27.06.2019

Marina's thirtieth love fb2 complete. Vladimir Sorokin “Marina’s Thirtieth Love. See what “Marina’s Thirtieth Love” is in other dictionaries

Plot

The novel takes place in 1983. The main character of the book, Marina Alekseeva, is a thirty-year-old woman who teaches music in the cultural center of one of the Moscow factories, whose own music career As a pianist, her career was not successful due to a broken little finger in her youth. The first part of the book (the novel is not formally divided into parts) is devoted primarily to Marina’s past, with special attention paid to the development of her sexuality; this part of the book is replete with sex scenes. The reader learns that Marina was deprived of her innocence by her own father and that, despite numerous sexual contacts with men, she receives satisfaction only with women, of whom she already had 29 at the time of the story. Description of the past and sex life Marina ends with a scene of separation from her 29th friend. The next part describes Marina's present, primarily her communication in dissident circles, her irritation at the surrounding Soviet wretchedness, her romantic love for a dissident writer living abroad (judging by the description, Solzhenitsyn), her search for a place in life and hopes for real, 30th love. This part ends with her meeting with the secretary of the party committee of the same plant, Sergei Rumyantsev, after which Marina unexpectedly decides to dramatically change her life. She symbolically burns at the stake all the things that remind her of her dissident past, from the Bible to the portrait of a dissident writer, and at Rumyantsev’s suggestion, she gets a job at a factory as a simple spendthrift. This begins the third part of the book, in which Marina and the people around her quickly ordinary language communications switch to the cliched language of Soviet editorials, and then the dialogue of the characters completely turns into a continuous multi-page stream of Soviet propaganda from the time of Andropov, no longer in any way connected with the original plot.

Thus, at the end of the novel, Marina disappears into Soviet society, and the reader is left to decide who or what is Marina's 30th love. Is this Sergei Rumyantsev - the man with whom Marina experienced her first real orgasm, who also happens to be very similar in appearance to the writer with whom Marina was in love for a long time? Or, judging by the fact that the relationship between Marina and Sergei after their first sexual experience turns into an exclusively production plane, this love is the heroine’s new work team or even everything Soviet society? But the most likely third option is that the last part of the novel (with political information and socialist competitions) is an open mockery of the values and meaning offered to the citizens of the USSR by their ideological mentors.

Reviews from critics

The works “Meeting of the Factory Committee”, “Sergei Andreevich”, “Hearts of Four”, “Marina’s Thirtieth Love” actively exploit the aesthetics of socialist realism, they are built on the realities of the Soviet era, operate with sacred and simply everyday concepts of a bygone era and truly fully illustrate the features of social -art as a specifically Eastern European variety of postmodernism... V. Sorokin was able to fully use the features of social art in his novels, stories and plays, which, starting from “Marina’s Thirtieth Love” and ending with “Hearts of Four” and “Blue Lard” , are full-fledged works, but at the same time they merge into a single text that has common creative characteristics. The purpose of this text is to destroy the canons of Soviet official literature, to show traditional Soviet society from an unflattering side that is unusual for the reader. The desire to shock and surprise with the absurd development of events in Sorokin’s early works is explained by nothing more than strict adherence to the poetics of Sots Art.

D. V. Novokhatsky

Notes

Links

Vladimir Sorokin
Novels
"First Saturday"	Sergey Andreevich · Competition · Geologists · Acorn Honeydew · Factory committee meeting · Parting · First subbotnik · In the House of Officers · Sanka's love · Intimate talk · Return · Poplar fluff · Call to the director · On Saturday night · Business offer · While passing through · Love · Free lesson · Pouch · Funeral speech · A trip out of town · Open season · Obelisk · A road accident · Monument · Possibilities · Morphophobia · Nightingale Grove · Night guests
"Feast"	Nastya · Specific · Avaron · Banquet · Russian Eater Day · YU · Horse Soup · Mirror · Ash · Car · My meal · Eat! · Sugar Sunday
"Sugar Kremlin"	Marfushina's joy · Kaliki · Poker · Dream · Hungering · Parsley · Kabak · Queue · Letter · At the factory · Movie · Underground · House of Tolerance · Khlyupino · Opal
Plays	Dugout · Russian granny · Confidence · Body dysmorphomania · Hochzeitreise · Cabbage soup · Dumplings · Dostoevsky-Trip · Happy New Year · Anniversary · Capital · Skid
Scenarios, libretto
Stories, novellas, essays	Pink tuber · Grouse · Apples · Target · A month in Dachau · Morning of the sniper · Heartfelt request · Hiroshima · Lazurnata mas · Environment · Kitchen · Snowman · Black horse with a white eye · Waves · Eros of Moscow (essay) · View for tomorrow. Godzilla's Roar and Pikachu's Scream (Essay)

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See what “Marina’s Thirtieth Love” is in other dictionaries:

- “The First Subbotnik” is a collection of stories by Vladimir Sorokin, published in 1992 (Russlit publishing house, circulation 25,000 copies) and then fully included in the “Collected Works in two volumes” (Ad Marginem publishing house, 1998) ... Wikipedia

Wikipedia has articles about other people named Sorokin, Vladimir. Vladimir Sorokin ... Wikipedia

