“Picasso”: Quarrel and Reconciliation

Time: 1992
Place: Kyiv
Characters: Fr. Alexander Kaminsky; his son, Misha Kaminsky; Misha’s girlfriend, Nastya Ishchenko; Oleg Belkovich and their classmates.

Misha Kaminsky and Nastya Ishchenko had a falling out.

On February 14, a newly imported fashion appeared out of nowhere – Valentine’s Day. Former Soviet citizens, eager for everything Western, seized upon the occasion with special enthusiasm. They quickly learned that one was supposed to give out “valentines” shaped like hearts and began exchanging them, pretending to be romantic lovers.

Misha didn’t understand this holiday and didn’t give any “valentines” to anyone. But Oleg Belkovich – who since New Year’s had been quietly yet persistently showing interest in Nastya – did not miss the opportunity.

He gave her one of those heart-shaped cards with some banal little rhyme written inside. He did it tactfully, without any obvious flirtation. Yet Nastya was delighted. The thing was, unlike March 8 (International Women’s Day), when all girls traditionally received flowers and gifts, on Valentine’s Day only some did. The lucky ones proudly showed off their valentines and whispered among themselves, basking in their feminine vanity. Nastya simply said “thank you” to Oleg, but inwardly she noted that thanks to him, she too was among the chosen few.

In truth, Belkovich hadn’t given a valentine only to her. Well… that was just how he was. Nastya took his harmless flirtations with amusement. Of course, she loved Misha, walked with him arm in arm, and all that. But like any girl her age, she wanted to be admired – and found it pleasant.

For Misha, that valentine to Nastya was like a red flag to a bull. He sulked, didn’t speak to her the entire day, and when she finally tried to find out what had upset him (though she knew perfectly well), he lost his temper, said a lot of hurtful things, and refused to walk her home.

“Let that Belkovich of yours walk you instead,” he snapped angrily.

“Fine,” said the offended Nastya. “I don’t really need you to.”

And that was exactly what Belkovich had been waiting for.

When Misha came home from school, he was beside himself. At lunch, he barely ate, snapped at his mother, and for no reason at all cuffed his younger brother Sergiy on the back of the head. He was angry at the whole world and impatient for his father to return home.

When Fr. Alexander finally came back, Misha asked him to go for a walk – since the apartment was too crowded for a heart-to-heart talk.

“Take out the trash and buy some bread while you’re at it,” said his mother, seeing them off.

As they walked along the snowy street to the store and back, Misha poured out everything.

“Dad, how could she do that to me, huh?”

“Well,” said Fr. Alexander calmly, “the fact that she took a card from your classmate doesn’t mean anything yet. Don’t torment yourself over trifles.”

“It’s not trifles, Dad! To me it’s…”

“So you really love her that much?” the priest interrupted gently.

“Of course I do, Dad!”

“Well then, I think first you need to figure out what kind of feelings you actually have.”

Misha looked at his father in surprise. To him, everything seemed obvious.

“Yes, yes, Misha. In your own feelings. You know what the Apostle Paul says: ‘Love is patient, love is kind; love does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud, it does not behave rudely, it does not seek its own, is not easily angered, keeps no record of wrongs; it does not rejoice in evil, but rejoices in the truth; it bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.’

Can you say that your feelings for Nastya are like that? That your love, at least, does not seek its own?”

Misha fell silent, pondering his father’s words:

“…is patient… does not envy… does not seek its own…”

But soon the same thoughts that had tormented him all day flooded back:

That scoundrel Belkovich… Tomorrow I’ll… I’ll show him…

As if reading his mind, Fr. Alexander said quietly:

“And about Oleg walking her home – well, you told her to, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t mean it…”

“Next time think before you speak. If you say something foolish in anger, be ready for it to come true. You yourself handed him the battlefield without a fight. If you love her, my son, love is something you must be willing to fight for.”

They walked in silence for a while.

“You see,” his father went on, “she has a slightly different outlook on life. For her, all those worldly little things – cards, greetings, social gestures – mean a lot. Maybe that’ll change with time… or maybe it won’t. I don’t know what it will be like for you with her later.”

Later… Misha hadn’t thought that far ahead.

The talk calmed him, especially since his father ended with practical advice:

“Tomorrow at school, behave as if nothing happened. As if there was no quarrel at all. Be kind, open. And if she’s still upset – just smile, admit you were wrong. Hold out your pinky and say, ‘Nastya, let’s make peace.’”

And that’s exactly how it went. When Misha said those words, Nastya blushed with joy – as if she’d been waiting for them all along. They hooked their pinkies and, like children, reconciled:

“Peace-peace forever, no more quarrels ever.”

The fight was over. They smiled at each other again. Even Belkovich didn’t seem so bad anymore.
And spring was just around the corner.

“I really do have a wonderful dad.”

* * *

Misha and Nastya had made peace, but Belkovich didn’t leave her alone. On March 8, he gave her a small bouquet of flowers and theater tickets – personally, from himself. Cleverly done: he gave her two tickets and said,

“Well, you can take whoever you like.”

Of course, she wanted to take Misha. And, of course, Misha refused. He was terribly offended again, but this time kept himself from saying anything rash.

In the end, Nastya went with a friend – and at the theater, naturally, ran into Belkovich. He spent the whole evening by her side, bought her a cocktail during intermission, and walked her home afterward. Nastya was flattered. Especially since her friend saw it all – and watched with envy.

That friend, however, whispered to her later, in a tone of conspiratorial concern:

“That Belkovich… he’s such a flirt. He’s probably kissed every girl in school already. And you know what?” – she leaned closer – “the girls from Class B told me that Vera Samokhina even slept with him. Can you imagine?”

Nastya only shrugged, as if to say, so what?

After that evening, she decided for herself:

“Alright… I love Misha. And Oleg and I – we’re just friends. Yes. That’s how it should be.”

To be continued…

The previous episode of the book is available here.