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the first

The yarmarka (farmer's market) is about to close. Some of the people are already packing up, offering their last bruised tomatoes at half-price to anyone walking past them.  I am wandering, staring at bunches of herbs, at the same old options - cabbage, pepper, potato, garlic, apple, cucumber. But then I see a pile of peas. The season must have come early this year. I buy a kilo, and some mint. I know what is for dinner. We have not had it in eleven months.

At home, I rip the bag open, showing them to V. She stands by the kitchen table, eyes wide. I crack one open, showing her the little rounds inside. She plucks one out, her pinky pointing to the ceiling.
"Try it." I tell her.
She does, but she does not like it.

I pull out a bowl for them. She jumps up and down a few times. V always wants to help in the kitchen. I pull her to my lap, and we begin pulling them out from the shells. She learns quickly, tossing them with a flourish into the bowl, a few cascading to the flo…

podarok (the present)

E is curled up in her tiny bed, a swirl of sheets twisted around her. It rained briefly as the sun came up a few hours ago and now there is a soft wet air in the apartment. Her chin tucked into her shoulder, hands frozen like an Italian sculpture. I watch her like this for some time, drinking my coffee. There are few things in the world as perfect as watching someone you love while they sleep.

Her face is serene, as if she lives some perfect life.

We went to a birthday party on a boat for N's cousin Misha last night. The oppressive heat had just broken when we arrived, N's giant purse clanging around beside us as we brought her nephew and E across the astroturf landing.

E made fast friends with a girl her age, before we had even pulled away from the dock. Laughing, scarfing down cucumbers, the children wove their way around the long table. The sun flashed from between the great buildings and monuments we drifted past. Cold bottles of white wine were uncorked. Platters of thinly sliced fish and meat were spread out. One stretch of the river stank of god knows what, quickly replaced by the smell of fresh cut grass. Other boats cruised past us pumping disco music, the dancing crowds waving hysterically, thrilled when we waved back.

N stood at the railing in a sleeveless, backless top. Her giant sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose, she was more quiet than usual today. N is a very private person, and I am always sharply reminded of this when we are out in a group as opposed to just the two of us. Later, I found out she was a bit sea sick. Well, river sick.


Birthday toasts were made. Countless snapshots clicked away. Toys were lost in the chairs, then found again. E asked for the extra shirt I brought for her as a low wind grew, throwing her hair around. She asked me to put her hair in braids and I did. She announced to the people around us that I am her mother as well as her father.

All too shortly, the sun set and it was time for coffee, tea. Time to polish off the open bottles. I felt like I had been sitting in this perfect chair for a short lifetime, my arm loose around N's shoulder.

As we made our way off the boat E hugged me, squeezing my cheeks.

"Pop." She said. "Everybody liked me!"

On the stairs by the road, I congratulated Misha again, explaining how I had forgotten his present. He touched E's hand gently and shook his head once.

"No, this is the present." He said.

Comments

Annie said…
Oh, my. Oh, my. What a lovely, lovely party.

Beautiful description of it. And I love the photos. N. looks so elegant,exquisitely so - until yu let us in on the secret....well, yes; she DOES look seasick. So, then I think "I would have been, too." and the lovely buffet isn't quite as attractive.

But your daughter is. And observant, it was clear to me; you are a Papa/Mama. Lucky daughter.

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