is my friend Rosa,” Anna said. “And this is Avdotya, the seamstress.”
“We were just chatting,” Rosa said to the old woman. “Just chatting a little, that’s all.”
“In the dark?” Avdotya shook her head and turned toward the mailboxes.
Rosa led Anna outside, where they spoke a few minutes longer. In the end, Rosa seemed satisfied and with a brief embrace bade Anna farewell.
“We should do things like this more often!” Viktor Ipalyevich was standing in a part of the apartment where Anna had never seen him before, namely, in front of the mirror. He’d taken off his cap—a rare occurrence in itself—and was occupied with arranging his hair. With the years, it had retreated from the crown to the back of his head, but Viktor Ipalyevich was running his finger through it as if it were a thick mane.
“Do what, Papa?” Anna ascertained that Petya wasn’t back yet.
“People!” He twirled a pathetic little tuft sprouting from the middle of his bald spot and tried to give the strands a specific direction. “We should surround ourselves with people again, the way we used to. This reclusive life isn’t good for us.” He looked at his daughter in the mirror as though she were chiefly to blame for his hermitlike existence.
“Didn’t you say you were going through a phase that made it impossible for you to put up with the outside world?”
“How can you take my gloomy nattering seriously?” He laughed, displaying his high spirits. “It took a visit from your friend to remind me that Moscow is out there! What does she do, your friend?”
“She works for a newspaper.”
“A colleague! A fellow writer!” Viktor Ipalyevich shouted. “And she didn’t say a word about that! She talked about my work the whole time.” He turned his back to the mirror and twisted himself in an attempt to see how he looked from behind.
“Why isn’t Petya here? Why didn’t you go down and get him?”
“Do you know what I’m in the mood for? A party!” The poet pointed to his notebook. “Don’t I have a good reason to invite people over for a party?”
“What people?”
“Haven’t they been wondering for a long time what their friend Viktor Ipalyevich is doing? And I’ll tell them: He’s working on a volume of poems, and it’s almost finished! That’s why he wants you all to gather around him and celebrate this great event!” Overheated, he pulled off his woolen jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. “Of course, your lady friend will be among the invited guests.”
Anna interrupted his flight: “What about Petya?”
“It won’t hurt him to stay up a little later than usual one night.”
“I mean now!” She stepped in front of her father. “Do you want him to stay outside until he catches cold?”
“Right, I have to fetch Petya,” the old man said, nodding absently. “We’ll invite everybody, all right? Uyvary and Madame Akhmadulina and good old Lebedinsky and Vagrich …”
“Writers?” she asked, unable to believe her ears. “You want writers to set foot in this apartment?”
“But that’s what I’ve been talking about all this time.” He put his hands on his hips. “Will you cook for us, Anna? Will you do that? I’ll pay for everything.”
“With what?”
“With this, my dear child.” All at once, he was holding a piece of crumpled paper on which there were some handwritten figures.
“They’ve paid you something?”
“For the first time in nine years.” He nodded without emotion. “A princely advance. I don’t know anyone they’ve ever paid so well.”
“Since when do you have this?” Anna held the check under the lamp.
“Two days now. I wanted to wait for the best opportunity to surprise you with it. Do you think your beautiful friend will accept my invitation?”
“Rosa?” Anna frowned. “If she knows that a bunch of banned writers will be gathering here, I think she’ll be only too happy to come.”
“Really?” He grinned without understanding what Anna was alluding to. “So the only question remaining is what you’ll prepare for our guests.”
“No.” She picked up her scarf again. “The only question is whether you’re going to fetch Petya home for dinner, or whether I’ll have to do it.”
“Petya, yes, right, he must be frozen stiff!” The old man jammed his cap onto his head, put on his coat, and headed for the door. “Ah, Anna, I’m so glad, this is really a brilliant idea. We’ll put some life in this musty old place!” As he was about to go out, he turned around again and said,