Bitter Almond

[Victoire Beaudoin]

Country: Moscow, Russia
Current Time: 10:20 a.m
Weather Conditions: The sun is out that lovely morning, and the sky is clear and cloudless. A light breeze occasionally stirs the leaves of trees.



How young she was back then, how innocent. Her heart was still pure with everything good and decent the world had to offer, and though even at that time she was dreaming in the dark, it was for the most part unconscious and hardly explored by her own self. The war had been brewing and would soon explode into a series of unpredictable and earth-shattering events on an international framework, but for the time being somewhere in that world, protected from the evils in the restriction of the house lay two young girls on the fresh lawn, looking up at the welcoming sun, and talking. They discussed the arts, music, literature and paintings; they cherished Bulgakov, adored Tolstoy, shared their love for Shostakovich and Tchaikovsky, and made dreams of travels in the Far East, beyond what the eye could see, places they had never been before and which they planned to make together, feel life and explore its depths so that one day they would be considered wise women who feel not that they have missed something. Across the world’s oceans and the deepest seas, up the highest mountains and through the dense and all-embracing forests with the wild creatures, across the endless deserts and the ecstatic oasis, beyond the view from the precipice and throughout the cultured cities they would see, taste and feel such as they never had before. That is what Victoire wanted, and that was what she desired to inculcate into Sasha’s mind, for she could not do it alone. Across the forests and the deserts lay freedom, and Victoire feared of being solitary in such a significant journey. However, as the Chinese say, whenever humans dream, God laughs at them.

A marvellous mansion could be observed standing on a hill, made of white-coloured stone and illustrating a combination of antique austerity and sombreness with a traditional Muscovite design that made it appear as a true masterpiece of the original Russian classicism, set at the slope of the Taganksy hill over the Yauza River and incorporating a seat, stables, the household and auxiliary buildings. The superb and variously-flowered garden was laid in front of the mansion with the main courtyard arranged behind it, beautifully ornamented with buttercups, rhododendrons, primroses, orchids and jasmine. The gleaming white central edifice, heavy and pompous, rose in three stories and was topped by a round belvedere and flanked by two service wings, built in classical style with columns, urns, and terraces reminiscent of Rome, but also combining a Rococo and Palladian splendour in its façade, dominated by majestic four Corinthian column portico in which a statue had been placed next to the first and the fourth columns. If one should enter the grand hall they would observe it featured elaborate plasterwork portraying mythical figures, candelabra that had been salvaged from the ruins and a retractable and impressive chandelier. The mansion was wholesomely a magnificent masterpiece of architecture and Victoire had fell in love with it at first sight; she did not have to wait to cherish it from closer view once the servant had opened the gates for her to enter, but while still within the car she had seen it from afar and stared at its lavishness and beauty almost with all-consuming hunger.

She was a girl who loved objects instead of subjects, instead of people, and she often found herself dreaming of the Nosov house, living inside it and waking up every morning to find herself within the beautifully enchanting Muscovite private chamber of hers. She was not a young woman to be deficient in personal pleasures (of which she had many) and of family wealth, as indeed she belonged to one of France’s elite circles, her Baroque house undeniably being of equal beauty and splendour as this one. However, as opposed to having become accustomed to living in her own Parisian home, the Muscovite building bore a foreign quality which deeply intrigued and enticed her. Her father had made countless travels around Europe due to the nature of his work, and as the ambassador had been dispatched to Moscow on the grounds of certain diplomatic affairs needing to be established in paper, current Minister of Foreign Affairs, Joseph Paul-Concour, had consulted the Prime Minister, Camille Chautemps, who wished to ascertain Russian’s protection and collaboration of and with France lest dangers should arise from a progressively offensive Germany – the good old neighbours.Victoire had been to Russia several times in the past, and during one of these trips she came to know the Nosov family at the Bolshoy Theatre when both families had bought tickets at the infamous opera house to see ‘Eugene Onegin’. Due to Sasha’s father being a politician, the acquaintance progressed easily as Gaspard Beaudoin often had to discuss with him matters of ‘national importance’, as the political term fancied to proclaim. On such a warm spring’s morning, thus, while the two men were in the office to discuss plans and papers, the girls lay on the garden. Victoire looked up at the sky, her arms spread-eagled and touching the deeply green grass, her lilac dress, made of fine satin and dress, embracing her figure adoringly as the waves of her raven black hair fell down on her shoulders messily. She sighed, and turned her face sideways to look at Sasha, feeling the grass tickle against her pale white cheek.

