13 March Here we go, I told you! Lina made me look for some paper, she wants to write a diary too. We found an old note-book in the drawer. There isn’t any other paper left. First she fussed around, then she tore out the written pages and cleaned it up ...I wonder what she’s going to write. She’s trying to hide it from me, she wants to do it behind my back. The way we are, Lina has the left hand. *** Lina’s diary Thirteenth of March Two plaits, two hats… one silver leaf necklace... that’s us. I am the one on the left.

My sister won’t let me read her diary. That’s why I’m hiding mine too, although what do I have to hide from her? One day I’ll see it anyway, I’ll read it secretly. What’s she writing about? Perhaps she’s written some poems and she’s not sure yet if they are good or not. If so I won’t be cross. I’ve 4

always wanted to write poems... not about love. I’ve never been in love. I’d write a poem about my father and my dead mother... I don’t know much about them either. But I’d make up something.

They do sort of exist for me, my mother-picture and my imaginary father.

I would write about us too. Two hearts, two mouths, two souls... that’s how I’d start. Then what? I don’t know. I don’t have any talent for it.

I suddenly had a thought - two mouths means we are two-faced! And two hearts means treachery in Georgian! Horrible words! I wonder how it sounds in other languages. I don’t like it in our language, it’s horrendous ...

Two souls means pregnant in Georgian as well.

There’s no place for us anywhere, we don’t make sense in any language...

What about two heads? Two-headed... Oh God...

I don’t know what to write, this diary is stupid. It’s poisoning my mind. Sometimes I think that it is better not to think at all.

What is my sister writing so much about? That’s what I keep wondering ...

I’m going to start my scrapbook again. Since Diana started her diary, she hasn’t been helping me at all, she’s got no time for me. It makes it so difficult to do the cutting out, I can’t manage it. *** In the morning Rostom caught a powerful smell of perfume, at once sweet and acrid. The image of a woman flashed through his mind involuntarily. By the time he reached the first floor he had had enough time to imagine the slim body, slightly rounded shoulders, clear, pale skin and attractive, elongated face. Elegant fingers. That was the sort of woman who smelt like that...

It was noisy in the Faculty. The secretary was making coffee for the lecturers. The door opened, a student looked shyly around and asked Rostom: “May I come in?” Rostom gave the tall, fragile girl a severe glance. He took the sheets of paper from her absently, without breaking off his conversation.

‘Why are you so tough on that girl, she’s not bad at all, is she?’ One of his colleagues asked as soon as she left.

‘Am I tough on her?’ Rostom was confused. ‘ I’m asking her to do her homework, does that make me tough?’ He looked down at the papers. ‘Do you know her?’

‘No, not particularly ... I am just saying she’s a nice girl, bright. I taught that class last year and she stuck in my mind...’

Rostom looked down at the register. The students’ grades were listed beside their surnames. Her marks were low. She’d already retaken her course work twice. He pondered. For some reason, he couldn’t remember why, he had an unpleasant association with that girl... Her long neck, arched

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eyebrows and elongated, slim face lingered in his imagination, a face than could have been drawn by an expressionist. *** Diana’s diary 16 March Elene’s picture gets on my nerves. When I wake up I see it straight away and each time it is as if it‘s hammering nails into my head. Her long face and her curved eyebrows... I know who she looks like!

We had a picture like her on the calendar once.

My mother must be about our age in the photo, or a bit older. What does she care?! She died without even seeing us. Our father hasn’t seen us either. He’s not dead, but what difference does that make? He couldn’t give a shit about us.

It’s not just that he doesn’t give a shit, he wishes we didn’t even exist. Does anyone want us? Who needs us around? This is not just me feeling sorry for myself, I am trying to make sense of it all ... I have a right, don’t I? I have a right to know why I was born, and when all this will end.... I wish I could at least know what’s in store for Lina and me... will we be here all the time? Like this all the time? I get so depressed when I think about the future.

It wasn’t so bad when we were little. Sometimes we were even happy in those days. Now and again something nice would happen, just once in a while … Zaza would bring some chocolate from town or Gran would bake a cake, something just a bit better than usual, a little taste of joy... But these little treats aren’t enough for me anymore, they don’t make me happy. There’s not enough space for me here in this tiny, crappy room, crumbling all around us ... I am so sick of everything – and even more sick of nothing. Our lives are nothing.

Why did Elene have us? Why aren’t people more thoughtful? Why do they live like animals? Were Lina and I ever asked whether we wanted to live? Who forced us to live this nightmare? *** Lina’s diary Seventeenth of March Apparently some girls keep a friendship diary. I read it in an interview. They write down questions and answers - what do you love, what do you dream about, which writers do you like, etc. I’d like to have a diary like that too, but who would fill in the answers? Perhaps Diana’s thinking the same. I’d be happy to fill hers in, although I don’t know what I’d say.

-

What do you want from life?

-

What do you love doing?

-

What do you hate? What irritates you?

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-

What do you want to be when you grow up?