It is paradoxical, but classical realism of the twentieth century. practically did not notice the human body and its functionality. The hero spoke and ate, whether he was fat or thin. All this was rather ideological characteristics. It is characteristic that the first writer of the twentieth century... Encyclopedia of Cultural Studies

This term has other meanings, see Feast. Cover of the publication of the collection of stories "Feast" "Feast" is a collection of stories by Russian writer Vladimir Sorokin. Consists of 13 stories: “Nastya”, “Concrete”, “Avaron”, “Banquet”, “Russian Day ... Wikipedia

This page needs significant revision. It may need to be Wikified, expanded, or rewritten. Explanation of reasons and discussion on the Wikipedia page: Towards improvement / July 8, 2012. Date of setting for improvement July 8, 2012 ... Wikipedia

The significance of the subject of the article may not be shown in its text. However, there are authoritative sources showing the significance (see Links section) You can help the project ... Wikipedia

Vladimir Sorokin THE THIRTIENTH LOVE OF MARINA

Behind the high, luxuriously upholstered door, they finally heard
hurried shuffling steps. Marina sighed, pushing up the sleeve of her cloak,
looked at the clock. The golden hands converged on twelve. At the door
the locks made a long, dull crunch, and it opened slightly
enough to let Marina through: - Sorry, kitten. Ask. Marina
entered, the door slammed shut with a slight crash, revealing a massive figure
Valentina. Smiling guiltily and condescendingly, he turned the silver
the head of the lock and with his huge white hands pulled Marina towards him:
- Mille pardons, ma cherie... Judging by how long he did not open and
by the barely audible smell of feces stored in its folds
dark cherry velvet robe, Marin's call found him in
restroom. They kissed. “With relief,” she grinned.
Marina, moving away from his wide thoroughbred face and carefully
running a fingernail along the scar on his carefully shaved chin. -- You
just an illegitimate daughter of Pinkerton,” he smiled wider,
carefully and possessively taking her face into his soft, warm palms. -- How
did you get there? How is the weather? How do you breathe? Smiling and looking at him, Marina
was silent. She got there quickly - at a leisurely afternoon,
smelling of gasoline and taxi driver, the weather was March, but I could breathe
It's always hard in this big dusty apartment. -- You are looking at me
through the eyes of a beginning portrait painter,” said Valentin, tenderly
squeezing her cheeks with his huge palms, “Kitty, it’s too late for you to change.”
profession. Your duty is to identify talents and improve the overall musical
the level of the workers of the glorified factory, and not to study the features of decay
the physiognomy of an aging noble scion. He approached, blocking
facing the false-empire interior of the hallway, and kissed her again. Him
were sensual soft lips, turning in combination with unusually
skillful hands and a phenomenal penis into a murderous triad,
based on a white, ageless body, massive and calm, like
block of Carrara marble. - I wonder if you ever visit
sad? - Marina asked, putting her bag on the telephone table and
unbuttoning his cloak. -Only when Menuhin offers me a joint
tour. - Why don’t you like it so much? -- Vice versa. I regret that it is innate
egocentrism does not allow me to work in an ensemble. Barely Marina
dealt with the buttons and belt, as imperious hands easily removed her
cloak. - And you performed with Rastrap. - I didn’t perform, but rehearsed.
Have worked. - And they told me - he performed... He laughed richly, hanging
cloak on a massive altar-like hanger: -- Delirium of the Philharmonic
riffraff. If I had agreed to speak then, I would now have
slightly different facial expression. - Which one? - Marina grinned,
looking into a mirror green with age. -- There would be fewer longitudinal
wrinkles and more transverse ones. Having conquered my egocentrism, I am less
would have resembled a senator exhausted by fear from the time of Caligula. IN
my face would be dominated by features of Socratic calm and
Platonic wisdom. Having kicked off her boots, Marina adjusted her front
hair scattered over the shoulders like a mirror: - Lord, how many extra
words... Valentin hugged her from behind, carefully covering her beautifully
breasts outlined under the sweater by the shovels of their palms:
- Well, I see, I see. Silentium. Is it not you, Apsara, who whispered this
pearl to the decrepit Tyutchev? -- What's happened? - smiling, winced
Marina. - A spoken thought is a lie. “Maybe,” she sighed.
she, placing her seemingly tiny palms on his, - Listen,
what is your height? -- And what? - He turned his gaze to the mirror. He
was two heads taller than her. -- Just. - Ruble ninety-three, lovely
mine,” Valentin kissed her neck and she saw his balding head.
Turning to him, Marina extended her hands. They kissed. Valentine
drew her to him, hugged her and lifted her like a feather: - Feed you,
kitty? “After...” she muttered, feeling the intoxicating power of him.
hands He picked her up and carried her down the long hallway to the bedroom. Hugging
him by the neck, Marina looked up. Floated overhead, almost hitting him,
a monstrous hybrid of darkened bronze and crystal, stretched white
the ceiling space, then the bamboo curtains crackled,
hiding the twilight. Valentin carefully lowered Marina onto the disassembled
double bed. - Kitten... There were blank green curtains
lowered, the pale March light penetrated into the bedroom through the narrow
gap. Lying on her back and unzipping her trousers, Marina
looked at another copper-crystal monster, looming menacingly
Over the bed. It was smaller, but more impressive than the first. Valentin sat down
next to him, helping her take off her trousers: - Adriatic lizard. Isn't it you
petrified then under the schizoid gaze of the Gorgon? Marina is silent
smiled. She couldn't joke in the bedroom. Huge hands in an instant
They tore off her sweater and tights and panties. Valentin stood up, robe
parted on it, covering half the room, and silently fell down onto the thick
Persian rug. The bed creaked painfully, white hands entwined
Marina's dark body. Valentin had a wide, hairless chest with
large, almost female nipples, with a two-kopeck mole near the barely
visible left clavicle. - Kitten... His lips parted predatorily
hair slowly absorbed Marina’s lobe, powerful hand sculptor
went over the breasts, stomach and covered the groin. Her knees shook and
They parted ways, letting this hand through, exuding power and bliss. Through
a minute Valentin was already lying on his back, and Marina, standing on all fours,
slowly sat down on his penis, hard, long and thick, like
souvenir Estonian candle for three ninety. -- Venus
Swaying... charm... it was you who tempted Saint Anthony... He
joked, trying to smile, but from that moment his face began to
catastrophically lose one's thoroughbredness. Marina peered greedily at
him. Shaded by the darkness of the bedroom, it blurred, rounded,
spreading out on a fresh Arabic sheet. When Marina sank and
their pubic bones met, an expression descended on Valentin’s face
complete helplessness, sensual lips became simply plump, eyes
rounded, their shaved cheeks turned blue, and looked at Marina trustingly
looked at the fat boy, the same one hanging in the cracked wooden
framed in the living room above the huge concert grand piano. After waiting a moment,
