“Picasso”: First Love

First love. Photo: manikurwoman.live

Timeframe: 1991
Place: Kyiv
Characters: Misha Kaminsky, Georgiy, Nastya Ishchenko

That very same early May in the capital city of Kyiv, the chestnut trees came into bloom. Spring had entered its full strength – fresh young leaves on the trees, blossoming tulips, chestnuts, lilacs… The special air intoxicated with the scent of youth, love, and the anticipation of something bright and joyful.

Along the Volodymyrska Hill strolled, hand in hand, a handsome young man and a beautiful girl: Misha Kaminsky and Nastya Ishchenko. The warm breeze played with her hair, sometimes brushing against his face. He closed his eyes and froze in happiness. How wondrous it all was…

They had studied together in the same class for almost nine years and had hardly noticed one another. Once upon a time, he would tug her braids, and she, in turn, would swat him on the head with a textbook. In fifth grade, he once helped her drag wastepaper to school, and in sixth let her copy his math test. In ninth, they did classroom duty together: he lifted and placed chairs on desks while she swept the floor. At school she was sometimes called “Malvina,” after she played that character in a children’s performance. Just an ordinary classmate.

But in tenth grade, during the muddy spring thaw, she once soaked her feet walking to school. By the sixth lesson she developed a fever, and the teacher sent her home. Seeing Nastya’s feverish eyes and unsteady steps, the teacher turned to Misha, who happened to be nearby:

“Kaminsky, be a gentleman. Escort poor Nastya home.”

At home there was no one – her parents were at work, her older brother at the institute. Misha set down her schoolbag in the hall, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. He had been a gentleman, he had brought Nastya home… But to leave her so miserable, all alone…

“Malvina, maybe I’ll stay here with you for a while?”

Nastya didn’t want to be sick in solitude either.

“Stay… You go ahead and take off your things, I’ll be right back.”

She went to her room, changed into a housecoat, and slipped under a blanket, shivering.

Misha took off his shoes, hung his jacket on the hook, and knocked at her door.

“Yes, come in.”

“Maybe you want something to eat?”

She shook her head weakly. Misha sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the blanket higher to cover her better. He touched her forehead with his hand.

“You’re burning, Nastya. Let’s check your temperature. Where’s the thermometer?”

It was hard for her to speak, and she pointed to the wardrobe.

The thermometer showed 39.1.

“We have to bring that down. Do you have aspirin?”

“In the fridge,” she answered, teeth chattering.

Misha brought aspirin and a glass of water. He tried to recall what his mother usually did in such cases.

“You need to wrap up well and sweat it out. Let me cover you with another blanket. Where is it?”

“There,” she nodded toward the wardrobe.

He pulled out a cotton quilt and tucked it around trembling Nastya. She thanked him with just one glance.

“How beautiful she is… Nastya…” he thought, and suddenly remembered:

“Right. And you need to put on wool socks. Do you have some?”

“There,” again she nodded to the wardrobe, “bottom shelf.”

Misha found the socks and stood by the bed, hesitating.

“This is already… somehow very… Not quite chaste…” His heart beat faster. “Not altogether proper…”

And yet he felt an irresistible urge to put the socks on her himself. Gently lifting the blanket’s edge, he slid them on. When his fingers brushed her ankles, a sweet shiver coursed through him. He tried to resist it, but couldn’t. All his efforts – not to think, not to look, not to touch – were as futile as a paper boat before the ninth wave of surging feelings.

“Thank you, Mishka,” she whispered and sniffled.

Having calmed down somewhat after putting on the socks, he asked:

“Do you have linden blossoms at home?”

She shook her head.

“Linden is the best remedy. My mom always gives it to me when I’m sick. I’ll run home and bring some.”

Seeing the regret on her face, he reassured her:

“I’ll be quick.”

So Nastya wouldn’t have to get out of bed, he took her keys. He dashed home – he lived close by – and brought dried linden flowers. Opening someone else’s apartment with someone else’s key felt so unusual.

He stayed with Nastya until her parents returned. He gave her linden tea and read Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina aloud – the book they were studying in literature class.

“How good I feel… What is this?”

By evening she felt better. Half out from under the covers, she smiled at him: “Such a good boy… and how did I never notice before?”

“Mishka, come visit me tomorrow, will you?” she asked as he was leaving.

“Of course,” he replied, now hopelessly in love.

Misha and Nastya did not exactly hide their relationship, but they didn’t flaunt it either. Several times a week they met after school, walked in the park, or had ice cream in a café. Sometimes he came over to do homework together. It was during one of those study sessions that they kissed for the first time.

That summer they often went to relax by the lake in Pushcha-Vodytsia. Once, Misha brought her to his church. He showed her the icons, explained about the services. She was interested, but after that one time she didn’t want to go back again, and Misha didn’t insist. The fact that he was a priest’s son and a church altar server was unusual to her, but she didn’t know how to relate to it. She was just an ordinary girl from an ordinary Soviet family, entirely unburdened by religious dogma.

At first, Misha could not recover from the avalanche of love that had swept him away. He could watch Nastya for hours, never looking away. He was ready to listen to her voice, to simply feel her presence. Sometimes he would call her from a phone booth, and they would talk for hours, losing all track of time. Everything was so wondrous…

Yet when it came to hugs and kisses, pangs of conscience stirred in him. Of course, there was nothing indecent in it yet, but still, somehow it didn’t quite fit with what he had read in spiritual books. And what was he to do? She expected it of him. And it made them both so happy.

Once, at the beach, some teenagers began pestering them. At first they flirted with Nastya, which she disliked. Misha stood up for her and got beaten up for it. He couldn’t fight at all – had never fought in his life. The result was a bloody nose, a black eye, and Nastya’s tender care once the bullies left them alone.

At home, Misha’s appearance raised immediate questions. He had to tell his father everything from the beginning. He had never lied to him, but until then had simply kept quiet about seeing Nastya. His father had lived in blissful ignorance of his eldest son’s personal life. Now he realized it was time to worry.

Misha thought his father would take the news – that he had a girlfriend and had already fought for her – badly. But unexpectedly, Father Alexander said:

“You must always defend a woman. Whatever it costs you. Especially if you love her. Do you love her?” He looked intently at Misha.

Misha nodded vigorously.

Father Alexander understood that it was time to have a serious conversation with his son about how to treat girls. Misha was his firstborn, and so such matters had never come up in their family before. He needed to think it through carefully, find the right approach to the mysterious and contradictory soul of a teenager – so as not to break anything. Teenagers are all so vulnerable these days.

But Misha’s best friend Georgiy, when Misha delicately told him that he had a girlfriend, dispensed with subtle approaches altogether and blurted out:

“Sin, Misha! Come to your senses!”

And to Misha’s bewildered question: “But where’s the sin in that?” he replied that even looking at women was a sin, and other such things.

To be continued…

The previous episode of the book is available here.

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