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Chapter Twelve
 ature was inscrutable with its big impulsive, illogical responses, and the violent freedom of its animal directness. Aleksandr Blok believed, and Dmitri Dumatskoy read those thoughts in Blok's essays and letters, that primordial powers were stirring in the depths of the earth. Those forces were about to erupt to the surface and cause enormous destruction. The catastrophic earthquakes that devastated two Italian cities in 1908 were seen by Blok to be a signal that the elemental world was just beginning its chaos. The chaos would be total: striking a blow at the spirit and body of the people of the earth. Blok wrote: "One simply has to be spiritually blind, disinterested in the life of the cosmos and insensitive to the daily tremor of the chaos, in order to believe that the formation of the earth takes its own course independently, not influencing the formation of the human soul and the human way of life." Blok, being a poet, interpreted all of that rumbling, roaring, clamor as "music." To him, it was the spirit of music manifesting itself as the world orchestra. He wrote " . . . under the earth, musical noises and rumbles were born, which sounded in the voices of the element, in the voices of the barbarian masses, in the voices of the great artists of the age. . . breaking down the crust of civilization, and which in our days broke loose from underground with the irrepressible power and ecstasy of the spirit of music." Dmitri knew that Blok had pressed his finely tuned ear to the ground and had heard the devils howling.
December began with a blizzard. The last month of the old year, 1921, howled and dragged a foot of snow out of the clouds before dawn. Tatiana Andreevna could not get out of bed. Saturday, one more day of work week to get through, and Tatiana did not think she could do it! The pain in her left breast felt like a ball of molten lava. The pain was sometimes intermittent, sometimes lasted all day. No day was without pain. The pain made her nauseous. She vomited frequently. She ate almost nothing. That Saturday morning with almost a foot of snow on the ground in Moscow, and snow falling steadily, the wind causing drifting snow, the temperature at -10 degrees - Tatiana lay in hideous pain, cold, exhausted, dehydrated, and nearly starving.
 riday, November 30th, was a day off for Anya Drugo at the Rooster. After supper, she took a cab to 120 Novokirovskaya to visit her friend, Zina Dumatskoy. Dmitri came home from work, ate, took Sasha into the bedroom, and stayed with him while the two old friends had some time together. Anya and Zina shared the bottle of white wine that Anya brought with her. Then they shared the bottle of Chianti Anya brought with her. By the time Sasha was asleep for the night and Dmitri joined the two women, and they all were two shots a piece into a bottle of Vodka - the blizzard began.
"You'll have to stay over, Anya. There will be no cabs available tonight," said Dmitri, pouring another round of drinks.
"Fine. I have no desire to leave such festivities. Here's to the Dumatskoys! Sasha will be how
old. . . when? Tomorrow, isn't it?" Anya looked at Zina for the answer. Zina waved her glass in the direction of Dmitri.
"Sasha's vital statistics to this point, tomorrow being his 12th week anniversary: weight and
height. . . well. . . oh, I don't know. . . more than 8 pounds and 20 inches. . . that's certain. Isn't it darling?"
Zina didn't answer. She glared at Dmitri and drained her glass.
"Oh, well, overall - a good baby, healthy, happy, a lot of smiling and activity," continued Dmitri, oblivious to Zina's look.
"Speech! Speech! Hooray for the mother!" Anya said as she set down her glass, and applauded.
"No, I won't! I. . . couldn't. . . honestly, I. . . don't want to. . . I. . . too drunk. Besides, I don't deserve it."
"Deserve what, Zina?" asked Anya.
"The accolade, no. . . the honor of being. . . a mother. I'm not really. . . I mean. . . oh, it's so hard
to. . ."
Anya looked at her friend in a very quizzical manner, with even a little alarm! Zina caught the look, quickly sat down, and refilled her shot glass. Dmitri didn't understand what Zina was referring to. He waved his hand at her as if to say, "Oh, you're just being modest!" Then Dmitri stood up. He was swigging liberally from the vodka bottle. He walked into the sun porch.
