The Scent of Pine (15 page)

Lena looked down at Ben, apprehensive of his reaction. He was fast asleep. She lay down next to him. There was a little leaf stuck to his forehead. She gently removed it and closed her eyes.

That night at the camp, the counselors’ room got so hot that Inka and Lena could barely breathe.

Finally, Lena got up and opened the window, letting in a feeble trickle of warm air and a swarm of mosquitoes revived and seemingly refreshed after their day of rest. “You idiot!” Inka yelled. Lena shut the window, but it was too late, mosquitoes buzzed and zoomed in on them, and they swatted at the annoying insects with the
Art of Cinema
until most of them were dead.

“I’m taking off my nightgown,” Inka said. Lena took off hers too.

“You have a nice body,” Inka said, “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“You too,” Lena said.

She couldn’t help but look at Inka’s breasts. Discreetly, she hoped. They were large and low-slung, and looked like a woman’s breasts rather than a young girl’s breasts. They looked serious. Lena liked Inka’s nipples, though. They were small and pale-yellow. She imagined that they were extremely tender and sensitive to touch. Not that she wanted to touch them. She did think about touching Inka’s stomach—she thought it was okay to want to touch a person’s stomach as opposed to a person’s breasts. Inka had squashy folds over her panty line. Lena wondered what it would be like to press her face into her stomach and sink into its soft warmth. She never dared to imagine what was below Inka’s panty line.

“So, do you think they really do it?” she asked Inka.

“Who?”

“Yanina and Vedenej?”

“They are married. They must be doing it.”

“Can you even visualize it? I can’t. How do they go about it?”

“I think they come to his office at night.”

“No, I mean what does she do? How does she make him want it?”

“Don’t men want it all the time?”

“Well, they work close by in the headquarters. She probably comes into his office and unbuttons her blouse and says: ‘Oh, oh, isn’t it hot today, my dear Yasha.’ ”

“Uh-huh. And he stares at her tits and says: ‘Oh, yes, Yanina Ivanovna, it’s certainly hot today.’ ”

“And she says:

“ ‘Oh, give me the kisses of your mouth,’

(How does it go in the Song of Songs?)

‘For your sweet loving . . .’

(Yeah, yeah, sweet loving!)

‘For your sweet loving is better than wine,

Your juices are fragrant,

Your essence pours out like oil,

This is why all the young women want you.’

“And he says:

“ ‘Your lips, my bride, drip honey,

Honey and milk are under your tongue,

And your clothes hold the scent of Lebanon.’ ”

“What’s the scent of Lebanon?”

“I don’t know, some kind of rose water?”

“Rose water? Yanina smelling like rose water? No, no, it should go like this:

“ ‘Your lips, my bride, drip borscht,

Beets and cabbage are under your tongue,

And your clothes hold the scent of salami.’

“And she says:

“ ‘And your cock is like a tower of Babel!’ ”

“And he says, ‘Hm, Yanina Ivanovna, really?’

“And she says: ‘Oh, yes, yes. In fact, it’s even bigger than the tower of Babel. I love it more than anything in the world! I love it more than that salami we’ve been stealing from the kids.’

“ ‘More than salami? Really? All right, Yanina Ivanovna, just you wait!’ And then he jumps over his desk.”

And the next thing Lena knew, Inka was on her bed on top of her, and they were rolling around laughing and squealing. Inka was so soft all over. Her breasts pushed against Lena’s ribcage and they were really soft. Lena grabbed her on the back and her back was kind of soft too. Inka was soft, but so very strong. Heavier and stronger than Lena. Lena felt that Inka could do whatever she wanted with her. And she was pressing too hard and it became hard to breathe, and Lena squealed “Inka, let me go!” If she had said “Yanina Ivanovna, let me go,” she probably wouldn’t have. But she called her Inka and that brought them back to reality. Inka moved away from Lena and surveyed the scene. The two of them on the bed. Two girls. One chubby and one skinny. One wearing light blue panties. The other one wearing white panties with small flowers on them. Both topless, red-faced, and disheveled. Inka jumped off the bed and went to put on her nightgown. Lena put on her nightgown too.