Marina began to move, resting her hands on her dark thighs.
Valentin lay silently, wandering over her with an insane gaze, his hands
stretched along the body, they moved powerlessly. Right above the bed, on
greenish-golden background of antique wallpaper, kept in its
bucolic patterns, vague erotic overtones, hung in the deep
gray frame sketch of a model by the late Falk. Faceless woman
skillfully sculpted with a gray-blue background, sat on something
pale brown and soft, straightening his thick hair with fingerless hands.
Moving rhythmically, Marina looked from her smooth figure to
Valentin's sprawled body, convinced for the hundredth time of the amazing
similarity of lines. Both of them were helpless - the woman in front of the brush
masters, a man - in front of a dark, agile body that is so light and
gracefully swaying above him in the semi-darkness of the bedroom. Marina impulsively
She hugged him, pressing her lips to the brown nipple and began to move more sharply.
Valentin groaned and hugged her head. - My darling... sweetness...
girl... His face became completely round, his eyes half-closed, he
was breathing heavily. Marina liked to kiss and bite his nipples,
feeling how the helpless pink block shudders under her. Soft
Marina's round breasts touched his stomach, she felt how
cooler than Valentin's body. His hands suddenly came to life and closed around hers.
back. He groaned, making an awkward attempt to help her move, but
no force, it seemed, was able to tear this colossus away from
beds. Understanding his desire. Marina began to move faster. Hours in
The living room rang loudly for half past one. In the heavy breathing of Valentine
trembling appeared more clearly, he moaned, muttering something, pressing him to
myself Marina. It was more difficult to move in his herculean embrace, his breasts
flattened, lips covered the smooth skin with fitful kisses,
brown hair, curled into rings, trembled on dark
shoulders. He squeezed her tighter. It became difficult for her to breathe. - Darling... no
crush me...,” she whispered into the round, overgrown with barely noticeable
nipple hairs. He unclenched his hands, but they no longer lay on the sheet,
- they began to convulsively touch the two conjugate bodies, stroke the hair
Marina, touch her knees. His breathing became erratic, hoarse,
he shuddered from Marina’s every movement. Soon the trembling is complete
took possession of it. Marina watched his face closely. Suddenly it became
white, merging with the sheet. Marina quickly stood up,
separating, causing her vagina to smack juicily. Jumping off Valentine
and leaning over, she squeezed his huge penis with her hand, catching it with her lips
burgundy head. - Aaaaa... - Valentin, frozen for a moment
groaned, his pillar-like legs painfully bent at the knees.
Marina barely had time to squeeze one of the ostrich eggs of the huge purple
and her scrotum pulled up, as thick sperm was pushed into her mouth.
Rhythmically squeezing the penis, Marina pressed her lips into the head, greedily swallowing
arriving tasty liquid. Deathly pale Valentin beat sluggishly on
the sheet, silently opening his mouth, like a beached sea
animal. - Ahhhh... my death... Marinochka... odalisochka...
stronger... stronger... She squeezed the springy hot rod,
feeling how it pulsates, releasing sacred portions. - Ohhh...
death-like... death... you are so cute... kitten... In a moment
he rose up on his elbows, and Marina, licking a burgundy lemon
the last cloudy drops, blissfully stretched out on the cool sheet. --
Stunning... - muttered Valentin, looking at his lying
on the stomach and a penis reaching to the navel. - Satisfied... - affirmatively
Marina asked, kissing his absolutely gray temple. -- You
professional hetaera, I already said that,” he exhaled tiredly and,
leaning back, he covered it with his heavy hand, “Beati possidentes...
His face turned pink, his lips again became arrogantly sensual. Marina
lay, pressed against his rhythmically heaving chest, watching how he withered
marble belly dark red flower. “Roland’s sword,” he grinned.
Valentin, noticing where she was looking. --And you are my faithful scabbard. Marina
absentmindedly stroked his hand: “I’m not the only one.” He probably had hundreds
scabbard -- Il est possible. On ne peux passe passer de cela... --
Still, how huge it is... - Je remercie Dieu... - You didn’t measure
is it tense? -- Il ya longtemps. Au temps de ma jeunesse folle...
- Listen, speak Russian! - Twenty-eight centimeters. --
Amazing... Marina touched the wet shiny tip with her little finger,
removing the sticky transparent drop from it. Somewhere in the depths, Valentine came to life
briefly muted oboe. Valentin loudly released gas:
“Pardon...” “Ham...” Marina laughed quietly, taking the fallen woman away
face strand. - L"homme est faible... - It’s not clear who you are for
you say? - For history. Marina stood up with a sigh and stretched:
- Let me eat something... - Wait a minute. Lie down. He slapped softly
her on the back. Marina lay down. Valentin stroked her hair and kissed her
a dark shoulder with a pockmarked spot of grafting: “Are you tired, my angel?” --
From your stupid French. - Stupid - in the sense of bad? --
The fact is that I don’t know anything - neither good nor bad. You
this is well known. What kind of snobbery is this... He laughed dully,
hanging over her on his elbow: - So I’m old, I didn’t
damn snob! Marina touched the scar on his chin again: -
An incorrigible person. - Absolutely. He stroked her hair. Some
They lay in silence for a minute. Then Valentin sat down, extended his hand, groped
cigarettes on a low Indian bedside table: - Kitten, what about you?
Have you really never had an orgasm with a man? -- Never. He
nodded, screwing the cigarette into the white bone holder. - And about me and
“I forgot,” Marina said quietly, playing something with her fingers on his
shoulder - Pardon, honey. Bachelor habits... please... Puffing up,
cigarettes came out of the pack. Marina pulled one out. Gas gas clicked
lighter, throwing out an excessively long blue tongue. We lit a cigarette. Marina
stood up, took a greedy drag, walked along the carpet and looked again at
picture. The blurry woman was still straightening her hair. Sitting, Valentin
He picked up his robe, put it on and with difficulty tore himself off the bed. -- Cosy
corner,” Marina shrugged her shoulders chillily. - Darling, isn't it? --
muttered Valentin, clenching his cigarette holder with his teeth and tying his silk belt
with brushes. - Yes... She bent down and began to collect her scattered
linen. Valentin gently touched her shoulder and, exhaling smoke abundantly,
floated out of the bedroom: - Let's go to dinner. Shaking off the grayish cylinder
ashes into a shell touched with mother-of-pearl, Marina pulled on her sweater, looking askance
on herself in an oblong dressing table, began to pull on her panties. It was heard
how in the spacious kitchen Valentin began to sing Delilah’s aria. Marina took it out
wearing a wide sweater collar and running barefoot into the kitchen. IN
In the hallway she kicked up her slightly mud-splattered boot: -
Hey-ho! Valentin, delving into the depths of the two-story Rosenlef,
looked around: “Charming... you know...” he took out his mouthpiece for a minute
and spoke quickly, pressing his other hand to his velvet chest
taken out food, - You now look like a Roman woman from the time of death
empires. Her family was slaughtered, her house was destroyed. I lived with a hairy guy for a week