"And here, ladies, we have the residence of one S. A. Ostavlyavich, a gentleman of the highest order. And what do we see? Nothing. Has his filthy cot been slept in lately? I don't think so. At the office the man lives. Takes his meals there, too, it seems. Work, work, work! A Soviet Citizen of the highest order. Ostavlyavich, I salute you!" Dmitri took a tremendous gulp of vodka, and then made his way back to the table in the pantry. Anya looked at him and laughed. Zina forced a smile.
The three had some reason to be merry. Anya was happy that Zina was happy, or at least was supposed to be happy. However, Zina's comments a few moments before caused Anya to question that happiness. Anya was happy because her husband, Drugo had provided the opportunity for Zina to be happy: Making it possible for Ostavlyavich to return to the workforce, thus staying out of the apartment for long periods of time, for the present time at least. Dmitri was happy because Zina was happy, or so it seemed to him. In addition, tomorrow night, Dmitri's mother, Tatiana Andreevna was supposed to come to stay with Sasha, so Zina and Dmitri could go to the Red Rooster for a night out. They hadn't been out together like that since Zina was about four months pregnant.
"Ostavlyavich won't make it back tonight. The storm," said Anya.
"Perhaps he won't come back at all," said Zina.
"Let's drink to that! A toast to the Honorable S. A. Ostavlyavich," said Dmitri. They drank and sang the praises of hard work.
"Hooray for Drugo!" said Anya. As the noise level got louder, Sasha awoke. Dmitri and Anya went into the bedroom to play with him and include him in their current happiness.
"I'll be along, just a moment," said Zina. With glass in hand, she walked through the apartment and straight out the front door of the house into the street and the snow, the blizzard. The force of nature swung at Zina with both of its fists. But she stood there in her dress and emptied her glass of vodka defiantly as the columns of swirling snow threatened to engulf her. The snow was deep. She was soaked. Suddenly, the impact of coldness and wetness brought her back to her senses. She made her way back into the apartment with some difficulty. At the sound of Sasha's crying coming from the bedroom, Zina sank into one of the armchairs in the sitting room as if she was falling into the Abyss. She felt totally lost and alone.
By the time Dmitri finally got home from work on Saturday, December 1st, after all the delays throughout the day caused by the big snowfall, it was nearly 7:30 p.m. He found Ostavlyavich sitting at the little table in the pantry. From a large link of sausage, and from a good size piece of Swiss cheese, Ostavlyavich was cutting pieces with a small paring knife in his left hand. He was putting the intermittent pieces of meat and cheese in his mouth directly off the knife. With his right hand he scribbled notes and calculations onto ledgers and scraps of paper that were scattered over the table. He was wearing a white shirt and brown checked tie with the collar open. His brown suit pants, and his brown suit jacket which was slung over the chair next to him at the table, were wrinkled, but not dirty. His brown shoes and socks were lying next to his bare feet on the floor under the table.
Dmitri marveled at how Ostavlyavich was able to turn his life around in such a short time. The transformation was truly amazing. It was mid-October when Ivan Drugo approached Natalya Doverovich of the Moscow Division of NEP concerning employment of S. A. Ostavlyavich. A week later, a letter arrived at 120 Novokirovskaya for Ostavlyavich asking him to please come in for an interview. Ostavlyavich sobered up immediately. He bathed, he shaved, then he slept for almost two days. He borrowed money from Dmitri, bought a suit of clothes, and a pair of shoes, and went to Tsvetnoy Boulevard. A deal was struck immediately, and the following week Ostavlyavich began to operate within the fur trust.
