The Future Belongs to Olenka
No matter how tightly she held herself Olenka ended up being loved.
Invitations to rendezvous came down like showers of stars,
filling her morocco notebook with figures and initials.
When she walked in rhythmic steps down the street lined with date-palms
would-be-lovers with mid-summer bouquets waited under the trees,
from the streetcar that leisurely meandered as it passed
admirers clinging to it like clusters of bells threw hibiscus to her,
which Olenka smiling beautifully picked up to adorn her hair.
Men who never gave flowers to their wives and lovers
rushed to flower-shops or sneaked into flower-gardens
and made bouquets to present to Olenka.
Why was only Olenka popular?
Was it because of her breasts that protruded in shapely fashion?
(She always wore a skin-tight camisole which was extremely thin.)
Was it because of her wasp waist?
(She sometimes went out without undies.)
Was it because of her upper lip that was provocatively turned up?
(Hers were lips more gluttonous than anybody else's, for good food, for chattering, for kissing.)
Was it because of her soft flesh that seemed to suck onto your palms?
(Hers was amber-hued soft flesh that made anyone ten-years younger just by touching it.)
Was it because of her laughter that popped and rolled?
(We hear there were gents who tickled her side just to hear that happen.)
Was it because of her bedroom ways that included fancy stunts?
(Her lower half, we're told, was of a malleable structure that had no trouble doing splits.)
Her cool crescent eyebrows, her marshmallow upper arms, her funny bowlegs,
oh, once you start counting them, there'll be no end.
Olenka burst with an abundance of charms.
This explains why
the adventurer now aged and rotting,
the bird-catcher adrift with winds,
the agitator the chirper in a bird's language,
the guard of the Museum of Sexual Revolution ,
the pugilist the conqueror of beds,
the orchard-owner worried about his impotence,
the cornet-player of the Kumquat Orchestra,
the partisan with pomegranate grenades,
the artisan obsessed with making counterfeit money,
the metal smith who scrapes his own golden brain and uses it,
the chief carpenter who advocates the use of the Golden Pound cake Method,
the surgeon who golden-sections corpses with trembling hands,
the stage-director who's hot manipulating women every which way,
the tattooist who tattoos zodiacal beasts on women's buttocks,
the miner who digs diamonds holding a top-shell lamp,
the baker who bakes “brilliant-cut” brioche,
all sought love with Olenka,
all went out with Olenka.
That is, the Olenka who held herself tight
was an Olenka that accepted all requests unselectively
and the Olenka that was courageous, never cowed by anybody she came across.
Be it someone's gentle, older husband,
be it someone's brainy fiancé,
Olenka returned the love received by doubling, tripling it.
Be it with an old man on his sickbed, or with a street-boy who'd run away from school,
or with a nouveau riche on the stock exchange, or with a starvation-artist in a slum,
Olenka made love very quickly indeed.
Non-discrimination, no-limits, inexhaustibility, all-encompassingness was Olenka's attitude.
No-hesitation, no-secrets, no-personal-feelings, perfect-disclosure was Olenka's principle.
Incidentally, Olenka has a husband who is an admirable character,
of the type who, because he's deeply in love with his wife, says,
“She can do no wrong.”
Understanding very well how busy Olenka is and brimming with goodwill,
he grows potted plants for the wife who comes home only once in a while,
plucks the lute to welcome her back.
Meanwhile, her lovers, whose number continued to grow,
remained in an uncomplaining posture whether their share came around or not,
waiting for a tryst with Olenka like loyal dogs,
while dashing about dedicatedly checking out a restaurant or a villa for rent.
So years and months passed while her husband and lovers shared joys and sorrows so elegantly
and for Olenka the borderline between marriage and affairs that didn't have any meaning for her in the first place
grew ever more ambiguous, ever more faint.
Now for her husband and her lovers, too, the borderline was a thin line,
which, like a thinning surgical mark, they could barely see no matter how they stared.
That may well have been the case, but how did the situation look to the women involved?
How did they deal with this difficulty?
The women who found themselves sharing their husbands and lovers with Olenka
were at first upset, dispirited, or agonized,
but—who'd have expected this?—as soon as they lost on the average half a pound and thereby improved their feminine looks
they gallantly recovered and returned to their daily lives.
“She was too powerful; it isn't that I lost” was their excuse.
No matter how their men showered Olenka with gift flowers,
they remained their wives or fiancées.
Men might go far afield in Olenka's convertible,
but wouldn't let go their companionship with their women,
so what was wrong with it?
The uncertainties of the nights their men might or might not be with them were great indeed,
but once they were used to them, they'd wake up the next morning bright, refreshed,
they'd feel like dancing, body lighter by the equivalent of a single heart.
All this is to say that no one resented Olenka.
Furthermore, if Olenka hadn't existed,
how monotonous, tasteless, and dry their lives would have been!
Although neither men nor women would say this,
when they indulged in the act of love with Olenka's image wedged between them,
they savored all the subtleties there were in this life.
That is, the Olenka who was an all-out response to any solicitation
was an Olenka who put up with excessive use without a peep,
an Olenka who was exploited by both masters and mistresses.
But, you see, no matter how exploited or devoured, Olenka would never wear out,
she'd simply laugh off the exploitation by masters and mistresses, laughing, laughing;
Olenka was bursting with such health.
That being the case, what was wrong with it?
“All girls are Olenkas” is the trend.
This joyful trend, which had been gradually taking shape deeply, secretly, for the last several years,
has budded all at once this summer and the world is abloom with Olenkas.
The large Olenka driving a Citroen to a resort,
the medium Olenka walking back and forth on main street in sprightly steps,
the small Olenka skillfully riding a unicycle in the school yard of a branch-school in the mountains—
the girls' names are all Olenka
and they have no shadow right under the strong sun.
How in the world have the Olenkas who continue to multiply
from today to tomorrow turned themselves into Olenkas?
How long do they intend to be Olenkas?
Even when the abundance of charm and health rots and drops away one after another,
will Olenkas continue to be Olenkas?
People ask thus,
but the shadowless women cheerfully laugh and laugh, unable to stop.
Not giving a damn about contradictions in terms,
crossing the Rubicon a hundred, a thousand times, they go afar
(something we, idle talkers, couldn't do even once.)
Olenkas who return the love received by doubling, tripling it,
Olenkas who make love very quickly indeed,
Olenkas who openly step on the tiger's tail,
the future belongs to Olenka!
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Olenka: The name of the protagonist in Chekhov's story, “Darling.”
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