Publishing house CORPUS ®

* * *

...for Love, my friend, like the Holy Spirit, lives and breathes where it wants.

Michel Montaigne , from a private conversation

Scratching the old whitewash with a long mother-of-pearl nail, Marina’s finger pressed the black bell button for the third time.

Behind the high, luxuriously upholstered door, hurried shuffling steps were finally heard.

Marina sighed, pushing up the sleeve of her cloak and looking at her watch. The golden hands converged on twelve.

The locks crunched loudly and dully on the door; it opened just enough to let Marina through:

- Sorry, kitten. Ask.

Marina entered, the door slammed shut with a slight crash, revealing the massive figure of Valentin. Smiling guiltily and condescendingly, he turned the silver head of the lock and with his huge white hands pulled Marina towards him:

– Mille pardons, ma ch?rie...

Judging by how long he did not open it, and by the faint smell of feces stored in the folds of his dark cherry velvet robe, Marin’s call found him in the restroom.

They kissed.

“With relief,” Marina grinned, moving away from his wide, thoroughbred face and carefully running her fingernail along the scar on his carefully shaved chin.

“You’re just Pinkerton’s illegitimate daughter,” he smiled wider, carefully and possessively taking her face into his soft, warm palms. - How did you get there? How is the weather? How do you breathe?

Smiling and looking at him, Marina was silent.

She got there quickly - in a leisurely midday taxi that smelled of gasoline and a driver; the weather was March, and it was always difficult to breathe in this large, dusty apartment.

“You look at me through the eyes of a novice portrait painter,” said Valentin, gently squeezing her cheeks with his huge palms. - Kitty, it’s too late for you to change your profession. Your duty is to identify talents and improve the general musical level of the workers of the famous factory, and not to study the features of the decay of the physiognomy of an aging noble scion.

He approached, blocking the false-empire interior of the hallway with his face, and kissed her again.

