A Russian Sketch

     
  His eyes were on her then, watching lithe movements, the slim, girlish figure.  He could not help but compare her to Anja, athough he did not realize that he did so.  Anja was small and pretty like a little bird.  She was sweet and delicate, but she paled before this other one.  Such broad, square shoulders, such a splendid waist!  He marveled at her, even as he scoffed at her.  She darted here and there, alluring, charming, wild-but never beautiful.

 
    Someone called his name.  It was an acquaintance of his, a man he met at his university in St. Petersburg.  He turned his head to acknowledge him, but was unaware of their exchange.  His attention belonged to the waif with the locks of flaming hair.
    The light reveled in her coppery tresses, on her many jewels, the smooth contours of her arms, her neck, her unfashionably bare throat.  
     His colleague paused, noticing for perhaps the first time his companion's distraction.  He looked to where Constantin looked, and a wide smile parted his boyish lips. 
     "Aha!" he cried with great mirth.  The prospect of discussing girls, and flirting, and dancing made him  forget what he was saying about the Zemstvos.  "Pretty, that girl.  An American, most likely."
    Constantin was silent.  He pursed his lips in annoyance, for he did not wish to discuss the creature in such plain terms; to do so would be nothing short of desecration, for surely such a girl was like the nymphs in the old Greek stories.  
    "Pretty," his companion repeated. "Though not so pretty as Natasha or Glafira.  Still, not bad for an American! "  Constantin ground his teeth.  "It is too bad she is betrothed," the scholar sighed, drinking deeply of his Medovukha.  
    Betrothed.  It was inconceivable to him, to Constantine, that the strange girl belonged to anyone.  She was so free.  Anyone but himself, for he had already claimed her. He forgot Anja,  for whom he had declared his undying love to his highly amused father only that afternoon.  His whole existence had wound itself inextricably with hers, whether she would have it or not.
    Constantin was not a bad fellow.  He was honest and his family, the Selanovs, was an old and honorable one.  He was intelligent, but never smug, and rarely given to the fickle whims that so ruled his youthful friends.  Good looking, the girls were apt to giggle, but so serious! Even his smile- so dazzling a smile, too!-was grave.  How they envied Anja her good fortune.
   Face flushed from the good Russian vodka, Constantin excused himself and left the company of his still-rambling schoolmate.  He staggered to the drawing room and dropped heavily into a seat.  Anja came to him and stroked his brow with her slim, white hand.  As she prattled, Constantin felt that she was boring, that her superficiality was intolerable.  He stood abruptly, bowed, and hastily left her.  Immediately afterward he regretted his rudeness.  After all, he thought, she cannot help the way she is, and she has always been kind to me.

    Later, his mother, the celebrated Princess Stasia Ivanova Selanova, introduced him to the girl.  Then, upon spying an acquaintance to whom she had not spoken in nearly a year, the princess took her leave.
    "Inès" the girl smiled and offered her broad, long fingered hand.  As he shook it, he noted the white teeth, charmingly irregular.  Her proximity thrilled him, affected him more than drink ever had.  It made him bold and for once, Constantine lost his reserve.  As they talked, he loved her more.  He admired her height, her gray eyes, her rough French voice. 
    "Monsieur," she smiled to show that she was about to jest with him. "Have you any loves? I have seen dozens and dozens of your Russian girls and I feel that I should never tire of looking at them."
     "Loves? No." An image of Anja came unbidden to his mind and his conscience smote him.
      "None?" her eyes danced. "Surely not! A handsome fellow such as yourself must have all the girls in Ryazan dancing after you! Not all men that are so fine and so good-looking come from such lineage as the Selanovs.  
     "No.  And you, Inès?" He asked.  He was so strange then that she grew wary.  "Have you any loves?"
      "Monsieur, I am to be married next Fall!" she laughed. "So all the young men in my own Lille pine and cry to their cups."  She laughed again to show him her joke, but he did not join her in her merriment.
      "Why are you so serious? Why do you not laugh as I do?" Her Russian was not very good and he thought it charming.
      "Do you love him?"
      "I?" Her smile faltered. "He is rich, and very kind.  Only a little older, not like my sister Orlene.  Her husband is already an old man.  But he is the richest of them all!"  Inès chuckled.  "I think she is very happy.  She spends here, spends there, Oh! Left hat in Paris, must buy two new ones! But her husband-Olivier-he loves her very much.  Orlene is very beautiful.  My grand-mère likes to say that Orle got our maman's good looks and I got her temper!" Here her good humor was restored and she threw back her head in mirth.  The sound drew several scandalized looks.
    "Do you want to marry him?" 
     "Alphonse is a good man," Inès said slowly.  "I do not know him very well, but his father is good friends with Papà.  So you see, it is all right."
    "You are very beautiful, but it will be wasted.  You do not love this Alphonse," Constantine spoke to her in French.  His French, unlike her Russian, was flawless.
      Inès as silent.  Her lips pursed in disapproval and her eyes grew icy.  She noticed then that he looked at her the way young men always looked at her.  
     "It is late," She said formally, rising.
      "Wait!" Constantin's hand closed over her arm.  Inès froze him with a look.  Her eyes held his disdainfully then flicked deliberately to his hand on her arm.  He released her hastily. 
     "I believe I love you," he words came out quietly, half-choked.

