The Russian Wife Ch. 11

"Berlin?"

"Yes... Have you read "The last battle", by Cornelius Ryan? I have read it. A great book. I suggest you to look for it, in some library... or on the Web..."

"I have read it. A nice book, indeed." Paolo said. I smiled and come back to the kitchen: I had to turn off the fire under the pots. "But Ryan talked even about the... well... the r..."

"Of course: it's a serious book, and those things happened... as in every war." my man said. "There have been lots of cases in Italy too... Especially in 1944, south of Rome... on behalf of Moroccan unit, under French command... The "Allies"..." he snorted. "Do you remember that episode, in the book... When the Russian soldiers arrived in that women's monastery, and the nuns were afraid of... you know what... And the soldiers acted very correctly, instead... And their commander told the nuns that, however, they had to be careful, because his men were good guys, but not all the soldiers acted so well... Well, so it was, especially in the first days. Some officers had to shoot on the spot their men who... could not control themselves... And they had shot, to kill... But the officers could not be everywhere..."

"I see..."

"And however... do you know that line of Kipling... "Single men in barracks don't come into plaster saints"? Well, compared with what those men had seen in four years of war, a barrack room was a kindergarten... The Germans had sown wind, a lot, especially in Russia... And they reaped storm. So it goes. It's unfair, because two wrong things don't make one right. But so it goes..."

"And what he did after the war?"

"Well, first of all, he married the girlfriend he had, since before the war... They had no sons, she had problems... you know... but he remained with her, till the day she died, fifteen years later. She had waited for him, four years. It was the least he could do for her. So he said."

"And then?"

"And then he married again: he was quite young yet, life went on... And aunt Sashka was born. And in the meantime, he had gotten a position. "A window on the street", as they say down there. He was smart. Helluva man..."

"He was... Has he died for a long time?"

"Quite a long time... Some months after we married. It has been a hard blow, for aunt Sashka... She asked me to remember him, every year, on the 9th of May... And we do, somehow, every year... It's important, for her... "

"The 9th of May? Is it the day he died?"

"No. It's Russian VE day: the day of the victory in Europe... It was always his favorite holiday. Once he told me... "maybe one fine day they will not celebrate the 7th of November anymore, maybe not even the 1st of may... But if they will not celebrate the 9th of May... Then it will be all over..."

"I had been in England, some years ago. They celebrate the VE day on the 8th of May..."

"Right... In the West they celebrate the 8th, but in Russia and in many former Soviet States, they celebrate on the 9th..."

"Why?"

"Because when the German signed the capitulation, it was still the 8th of May in central Europe, but already the day after in Russia. But I think it's for to distinguish themselves, fundamentally." my man shrugged. "When you have destroyed the better army in the world, you have the right to be a bit "snob"... and they did the bulk of the job... "

"The bulk of the job?"

"Well, they had killed 3 on each 4 Nazi soldiers dead... That means something..."

"There were the allied supplies too..."

"Right: 16 millions of tons of materials. But, do you know how many tons of materials has been employed by USA in Vietnam? As far as I know, more or less 22. And who has won? I mean: supplies are important, necessary, but not always sufficient. You don't win a war just with them..." my man said, shaking his head. "They're a hard nut to crack. If someone tells you they are easy to beat, never believe him: either he is an ignorant, or a mad... Or both!" he snorted...

I had smiled hearing that crash-course of history. Right: my man could teach everybody to respect Russia, as my father had said.

And I recalled the night before, when we had made love. For no special reason, maybe. But maybe he wanted to make it clear that the old lion was still standing, alive and well. And it was so. And I had been happy to take note...

That's why I did not think of Paolo as a possible prey. He was healthy and fine, but I still felt the hands of my man over me, his kiss in my mouth, on my breasts, on my sex... And HIS sex inside of me, of course... I did not need any other male. Those memories were enough to get me wet, satisfied, relaxed, and happy to belong to him... And I really mean "belong"...

Paolo should have understood it: he acted always correctly towards me. Not a hint of flirting or the like.

He was always ready to help me, at home. He even set up his bed on his own. He said he did it "to get used to do it in the barrack room"... But I knew he wanted to help me, or at least to bother me as less as possible. He did not want to be a burden.