He had sensual soft lips, which, combined with unusually skillful hands and a phenomenal penis, turned into a murderous triad based on a white, ageless body, massive and calm, like a block of Carrara marble.

– I wonder if you are ever sad? – Marina asked, putting her bag on the telephone table and unbuttoning her coat.

– Only when Menuhin offers me a joint tour.

- What, you don’t like it that much?

- Vice versa. I regret that my innate egocentrism does not allow me to work in an ensemble.

Marina had barely managed to undo the buttons and belt when imperious hands easily removed her cloak.

– And you performed with Rastrap.

– I didn’t perform, but rehearsed.

Have worked.

- And they told me - he performed...

He laughed richly as he hung his cloak on the massive altar-like hanger:

- Nonsense of the Philharmonic riffraff. If I had agreed to speak then, I would have had a slightly different expression on my face now.

- Which one? – Marina grinned, looking into the mirror, green with age.

– There would be fewer longitudinal wrinkles and more transverse ones. Having conquered my egocentrism, I to a lesser extent would have looked like a senator exhausted by fear from the time of Caligula. The features of Socratic calm and Platonic wisdom would prevail in my face.

Taking off her boots, Marina straightened her hair that had fallen over her shoulders in front of the mirror:

- Lord, so many unnecessary words...

Valentin hugged her from behind, carefully covering her breasts, beautifully outlined under the sweater, with the shovels of his palms:

- Well, I see, I see. Silentium. Was it not you, apsara, who whispered this pearl to the decrepit Tyutchev?

- What's happened? – Marina winced, smiling.

- A spoken thought is a lie.

“Maybe,” she sighed, placing her seemingly tiny hands on his. - Listen, how tall are you?

- And what? – he turned his gaze to the mirror.

He was two heads taller than her.

- Just.

“Ninety-three rubles, my darling,” Valentin kissed her neck, and she saw his balding head.

Turning to him, Marina extended her hands.

They kissed.

Valentin drew her to him, hugged her and lifted her like a feather:

- Shall I feed you, kitten?

“After...” she muttered, feeling the intoxicating power of his hands.

He picked her up and carried her down the long hallway to the bedroom.

Hugging him around the neck, Marina looked up.

A monstrous hybrid of darkened bronze and crystal floated overhead, almost touching him, the white ceiling space stretched out, then the bamboo curtains crackling, hiding the twilight.

Valentin carefully lowered Marina onto the dismantled double bed.

- Kitten...

The blank green curtains were lowered, the pale March light penetrated into the bedroom through a narrow crack.

Lying on her back and unzipping her trousers, Marina looked at another copper-crystal monster hanging menacingly over the bed. It was smaller, but more impressive than the first.

Valentin sat down next to her, helping her take off her trousers:

– Adriatic lizard. Wasn’t it you who was petrified then under the schizoid gaze of the Gorgon?

Marina smiled silently. She couldn't joke in the bedroom.

Huge hands instantly tore off her sweater and tights with panties.

Valentin stood up, the robe on him parted, covering half the room, and silently fell down onto the thick Persian carpet.

The bed creaked painfully, white arms wrapped around Marina’s dark body.

Valentin had wide, hairless chests with large, almost female nipples, with a two-penny mole near his barely visible left collarbone.

- Kitten...

His lips, predatorily parting the hair, slowly absorbed Marina’s lobe, the sculptor’s powerful hand passed over the breasts, stomach and covered the groin.

Her knees trembled and parted, allowing this large hand to pass, exuding power and bliss.

A minute later, Valentin was already lying on his back, and Marina, standing on all fours, slowly sat down on his penis, hard, long and thick, like a souvenir Estonian candle for three ninety.

- Venus Swaying... lovely... it was you who tempted Saint Anthony...

He joked, trying to smile, but from that moment his thoroughbred face began to catastrophically lose its thoroughbredness.

Marina peered at him hungrily.

Shaded by the darkness of the bedroom, it blurred, rounded, spreading out on a fresh Arabic sheet.

When Marina lowered herself and their pubic bones met, an expression of complete helplessness came over Valentin’s face, his sensual lips became simply plump, his eyes widened, his blue-shaved cheeks turned red, and a fat boy looked at Marina trustingly, the same one hanging in the cracked wooden frame in living room above a huge concert grand piano.

After waiting a moment, Marina began to move, resting her hands on her dark thighs.

Valentin lay silently, wandering over her with an insane gaze, his hands, stretched out along his body, moved powerlessly.

A faceless woman, skillfully sculpted in a blue-gray background, sat on something pale brown and soft, straightening her thick hair with fingerless hands.

Moving rhythmically, Marina looked from the smooth figure to Valentin’s sprawled body, becoming convinced for the hundredth time of the amazing similarity of the lines.

Both of them found themselves helpless, the woman in front of the master’s brush, the man in front of the dark, agile body that swayed so lightly and gracefully above him in the twilight of the bedroom.

Marina impulsively hugged him, pressing her lips to the brown nipple and began to move more sharply.

Valentin groaned and hugged her head.

- My beauty... sweetness... girl...

His face was completely rounded, his eyes were half-closed, he was breathing heavily.

Marina liked to kiss and bite his nipples, feeling how the helpless pink lump shuddered under her.

Marina's soft round breasts touched his stomach, she felt how much cooler they were than Valentin's body.

His hands suddenly came to life and closed behind her back.