“Nous irons voient le Lac de Cygne le soir, le Père a dit que votre père a acheté des tickets pour nous tous. C’est très généreux de lui,” she said lightly. “Je regrette que je ne puisse pas rester plus long,” she said with another sigh. “C’est bel ici,” she added with a whisper, and then turned her whole body sideways to face her friend, and moved a lock of Sasha’s hair back in her ear, and smiled. “Vous devez venir et voir Paris, Sasha. C’est un si bel endroit, aussi. Vous devez voir les Champs-Élysées, comment magnifique les lumières luisent dans l’obscurité quand vous prenez une promenade dans la nuit,” she told her quietly, her crystal blue eyes gleaming in the sunlight. “Chaque année le Jour Bastille en bas l’avenue passe la plus grande parade militaire en Europe, vous aimeriez le voir, je sais que vous. De beaux garçons dans bel informent la parade et si vous avez de la chance ou êtes assez jolis ils tournent leurs têtes dans l’autre sens et vous donnent un sourire. Vous ne devriez pas les encourager, sourire seulement en arrière et ensuite ne pas les regarder de nouveau,” she said, and her smile widened, making a slight laughing sound inside her throat. Contrary to what the facts were once she was back at home, here she was peaceful and able to find some time for herself to think and clear her mind. She need not think excessively, however, due to the wonderful company she had and the good time spent with her friend. “La plus belle avenue du monde.”



♠ Translation ♠

We shall go see The Swan Lake in the evening, Papa said your father bought tickets for all of us. That is very generous of him. I wish I could stay longer. It is beautiful here.

You need to come and see Paris, Sasha. It is such a beautiful place, too. You need to see the Elysian Fields, how wonderful the lights gleam in the dark when you take a walk in the night.

Every year on Bastille Day down the avenue passes the largest military parade in Europe, you would love to see it, I know you would. Beautiful boys in beautiful uniforms parade and if you are lucky or pretty enough they turn their heads around and give you a smile. You should not encourage them, only smile back and then not look at them again.

The most beautiful avenue in the world.

[Sasha Nosova]

The pleasantly bright sun kissed her exposed skin and provided a blanket of welcomed warmth as she lay parallel to the earth. The soft prickles of grass under her body supplied just enough cushion so if she wanted to remain here all day, she very well could. Her family’s garden was her escape, a place where she could be her true self, have her true thoughts, and not feel guilty but only temporarily. That is how Sasha started to feel around her parents as they have recently started to push the pressure of finding a husband. She felt as if she was still so young and that the rush to find her “proper husband” was unnecessary. She wouldn’t dare speak or think these very opinions in front of anyone other than herself, of course alone; but, for some reason, as she lay here in what seemed to be the greenest grass in Moscow, she had the slightest inkling to share this. The only human on the planet who she considered possibly opening up to was right beside her; however, the words just could not escape her mouth. She would inhale more deeply as if to begin to pronounce words that very well wanted to leave her, but was unable to conjure her declaration.

Sasha started to weigh the pros and cons of confiding in Victoire about her personal views and her anxiety issues. Sure, she was a beautiful young woman who shared mostly the same beliefs and interests, and no doubt she had the characteristics of someone trustworthy but what if she didn’t accept Sasha’s thought process? Victoire didn’t get to visit as much as Sasha would have liked, but she was always there when she had the opportunity to be—when their fathers met on political terms. The last time she let a human in, she was just a young child and it was a boy who killed her precious Puska. She knew in the back of her mind it was silly to have any comparison whatsoever between Mikhail and Victoire, but she didn’t let people in for a reason.

As they discussed their similar interests of the arts, Sasha faded in and out of concentration on the particular subjects being conversed. She had a personal life-changing decision to make. If she crossed this invisible barrier with Victoire, then they would become best friends, and then the risk of losing someone close to her would become a painful possibility, again. With every fiber of her being she wanted so badly to just spill all her personal frustrations to her in hopes of some form of understanding and maybe receive advice. Empathy, an intangible need Sasha longed for.

Victoire then turned her beautiful face towards Sasha revealing their plans for that evening and said she wished she could stay longer, that was the deal-breaker. Sasha simply smiled and said, “Je suis si heureux que vous êtes ici. Je me sens relâché autour de vous. Le ce serait agréable si vous pourriez rester plus long.” As Victoire tantalized her of a few marvelous highlights of Paris, Sasha wanted right then to go back with Victoire. She didn’t want to accompany her friend back home based on those particular grounds though, she wanted to mainly get away from her life here with the Nosov family. To be free of this place, to think freely with no consequences; that is what she sought because, just maybe, her life could be lived the way SHE wanted, at her pace, no anxiety attacks included. She had chuckled loudly enough to be audible when Victoire mentioned Bastille Day because these “beautiful boys” would not have to worry about encouragement that she didn’t want to give in the first place. She had more important things to focus on now.

Sasha mimicked the same side-ways pose as Victoire and spoke softly, “L'avenue la plus belle dans le monde?” “J'aimerais retourner en fait avec vous, mais j'ai peur qui exigerait du convaincre à mon père,” she said with disappointment, “et nous savons que mon père ne peut vouloir pas de consentir aux certaines questions qui n'ont pas un ‘programme résolu’.” She paused for a moment running her tiny fingers through the grass and then curiously looked up at Victoire preparing for her reaction to her upcoming question. She was almost whispering as if afraid someone would hear, “Vos parents jamais vous font pression sur….de,” she slowly leaned closer to Victoire and whispered, “..a mari?” She could feel the heat in her olive skin-toned cheeks because embarrassment was an understatement of what she was feeling at the moment. She was prepared for this lengthy lecture on how her parents were right and she needed to get on the ball, because that seemed to be everyone else’s point of view around her, but she had the slightest faith in her instinct that Victoire may be able to understand on some level.

