C4 antho - Chamber Four

~78~ The Chamber Four Fiction Anthology
Ukrainian market folklore Andrey is far more proficient than
Nikolai Vassilievich will ever be. If Andrey, in his turn, were
ever to examine Nikolai Vassilievich in retail practice, the
professor’s mark would inevitably be ‘poor.’ In Donetsk, the
ability to tell Pushkin from Gogol, Shakespeare from Chaucer
or sinus from logarithm is rather a handicap than a privilege.
Such details put one at a tangent to the central focus of survival.
* * * *
At a tangent I may be, but I am truly privileged today.
Andrey has given me a million to get a good chicken at the
market. He wishes me to make a three-course dinner out of
one bird corpse. He says I must make a broth, then peel off
the chicken’s skin, stuff it with schmaltz and onions and
serve the filet separately, with mashed potatoes. We will feast
in his locked room in the United Hostels, no hungry guests to
diminish our delight.
Dizzy in the sweet, festering air of the poultry row, I am
glad to see many chubby chickens displayed. I slap them on
their thighs and breasts and finally choose the one that resonates
most. My mouth is watering at the promise of a
golden treat.
“What do you study, lass?” the vendress asks me, wrapping
the chicken into a newspaper.
“English,” I reply.
Her greasy fingers fumble under the counter to produce
a blue hard-cover book. She points at the title, “The ABC of
Dirty English.” I run the pages between my fingers, incredulously:
“Abishag, Able Grable, Abyssinian medal...” The
brazen beads descend the page in neat strings, all provided