He groaned, making an awkward attempt to help her move, but no force seemed to be able to tear this colossus off the bed.

Understanding his desire, Marina began to move faster.

The clock in the living room loudly struck half past twelve.

In Valentin’s heavy breathing, trembling appeared more clearly; he moaned, muttered something, pressing Marina to him.

In his Herculean embrace it was more difficult for her to move, her breasts were flattened, her lips covered her smooth skin with fitful kisses, her brown hair, curled into rings, trembled on her dark shoulders.

He squeezed her tighter.

It became difficult for her to breathe.

“Darling... don’t crush me...” she whispered into the round nipple, overgrown with barely noticeable hairs.

He unclenched his hands, but they no longer lay on the sheet - they began to convulsively touch the two mating bodies, stroke Marina’s hair, touch her knees.

His breathing became erratic, hoarse, and his whole body trembled with Marina’s every movement.

Soon the trembling completely took possession of him. Marina watched his face closely.

Suddenly it turned white, merging with the sheet. Marina quickly rose up, disconnecting, causing her vagina to smack juicily. Jumping off Valentin and bending down, she squeezed his huge penis with her hand, catching the burgundy head with her lips.

“Aaaaah...” Valentin, frozen for a moment, groaned, his pillar-like legs painfully bent at the knees.

Marina barely had time to squeeze one of the ostrich eggs of the huge purple-colored scrotum when warm, thick sperm was pushed into her mouth.

Rhythmically squeezing the penis, Marina pressed her lips into the head, greedily swallowing the arriving tasty liquid.

Deathly pale Valentin thrashed listlessly on the sheet, silently opening his mouth, like a beached sea animal.

- Aaaaah... my death... Marinochka... odalisochka... stronger... stronger...

She squeezed the springy hot rod, feeling it pulsating, releasing sacred portions.

- Ohhh... death-like... death... you are so adorable... kitten...

A moment later he rose up on his elbows, and Marina, having licked the last cloudy drops from the burgundy lemon, blissfully stretched out on the cool sheet.

“Stunning... lovely...” Valentin muttered, looking at his penis lying on his stomach and reaching to his navel.

“I’m happy...” Marina asked affirmatively, kissing his absolutely gray temple.

“You are a professional hetaera, I already said that,” he exhaled tiredly and, leaning back, covered her with his heavy hand. - Beati possidentes...

His face turned pink, his lips again became arrogantly sensual.

Marina lay pressed against his rhythmically heaving chest, watching the dark red flower wither on his marble belly.

“Roland’s sword,” Valentin grinned, noticing where she was looking. – And you are my faithful scabbard.

Marina absentmindedly stroked his hand:

– I’m not alone. He must have had hundreds of scabbards.

– Il est possible. On ne peux pas passer de cela…

- Still, how huge he is...

– Je remercie Dieu...

“You didn’t measure how tense it was?”

– Il u a longtemps. Au temps de ma jeunesse folle…

- Listen, speak Russian!

- Twenty-eight centimeters.

- Amazing...

Marina touched the wet shiny tip with her little finger, removing a sticky transparent drop from it.

Somewhere in the depths of Valentine, a muted oboe came to life for a short time. Valentin loudly released gas.

“Ham...” Marina laughed quietly, brushing aside a strand of hair that had fallen on her face.

- L'homme est faible...

– It’s not clear who you’re saying this for?

- For history.

Marina stood up with a sigh and stretched.

- Let me eat something...

- Wait a minute. Lie down.

He slapped her softly on the back.

Marina lay down.

Valentin stroked her hair and kissed her dark shoulder with the pockmarked spot of grafting:

– Are you tired, my angel?

- From your stupid French.

- Stupid - in the sense of bad?

- The fact is that I don’t know anything - neither good nor bad. You know this very well. What kind of snobbery is this...

He laughed dully, hanging over her on his elbow:

- So I’m an old, unfinished snob!

Marina touched the scar on his chin again:

- An incorrigible person.

- Absolutely.

He stroked her hair.

They lay in silence for several minutes.

Then Valentin sat down, extended his hand, and fumbled for cigarettes on the low Indian bedside table:

- Kitten, have you really never had an orgasm with a man?

- Never.

He nodded, screwing the cigarette into the white bone holder.

“And he forgot about me,” Marina said quietly, playing something on his shoulder with her fingers.

- Pardon, honey. Bachelor habits... please...

The cigarettes came out of the pack, bristling.

Marina pulled one out.

Clicked gas lighter, throwing out an excessively long blue tongue.

We lit a cigarette.

Marina stood up, greedily inhaling, walked along the carpet and looked at the picture again. The blurry woman was still straightening her hair.

Sitting, Valentin picked up his robe, threw it on and with difficulty tore himself off the bed.

“It’s a cozy corner,” Marina shrugged her shoulders chillily.

- Darling, isn't it? - Valentin muttered, clenching the cigarette holder with his teeth and tying a silk belt with tassels.

She bent down and began to collect her scattered laundry.

Valentin gently touched her shoulder and, exhaling copiously, floated out of the bedroom:

- Let's go have lunch.

Shaking off the grayish cylinder of ash into the shell touched with mother-of-pearl, Marina pulled on her sweater, looking sideways at herself in the oblong dressing table, and began to pull on her panties.

