Fic - The Two Lenas

[Kappa]

Prologue:

You know, women? Those amazing beings with the capacity of making those of the opposite sex and even of the same one, fall in love like flies right into the honey. I think God put the female race on the earth to make everyone know the true pain of feeling love.

Even thought I myself am a woman, I suffered that pain for so many years. Because the tale you are about to read from my print, receiver and reader of my memories, is the tale of my dearest Yulia, the woman that finally tamed me down, at the extent of being animalistic, so basic about our love, that we hurt each other but could not stay away.

And in the end, we wouldn’t.

[Kappa]

Yulia came from Russia when she was only seven. I was thirteen and already an orphan to Stalin’s prosecution here in Mexico when I met the young girl that would later be the subject of all my passions. She was a real pain at seven, always hanging around the market my uncle and me worked in and asking me to give her roses for free.

Of course, every day she walked out of the market with a rose for her mother between her hands.

My uncle was a young man that had worked in this country for several years before my parents came, on the notice that Mr. Trotsky had come here for refuge. Being two passionate socialists and important personae of the movement, mum and dad sold all that they could and took me along when I was ten, I think. Eight months later, Stalin killed Mr. Trotsky and tracked the rest of the socialist movement down while I was at my uncle’s home, taking care of his wife’s newborn baby, and as you might suppose, my parents were murdered.

I had lived with my uncle for almost four years when he told me that a Russian artist was moving over to the country with his wife and two daughters, and that one of them would assist the public school I was helping maestro Rivera to paint. He was having problems with his wife or lover or whatsoever he was humping on at the moment so he would stay long hours painting along with the rest of the workers, and teaching me how to take in count perspective and use it to my advantage.

My uncle had once bellowed that the fact that I knew to speak Spanish and Russian and to read both was enough for me to have no reason to keep going to school. So when I wasn’t helping in his flower post at the public market, I would be picking on my maestro Rivera for being so unfaithful to his wife.

He was big and fat and most of the time he wore an overall covered in paint, but he was really smart and treated me like a son, even when I was a girl. He would tug at my ponytail when we were working in the afternoon and that’d be the sign that we had to leave to get lunch in the market, nudging each other on our paint stained overalls.

I met my little Yulia one day that she was doing homework and asking me desperately to translate the questions for her. The teacher had almost imposed her to us while we were working, and my maestro Rivera took so much pity on her and so little on me that he told me to take her into a corner of the schoolyard’s corners and help her out on her Spanish. Poor Yulia, she knew so little Spanish it was a wonder how she had survived two days on the second grade with nothing more around her that Mexican boys and girls and a teacher that knew only Spanish and a rotten English. Eventually, and on an emergency intellect, Yulia grasped Spanish in about two or three weeks in which maestro Rivera would call us the newlyweds because the annoying little girl just wouldn’t leave me alone.

I guess I kind of liked that.

********

The day Yulia graduated elementary she left and all the opportunities, every day more scarce, of seeing her, were when she‘d come over to the market with her sister and mother. When she’d find me there she would stay for hours, until night came and we had to close the market up and I would have to walk her to her house in the middle of the dark night.

Yulia was a smart little girl, and before I noticed, she soon finished her secondary school and I never saw her again after the day she told me she was excited because she was entering a grade that up to then had been forbidden to women. My uncle told me what Yulia didn’t know: she had been taken to Monterrey to study that grade. I in some way felt hurt but I was just a 18 year old without more education than that my maestro Rivera, my uncle and my life in a market had given me, so the most I did was to shrug it off as a friend I lost and kept on with my life.

********

“You mischievous little human being!” Maestro Rivera exclaimed one day that I arrived smiling, a bit too smiling, I guess, to the job we had been given at a museum. I shot him a grin and put on my bandana to avoid getting paint on my hair. “Who did you fuck last night?”

“Maestro Rivera, I would say that’s none of your business.” I answered, climbing up the structure he was sitting on.

