Konrad and Alexandra (PDF) - Rolf Gross

attending a Saturday class, or more likely she went to one of her political meetings. What is the excitement about?"Vladimir leafed through the journal with one hand and held a page up to Konrad. "You have to read this. The women aretaking over Russian poetry."He pointed at two poems. "The female poet whom we have been waiting for like the second Messiah, has arrived,Makovsky and Gumilev have made a great catch. A mysterious lady by the name of Cherubina de Gabriac sent thesepoems to the editorial office of Apollo. I was just there. Makovsky is ecstatic. These," he waved the Apollo copy, "aresensitive Russian lyrics. The poems arrived hand-written with a letter in immaculate French in an elegant envelope,sealed with a baronial coat of arms. She must be a wealthy Russian aristocrat, because nobody has ever heard of her,she probably lives in France. Makovsky showed me the letter, beautifully penned by a woman’s hand. The return addressis a post office box."Konrad shook his head. "Are you sure it’s not a hoax? You are all so wound up these days, it would be easy toperpetuate a joke on supercilious Makovsky."Vladimir wrinkled his forehead derisively. "Ach, you foreigners, you don’t understand, these poems are first class Russianpoetry, never mind who she is for the time being. Gumilev read the poems and was very impressed, and he knows whatis good poetry."Konrad sneered good-naturedly. "You say nobody has ever seen this person? Is this not rather silly of her, if she is anygood, why should she hide behind a post office box?"Vladimir, with a serious face confided. "She called Makovsky on the phone this morning. He is enamored, you shouldhave seen him fawning when he described her magical voice."Konrad noted that this revelation made the argument that Makovsky and Gumilev had been duped by an impostor onlymore probable. "And you fell for it too! But who cares whether she is poor, ugly, or stupid as long as her voice seducedthe editors of Apollo, am I right?"Vladimir gesticulated with his arms and finally let them hang to show his despair. "By definition, the coming woman poetis beautiful…""…whether she is lame or nearsighted." Konrad laughed delighted.Vladimir let himself fall onto the sofa, exasperated. "You will never understand Russian feelings. I need to talk to yourwomen.""Who are both Georgians!"Resigned, Vladimir gave up."What is the book you brought? Something I would be allowed to read as a foreigner?"Vladimir picked up the worn volume and frowned at its title, Keys to Happiness by Anastasia Vrebitskaya. "I didn’t enjoyit, and I am afraid you wouldn’t either. It’s pulp fiction—as they call this genre in English—but it sold thirty thousandcopies in the last two years. A new phenomenon, ladies’ literature. There is a flood of similar trash on the market, worsethan this one."Vladimir shrugged. "You know, I am trying to find some subject for a novel, it has to be something that should havecommercial success, and I blush every time I think of writing a book like this." He held up the tattered copy. "I bought itsecondhand."Vladimir described the necessary ingredients for a successful Russian novel: a melodramatic plot, the heroine anincredibly rich, seductive foreigner, she had to appear outwardly happy so that she could be inwardly unhappy in her ownselfish way, an exotic setting, say in Georgia, and most importantly it had to be erotic or even better shockingly sexuallyexplicit.Konrad began to laugh. "Well, how about a heroine who studies law and is ardently in love with left-wing politics? Anexplosive mixture: sex and socialism! The literature of the future!"Vladimir pulled a face. "Leave Tamara out of this! You know how bored I am by her Socialist friends. I cannot imaginethat the Bolsheviks know anything about love.""You should know. I have never slept with a radical Socialist."Vladimir blushed. "Tamara refuses to be seduced. To this day she has not allowed me to make love to her.""There you see, first come the lofty ideals, then pleasure, if that. That’s why these female radicals all look so emaciated,they waste their passions on ‘higher’ things. But you could effortlessly seduce your fictitious heroine and save her fromthe erroneous Bolshevik ‘ideology.’"Vladimir jumped up and in mock-battle stabbed at Konrad with a finger. "If some old-fashioned sense of honor were left inme, I would challenge you to a duel for insulting my love. And if only the temptation of writing a popular literary successwould not be such a lure, I would throw this miserable book into the fire."Konrad laughed at him. "I tell you what, why don’t you write your popular novel under a pseudonym? Makovsky mighteagerly publish it—if you add a persuasive French letter—or how about a Georgian one? Alexandra could write it for you,she would never reveal your secret. Tamara need not know anything of it."Konrad was catching on. His fantasy was running away with him. If only he had the ability to write something like that, hewould retire in Georgia from the windfall! He settled on the sofa next to Vladimir.154