In the spacious kitchen, Valentin could be heard singing Delilah’s aria.

Marina took her hair out of the wide collar of her sweater and ran barefoot to the kitchen.

In the hallway she kicked up her slightly mud-splattered boot:

- Hey-ho!

Valentin, digging in the depths of the two-story Rosenlef, looked back:

“Charming... you know...” He took out his mouthpiece for a minute and spoke quickly, pressing a bunch of taken-out products to his velvet chest with his other hand: “You now look like a Roman from the time of the collapse of the empire.” Her family was slaughtered, her house was destroyed. I lived with a hairy barbarian for a week. He gave her his goat jacket. So she ran in it across the crushed slabs of the Eternal City. How, huh?

- Quite. It's time for you to join Tacitus.

- Yah. I don't want to go to Tacitus. I would go to Suetonius, let them teach me...

With small steps, he reached the wide table and sharply bent down. The food fell dully onto the table. The bone mouthpiece rattled against the teeth again:

– Suetonius is more precise than all of them. Nowhere does the life of a dvog create a better spirit than a seggetag. Or povaga. Sit down.

Marina sat down on a creaky Viennese chair, unpacked a yellow pyramid of cheese and began cutting it with a heavy silver knife.

Having finished smoking, Valentin threw the cigarette into the sink, blew out the cigarette holder with a whistle and dropped it into his robe pocket:

- It should be corrugated, in a good way...

- You'll get over it. Cut the sausage better.

- Well, ch?rie, what kind of jargon...

- What good knives?

- Still would. My executed grandfather.

- What, they shot him?

- Yes. At twenty-six.

- Poor thing.

Marina laid out the cheese leaves on the plate.

Valentin peeled the skin off the sausage with a crack and began skillfully peeling it into thin pieces.

“The Metropol chef will envy you,” Marina grinned, opening the rosette with caviar. - Still bachelor life teaches a lot.

“Of course,” the oblong ovals lay on the board.

- Listen, why doesn’t your housekeeper cook for you?

- Why doesn’t she cook? Trains.

- And now?

“It’s not every day that she has to hang around here...

- When does she come?

- In the evening.

- Well, of course, you already have it, right?

- It was a thing, kitten, it was...

- Not interested. A complex Soviet individual.

- Frigidna, or what?

- No, that’s not the point. She squealed with delight. She fought like a beluga under me. I'm talking about something else.

- Absolutely. This was the first time I heard about blowjobs from me. Forty-eight years old woman.

- Well, you could enlighten me.

- Bunny, I don’t know how to be a mentor. Not with anything.

- I know…

Marina helped him put the sausage on the plate.

Valentin lit the burner and placed a tall saucepan on it with a roar:

- True, the borscht is cooked brilliantly. That's what I'm holding on to.

“Did she really have a good time with you?”

- With me? Kitty, you’re the only one who’s pathologically homosexual. By the way, that's why I like you.

– Who, pray tell, don’t you like?! Ready for the first person you meet.

- Right. I, my dear, am like Father Karamazov. A woman is worthy of passion just because she is a woman.

- How long will you last...

- We will try.

- Me too...

– Listen, ch?rie, you feel some kind of bacilli of aggressiveness in you today. Is this the influence of your exalted mistress?

- Who do you mean?

- Well, this one... who doesn’t play, and doesn’t sing, and doesn’t play a black-voiced bow.

“We separated a long time ago,” Marina muttered, chewing a piece of sausage.

- That's how it is. Who do you have now?

- What do you care...

- Well, kitten, calm down.

- And I’m calm...

Valentin opened the refrigerator again, took out a bottle of champagne that he had started, and took the glasses off the shelf:

- In the absence of Aya.

“I haven’t drunk champagne for a hundred years.”

- Here. Have a drink and calm down.

Foaming faintly, the wine poured into the glasses.

Marina took hers and looked at the bubbles flowing from the bottom:

– I, Valechka, am in love now. Huge.

“This is wonderful,” Valentin said seriously, sipping his wine.

- Yes. This is wonderful.

Marina drank.

- And who is she?

- Young woman.

- Younger than you?

- For five years.

“Wonderful,” he put down the empty glass with graceful silence, removed the lid from the crystal rosette full of black caviar, and scooped up a third of the contents with a wide knife.

- Yes. This is amazing,” Marina whispered, running her nail along the tablecloth.

Valentin placed a thick layer of caviar on a slice of bread:

-Are you pretty?

- Lovely.

- Character?

- Impulsive.

- Sanguine?

– Are you prone to meditation?

- Sensual?

-Ranima?

- Like a child.

– Does he love you hotly?

- Like fire.

- How does he treat our brother?

- He hates it.

- Wait, but this is your copy!

- This is true. For the first time I saw myself from the outside in it.

Valentin nodded, took a bite of half the sandwich and filled the glasses.

Marina absentmindedly licked the caviar from the bread, staring at the golden bubbles.

“I envy you, baby,” he muttered, chewing and raising his glass. - Your health.

Champagne has already given off a feeling of warmth and laziness in Marina.

She took a sip, raised the glass to her eyes and looked through the wine shimmering with golden hues at the calmly drinking Valentin.

“All my life I dreamed of loving someone,” he muttered, washing down the destroyed sandwich. - Madly in love. To suffer, to cry with passion, to turn gray with jealousy.