-

What do you do in your free time?

-

Which painters do you like? Which writers? Actors?

-

What is your dream?

I don’t know what I want. For some reason I suddenly want to be asked the questions they ask celebrities in magazines, and for my answers to be published. ‘ Lina loves this. Lina dreams of this...

Lina is like this or that. Lina gives a little laugh ... Lina prefers not to answer this question...’ Then they could interview my sister too and write about her. Diana is a completely different character; despite the fact that they are twins, they are quite unalike. That’s why they sometimes squabble, and yet they love each other so much, they can’t live without each other!

I love meat. When Gran gets her pension Zaza brings us some meat and cheese, enough to last us for a couple of days. I always love the day Zaza comes. The things he brings have a particular smell.

Sometimes he even gives us some chocolate, I think he buys it with his own money. I love new magazines too, and the brochures he occasionally brings, I love looking at them. Their pages also have a strange smell, a city smell. Our birthday is lovely, Gran bakes a cake for us every year. She gives us things like hair clips and clothes. Once she gave us shampoo, it smelt heavenly. It foamed up so easily and made our hair as soft as anything…

Another time Zaza brought a bubble blower. It was great. My sister and I had a competition over who could blow the biggest bubble, and whose bubble would last the longest … we laughed so much! Diana couldn’t work it at the beginning and she was cross. I was dying with laughter! When the liquid ran out, Gran didn’t let us use washing-up liquid. It didn’t work with ordinary soap at all.

Later we secretly sneaked some, a tiny bit at a time so that she wouldn’t notice, and we blew rainbow bubbles in the back yard.

I’ll tell you what I can’t bear: I can’t bear digging in the garden. I prefer to do the washing up and the laundry. I can’t stand it when Gran snores, or when she moans about her aches and pains. Such a dreary noise, it drives me mad. I want to block my ears.

Profession – I want to be a fashion designer, I could make beautiful dresses, like the ones in magazines. We have to alter our T-shirts all the time anyway. We wear normal skirts and trousers, but we have to alter all our tops. If I were a designer I’d make beautiful dresses first for us, and then for other people. I would dress ladies; I’d choose the colours and the patterns myself as well.

In my free time I go diving. I put my head underwater, into a different world. I used to be scared to open my eyes but now I’ve learnt how to. I don’t even hold my nose now, I put my ears underwater too, and I blow bubbles. I can stay under for a long time without needing to take a breath. There are painted flowers on the bottom of the bowl. Everything looks different, blurry. Sounds can hardly reach me there. I can only hear the noises my body is making. It seems as though I’m hearing the blood whooshing in my veins and my heart beating. My sister is constantly arguing with me about it, she says ‘stop ducking all the time.’ I like it, I just stick my head underwater and I am somewhere else, in a peaceful place.

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I also like looking through magazines, cutting out pictures and collecting them, and now I’ve started writing a diary.

My dream is to be free. I thought a lot about this question before I answered it. If they ask me what freedom is, I can’t really say, but I can describe sort of how I imagine it.

Perhaps freedom is like the exact moment when I go underwater... while I still have enough air in my lungs not to have to take a breath. At that moment I feel that I am Lina, not Diana’s twin sister, not an orphan, not Zaza’s relative, but just Lina... Lina, nothing more.

Now I’m tired, and my hand is too. *** Diana’s Diary 19 March I was about to take Elene’s picture down from the wall when Lina started wrestling with me. Gran had gone to pick up her pension or she would have helped Lina. I managed to get it down, although she wouldn’t let me put it away in a drawer. She left it out on the table. Now there is a pale square on the wall, an empty square of light. I prefer to stare at this stain rather than at Elene’s smile. I couldn’t stand her blasé expression.

Although Mum was beautiful. I look like her. *** The telephone rang just as Rostom was saying goodbye to his colleagues at the end of the day. A member of staff winked at him.

‘A woman’s asking for you,’ he said. Nobody ever phoned Rostom at work. Surprised, he took the receiver.

‘Are you Rostom Morchiladze?’ ‘ Yes?’ ‘Mr. Morchiladze, our condolences...’

‘What?’ Rostom froze.

‘You’ve received our letter, haven’t you? If you don’t want to pay the morgue fees for storing the body – sorry, the bodies – you’ll have to come here anyway... You have to make a statement to the effect that you relinquish your rights to your children’s corpses ...’

‘You must have the wrong number!’ Rostom snapped.

‘Are you Mr Rostom Morchildaze?’ the voice repeated indifferently.

‘Which Rostom do you want? I don’t have any children!’ Rostom raised his voice.

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‘Excuse me...’ She covered the receiver with her hand and he heard an exchange between two people, although he couldn’t make out the words. ‘You can request a DNA test, if you want-’ ‘Listen, who are you after? Who gave you this number? How did you get hold of my address?

Explain to me what’s going on...’

Drops of sweat gathered on Rostom’s forehead. He hung up and looked around at his co-workers, blushing.

