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NOVELLA

A History of The 21st Century

A Memoir By Major Alexander Pushkin Litvinova, U.S. Army, ret.

A Novella by Fred Beauford

Chapter 15

I can see you now, Father, dabbing your old, dark eyes, and saying, “good form, son! Well done, boy! You snapped out of it just in time, and allowed your ever-watching mother to once again guide you down the right path.

“And now you have your beautiful Russian bride, in the same way I found my beloved Shasa.”

But, please, Father, before you start getting carried away and start giving me high-fives or one of those other corny things you guys used to do in your century, there is a lot more to this story. A whole lot more. Lucy and I just didn’t ride off happily into the sunset like in one of those old movies from your century.

One thing is true, Lucy and I rarely spent a day not seeing each other from that first evening on. We had touched each other in a real way, and Lucy was not about to let me go; and, Father, I didn’t want to be let go.

I learned over our so-called Russian lessons that both she and Anna K Libid collected disability from the Manhattan Syndrome Fund, although, except for that crying spell at our first kiss, I still could not detect in either one of them even an appearance of that strange numbness of the spirit.

Maybe it was because Anna had only been in this country for so little time or because Lucy was so young, but neither of them seemed to have fully absorbed the enormity of what had happened. It was more than just the loss of a mother or a son or a father, although those were bad enough.

        Each month they both received their little check from the Federal government, and Anna, because of her age, did not have to go see a witch doctor and only had to put up with the unpredictable visits from the caregivers.

The cynic inside of me said that they were getting those checks not because of any “syndrome” but because they were Russian. When I was growing up, both in Los Angeles and New York, that was always the rap on the Russians: no matter what the government program, they would find a way to get the most out of it. Their critics said it was a holdover from Communism.

This negative image of Russians as being opportunist lay-abouts so pissed off Mother that even when she could have asked for help, being a single mother and all, she refused.

“Who needs that. Let them keep it.” She once said with a haughty toss of her head. She had practically slammed the door in the face of a social worker that came to our door and told her that she could get food stamps.

Mother could afford to be contemptuous in those days, because she had her job at the bookstore, your little gifts of intellectual property, and, of course, the more than generous gifts from the ever-gracious gangster.

It soon became clear after only a few days of going to her apartment that Lucy wasn’t all of that interested in learning Russian. What she was interested in was my Army background and me.

“Did you fly when you were in the Army. I mean in a real airplane?” she asked eagerly on the second day, out of nowhere.

“Of course, how else could we get to where we were going? They were sending us all over the damn world.”

A wistful look came over her face. “What was it like? What was it like being so far up in the air? They won’t let us fly anymore. I just wish for once I could sit in an airplane and ride around in the clouds.”

Before I could say anything, she asked another question.

“Did you ever kill anybody? Were those ribbons grandmother mentioned because you killed a lot of people?”

I laughed. “Let’s put it like this. You see a cluster of personnel in the distance. You tell your loader and gunner to load an anti-personnel round. Then you blast the shit out of them. Did you kill them? Who knows?”

“Their dumb asses just ain’t around no more!” she said quickly. Lucy started laughing like crazy. I was really starting to like this woman, Father. I already told you how we vets like telling war stories.

“Tell me, did you ever get shot?”

“Damn right I was shot! Want to see the wounds?” I impulsively unbuttoned my shirt and showed her the scars from my wounds.

“Wow!” Her eyes widened as she reached over and gently touched my shoulder. “Wow!”

On the third day, she asked me a highly unusual question.

“Do you believe in the Manhattan Syndrome?”

Hummm. What could I say? I know that I saw all those crazed looking zombies walking all over the place. I was once one of them, just days ago, and still was in many ways. I still felt the pain and sense of absence. If it wasn’t the Manhattan Syndrome, then what was it? It was some kind of syndrome. Who cared what they called it?

“Sure. It’s just a name,” I said.

“But a name for what” Lucy answered back angrily. Once again, I saw that quick switch in her personality. “For thought control? So that the government could have an excuse to tell us what to do in whatever we wanted to do. Now we have to prove that we go to church at least once a month or we could be removed from the rolls.”

“You’re kidding?”

Lucy looked at me with a look of disbelief, as if to say “what kind of cave you been living in?”

“You’re a vet, Alexander. They ain’t going to fuck with you, but they sure like fucking with us. By the way, tell me, Major, how do you say fucking in Russian?”

Now her anger was replaced with a little gleam in her eyes as she asked me this deliberately provocative question. I must say, she was certainly an interesting little bitch! I hadn’t even tried to fuck her yet. In the good old days, if I wasn’t in bed with a woman on the third date, FORGETABOUTIT!

But that was then in a world long gone. This was now. The opening was clear, Father, but I decided not to take it. Not yet. I really liked her and her strange self. I loved those flashes of fire. It reminded me to the people I served with in the military. Bad-asses. My kind of people.

I wanted her to stay with me. I was afraid if I reached over and grabbed her, as I would have done in the past, that I would have guess wrong, and she would throw me out, and never want to see me again.

I couldn’t take that chance.

As she walked me to the door, after our “lesson” I was slowly putting my hat and coat on, lingering deliberately, hoping for another kiss at the door, or at least a big hug like I got the day before. I stood there waiting for something to happen but not making any kind of move toward her.

She looked up at me with a bold, teasing smile. She unbuttoned my coat and put her arms around me, pressing her body hard against mine.

“It looks like I’m going to have to do all the work in this relationship,” she said in almost a hissing sound. She reached down and put her hands on my crotch, and started rubbing my now hard prick.

You never did tell me how to say fucking in Russian, Major,” she whispered to me.

I unzipped my pants, and she reached in and pulled my penis out. She silently fell to her knees and took it in her warm mouth. She started sucking me off with great skill. I starred rubbing her hair, the first time I had touched a woman while having sex since Gina. My entire body shook as I found myself coming in just a few minutes.

She stood up and kissed me hard, with my sperm all over her face. “Next time, Major, you’re gonna fuck me for real,” she said, her little body now ablaze with real heat.



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