- And what?

- As you see. There’s one thing I can’t understand: either we can’t realize this feeling in our Soviet conditions, or I just haven’t met the right person.

– Or maybe you just scattered yourself among many people and that’s all?

- Not sure. Here,” he gently touched his chest with his fingertips, “there is something untouched.” No one has ever touched this. Taboo area for vulgarity and debauchery. And the charge is powerful. But not discrete. It is immediately consumed like ball lightning.

- May God grant you to meet this woman.

- Give me chance.

- God willing.

- For you - God, for me - Chance.

- Your business. The borscht is boiling with might and main...

- Ahhh... yes, yes...

He stirred, trying to get up, but then changed his mind:

- Kitten, spill it. You're doing better.

Marina padded over to the stove, took two deep plates out of the drying rack and began pouring steaming borscht into them.

- And you understand what, in fact, the whole crime is - I cannot fall in love, no matter how hard I try. And I sincerely want to.

- So you don’t want to.

- I want it, I definitely want it! You will say, love is a sacrifice first of all, and this old snob is incapable of sacrifice. Capable! I am ready to give everything, waste and burn everything, just to love someone for real! That's why I envy you so much. I'm truly jealous!

Marina placed a full plate in front of him.

Valentin took the lid off the white jar and scooped up sour cream with a spoon:

- But you were born with us on Sunday.

- Yes. On Sunday,” Marina carefully carried her plate.

- Exactly…

His spoon began to evenly mix the sour cream and borscht.

Marina sat down, crossed herself, broke off some bread and greedily attacked the borscht.

“Put some sour cream, kitten,” Valentin said quietly and bent over the plate for a long time.

They ate the borscht in silence.

Valentin lazily pushed away the empty plate.

His square face turned very pink, as if some of the borscht had entered under his sleek skin:

- And there’s nothing more... hmm...

“I think that’s enough,” answered Marina, hanging a stalk of dill on the edge of the plate.

“Well, that’s wonderful,” he nodded, taking out a cigarette holder from his robe.

- For this borscht, your woman can be forgiven for not knowing blowjob...

- Of course...

Soon they moved into the spacious living room.

Marina climbed with her feet into a huge leather chair, Valentin sank heavily onto the sofa.

“Now you’re the spitting image of an odalisque,” he muttered, exhaling a short stream of smoke through his lips. – Matisse painted one like this. True, she was wearing striped shalwars. And the top is bare. But for you it’s the other way around.

Marina nodded, taking a drag from her cigarette.

He looked at her intently, running his tongue along her gums, causing his lips to swell into a flickering mound:

- It’s still strange...

- What is strange?

– Lesbian passion. Amazing... there is something in this from the madness of poor Narcissus. After all, in principle, you don’t love someone else’s body, but your own in someone else’s...

- Not true.

- Why?

- You will not understand anyway. A woman will never get tired of a woman like a man. We wake up in the morning even more sensual than in the evening. And your brother looks at him like an unnecessary litter, although in the evening he moaned with passion...

Current page: 1 (book has 14 pages total) [available reading passage: 4 pages]

Vladimir Sorokin
Marina's thirtieth love

Publishing house CORPUS ®

* * *

...for Love, my friend, like the Holy Spirit, lives and breathes where it wants.

Michel Montaigne , from a private conversation

Scratching the old whitewash with a long mother-of-pearl nail, Marina’s finger pressed the black bell button for the third time.

Behind the high, luxuriously upholstered door, hurried shuffling steps were finally heard.

Marina sighed, pushing up the sleeve of her cloak and looking at her watch. The golden hands converged on twelve.

The locks crunched loudly and dully on the door; it opened just enough to let Marina through:

- Sorry, kitten. Ask.

- Mille pardons, ma chérie...

Judging by how long he did not open it, and by the faint smell of feces stored in the folds of his dark cherry velvet robe, Marin’s call found him in the restroom.

They kissed.

“With relief,” Marina grinned, moving away from his wide, thoroughbred face and carefully running her fingernail along the scar on his carefully shaved chin.

Smiling and looking at him, Marina was silent.

She got there quickly - in a leisurely midday taxi that smelled of gasoline and a driver; the weather was March, and it was always difficult to breathe in this large, dusty apartment.

He approached, blocking the false-empire interior of the hallway with his face, and kissed her again.

– I wonder if you are ever sad? – Marina asked, putting her bag on the telephone table and unbuttoning her coat.

– Only when Menuhin offers me a joint tour.

- What, you don’t like it that much?

- Vice versa. I regret that my innate egocentrism does not allow me to work in an ensemble.

Marina had barely managed to undo the buttons and belt when imperious hands easily removed her cloak.

– And you performed with Rastrap.

– I didn’t perform, but rehearsed. Have worked.

- And they told me - he performed...

He laughed richly as he hung his cloak on the massive altar-like hanger:

- Nonsense of the Philharmonic riffraff. If I had agreed to speak then, I would have had a slightly different expression on my face now.

- Which one? – Marina grinned, looking into the mirror, green with age.

– There would be fewer longitudinal wrinkles and more transverse ones. Having conquered my egocentrism, I would be less like the fear-ridden senator of the days of Caligula. The features of Socratic calm and Platonic wisdom would prevail in my face.