‘They’re crazy, the fuckers!’ He wiped his face with his handkerchief and left the room.

‘Is everything all right?’ the others called after him.

The girl from yesterday was in the corridor. He felt so disorientated that he couldn’t even remember whether he’d talked to her that day or not. He averted his eyes as she passed. *** Diana’s diary.

29 March We have run out of pads. And there’s not much soap left either.

When I had my...when we had our first period, I had no idea what it was and I was terrified. I woke up Lina and she nearly had a heart attack. Gran, of course, didn’t explain anything. After a bit we got used to it, and we realised that what the TV ads were about. We were too embarrassed to ask Zaza to buy us STs. We tore up sheets and stuffed them with cotton wool or toilet paper... Finally we did put pads on the shopping list. Since then he has brought them every time.

If it wasn’t for books, magazines and TV we would have no idea about anything. Gran gets grumpy, she says why do we need all these magazines, why do we make her waste money on them, but Lina’s crazy about them. She’d rather starve than go without them.

Thank goodness Gran taught us to read and write. She was probably born to teach us to read and write. Although perhaps, if it wasn’t for Gran, our lives would have been different… Perhaps we wouldn’t have lived like this, like prisoners. Perhaps we could have seen what it’s like outside. What is it that’s so frightening out there? Loads of times I’ve thought about asking Zaza to take us with him. “We’ll come with you to the shop - we won’t get out of the car, we’ll stay there and wait for you if you want us to.” And every time, just as I am about to ask him, I freeze up. Maybe my whole life will slide past without me managing to ask him… And would he even take us? Probably not. *** Lina’s diary Twenty-second of March.

I can already stay underwater without breathing for more than a minute... I love being in the water.

I’d like to dive with my whole body, but I’ve only seen swimming pools and sea on TV. I’m always so 9

jealous of people in swimming costumes jumping, diving and swimming in the water. I want to go to a lake or to the sea so much... I long to be in the water! I have the feeling that I’d just jump straight into the water and swim. I somehow think I know how to swim already. My sister can rely on me- I’ll do the swimming.

IwanttobeinthewaterIwanttobeinthewaterIwanttobeinthewater....

Water, for me, is like the mirror for Alice. I step into a different world. The others don’t understand, they are always moaning about it. Why does it matter to Gran, anyway? I’m not doing anyone any harm, am I? The water takes me away, to another place... a place which isn’t necessarily any better than here, but at least it’s completely different. *** Rostom’s neighbour took his blood pressure and gave him some medicine.

‘You should take care of yourself, you look awful.’

She put the blood pressure machine back in its case and stood up.

‘I know Mzia, I know... I should cut back on my drinking...’

‘Quite right, Rostom, you should... Alcohol won’t solve your problems, and besides, you’ll make yourself ill. Worrying won’t change anything.’

Rostom felt awkward at his neighbour’s solemn expression.

‘I know it is not easy,’ she shook her head. ‘You men are all the same, you bottle up your worries... if you need anything, just let me know. Perhaps you’re short of money?’

Rostom gaped at her. ‘What do you mean , Mzia?’

‘How could you help it... After all, no one can choose their luck... er ... but we’ll support you,’ she added kindly, and left.

Rostom was speechless. His head was aching worse than ever, filled with a roaring noise. It occurred to him that the postman must have left another letter at Mzia’s. *** Lina’s diary Twenty-sixth of March There are two trees in our back yard. I’d like to write a poem about each of them. One tree looks like us, and the other is a pine tree. It used to be taller than us but we’ve caught up with it. It’s not exactly a Christmas tree like in the magazines and on TV, but it looks a bit like one. I like it a lot, anyway. At New Year we decorate it with toys and ribbons. When we were little we used to cut off a branch and put it up in the house. But then we began to feel sorry for the tree, so we stopped cutting branches off and decorated it in the yard instead. We don’t have many toys and anyway my sister is so clumsy she’s always breaking those we have. So it’s mainly decorated with ribbons tied in 10

bows, it looks more like a tree of wishes than a Christmas tree. But still it’s lovely, and it makes the yard look beautiful. We look out of the window in the morning and it cheers us up.

Everything’s hard in wintertime. The snow makes the walls damp. Sometimes we can’t even turn on the heating because the gas is so expensive. Zaza finds it hard to come, but all the same we are always happy to see snow... *** Diana’s diary 26 March I read a few magazines before Lina had had the chance to ruin them, and some of the articles were interesting. I didn’t understand several of the words so I asked Gran to explain. Gran was a teacher which means she’s got an answer for everything. Even if she didn’t have an answer, she’d make something up. Or she would start complaining that the Georgian language has been ruined and it’s full of barbarisms, that kind of thing. Today I couldn’t understand the word ‘synchronized’ and Gran said, how come you don’t know that? Sometimes I sort of know and don’t know at the same time.

She said it means ‘to move simultaneously’ for example when dancers do the same steps at the same time. The same way and the same time. Also swimmers. Perhaps she was mistaken, because in the newspaper it was used about translation, not dancing.