But he looked at me as a young male looks at a fine woman. Nothing wrong, nothing to be scorned by. I think he would have died before to try to pick me up: likely he thought I would have seen it as a lack of respect. I was his aunt, after all, and a married woman. But it was clear that he liked me. Nature is nature.

Maybe he hoped, against all hopes, that his kindness in helping me with the housework could give him some chances... And at the same times, he was ashamed of these thoughts. Ashamed of his desire towards me. The woman of another man, of a man he respected, of his uncle. Likely he hoped I did not notice this desire. But I did. I had been in this world for too long already, for not to notice it.

And since it was clear, I started to play with that idea. To play with him as I played with the kids on the street, more or less. He was quite older than them, already a graduated. But always just a bit more than a kid, for me. His face without a wrinkle, and his beard almost inexistent, always shaved... So young, so inexperienced... So curious about me, a Russian woman... Yes, in five minutes flat, I could take him to bed...

But neither he nor my man understood my thoughts. He can't, because he was young, naive, "chàinik"... But my man... did he really see nothing?

Surely, since Paolo was no more a child, it was easier for my man to speak with him, to go around with him. Rookie and veteran, "salag" and "dèmbel", "kohai" and "senpai"...

Once my man got a cold which lasted more than one day, and the second day I "forced" him (so to speak) to stay in bed, and went to buy some medicines. When I came back home, I heard them laugh, just when I get out of the lift , at our floor.

I got into my home, and left the door just a bit more open, for not to make noise shutting it. Paolo and my man were talking each other: a typical males' discussion. Paolo was talking about his problems, starting with the one which name started for "V"... And my man was reassuring him: nothing tragic, everything goes by, he too had had those problems, when he was younger, so much younger...

"You know," Paolo said. "I guess I am... not so "gifted" too..."

"In "that" sense? There is no problem... Do you know how they say? "Not big to plug, not long to touch, but hard and lasting it's a top-notch"... " my man said.

"Hard and lasting?"

"Sure! Don't listen to the crap your friends say. A man is measured by minutes, not only by centimeters. Let's say so: a man works with gasoline, a woman works like a diesel..."

"A diesel?"

"Yes! A man starts in a second, but runs dry fast too. Five minutes it's already not so bad, ten-fifteen minutes, it's a top level. A woman works all the way round, like an old diesel engine: she has to warm up. You can't plug in the key and turn on: it doesn't work. You spoil the engine, that way. She does not have fun, and you're done. But if you give her the time she need, if you let her feel at ease, if you touch her where she wants to be touched... oh, then it's another story...

"Another story..."

"Right! She can go on and on, and on... You don't have to be in a hurry: she will say when she wants to get serious, you know what I mean... THEN you have to turn on... And then it can last... A fine trip, by my oath... There's nothing like to do it with a girl who is having fun... Nothing in this world..."

"I thought those things were important just for feminists... Are you feminist?"

"There are no Feminist males, boy. There are just smart males and foolish males. The smart males are those who are able to keep the women with them. With the good manners, of course. And in order to keep a woman with you, even this stuff can help. It's not enough , but it can help..."

"So you say that even the girls like sex..." Paolo said. Poor boy! It was like to ask, whether the Pope of Rome was a Catholic...

"Of course they like it!" my man snorted. They like it as we like it, they like what we have as we like what they have. It's the nature. But you have to show your merchandise as it takes, and use it as it takes. And there is the difficult part. Which is not so difficult, after all..."

They laughed. So THIS was the famous "strategy"? Well, after all, he was right. In a nutshell, "savoir simplifier", this was what he did, And this was how I liked to be seduced, convinced to sex... and then taken, boned, possessed, dominated... "Artpodgotòvka"!

"And... If I can ask you about that..." Paolo said, "How it goes with aunt Sashka?"

"How it goes... well... You do what you can, boy... "

"In what sense?" Paolo said. I too wanted to know that...

"Well... You know what they say about Russian women, don't you? "Three times a woman"... And she IS three times a woman, what can I say... Sometimes even FOUR times..."

They laughed, and I smiled. "Sometimes even four times"... Was it the only criticizing he had to do about me? My next-door neighbour, a lady, maybe alarmed by the open door, pushed it a bit, poked his head in our flat and looked at me, surprised and perplexed. What was I doing? Was I silently infiltrating in my home? Were some thieves inside? I made her some signs for to say "be quiet and go away, all is fine"... Yes, all was VERY fine...