      "Monsieur, you have been drinking.  This is not a fairy tale, and you do not know me."  Icicles hung from her words.  
      "I know you better now than Alphonse ever will."

       "That is not for you to judge, Monsieur.  You forget yourself.  Good night!" As she turned to go, she heard him reply, quietly, so that his answer fluttered below the din of the other guests.

       "He could never please a woman like you.  Deny it now, but tomorrow,the next day, the next year, you will remember! Then you will wonder what it might have been like to love and be loved by me!"

       Inès turned slowly to face him.  Eyes ablaze, she drew herself up to her full height-taller than some men-and said: "I? You flatter yourself.  A bumbling country boy, fresh from university and overconfident in the charms from money and fine stock.  You think all the girls will fawn and fall like sheep before you? I? Love you? Incroyable!" To show him how incredible it all was, she laughed.  Then she was gone.

Stupidity is the Birthright of Humanity

       On the first day of eighth grade, my new homeroom teacher stood before a class of disinterested adolescents in the throes of puberty and clapped his hands together.

       “There is,” he began importantly, “no such thing as a stupid question.” and smiled encouragingly into strained silence.  A hand rose slowly into the air, the owner wearing an expression of excruciating concentration.

       “Yes?” inquired Mr. Blodmann pleasantly.

       “Will we be learning about African Americans like Nelson Mandela?” Had it not been for the fact that Chauncey (names have been changed to protect the perpetrators’ identities)  was completely in earnest, had it not been for the fact that most of us hadn’t the faintest clue who that was, we would have erupted into uproarious laughter.  But the smarter kids chuckled to themselves, appreciating the irony of the situation.  Chauncey had just proved our well intentioned teacher wrong: there is definitely such a thing as a stupid question.  

        A question is classified as stupid when it contains any element of: irrelevance, irreverence, repetition, or obviosity.  As Chauncey had also asked his question in our Earth Science class, it had the rare and unusual quality of belonging to all four categories.  However it is worth noting that not all stupid questions are asked by stupid people.  Sometimes stupid questions serve an intelligent purpose, such as drawing attention to an important point in a humorous way.  It is usually plain when the question is deliberately stupid; just look for air-quotes, eye-ball rolling, or the smirk that loosely translates into: “Step aside, PEASANTS” .  

        Irrelevant (off topic) questions interrupt discussions with a completely random subject, or a subject broached at a previous point in the conversation.  They are sometimes asked by self-proclaimed jokesters, whose comedic efforts often fall short.  Because it is a fact of life that people are generally jerks, we seem to find it funniest when dumb questions are asked in total seriousness, probably due to our massive egos and superiority complexes.

       On the other hand, it doesn’t matter how deep or profound the question is; if it doesn’t somehow relate to the discussion, it can safely be labeled “stupid”.  Can you imagine reading a thrilling piece about yams and midway through exploring the international yam community the author suddenly has an existential crisis all over the page? ( “Nigeria is by far the the world’s largest producer of yams, but more importantly, how is humanity supposed to function in a society where we have killed God?!”) But then, if the essay about yams was actually an allegory for existentialism, that question would no longer be stupid because of its irrelevance.  It all depends on the rhetor’s purpose.  As in, whether or not he has one.  

          A person demonstrates a lack of respect, understanding, or empathy by asking an irreverent question.  This kind of question is almost never funny because while the other three deal with stupidity, this one deals with ignorance and even bigotry.  It would be like asking a Syrian to expound upon the benefits of biological warfare, or a hobo his opinion regarding this year’s price inflations in the diamond-encrusted chihuahua market.  The Syrians recently experienced a civilian massacre due to the rebel forces’ use of biological warfare and it’s generally accepted that the homeless have little interest in something as opulent (aka, expensive) as the diamond-encrusted chihuahua market.  Such insensitivity to human suffering can only be born of an inconsiderate and self-absorbed attitude, which is why it is considered bad taste to make 9/11 jokes.