They went to sleep facing in opposite directions.

In twenty minutes or so, Ben shifted and opened his eyes. Lena smiled at him. The rosy glow around them had faded, and the thin gray dusk settled in, not yet ready to get really dark.

“Did I sleep?” he asked.

Lena nodded.

“Did I fall asleep in the middle of your story?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Oh, that’s bad.”

“I was just about to tell you how Inka and I almost had sex.”

He sat up and stared at Lena. “You and Inka had sex?”

“We came close, yes, but we got scared at the last moment.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“We fooled around. That was it.”

“You fooled around, huh?”

Ben rubbed his forehead and looked away.

“What?” Lena asked.

“Has it ever occurred to you that it could’ve been Inka?” Ben asked.

“What could’ve been Inka?”

“The one who made the soldiers disappear?”

“How? Why?”

“Suppose she was in love with you?”

“Inka? No!”

“No, no. Don’t dismiss my idea. Let’s go back to the beginning. She wanted that double date with you and the first guy, right?”

“Kostik.”

“And you couldn’t understand why, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“No, wait, listen. And she tried to ruin the date for you, right? She said that you looked like a squirrel or ate like a squirrel or something?”

Lena was surprised that he even remembered the squirrel.

“And she tried to drag you into the woods with her every chance she got.”

“We went with the kids!”

“And you were spending every free minute you got just lying around and reading dirty books.”

“Those books were classics!”

“And she tried to give you a hint about your secret admirer!”

The secret admirer? Could Inka possibly mean herself? No, that was ridiculous. Or was it? Anyway, Lena didn’t want to get into it with Ben. She needed some time to think this new angle over on her own.

“Come on, stop it,” she said to Ben. “What about you, by the way?”

“What?”

“Have you been with a man?”

“No. It just doesn’t interest me at all.”

“Not even when you were a boy?”

“No. Well, once, when I was thirteen. We spent a weekend with my parents’ friends down in Cape May. I had to share a room with their son—he was about my age. I don’t know how it happened. We were in his room. We started to fight—not for real—just, you know, pushing each other. And then our dicks were out—I honestly don’t remember who was the first to get his dick out. They were stiff like rolling sticks, and pointing straight up, and we kept touching each other and laughing like crazy. But that was it. We didn’t have sex.”

A rustle in the tree above them made Lena scream.

“What’s wrong?”

“There was a squirrel. I’m sorry! I’m terrified of squirrels. When I look at a squirrel, I always imagine that it will jump on me and start clawing at my face. It’s insane.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you’re perfectly sane, and your fear isn’t irrational at all.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Squirrels are vicious. Not many people know that, but they do attack humans. But only if you disturb them during mating.”

“Really?” She peered at the top of the tree and moved away from the trunk and closer to Ben.

“Yeah.”

“How do we know if they’re mating?”

“Oh, they make a very specific sound, it’s easy to hear. The male and the female climb to the top of two different trees and stare at each other, screeching and shaking like crazy. Imagine a clothes dryer gone wild. Then they leap toward each other and the male has to penetrate the female in midair. The whole act lasts less than a second.”

“In midair? But how—”

“Takes a lot of training. I heard that younger squirrels miss a lot.”

She stared at him. He looked completely serious except for those tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes. After a moment, she laughed. “I can’t believe I bought it!”

“You see,” he said, smiling and stroking her leg with a blade of grass. “I was a scrawny sickly teenager, not particularly good at sports, so I spent most of my childhood reading books about faraway countries and rare animals. I especially enjoyed them if there was a description of how animals fucked.”

“And if there wasn’t any description, you would make it up?”