"Four times... " Paolo said. "It must be hard to cope with..."

"Yeah, sometimes... But seriously..." My man breathed. "She is four times a woman, a lady, even OUT of the bed. She takes care of me... She is a very good wife, a wonderful wife. And I don't know, whether I deserve her... Whether I keep up with her..."

I smiled, closed the door, tripping the lock (it was the only way to get my neighbour to leave), and went to the room when they were, while my man told Paolo to keep mum, on everything...

"Well? What are you doing here?" I asked, looking at them, as a conductor who looks for a free rider.

"Oh, nothing... we were talking about whatever..." my man said. I looked at Paolo and he shrugged.

About whatever long, hard and lasting, I thought. But I did not say a word. Or else, I would have burst out laughing as a "nienormàlnaya"...

After that lessons, Paolo started to look at me in another way. If possible, he was more confused than before. Now he knew that I was definitely not an old aunt always busy baking good biscuits ant chatting with other old ladies. I made love with my man yet, and with "gusto". And likely he could not help to fancy me in bed... To his honor, he kept acting correctly with me. Very embarrassed, but correct. The difference between a gentleman and a real scoundrel is not the instincts or the desires: it's the brakes.

And his brakes were working.

For not to embarrass him even more, we tried not to make love, at night, while he was our guest. We were used to be alone, and we were not so discreet, when we did it. Some years before, one night that we were very engaged in it, our neighbour had beaten on the wall, he made us his compliments (he said just so: "I miei complimenti!"...) but then he told us that he had to leave on a plane very early, ("Alle sette da Ppisa", he said, with a strong Tuscan accent), so, please...

Just the last night, my man started to pampered me, but the things went a bit too far... Maybe our neighbour did not notice it: even if my orgasm was not so bad at all, I tried to limit my pitches as much as possible: just a little, short cry... But maybe Paolo had heard it...

"Do you think he had heard it?" I asked my man, when I could quit panting.

"Hmm... Maybe... "

"Oh, "blìn"! I'm sorry..."

"Why?"

"He could be... embarrassed..."

"Why? It's not his fault if he had heard it..."

"It's not that..."

"What is it, then?"

"Put yourself in your shoes... How would you feel, if you were virgin, without wanting it, and you would hear a man and a woman who..."

"Who?"

"Well... you know... " I chuckled. There were many words to tell it. But not to tell it was more fun...

"You're right." my man sighed. "I could not sleep for the rest of the night..."

"Would you wank?"

"No, not even... It would be a misery... " He said. I nodded. Even to touch myself, If I were being a virgin and... Well, it would have been like a patch on a bullet hole...

"I don't understand... He is not ugly... he is not stupid... he is not bad... Why has he not a girl?"

"Lack of know-how... " my man said. "How to play your cards, how to put yourself on the market place... I know what it means..."

"Who knows, how long he has to wait yet... Do you think they will send him to Iraq, or in Afghanistan?"

"No... They send only the volunteers there... And the career soldiers... It's unlikely..." he said. It was 2004, the last year of conscription service in Italy, and there were Italian forces in Iraq and in Afghanistan, and in other places too: Kosovo, etcetera... This was the real risk, at least theoretically. "Peace missions"... so to speak...

"However... I'm sad for him... " I said. "He is a nice guy... he needs a girl... It would help him a lot... "

He looked at me, and I understood. He knew I desired to sleep with Paolo. I just desired him, no talk of love, or the like. I loved my man, and no one else. But I desired thet boy.

"It there has to be a boy, so let it be him. Better off that way. Better him than another."

"But..."

"Yes... A one-off will be enough, for him... And you're right: he is a good boy... It will be like a dream, for him... "

"But... I don't want... "

"You want... " he nodded. "I had told you..."

"I can resist... I can do without it... I'm not such a whore..."

"You're not a whore... You just need it..."

"But you're still... I love you, I love to make love with you... Drop it, please..."

"I know... But take it as a gift..."

"A gift for what? Christmas has passed, and my birdthdate has yet to come... You can't make gifts for a birthdate in advance... It brings bad luck!" I smiled.

"A gift and nothing more. If you want." He kissed my nose and laid back on his side of the bed. Silence.