Our apple-peach tree hasn’t blossomed yet. The weather is so vile, it’s not surprising. It’s just not getting any warmer! And Gran has high blood pressure all the time, the weather makes it worse and she has to stay in bed.

I’m longing for the blossom to come out. Usually the apple half of the tree blossoms first - one side bursts into white flowers and later the other side is covered in pink flowers. In summer the apples grow on one side and peaches on the other. I wish the summer would come soon! Granny told us the peach had been grafted to the apple tree. Apparently they cut a branch off the apple tree and attach a peach branch in its place. Then they grow together and become one tree, or two under the same bark.

Perhaps this is synchrony too? No, but it’s not synchronized if they flower one after the other - if Gran explained the word to me right...

My eye caught Lina’s diary, the part where she was writing about the trees. And I was just describing the trees too, wasn’t I? This often happens with us - we think about the same things independently of each other... synchrony!

Lina described about the pine tree and how we used to decorate a branch at New Year. Why is she remembering that now? The needles used to cover the whole house, they dropped very fast in the heat and made a mess everywhere. Later we stopped bringing a branch indoors and decorated the pine tree in the yard instead. We hung up some toys and tied a few bows on the tree. Lina always used to break at least one toy while we decorated it. ***

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‘Don’t you dare come here again!’ Rostom made a lunge for the postman, who scuttled terrified down the stairs. Rostom rattled the banister on the first floor. ‘What the hell is going on? Who is fooling around?” he shouted, out of breath.

‘If you want to avoid financial difficulties, be patient, sort out your problems and take care of your health,’ he heard as he entered his home. A horoscope forecast was on TV and there was another letter on the floor. *** Lina’s diary 28 March Sometimes people turn into trees in fairy tales. If that happened here then the pine tree would be our mother because it is so beautiful and kind. Every New Year Zaza is our first visitor, the person that brings us our luck for the year to come - only he comes several days late and usually drunk. He does bring us some sweets though, I always want sweets…

Dad must be that tree in the street, in the distance... he watches us from a distance. If we are desperate, I’m sure he will come. Sooner or later, he’ll arrive.

Once Zaza said to Gran, ‘I’ll find that pervert. I won’t let him sleep easy.” It made me sad that he was saying such things. He’s my father, after all, why shouldn’t he be able to sleep peacefully?

Gran stopped him, saying that we’d hear. Diana and I had our eyes closed. They thought we were asleep. ‘If that man had any decency,’ she muttered, and then stopped. I don’t like them speaking like that about our father. Perhaps my sister really was asleep. Her face was completely blank as though she hadn’t heard anything. I wanted to talk about it later, but Diana always argues with me about that sort of thing. She never wants to hear a word about Dad, and she doesn’t think about future, she says that thinking about it is pointless because it’s all out of our control. She sometimes says bad things about Elene too. I can’t stand it when she does that. I know if she were alive everything would be different now. I only just saved Elene’s picture! My sister drives me mad.

I know for sure that if only my mother were alive, everything would be better. *** Rostom had never been to the morgue before. The security guard showed him the way to the stairs.

In the basement an astonishingly tall man with huge hands met him. His surgical cap fitted his head tightly and his white gown didn’t reach his knees. For some reason Rostom had been expecting a strange, androgynous creature – a young boy without a trace of a beard or some kind of beefy woman. He followed him diffidently, as if feeling his way through pitch darkness. A row of large, rectangular lights along the ceiling shed their cold blank light. At the end of corridor a bulb flickered on and off and his heart felt as though it were flickering in unison. He hesitated, wanting to turn tail.

He couldn’t think what he was doing there.

‘This way!’ The tall man’s voice sounded muffled.

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They walked on, passing several rooms. In one of the rooms women in white gowns were eating a hearty meal of burgers and macaroni. As he passed, they chopped tomatoes and cucumbers into a plastic bag. Rostom kept moving as if in a trance.

A drawer large enough to contain a man was pulled out of the huge refrigerator.

‘No, No, I’ve come to find out ... There’s been some kind of a mistake...’

The tall man acted as if he hadn’t heard him. He grabbed the sheet and pulled it back from the body.

Rostom’s head spun, some kind of hallucination of two bodies appeared before him, he was overwhelmed by dizziness and he fainted. *** Lina’s Diary Thirtieth of March.

I sometimes think everything is just as it should be. I had to be who I am - Lina, the twin sister of Diana. And Diana had to be Diana, my sister. Mother was able to pass away peacefully because she wasn’t leaving us alone - we have each other and we always will. I wouldn’t be able to live without Diana, and vice versa. These words are nothing more than the truth in our case, a fact not a romantic cliche.

In bed, we lay our heads on one pillow and we gaze out at a little snippet of sky through the window.

It’s been raining and the birds are singing. We can still hear drips from the ceiling falling into the bowl, but the intervals between drips are gradually getting longer and the sun is rising outside too.

