IT'S NOT A SIMPLE THING

By Emil A. Draitser

(Copyright by ELF: Eclectic Literary Forum, 1996)

Why do you look at me, young man? You're probably wondering how come on a Sunday an old man is sitting in a cemetery, wearing a big cap, hurrying nowhere and waving his foot back and forth...

Yes, young man, it's strange. I'm surprised too... You remind me so much of myself some sixty years ago... Why have I such an impression? Because I see that you're unhappy, because you aren't in love with anyone.

But do you understand this? You are introduced to a young girl and, well, you don't like her too much. You respect her, yes. But you don't love her, at least not the way we all want love when we are young. But how do you say such a thing? It's not so simple. You're delaying it, and delaying it... Well, you say, I'll tell her the day after tomorrow... OK, I'll tell her on Sunday... I'll do it after that concert in the city park... 

In short, you are dragging it out for such a long time that you learn from your parents that you're engaged! But you're an honest man, you want her to know that you, well, don't love her. Now, you vow yourself that right before the marriage date you won't be such a rag anymore and you'll tell her everything...

But it's not such a simple thing--to tell a girl that you don't love her...

OK, you decide, I'll get married, and then inevitably, when there is no love, quarrels and fights will start, and we'll get divorced. And that'll be the end of the whole story...

But imagine a crazy thing. You get married, you wait for quarrels but there are none! None and none! You simply don’t have a thing to argue about! Well, you, as an honest man, open your mouth to tell her: "Excuse me, my dear, but I don't love you." But you only open your mouth. It was she who had the say: "We have to put off buying that new sofa. We are going to have a baby." 

A baby! A new thing now, a baby!... Now try to tell her what you were going to tell when she's already breast feeding the baby. Tell her such a thing, and her milk will dry up. The baby will be hungry. And, is it really his fault that you don't love his mamma?

All right, you say to yourself, the baby doesn't feed from his mammy anymore, he's eating his cereal. But now the baby has chicken pox. You have to keep your mouth shut until the baby gets well. And then...

And then you have to go on a business trip again. And when you come back from the business trip, you are told that soon you'll be a papa again...

To make it short, my young man, imagine that you are eighty three years old, you have seven children, three grandchildren, and one great granddaughter whose name is Alinka!... But how can you live with a person and not tell her the truth at last? You gather all your guts. Finally, you go to her... 

But, my young man, she's not feeling well. She's not a young person anymore. She, my young man, is dying. You ask her to forgive you and admit on her deathbed that...

But she doesn't give you a chance. She smiles, nods with a happy face, and whispers "I always knew it." 

Now do you understand, my young man, why every Sunday and old man sits in a cemetery in his old cap, doesn't hurry anywhere and waves his foot back and forth?

It's strange, it's very strange...

I am surprised myself, my young man...