"Maybe you want your niece to have a good first experience. Isn't it? Before to join the army..." I said. He snorted.

"Tomorrow I had to go out of town." he jawned. Over and out.

So, "alea jacta est". He wanted to let me free. Free to choose. Yes, maybe he wanted ME to

"initiate" his boy. Since I could like it too, why not? I was not obliged to do it: it was MY choice. To do or not to do...

Why me? Why not a whore? Because he knew how I made love: better than the best whore... and because he knew I liked that boy: not just a dirty job...

Could I entrust this job to some girlfriend? I had NO girlfriend to whom you could ever "entrust" this job. They were not so jaunty and laid-back... And if they were? Someone could try and pick up my man! And if he would have been tempted, wo could have judged him? Me, with my lewd desires? No. But it would have been terrible...

Better off NOT to have such girlfriends, yes: better...

The day after, when I awoke, my man was all dressed up already. He had had breakfast too. So he greeted me and left away. Leaving me all alone with my devil.

I had my breakfast all alone, and then I took a tray with something to eat to "my devil". He was still sleeping like a child. More than desire, he inspired me tenderness... He was so young...

He awoke and thanked me for the breakfast. I had always treated him like a kid, nothing erotic or the like. Yes, he was a graduated, over 20. But he had more or less half of my years. For me, he could be just a boy. And maybe he thought to be just that, for me. No hope for something more... Well, he was going to get a surprise...

I went to my room and dress me up well. Even a bit too much well, for a woman who does not think to get out. They say Russian women dress up for the job as if they had to go to theater... Well, something alike. Even if I did not think about theater at all... I was repeating to myself that I could even not to do anything. But the more I dressed, the less I believed to that...

When I came back to the room of Paolo, he was starting to pack his bags. He had to leave in the afternoon, but he did not want to do it in a hurry, at the last minute. I started to help him, and we started to talk.

"Well... Have you enjoyed Florence?" I asked.

"Oh, it's wonderful... And you have been very kind... I hope I did not bother you too much!"

"Don't mention it..." I said. "It has been a pleasure to see someone... We live quite on our own, you know... Your uncle is a real bear!" I snorted.

"He is clever..." he breathed. "He told me that when he was a boy, he was as shy and clumsy as me, with the same problems... with the girls... I can't believe it!"

"Oh, he was... He told me that too... " I nodded. I was going to tell him WHO has been the first "girl" he had slept with, but I decided not to do it. "Do you know, he did not even served in the army..."

"Yes, he told me... He wanted to go, to put himself to the test, but... when you want something, they always give you something else..."

"And you, did you want to stay home?"

"Not really... I tried to served as an NCO, or a reserve officer. I had the graduation, it was a chance to start to use it... So I would have been payed, really payed... And if the service in the army would have been not so terrible for me, I could sign for a longer period, maybe start a real military career... But they told me that I had too much of scholiosis and other problems for to be an officer..."

"And then?"

"And then I asked new examinations, to be deferred and stay home... But they told that I could serve as a soldier even with my scholiosis and the other problems... Typical..." he snorted. Then he looked at me.

"Now you will think badly of me..."

"Why?"

"Well... I know your father was something like a war hero... maybe you think that I am a wimp, that the army will make a man out of me..."

"Oh, no... What do you think? My father too would have been happy to stay home. But there was a war, and the enemy would have not left him alone, even if he would have stayed home... The Germans were not fighting against us as they fought in the west: it was an extermination war. They thought tha for them to survive, we had to die, or to become slaves. They wanted our land as their "Lebensraum", living space. Our land, our resources. We were redundant. So it was a fight for life, for us. That's why in Russia, for the first time, there had been a partisan war on a large scale. It was not a question of being brave or not, of being Communist or not. You had got to do it, to fight. And my father did it. But now, here... it's another matter..." I smiled.

"Sorry... Was your father... a Communist?" he asked.

"Well... You know, it was like... Like to be a Catholic here. You are born here, and you get used to that... even if you don't believe so much..." I smile thinking about my mother in law. He was virtually an Orthodox, and she did not even know that... "When he was young, he was a "bespartìniy", a party-less. And he lived all the same, nobody bothered him so much... Then, at the end of the war, some fellow soldiers asked him to join the party..."