It seems to me that everything will turn out fine. In fact, everything is just fine right now. *** Thirty-first of March My moods change so fast. The mood I was in this morning has not lasted until the evening.

Gran is always moaning. Maybe I moan too, but I’m not aware of it. Gran’s angry, all the prices have gone up and she says she won’t buy magazines for us.

The other day Gran threw away my writing. A page fell out of my notebook and she threw it in the bin. I cried. I wanted to go down and find it, but Diana wouldn’t let me and I was frightened of the mud outside in the yard, like a bog. It has a horrendous smell.

The worst thing is, I’ve lost the piece of paper with my first attempt at a poem. I can’t even remember it exactly...

We are always together, tied to each other.

We will cut our sad thoughts in two, we will swap dreams The tangled dreams plaited like hair

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We will wash out, we will tease with one comb...

It went something like that with one more line, which I don’t remember at all. I want to cry again...

I woke up feeling strange this morning. I had such an embarrassing dream, I can’t write it down.

Probably it came from this book I read, my dream was similar. It’s impossible to read things like that with Diana - she either starts laughing or makes me put the book down. This time she was engrossed in her diary and so I was relatively free... I wanted to read that page again, but I didn’t dare to … I blushed all over... I picked up a magazine instead and opened it, but I could not even make out what I was looking at, all I could see was this incredible picture from the book. It stayed with me even when I fell sleep and I felt as if somebody was really touching me ... as if I was being caressed instead of that woman.

Diana told me rudely to stop dreaming - as if she never has any dreams herself. *** Diana’s diary 1 April When you look forward to something, it often turns out to be less exciting than you expected. Why is that?

I was longing for some meat, I was really looking forward to Gran’s pension and Zaza’s visit. I was dreaming of burgers! And then I saw some burgers on TV and their smell seemed to come right out of the screen, I really did smell them!

To cut a long story short, finally the day came and the burgers seemed tasty, they were cooked just right. Yet I ate them without pleasure, as if somebody was forcing me to eat! It always turns out like that - I get so frustrated. When I am longing for something, waiting for it, I am so patient, I count the days. But when it finally happens, I just feel disappointed. I haven’t felt happy for a long time.

I watched Gran closely again today and I can tell you she definitely loves Lina more than me.

Every time we have nice food - meat, cheese or cake - she gives Lina a bigger portion. And Lina pretends she doesn’t notice. I don’t mind – it’s not as if I care whether I eat one scrap more or less – but it drives me mad how she does it. One day I’ll tell her what I really think of her! Who said she could treat us differently? Doesn’t she know that we’re the same person - I’m Lina and Lina’s me!

Why can’t she understand?

Except I look more like our mother. My neck is longer, my face is thinner too, my eyes are more tapering – they’re what’s called almond-shaped. Sometimes I think I’ve got a big nose, but when I look at myself using two mirrors, it doesn’t look that big... I think Lina and I have identical noses, straight and thin... when I look at Lina, her nose doesn’t seem ugly at all. Mum’s nose was just the same, and it suited her perfectly well. *** Lina’s diary 14

First of April.

Why is it that the last hazelnut you eat is always a bitter one? Just as you think, I’ll have one more and that will be it, it turns out to be bad and leaves you with a nasty taste in your mouth.

We always make a pudding with honey and hazel nuts - gosinaki - at New Year. I love hazelnuts but I can’t stand the sour ones.

Once we also made sweets out of nuts and grapejuice -churchkhela. We threaded the nuts onto strings first, we did loads of them. Then we dipped the strings in grape syrup and hung them on the mirror. Gran was cross with us –‘Don’t drip the syrup on the floor,’ she snapped, not wanting us to waste it.

Gran got a jar of syrup from her friend when she was in the town. Then the friend died and we didn’t make any more churchkhela. Once Zaza brought one back for us, but he was drunk and ate it himself.

Oh, how I long for sweets!

*** ‘What I want is a pill to make me forget everything,’ Rostom thought and obediently swallowed the tablets given him by the nurse. He was lucky, she told him, he’d be able to leave hospital in a few days. He was forbidden to smoke or drink.

The nights he spent in the hospital were restless. He woke often and before falling back to sleep, he remembered the past vividly. The face of his first love, Ela, her slim figure and slightly rounded shoulders… On the third night, the girl student appeared to him and his confused mind attached her oval face to Ela’s slender body. *** Lina’s diary Second of April Today Gran was out and there was a film on TV that she would never have let us watch. My sister and I sat close to the screen. I was worried that Gran would come back at any moment and my heart pounded every time there was a noise. My pulse was racing. It was a strange sensation, as if I was embarrassed for the actress. I can’t explain it… And I was worried Gran would reappear and at the same time I had a warm feeling, like hot liquid in my tummy. My sister was frowning and watching the man and the woman touching each other’s tongues together. Then the man unbuttoned her top and bared her breasts. I held my breath. As well as the hot liquid in my tummy I felt a kind of tensing up. Her breasts were round, bigger than ours, and the man started kissing them - but more than kissing, how can I describe it? It was like when babies suck their mother’s breasts. And at that moment Diana covered my face with her hand. ‘You’re not allowed to watch that,’ she said. I got frustrated. We fought a bit, Diana was laughing. Suddenly Gran entered. We didn’t even hear her 15

coming in, she was suddenly standing right by the TV. We stopped, mortified, but there was only a street on the screen and Gran didn’t realise. We were saved.

