nite_vision

VENYA THE SWALLOW

Venya, better known as the Swallow, had a dubious reputation. And it had nothing to do with his inability to correctly forecast the weather.

One day he dressed up as a woman and put on a wig. But everyone recognized him right away and exposed his deception. “Who does he think we are?” they wondered. Only L., a pharmacist, didn’t recognize Venya in his new look and bought him a vanilla ice cream sundae. Venya was touched by this gesture. He took off the wig and L., the pharmacist, immediately recognized the crafty devil. “Venya , oh Venya, do tell us what the weather’s going to be like tomorrow,” she begged him, winking at everyone. Venya grew pensive for a moment, stood up from his chair (he had been sitting on a chair) and rattled off:

“Partly cloudy, no precipitation, wind from the north-west, moderate, air temperature + 14 C.”

“You liar,” said L., the pharmacist, and stuck the wig back on Venya’s head. Venya was offended and left, slamming the door.

The next day it snowed. “Venya… He’s incorrigible,” mused L., the pharmacist on her way to work. Everyone passed her by smiling to themselves.

In the evening Venya came to visit. He was wearing a business suit and had carnations in his hand. “These are for you,” said Venya shyly. L. blushed.

Afterwards they had some tea in the kitchen. And then L. showed Venya the Swallow photographs of her relatives. “This is my father’s uncle, also a pharmacist,” she informed the fading Venya. And at 12:15 they made love right there on the parquet floor in the sitting-room while L.’s buttocks quivered sweetly. And all this, incidentally, is not a figment of my imagination; this is exactly what happened.

The next morning was frightfully cold. The temperature was – 3 C with a north wind and black ice, but it was sunny and not a cloud in the sky. Venya woke up at 8:30, glanced out the window, and suddenly realized that from then on he’d never have to forecast the weather. It wasn’t his thing. From now on, instead, he would date the pharmacist L., drink tea with her in the kitchen, go to the movies, visit friends and no one would tease him anymore, and no one would make faces at him, and sing him stupid little ditties like this one:

When the Swallow flies high – the storm is nigh,
When the Swallow flies low – the wind won’t blow.

Next to Venya, L., the pharmacist, was snoring gently. Under her left nipple she had a small birthmark. Venya suddenly felt his member growing in size, and smiled.


translated, from the Russian, by Lydia Bryans and the author

(c) 1992