Seeing Ostavlyavich sitting at the little table with his ledgers and receipts, 61 years old, good-looking, trim and fit and with a positively rapturous look on his face, Dmitri remembered how he had looked only a little over a month before: Crawling around the sun porch in his filthy bathrobe, unwashed and stinking, never without a glass or a bottle in his hand. Dmitri's memory went even further back to his wedding day at the Red Rooster two years ago. Zina had heard that her father had come to Moscow to attend the wedding. She left word at the door that Ostavlyavich was not to be admitted. The drunken, dazed man made such a commotion from being turned away that he had to be thrown into a cell by Red Guardsmen for a few days.
"Dumatskoy! here, here look at this mess! And, understand, you are finally home. What weather! What a day! Such money to be made. You don't think, eh, understand, that there isn't a jump, sky-high leap in fur stocks when the temperature falls, falls, falls? But here, understand, let me clear a place for you. You must be exhausted. I know this old merchant is! Some cheese, sausage? I've got good red wine, Chianti. Where is it? I forgot to drink with my meal. Imagine that! Ha! Ha! Rubles, Dumatskoy. Millions just lying on the table. All one has to do is add them up! Here. . . ."
Ostavlyavich from somewhere pulled a wad of paper currency out and handed Dmitri a fistful of it.
"My share of rent and more. Something for the little one, understand. God bless, understand, eh, Lenin and the bourgeois side, understand, the capitalist side of his brain. Holy Saints of ancient Novgorod, Dumatskoy, sit down. Zina, Sasha, your mother!"
Dmitri, who had been standing at the pantry table throughout Ostavlyavich's monologue, half bemused, half amused, at that moment turned a little gray and sat down.
The school for the children of the revolution where Tatiana Andreevna taught was scheduled, as usual, to end classes that Saturday at 3:00 p.m. It was located near the Bolshoy Theatre on Dzerzhinskaya on the street car line, a little over a mile from Tatiana's room on Kalanchevskaya. She was to have come directly to the Dumatskoys' after school to spend the night with Sasha. Even with taking into account the delays from the snow storm, she should have been there at least by 6:00 p.m. At that time, Zina began calling Tatiana's building from the phone in the foyer of the Dumatskoys' building. For a while, no one answered the communal phone on Kalanchevskaya. Finally, a sleepy voice answered and told Zina that a message would be placed where telephone messages are always placed, and Tatiana would see it when she passed through the foyer. Walk up to the fourth floor to knock on Tatiana's door? No, sorry, it just wasn't done that way. An emergency? The porter would have to notified. He was presently not at his position. The sleepy voice hung up the phone. Around 6:30 p.m., Zina bundled up Sasha and set out on the 10-15 minute walk in the snow with the baby to Tatiana's building.
"I must go there at once," said Dmitri, noticeably alarmed.
"I told her, understand, to leave Sashenka with me. But, she wouldn't understand, hear of it." Ostavlyavich held up his hands in bewilderment.
By the time Dmitri got outside on the street in front of the house, Zina, Sasha, and Tatiana were there in front of him, ready to come in. He almost let out a shriek upon seeing his mother. She was holding on to Zina for support. The little woman in the overcoat with a fur hat on her head looked about half the size as the last time that Dmitri had seen her. It must have been two or three weeks. She had been declining invitations to meet, or come over, saying she was tired, had extra work at school, working overtime, etc. Dmitri rushed to his mother's side and he and Zina, even with the baby, practically had to carry Tatiana into the house.
They took Tatiana into the pantry and seated her on a chair in front of the stove. Zina took Sasha into the bedroom, unbundled him, put him into his crib and then came back to the pantry. Dmitri removed Tatiana's hat, and unbuttoned her overcoat, but left it on. Ostavlyavich removed her boots and stockings and rubbed her cold feet. Dmitri rubbed her hands. Zina saw the Chianti bottle on the table and poured Tatiana a glass. Tatiana drank it down willingly.
"My God, mother, why are you out tonight in this condition? You're obviously ill. You should have called us ..." Dmitri began to raise his voice at his mother until he caught a stern look of disapproval from Zina.
"I'm fine, really," said the sick woman. "Another glass of wine, perhaps?"