Before I fell asleep I again remembered that man sucking the woman’s breasts. My tummy tensed again up and my heart started beating faster. My sister grinned at me. ‘Let me sleep,’ she said.

*** Diana’s diary 6 April When we watch TV, Gran sometimes says that this man or that one is so handsome, he’d drive you crazy ... Gran says she used to be beautiful but I’ve seen a photo and she was nothing special. Mum was the beauty of the family.

I am feeling depressed today.

I read faster than Lina and then I have to wait for her to finish a page before turning over. If it’s a good book, I usually can’t wait until I finish the housework either to read or write my diary. These days only Gran gets to choose what we watch on TV. Since she’s been bedbound she sleeps the whole time but if you want to change channels she immediately wakes up and gets cross. She is so sick, so weak... I don’t know what she’ll do when the day comes to collect her pension. I must give her ID card to Zaza, perhaps they will let him collect it, she says.

Sometimes my heart starts pounding for no particular reason. It’s a very strange sensation . As if my heart is agitated, anticipating, although I can’t say I’m expecting anything nice. My soul falls quiet like the stillness in nature just before heavy rain. The pounding of my heart must be fear - humans are afraid of everything they don’t know.

Recently there was a beauty contest on TV. It was interesting, I quite enjoyed it, but then I felt miserable, I hated everybody, all those perfect women - they’re probably thought of as perfect.

They stand there trying to make the viewers like them, smiling at the jury. They exercise all the time and torture themselves - apparently they starve themselves and undergo loads of operations to look flawless. Every bit of them is measured in inches. Like in the old magazines there were sewing patterns which Lina collected. A couple of times we made something from them... Those women are the same, measured up like patterns. It made me feel like crying. I suddenly felt sorry for all of them. But then I imagined what it would be like to wake up and jump out of bed, not to be dependent on anyone, to wash your body and look at it with pleasure, to be happy with what you see in the mirror and to be confident that everybody will like you.... and I started feeling sorry for myself. I could have been like that, made to measure, flawless. It is terrible not being able to change anything. *** Lina’s Diary

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Sixth of April Today I inspected my fingers. There’s a dent in one place, where the finger is all red. I’ve never written so much before. The pen squashes my middle finger. Since Gran got ill, we haven’t been studying at all. But how long do we have to go on doing schoolwork anyway? What’s the point of studying? We can read books anyway. Books are a relief.

We get free books with the magazines once a month. It does put up the price a little but Gran allows us. They are written by Nobel prize winners. We are reading a really interesting one now by an elderly woman. In the book, at the beginning of the world there were only women - just like in our house, Gran, my sister and I. And Mum’s picture. And women got pregnant from the waves of the sea … They lived in caves and swam and played in the water every day. Just like my dream! I wish it were true - how I wish we lived there! We’d swim every day, how lovely, and we’d get pregnant from the water. And we , Diana and I would have a baby, as mother had us. Fathers don’t exist in the book at all, or rather they didn’t exist at the beginning. There is harmony, synchrony ... the problems and arguments only begin when men appear.

Sometimes it seems to me that when Gran brought us here, she rescued us from all the trouble in the world. I think it really is better here, in our calm little house. Granny says that people always want to be somewhere else. Probably that’s why we want to go outside... and probably it’s not worth it. It’s dangerous out there.

People kill each other all the time. They show it on TV. They show the bodies. *** Seventeen years before, Rostom left Ela, as her friends called her, when he found out she was pregnant. He did seem to love her, but he never thought of her as his equal.

When they went out together he was always worried that a relation or a neighbour might see them.

Although when other men noticed her it somehow gave him pleasure. Even women turned to look at Elene. The desire to take her home and introduce her to his father grew stronger in him day by day ... but then for some reason he would recall a huge, antique bookcase in the doorway of his father’s house, a valuable collection of books inherited from his academic grandpa. He couldn’t imagine a girl in a short dress fitting in there, a girl brought up by a single mother. He also couldn’t bear the thought of his mother’s condescending, cynical expression. He preferred to creep into Elene’s courtyard, avoiding her neighbours. After all they were very different people to him, from a different background- nobody knew him there. After making love hurriedly he would listen for the doorbell opposite. Elene’s mother was a school teacher. Rostom would leave the tiny, low-ceilinged flat before her mother arrived home.

In the years since he heard contradictory rumours about Elene. Some said she committed suicide while she was still pregnant. Others said she had twins, gave them up for adoption and then married well ... or that she died in childbirth and the newborns couldn’t be saved. Finally the rumour spread that Elene had given birth to some kind of monster…

He remembered all of this as he lay in hospital, buried memories forcing their way upwards as weeds split tarmac.