        Repetitive questions repeat the same question or questions multiple times, and is best seen when families go for extended road trips.  While Mom and Dad are busy swearing beneath their breaths at a sulky GPS who is recalculating in a little corner and being most unhelpful, Junior is bored in the backseat.  While Mom and Dad are trying to keep their indoor voices, Junior can be heard reiterating: “Are we there yet?” from the backseat.  Every so often he might throw in a “How much longer?”.  Junior’s question was stupid in the first place, as anyone can plainly see that because  the minivan is still moving, with no signs of slowing down, Junior is most certainly not there yet.  The repetition transforms Junior’s stupid question into an animal noise that conveys his feelings of boredom and fussiness.   Repetition is the bane of the spoken language; it has the potential to destroy meaningful questioning.  Adding the element of repetition to an already stupid question takes it from “rather stupid” to “obscenely stupid”.

        My personal favorite is the obvious question.  These are almost always funny, regardless of the asker’s intent, because they can happen to anyone.  Even someone as omniscient and infallible as my mother, who once asked a waitress if the vegan kale salad had meat in it.  Therefore, an obvious question occurs when the asker has purposely or accidentally missed an unspoken or self-explanatory premise.  A few days ago, my brother’s friend called our home phone and declared: “Yo, dude, I’m bored.  Are you at home right now?”  In this case, the implicit assumption that escaped my brother’s friend was that home phones are located in one’s home, and not at the Corn Palace in South Dakota.  

       Stupid questions are not merely the questions asked by stupid people.  The fact that they come mostly from stupid people is just a coincidence.  Anyone can fall victim to asking purposeless questions.  Just ask any seasoned receptionist at any doctor’s clinic who has experienced flu season.

I Used to think Highschoolers had Everything Figured Out

   It has been a long time since I have sat here and released a torrent of nonsense onto the internet.  I've been busy with school, volleyball, and the SAT, and generally uninspired.  But today I have a sad story to tell.  
   It's quite sad, especially since it sounds like a common affliction amongst the world's hormonal youth.  


    The story involves a boy, as many sad stories are apt to do.  I don't know this boy, but two friends of mine do.  He seems to be more trouble than he's worth, if you ask me.  True, he's on varsity football and was lucky enough to be blessed with fine features, but there are a lot of people like that in this world.  It seems to me that we ought to be more concerned with things that didn't come from mommy and daddy.  If I am coming across as judgmental, it's because this whole affair seems so absurd.
     Anyway, one of my friends had an on and off "thing" with this boy.  I have always struggled with the phrase "to have a thing".  What is that? Is it a relationship? A secret relationship? A flirtation?  What I mean  is whether or not "having a thing" means commitments.  Because while having an "off" period, where they were not an item, this boy went and insinuated himself into the affections of another of my friends.  They were just supposed to be friends, but to make a long story short, they did not get off the train at Friends-ville.  So now they two are no longer friends, they who have been inseparable for so long.  All because of an oafish pretty-boy moron.
     Is that not sad?
     I cannot help but sympathize with the second girl, who I cannot view as wrong.  If all is fair in love and war, why is she being punished for following the dictates of her young heart? Why cannot she experience this inevitable heartache, this sweetly toxic rite of passage? This is a ridiculous and outdated custom that society has perpetuated for too long; there is no exclusive ownership of anyone's affections.  All is fair in love and war.  All is fair in love and war.  All is fair in love.  
     Let's talk about that second girl for a moment. I believe she is misunderstood, and many people treat her badly.  I don't believe that she understands people in general, which also means that she cannot understand herself.  She is constantly under pressure to be a great volleyball player. She is constantly craving acceptance and attention, often making a fool of herself to a crowd of disillusioned half-wits that laugh at her.  Sometimes she is very quiet, with a dreary expression twenty years too old for her.  My heart cannot help but twist for her.
     But what really strikes me as ridiculous is the need to involve people.  These two had a very public confrontation.  So, half the school witnessed the destruction of a friendship.  The other half will know about it by tomorrow.  Not only is this a stupid thing to break a friendship over, this is also no concern of anybody else's.  So why cause a scene?  Both of these girls are extroverts, so I understand the ease and desirability of the limelight, but this is not a reality show.  I believe we are capable of solving our problems like mature, civilized adults.  Or, at least scream at each other in a discreet place.  
   But the publicity makes me wonder if it isn't more than about that boy.  This may be a clash of two dominating personalities, each trying to triumph over the other.  For all anyone knows, the boy may be nothing more than a pawn. 

            "Maybe our girlfriends are our soul mates and guys are just people to have fun with.”
                                            ~Candace Bushnell