The Ocean-Blue’s of Nadeja: Nights 1-4
Zigmund returned home and found himself in an ominous staring contest with the bottle resting on the coffee table. Repeatedly, he would take the cap off, almost playing a game of roulette with it, and put it back on. The thought of Daleka, not necessarily being with someone else, but that she had forgotten him, tormented him. Up goes the cap. Black, so to speak, and he capped the bottle. “How could this have happened so soon?” he thought. Once more, the cap is flipped. Red, this time, and back on the bottle it went. He then picked up the bottle, twirling it as if it were a baton, and thought about heaving it against the wall; however, the cap came off once more. Zero, green. A healthy swig, down the hatch. One last hurrah, perhaps, as he dumped the rest of its contents down the drain, only after the image of Nadeja flashed in his mind.
Maybe due to only slight intoxication, rather than the norm of near incapacitation, he could engage himself in something of a rational dialogue. “She deserves her happiness,” he thought. “You only think you know her, but you know nothing. How could you? Why, you do not even know yourself! What do you know of her? That she was detrimentally loyal? Stupidity, that!” “You know she is stupid?” he jokingly thought. At least finding humor amid despair, he thought, signified that it was not the bottom of the pit where he once dwelled. “Were you not the cause of her suffering? Why do you think you should determine who shall remove it? If you truly loved her, ‘your dearest Daleka,’ would you not have changed? Have you not flushed the remains of your alcohol after, not the thought of Daleka, but of Nadeja?” Suddenly, he thought solely of Nadeja, as if he had come to terms with Daleka’s departure from his life in an instant. Anxiety set in. Had his impulsive reaction to witnessing Daleka with another done him in with Nadeja, whatever it was that was blooming between them, whether it was friendship or love? Zigmund dropped to his knees and prayed: “Abba Father, I lay my panic, my worry, my anxiety at your feet. Grant me serenity, peace, the calming of the mind, so that I may walk thy path, not mine. My soul is a heavy wind, a turbulent sea, a fire raging out of control. Lord, help me to remember that if I have nobody, I have you, always. In your precious name, which I lift on high, Amen.” In the blink of an eye, Zigmund slept.
Meanwhile, across the city of Kezmarok was Nadeja, offended and angry that Zigmund had just abandoned her after confiding in him. She hardly ever cursed. “A fucking joke, it is!” she thought to herself. Thoughts of resentment began to take over. “What do I do so wrong!? Do I not do my best? Do I not take my burdens on with joy? With a smile? Do I not try to spread this joy to everyone around me – and what do they do in return? Cast me aside, they do! How could I be so foolish to bare my soul to a… a low-life is what he was! Scum of the earth before he met me! Well, I shan’t ever do it again! Never shall I freely give! For if one wants to experience the joy that I know, they must seek me, instead of me seeking them!” All the while, Nadeja was replacing joy with resentment; and juxtaposed with Zigmund’s prayer, there was no such prayer from Nadeja. Usually, an every night occurrence, but not so on this night. As Zigmund slept, Nadeja lay awake, cursing existence itself.
When morning came, both Zigmund and Nadeja wrestled with the question: “To go or not to go?” The park in Kezmarok that had seen Zigmund and Nadeja meet on three consecutive nights remained virtually empty, almost as if the park itself had reservations for just the two of them. As if the park itself knew that a fourth night would catapult the two into something magical. Still, as the ever-so-rare sunset approached, Nadeja was not to be seen staring at the cathedral, and Zigmund was not to be seen sitting on the park bench.
Throughout the day, Zigmund rehearsed an apology. An explanation as to why he departed from Nadeja so hastily. He thought that perhaps she knew already. Maybe she would not even appear. Why bother showing up himself? Zigmund felt he owed Nadeja at the least an explanation, for something she did had a grand effect on him, even if it was just listening to, in his estimation, his pathetic diatribes. After all, he poured out his liquor over the mere thought of her! What was it that she had done? Was it really a simple locking of the eyes? A simple stare into Nadeja’s ocean-blue’s? Whatever it was, the effect on Zigmund was palpable, and he longed for a fourth night, even if it was the final night. Zigmund, then and there, decided he would go – that he must go.