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*** Lina’s diary Seventh of April I have no time for my diary. Gran can’t get out of bed and we have to care for her. Diana manages better than I to keep writing. I get so tired I have no strength left. We have to do everything- I hope she gets well soon! *** Diana’s diary 7 April I can’t understand why Gran made us so scared of doctors. They look very kind on TV. They give good advice. The other day they were talking about migraines and it seemed to me they were right about what causes my headaches. I get irritated by noise and light, as they said. Although when they talk about different diseases, I always think I’ve got them all. So I don’t know... I hate getting ill. To tell the truth I am more afraid of being ill and in pain than anything. That’s why I’m sorry for Gran.

Sometimes we get so tired, I nearly go mad. Granny can’t even go to the toilet by herself. We use bowls and old cloths and plastic bags and scraps of material ... We don’t know what else to do. At first Lina wouldn’t give up her bowl, but later she said to give it to Gran, because her bowl was big and Gran sometimes threw up so much that a little bowl wouldn’t hold it all. Nothing made any sense, let alone diving, entertaining ourselves... We have no time for reading either. I can hardly find time to write this.

*** 9 April This is so hard – it’s torture. How happy we used to be, I now realise! Sometimes I don’t think Gran will ever recover and be the same old Gran- why lie to ourselves? She probably won’t ever get up, she’ll never get better. I want to understand exactly what is happening; can’t she tell me straight out whether she is dying? How can I tell whether someone is dying or not? A doctor would know. I wish we knew ...

Our life has been so horrible recently that I think maybe I’ll wake up soon and everything will have been a dream. Forget waking up, I hardly sleep at all. First the noises Gran made kept me awake, but then she gradually fell silent. Now I can’t sleep from tiredness. It should be the opposite, shouldn’t it? I am tortured, me and Lina, but Gran just lies there and doesn’t make a sound.

Perhaps she is not in pain any more. *** 13 April 18

I’ve begun to feel something very strange, very unexpected, I don’t know how to describe or explain it. I’m so happy to look after my Gran - to spoon feed her, to remember her medicine, to tell her when it’s time to sleep and to turn on and off the TV, as well as changing her when she soils herself.

I cook, I do everything. She can hardly eat, only porridge and bread dipped in soup - swallowing is difficult for her. Sometimes she spills it and makes everything dirty. But even then I feel a sort of fulfilment.

I warmed to Gran only when she became helpless and dependent on me. I am not afraid of her any more.

Is this love? Is this why children are loved? Or maybe it’s pity? I don’t know, what word you use doesn’t matter. Or perhaps even worse, I’m pleased because now she is totally dependent on us? If we don’t look after her, she won’t be able to do anything, she won’t be able to get up, won’t be able to eat. How important suddenly Lina and I have become! Now a person’s life depends entirely on us, me and Lina.

Perhaps love comes only with this - an understanding of your own importance, your essence. *** 16 April Granny often asks us the time. I don’t know why she keeps asking. What does it matter what time it is? I answer her without even looking at the clock. This morning she kept bothering me and I said that it was about ten o’clock. She fell quiet, and then she said a strange thing. She asked ‘What time is it over there?’

I couldn’t understand what she meant. She tried to look out of the window, turning her face and staring at the tree with her dull, hollow eyes. She will never get better- I know now for sure. The gates to some other world have opened for her and there, it is timeless.

But does ‘over there’, as she put it, exist? I don’t know.

I think it exists for Lina. *** Lina’s diary Nineteenth of April Granny used to scare us when we were little by saying, ‘Go to sleep now or the doctors will come! Be quiet or they’ll take you away!’ It was always the doctors. She didn’t have to force us to eat, perhaps because we never had much food. All the time we were growing up she was telling us scare stories so we wouldn’t leave the house and go ‘outside’. I wonder whether she was genuinely warning us or if she was afraid of being left alone.

Once Zaza said, ‘Why are you frightening the poor things?’ - meaning me and my sister.

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Granny said she wasn’t trying to frighten us, she was only telling the truth, and that Zaza knew very well we would be taken away.

I wonder why the doctors would want us. We aren’t ill, are we? We don’t have any particular problems?

Where would they take us?

I am terrified of doctors. *** Diana’s diary 21 April Sometimes I have the impression that the “outside” doesn’t exist at all, in the same way that characters in books, stories and films don’t exist... they exist and simultaneously they don’t exist.

“Outside” is a fiction too, one big lie.

How can I believe something I haven’t seen? Lina is different. When she sees a church on TV she falls quiet, I can tell she’s ready to believe all of it...

For me, it’s abstract.

Gran explained about concrete and abstract nouns to us. Concrete nouns are those you can touch, abstract ones are those you can’t see or touch. ***

24 April Lina drives me mad. She made up this vile song, and she’s been singing it so much, now I’ve started to ... I couldn’t stop her. Now I’ve got it on the brain.

