Excerpts from
A Track in Russia
By Gerd Rindel
"One of the men is talking to my mother about a horse
with weak legs. I watch her all the while. She is just as beautiful as I
expected she would be, while at the same time completely different. Her clothes
resemble some type of working clothes. I find it impossible to conjure up a
picture of her in a long, silken ball gown. And that greying short hair has
surprised me.
She notices
my gaze and allows her hand to run through her hair, as she says :
" A
woman with long hair has no freedom of movement."
She laughs
and gives me a hug. I am so happy.
"Just
think, you are here, Jelena. But what way is that to look!
That dress!
You look like one of those noble maidens from the past. We have no time for
them! ' " She winks at the men, who wink back.
1 feel a
little left out and smile shyly. Actually I feel really sad as 1 have just put
on my prettiest dress to meet my mother.'
"We
will find you some riding clothes, says Jelena II.
"Riding?"
"You
will learn quickly. Maybe you're not a genuine Jelena"
"Only
half genuine," I say feeling a bit foolish.
"Rubbish,
you are genuine. The rest belongs to the past and we'll just forget it. It's of
no importance. Jelena Alexandrovna and her daughter are free women, aren't we?
The only thing we enjoy is flying over the steppes on our horses."
"
Well, I am not really sure‑that it is for me." "Of course it
is, you just have to see me in the race next week," continued Jelena II. I
will win! Cost what it may, I will win!" I sit down on the hard wooden
seat feeling absolutely bewildered. Everything is suddenly going so fast and I
can neither remember whom I am or what I want to do.
"Oh,
my training!" exclaims, Jelena II and looks at one of the men. "I
have to train. Will you drive her home. She lives with Sofia.."
He nods and
gets up. He doesn't look as if he's the slightest bit interested in me. 1 don't
care for him much either. But 1 have a feeling that we are both interested in
my mother, Jelena II.
"I'll
get a horse and collect you tomorrow," she shouts after me.
"And
we'll fly over the steppes, my own little daughter."
- but she never re‑appears. This is
the first and last time the two meets.
Translated by Mary Graham
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