He laughed heartily. “It is of my business when I happen to have so much fun at the fact that you’re fucking women because you can’t afford to accept you’re one yourself.” His laughter filled the darkened room when I shot him the nastiest glare I found inside myself, and patted my head through the bandana. “Ay Elena, I wouldn’t care less if you did or did not. You have to accept there are not many men that would enjoy knowing such a fine female specimen like yourself is reserved to ladies only. But you are an artist and what lies inside the artist’s heart is something as indescribable as women themselves.” He sighed, smiling a bit. “In a way I’m glad that you’re so easy to speak to. My own dear Frida has been hard to talk to, as of late.”

I quietly snorted, almost screwing up the shadow of a character whose pants I was shading. “She caught you in Maria Sanchez’s bed, dear maestro; I think she might have a reason to feel so offended at you.”

“You’re on her side too?!” The burly man rolled his eyes and laughed softly, sitting on the platform with his feet hanging off it and picking up his brush. “Carambas, las mujeres me quieren muerto*.” Said that, he went back to his own work.

I saw him feigning so much misery and pouting like a ten year old, I truly couldn’t hold it. “But if to any comfort and since you wanted to know…” I told him, putting my hand on his shoulder, “I fucked your niece.”

“WHAT?!”

***************


A couple of the rest of the workers arrived minutes later. Diego Rivera, grand muralist and the best of Mexican casanovas, was now truly pouting and in the misery only a ten year old whose lollipop had been taken could express. I smile today at the memory of that 66 year old man who couldn’t have treated me more like a son.

I had picked up, along the years, his bad habits, along which there was picking up innocent women for my own perverse pleasure. “Liberal” relationships like male with males and females with females were ill seen in 1952, in all circles excepting those of the artists and the decadents like ourselves.

I was a young individual in the search for pleasure and whatever would satisfy me, and Elena Katina just wouldn’t care how many young girls she hurt or how many reputations she destroyed in the way there. Careless as I was, I just would let their families discover us while in the middle of the act, throw me out in the middle of the night and let the other young girl get the worse part. Yeah, I was indeed a piece of fine art.

My uncle had died with a lung infection a couple of years before, leaving his wife and his ten year old daughter to my care. No wonder I was such an unfeminine woman: I attended to them as if I had taken my uncle’s position. Even thought, I did not live anymore in his house and left to live in a small apartment close to the historical center of the city.

That faithful afternoon in which maestro Diego had left early to ask his niece if I had really done anything to her, and if true, to deal with the consequent psychological damage, I stood alone in the platform, as the workers had already left. A great deal of work had been done that day, and I was pretty proud of what we were doing. It’d be finished in a day or two. And I could go back to my lonely apartment to finish that paint I had been sketching in my free time.

I saw a girl entering the room. Well, I didn’t know if it was really a girl, just her black hair was visible from my point of view over the platform. She walked in but seemingly didn’t see me. I was amused at how she walked around in vain efforts to find someone to help her with whatever she had needed to enter a room with the penetrating smell that could hang in your head for days and make you feel like you had consumed twenty tequilas in a shot.

I think I finally decided to help her, if help was what she was looking for. “Do you need any help, miss?”

Scared and jumpy, she looked upwards and brought her hand to her chest. “Good grief, you scared me!”

When I saw her face, I almost fell off the platform.

“Yulia!”

[amikana]

this looks promising! it's interesting so far, can't wait for more!

[guesshoo]

nice work darje. i can't wait to see what happens next!

[rivierakid]

Woo! New Darsh fic!

And it's a good one too. Nice work bro!

[prostrel]

Ah! So many fics, so little time! But I have to add this fic to my "Fic List" cos the start was so catching! Patiently starting to wait more chapters...

[warx]

wow!!! nice one....

[WhoCares]

Are you ever going to finish this??? It's really amazing!

[Kappa]

*Sighs and shrugs.* I'd be more than content to finish this.

[samegirl]

Originally posted by WhoCares
Are you ever going to finish this??? It's really amazing!

I agree with WhoCares. As everything i read from you, is amazing...My favourite: repent. You really made me cry with that one darsh...

Come on, continues this one...pleaaaase

[guesshoo]

[quote]Originally posted by samegirl
Come on, continues this one...pleaaaase /QUOTE]


yeah, pllleeaassee???????

[Me Am Hulk]

Lena Kahlo!

Could Kate Winslet play her in the movie version? Pleeeease?

[Kappa]

*Sighs.* I really am not in the mood. Sorry people. I'd rather not write another chapter if it's going to be crappy.