Our roots deep in the earth Our tree reaches its branches up high!

Divided into two, two separate crops, Both will die if you saw it in two.

It’s constantly going around in my head. What did I do to deserve this? *** Rostom saw Elene for the last time at the zoo. It was a grey, windy day. Elene’s hair was tangled.

Her eyelids were red and swollen and her pupils were dilated like those of a frightened child. Her

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hair and skin smelled sweet, as usual, and her fingers and lips had the bitter tang of tobacco. They went on the Ferris wheel.

He can’t remember exactly what she said. He only knows that while they were up there, he learnt the news and immediately shut his mind against becoming a father. He let the cold wind whisk away Elene’s faltering words.

Elene looked down. Everything seemed so small from such a height. The buildings were match boxes, the street was an architect’s model. All she could take in was her problem, growing larger by the day.

Elene looked down at her stomach. Then she leant over the railing, the vein on her forehead pulsed and she started to cry. The tears slid under her eyelashes and disappeared in the air as her words did, without trace.

Rostom grabbed hold of her. He didn’t believe she would dare to kill herself, but nevertheless he roughly shoved her back into her seat. When their carriage arrived back at ground level, neither of them got up to go, silently staying on for a second circuit. But as they passed the steps, Rostom suddenly stood up, leaped nimbly over the railing and onto the ground. Elene got to her feet but it was too late to jump. The carriage was already gaining height. She stood motionless as she was whisked back up to the clouds.

From above, Rostom seemed to dwindle in size and soon disappeared completely. *** Lina’s diary Twenty-sixth of April Gran is very ill. What will become of us? *** Diana’s diary 5 May Gran used to hide her soap in the wardrobe. When she opened the door a lovely smell would waft out. She never forbade us to look in the wardrobe, but we usually did so secretly. On the day she went to collect her pension, the wardrobe was always our main entertainment. We opened the fragile wooden door so carefully, afraid it might come off in our hands.

There isn’t much in the wardrobe, but it’s still mysterious. It’s been like that since we were little...

We’ve grown up, but the wardrobe still keeps its magic. And its strange smell - of roses and old paper, wood, soap, sweets and other unidentified scents... There is a pile of receipts and paperwork.

There is always some money in an envelope. It’s never empty, in fact quite the opposite. I’m surprised, for she often says we have no money. Why does she need it? Why is she hiding it?

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Granny used to hide our birthday presents in the wardrobe. There were sweets in there too, we never dared to take them but she gave them to us herself sometimes. She still has the brown comb in a plastic bag which she used to comb Lina’s and my hair throughout our childhood. Our golden hair is still caught in it.

There are scissors and coloured thread in the drawer. We have some thread in the kitchen too, but for some reason she keeps this thread here.

There is some cotton wool in a plastic bag, and the bag has a label saying “Women’s happiness.”

Every time Lina reads the words out loud.

Gran used to dab on a little rose water before going into town, she would put a few drops on her palms, rub them together and lightly stroke her hair and clothes with it. We never had any perfume.

Once she gave us shampoo, which made our hair smell of flowers. But we only saw real perfume in advertisements.

All through our childhood, then, after dabbing on the rose water, Gran would unthread the belt from her dressing-gown. I would hold my breath as I waited and Lina would burst into tears. Then Gran would tie us to the table with the belt. She’d give us one toy, she’d look around, move everything else out of our reach and go out, leaving us like that. I didn’t cry, I was just angry. Lina would soon get over it. She used to be happy when Gran returned, but I stayed angry for a long time - I think until now…

Now I know she felt she didn’t have any choice but to leave us like that, but I can’t forget those times ... and I can’t forgive her.

When I think about it, I blame my Gran for our unhappiness. The most important thing is your emotional state, not your circumstances ... *** Before Rostom left the hospital, heard the nurses whispering about him.

‘Apparently he’s the father...’

‘No! How do you know?’

‘Shh. He’s coming.’

The nurses smiled at him innocently. For a second, Rostom thought the conversation must have been his imagination. Confused, he walked out into the street. It was drizzling. Hunched people hurried past down the avenue. He felt helpless. “What day is it? he thought, checking his watch.

It was midday, but his house was dark and empty. He turned on the light and gazed at his mother’s melancholy face. The picture looked crooked; he straightened it and wiped the dust off with his hand. Suddenly he remembered it was his mother’s birthday. He took a bottle of vodka from the dresser, studied it for a little while and put it back.

‘They’ve stopped me from doing anything,’ he justified himself in front of the picture and sighed.

Elene and Rostom’s mother had nothing in common , just their birthday.

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*** Lina’s dairy Seventh of May Gran is not at all well. I just wanted to say – or rather to write - God help us! *** Tenth of May She seems a little better, but she has aged so much in just one week.

She’s lying down. She is so helpless... she can’t get out of bed.

This is the first year we haven’t decorated any eggs for Easter. We missed Easter itself somehow.

We only heard about it on TV... *** Twelfth of May Nothing is happening now.

Silence…

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