"Allow me, Tatiana Andreevna." Ostavlyavich poured her another glass and then busied himself cleaning off the table of his sausage, cheese and work papers.
Dmitri spoke in a softer tone, "You didn't work today in all of this, did you?"
"Yes," Tatiana said. She looked down at the parquet floor of the pantry. Then she looked right into Dmitri's eyes. He hovered over her. He looked like a gentle giant with his expression of love and concern.
"No. No, I didn't. I'm just tired. I haven't been eating or sleeping well. A bad cold I haven't gotten rid of." She emptied her glass. She yawned. She took off her overcoat. "Give that Sashenka to me."
Zina and Dmitri both went to get Sasha. Ostavlyavich went to the bathroom, leaving Tatiana alone for a brief time. She clutched at her breast in pain and had to bite her lip to keep from screaming.
In the bedroom getting Sasha, Zina said quietly to Dmitri, "I'm concerned, Mitya, but she's here now, and it's warmer than at her place. She needs to be with Sasha. I think it will be all right."
"A frail woman to begin with who loses weight! It's not good. We should cancel our plans," said Dmitri.
"Certainly not! We need this time out together. I have been with Sasha day and night since he's been born. Besides, he'll be here."
Dmitri was shocked at those last words of his wife. She certainly softened her ideas about her father since he went back to work. Dmitri was skeptical.
"But you wouldn't leave Sasha alone with Ostavlyavich, would you?"
"Well, no. . . but. . . with your mother and him. . . I don't see the harm. Mitya, please!" Zina pressed Dmitri close to her. "I want so much to be around people tonight, artists, poets, who laugh, who drink, who feel the pulse of our city. And Anya has a surprise. I didn't want to tell you yet. But it's something to do with a couple of paintings. Someone wants to buy!"
Zina looked so proud when she said those words, and so lovely. Dmitri kissed her passionately.
"Okay, if you think it will be all right."
They took Sasha out to Tatiana.
 lok stood beside Dante in the Castle Hall surrounded by massive stone walls. Dmitri Dumatskoy handed each a glass of Chianti.
"Clangor, Clangor."
The roaring fireplace cast a glow on their mid-thirteenth century clothing. The Feudal barons were out hunting, riding through the hills. The consortium, symbolized by gallo nero, the black rooster, to protect their interest - wool, silks, and wine. The talk was of Dionysos, the Greek god of wine and his mysteries.
"We call him Bachus or Liber here between Florence and Siena, within these 25,000 acres of Sangiovese, the big red, and Canaiolo Nero, the Little Red, and Malvasia and Trebbiano, the little whites," said Dante. Then he drank.
"And Dionis in Petrograd and Moscow," said Blok, and Dmitri nodded. And they both drank.
The black rooster on the mantle with eyes of fire flapped its huge wings and the Castle Hall filled with wind.
"Clangor. Clangor," could be heard in the hills as the hunters rode - The Latin for the sound that their hunting horns made.
"And from that sound came the name of the wine we drink, my friends," said Dante to Blok and Dmitri. Then they all drank.
Dmitri woke in the middle of the night from his dream and opened his eyes. Zina did not stir beside him, and Sasha was asleep in his cradle. Dmitri could not fall back to sleep. He got up out of bed and went into the pantry.
Dmitri needed to go to his place. He was astounded! It wasn't readily there. He found himself in the unfamiliar position of having to search for his place. That had never happened to him before! It was as though the place had been obscured by something; or had moved its location from one part of his mind to another part. And so he had to search for it. His alarm turned quickly to panic. Since Dmitri was always alone when he went to is place - he had to be alone to go there - no one witnessed Dmitri's panic, the look of utter fear in his eyes. That process of search was only a heartbeat in duration, but it seemed to Dmitri that he had lost his place and had been searching for it for years! Suddenly, he was there! It had been found! Peace once again reigned supreme in his spirit.
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