Father had a passion for pictures and photographed me constantly. Loved doing it during my bathing or dance practice. Could only admire me through the camera's viewfinder. How many times I posed for those countless shots - it was the only time we were ever alone together.
Later, during a choir performance, I caught sight of my father in the auditorium - pale and angry. My song died in mid-air; for a moment, I felt as if continuing would be impossible. The accordionist, assuming the lyrics had been forgotten out of fear, began whispering them loudly until I found my voice and began to sing once more.
Afterward, I asked Father if he had been at the concert.
“No, wasn't there,” he answered with a heavy sigh. “But had I been, it would have caused me great dissatisfaction. You shouldn't sing songs like that.”
“Why?”
But he immediately changed the subject.
On the last night of January, Alexander and I sat together until dawn.
“Why do you attack her flaws so fiercely?” I asked, outraged by yet another of his reproaches against Anzhelica. “Why do you almost never speak of her artistic talent, or her brilliant recklessness?”
“Anzhelica tells me the same thing: 'You forgot this, and you forgot that. You only remember the bad.'
Many times he suggested I visit India with him, saying that Anzhelica considers the place holy and has already been there several times.
Our meetings with Alexander bring me, for the first time in my life, the joy of sensual fulfillment.
“Look at yourself, Dilyara, just see,” he says. “After all, your life can have no limits. Even now, I see how beautifully you are swimming across this sea."
“But your life is also rich…”
“You say my life is rich,” he interrupted, “but it is simply full of events, encounters, and all sorts of twists and turns. Feel how our friendship is growing deeper. Being with you is interesting. It is such happiness - to see your radiant smile!”
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I could not bring myself to confess that there were moments when I felt drawn to renounce my respectability. I longed to live a rich, intense life, so that one day, there would be something worth remembering.
I see how contagious this longing for a full life can be. Sometimes, walking the city streets, I see and feel much more than before; Alexander’s revelations have opened my eyes.
Yet all these fantasies would vanish whenever I found him in a foul mood. Then, he would ask me to sit in silence and pose for his work.
This time, in a rented apartment in Zhuldyz, Alexander sits at the desk trying to draw my portrait while I sit on the floor. We talk in hushed tones, having shed all the magic of words and drama, conversing like two skillful craftsmen at their bench. Anzhelica would have torn such silence apart; she would have scattered Alexander’s work across the desk and forced us to focus only on her - to worship her and to hate one another.
“How vice fascinates me! I long for a Dionysian life - full of wine, passion, and chaos. Yet instead, here I am, posing for Alexander,” I thought.
— Can you imagine what it means to me to love a woman who is my equal in every way? One who supports and inspires me? — he continued. — Since you came into my life, it has felt like a happy dream. I am constantly imagining our next meeting, our conversations… That is why, the moment I arrived, you were the first person I invited to my place.
“What surprises me,” I said, “is that you are rarely given to analysis - no research, no attempts to delve deeper or understand. Yet here, it is quite the opposite.”
“You’ve noticed my tendency to find flaws, to criticize and ridicule. Nevertheless, I assure you, the last thing I want is to seek any of that in you.”
It sounds paradoxical, because he sees himself as someone who never strives to judge others and refuses to let others judge him. But then, people are full of contradictions.
In the kitchen, Alexander, his shirt unbuttoned, washes the dishes. I am busy drying them and putting them away on the shelf. And so, our conversation continues.
“This doesn't evoke any delight in Anzhelica; she considers such things mere trifles of life. "A royal disorder of the soul," as Alexander puts it.
“I must confess, I like you just as you are, but Anzhelica’s indignation at domestic chores surprises me.”
“I exaggerated Anzhelica’s heartlessness and her depravity,” he added, “ because I was interested in evil. Goodness, I consider self-evident. But here is the catch: there are no truly evil or depraved people in this world. Anzhelica is not depraved for real; she isn't genuine evil. She only wants to be. That was the first thing she told me the evening we met. She wanted to become a femme fatale. And I, like Dostoevsky, was captivated by that very problem.”
Anzhelica refused to humbly fulfill the duties of a wife. She wouldn't even come here with Alexander, citing various affairs. She would scrounge up some money for him, make the necessary connections, and so on. But her provision was fitful — in the intervals between, he could well have died of hunger. Yet, she still insisted that he must, by all means, visit India.
When Alexander once again suggested I go there with him, I was at a complete loss at first. I wanted to drop everything and rush off for a couple of weeks, but then doubt crept in: “Is this truly necessary for me?
- "The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer (As seen by Jennifer Lynch)"