Zigmund grabbed his coat and went on his way. There he stood atop the hill, overlooking an empty park, with no sign of Nadeja. Nevertheless, he made his way down to the park bench, sat down, and waited. An hour passed, the sun still shining, but no Nadeja. Another hour passed, the sun not having said goodnight just yet, but still no Nadeja. Finally, Zigmund heard footsteps, accompanied by the sound of a woman’s trembling voice, which jolted his nerves, but outwardly, he remained calm. The woman came closer and closer. Zigmund could make out the sound of a cry, and a million thoughts raced in his mind at once as to why Nadeja could be in tears. Alas, the woman came into Zigmund’s view. It was not Nadeja; it was somebody else. The sun had given way to nightfall, and reality had set in. Nadeja was not coming, and he may never see her again. Zigmund waited until the cold was too much to bear, but just as he was about to leave, the woman he had seen before came circling back around, still in a state of sadness. As Zigmund slowly sat back down on the bench, the woman sat beside him. As the woman looked at him, Zigmund smiled and introduced himself.
Before she had the chance to respond, Zigmund held her hand and said to her, “It is going to be okay. I promise,” and began traveling home.
The woman shouted at him before he was too far gone, “Will you be here tomorrow night?” she asked.
Zigmund replied, “Not if you have plans to stalk me!” The woman shot back a sly smile. “I shall be here again tomorrow night, my strange friend. Please don’t make me regret informing you.” After the woman nodded, Zigmund slowly vanished into the dark night of Kezmarok.
Somewhere in the vicinity, a sleep-deprived, still angry Nadeja made her way to a friend’s house. The friend answered the knock. Nadeja barged in, sat down in one of the dining room chairs, and began to smoke. “You smoke now?” the taken-aback friend asked.
Nadeja exhaled and replied, “No, I didn’t pick up smoking. I’m smoking now, but I don’t smoke. Perhaps the smoke will suffocate the ungrateful. Not you, of course, but the others in the city.”
The friend poured a glass of wine and sat it in front of Nadeja, looking at her as if to suggest that the floor was hers, after all, Nadeja did venture over precisely for that reason. “I take it you are not going to the park to see that man,” the friend prompted.
After a sip and another exhale, Nadeja replied, “Of course, I am not going. He shan’t be there anyway. No, he is probably pigeon-eyed as we speak, drinking himself into oblivion over that woman who no longer loves him. I don’t blame her, you know? Surely, this occurred many a time. A glimpse of hope, only to have the rug swept out from underneath her, over and over. Oh, I’m sure of it, but I am no fool like her. Picture me being swindled by a man like that! Ha! Not I!”
As the hours passed, so did the wine bottle, but Nadeja’s friend hadn’t had much of it. She spent the time listening to Nadeja’s off-putting rant, which was a far cry from the Nadeja that she had come to know, but the benefit of the doubt was granted. “Everyone has their day,” the friend thought.
Enough time had passed, and Nadeja, not wanting to overstay her welcome, parlayed with being now somewhat intoxicated, figured she would make her way back home.
“I suppose I must be going, my dear friend. Thank you for listening. Who knows? Maybe I shall bump into a worthy individual on my travels home. A rich man, even! One just passing by! One not from this wretched city, with its wretched inhabitants! Until next time…”
And Nadeja departed out into the cold, slowly vanishing into the dark night of Kezmarok.
The streets of Kezmarok, at this hour, were empty. Not a soul could be seen, nor a peep to be heard. Zigmund could only hear the whistling of the wind and his thoughts. Until, unexpectedly, Zigmund did hear something – the sound of frantic footsteps. It was a woman, but Zigmund could not make out who it was in the dark of the night. Nadeja was walking swiftly, head down, trying to get home and out of the cold as fast as possible. As the two of them came closer, about to walk past each other, Nadeja quickly lifted her head up to acknowledge whoever it might be that was out at this time, a sort of courteous gesture, but was unable to discern who the man was. Zigmund looked directly into the woman’s eyes as she uplifted her head, but could not recognize the woman, as her eyes, from slight inebriation and the cold of Kezmarok, were bloodshot red.
Zigmund and Nadeja walked right by one another, slowly vanishing into the dark night of Kezmarok, never to see each other again.
The Ocean-Blue’s of Nadeja: Night 4.