“No, I just tried to guess how it was for them. I would imagine myself in their place and think what I would’ve done.”

“You would’ve leapt from the top of a tree?”

“Try me!”

“No!”

And the next second he was on top of her. Bearing down on her, squashing her, pressing into her stomach.

By the time a pickup pulled into the driveway, it had gotten chilly and dark. A short plump messy-haired woman wearing white sweatpants and a blue jean shirt got out of the car.

“Marty!” Ben said.

She looked at Ben, gasped, squeezed Ben in a bear hug, and started to squeal. “Ben, Ben, Ben, Benny, Ben!” Her face turned bright pink under the wisps of her gingery hair.

Ben smiled and said: “Marty, hey!” Then turned to Lena. “Lena—Marty. Marty—Lena. Marty’s Mike’s wife.” Marty shook Lena’s hand and whispered to Ben over her shoulder, “So, Benny, Leslie’s out?” He shook his head, and Marty shrugged. “I thought I’d ask.” She exuded warmth and the sweet smell of sweat, flowers, and cinnamon buns.

“Where’s Mike?” Ben asked as they followed Marty to the front door.

“He had to make a last-minute delivery. Not sure when he’ll be back.”

“You have a beautiful house,” Lena said.

“Well, yeah. I don’t really care. My husband takes care of it. Puts in flowers and stuff.”

“Marty, what’s with the trolls?” Ben asked.

Marty rolled her eyes. “That’s Mike, Ben. That’s his new business. He carves all these stupid figurines. Plywood moose, plywood bears, bunnies, loons—whatnot. And it sells! I don’t know what kind of idiot would want to buy a plywood moose when we have too many live ones around here, but apparently there are plenty of idiots. He even gets mail orders now.”

She led them into the kitchen, sat them at the large table by the wall, and said that she’d run upstairs to freshen up and then they’d have some coffee. But before she did that, she hugged Ben again. Lena thought that she caught some strange intimacy in their gestures.

“Did you sleep with her?” Lena asked after Marty had gone upstairs.

For a moment Ben looked surprised at Lena’s forthrightness, then nodded. “A couple of times. Years ago. Look, we’ve known each other for so long—it would’ve been wrong and almost impolite if I hadn’t.”

“I see.”

Three ideas crossed Lena’s mind, one after another, or perhaps all at the same time. That Marty liked to squeal in bed, that she liked to move around a lot, and that her favorite position was doggy-style. She felt an instant surge of jealousy.

“Does Mike know about you two?”

“No, of course not. He’s a great guy and they have a great marriage. Four kids. Four kids, can you believe that?”

Marty came down wearing a white T-shirt and blue jeans. She had also put on some lip gloss and sprinkled herself with perfume—sharp and sour, not suiting her at all.

“Where are you from?” she asked Lena as the water in the coffeemaker started to gurgle.

“Originally from Russia, but I live in Boston now.”

“Russia! I was wild about Russia when I was in college. I went to college, you know. Down there in Portland. I had to drop out when I got pregnant, but still I went to college. My husband never did. But my kids are all going to college, mark my words.”

“How old are they?”

“Sixteen, fourteen, and the twins are eleven.”

Marty took a plate with leftover strawberry pie from the fridge and cut a slice for Lena. The crust was crumbly and hard, and the filling too sweet and gooey.

“Russia! Did you like it there? But of course you did, that’s your home! How I wanted to go there. To Moscow and St. Petersburg. Such a great crazy country. So what do you think about Putin?”

“Putin? I don’t really think about Putin.”

“He puts on airs, acts like he’s this tough guy, but he’s a sleazy little jerk, don’t you think?”

“Yes, kind of.”

“I liked Yeltsin. He was like an older Bill Clinton. Bill Clinton is my favorite president. My husband hates his guts, though. He’s a Republican. I don’t understand how anyone with half a brain could be a Republican. And you know what, I loved, loved Gorbachev. Such a sweet, smart man.”