Translations

I am so happy that you are here. I feel relaxed around you. It would be pleasant if you could remain longer.

The most beautiful avenue in the world? I would actually like to go back with you, but I’m afraid that would require some convincing to my father, and we both know how my father can be unwilling to consent to certain matters that do not have a “purposeful agenda”.

Do your parents ever pressure you….about..a husband?

[Victoire Beaudoin]

“N’inquiéter pas. Vous revenez avec moi et nous visiterons Paris ensemble,” Victoire spoke in a clear and confident voice, looking at her friend from that sideways position as the sun was poking at them with a feeble yet much wanted appearance, two girls merely lying on the grass, and talking. “Je suis confiant que j’aurai l’approbation de votre père avant le soir. Vous savez … je suis assez persuasive,” she said, speaking the last words in a mysterious whisper, as she then graced her friend with a furtive smile, although her soul knew it far from related to anything remotely positive, her persuasiveness. It was not a true smile, perhaps etched with unconscious bitterness at the corners, but most certainly it oozed with something that alarmingly resembled menace and shreds of guilt for something she did not even know of. She could feel the grass from underneath her hand, gently tickling her fingers, and the wetness coming from the fresh morning dew. She did not speak for a second, but she noticed a change in Sasha’s outward posture, chiefly related to her facial features and the girl’s leaning towards her, as though she had a secret to tell – a secret nobody must hear of, for it was lethal and dangerous, and should never be spoken by these two, on the account of them being women. This should have normally meant that they would be able to communicate at a significantly easier rate, however human nature was such as made it difficult for both women to reach out to one another and express their anguish and distress, their inner demons instead masterfully concealed beneath a façade of forbearance and sensibility.

Victoire could not help but smile. This time, however, it was one of mixed delight and surprise at being asked this question, for she had believed it would have been something vastly more serious than this. And yet how surprising! Sasha seemed to bear such distress over this subject that she felt the need to lean towards her and carefully structure her words in a way which would not sound too provocative, despite the fact they were both of the same nature, as characterized women, and therefore shared an automatic attachment, as one would imagine at least. “Mon père … ne me pressurise jamais de n’importe quoi,” she said, smiling bitterly at herself and looking up at the wide and clear blue sky. “Les gens supposeraient que c’est un étalage de tolérance paternelle vers sa fille seule et favorable, pourtant je pourrais aussi préciser que c’est l’indifférence seulement pure,” she clarified in a slow but firm voice, her smile slowly fading away. “Oh, mais il m’aime de toute son âme … encore il ne sait pas tout à fait comment le montrer,” she said, although the mocking sound or the touch of asperity in her tone were subtly interspersed into a sentence which altogether was unable to provide a clear understanding of her emotions at this subject. “Sa fille parfaite, privilégiée …” she whispered in the air, looking not at Sasha but at the clear blue sky. She could most of the times not look at people straight in the eyes when speaking of her father, due to the sensitive shade of such a subject; it was so much easier to speak through the comfort of distance and lack of visual interaction. And of course, Sasha did not yet know her mother had died many years ago, and that Yvette Prideaux had only a few years ago married her father. Victoire hated talking about her mother, and there were points in time during which had even wished to ban her existence from her memory. Little did she know how she had unconsciously extricated those horrible memories of childhood but when she would find out, nothing good would come out of it.

“Je ne m’inquiéterais pas au sujet de ces questions, Sasha. On force que la plus mauvaise chose qui pourrait arriver vous retienne à un Lieutenant-colonel tout à fait vieil et froncé avec une grande moustache et sept enfants,” Victoire assured her confidently, but then she turned around to face her, and burst out in a short fit of laughter. “Mais au moins haute société vous honorerait, penserait à vous comme une ‘femme nécessaire’, celui qui a été décent et a instruit assez pour faire le choix ‘juste’ et être ainsi fidèle aux attentes de sa famille – oh, quelle magnifique femme!” she clearly mocked, and then suddenly jumped up without any warning, and looked down at Sasha, bearing an inexplicable smirk etched across her lips, her bare feet touching against the grass as she walked on a still lying Sasha, hovering above her in her tall and proud posture, placing her feet on each side against her friend’s body. “Les bonnes femmes de Paris et de Moscou! Vous êtes si avec gentillesse demandés de marcher à travers une ligne fine de disparité et de danger que l’on appelle la vie en vous proclamant les esclaves éternels au méchant et pauvre! Soumettez-vous au pouvoir d’hommes et ne supportez jamais une telle impudence que vous inspirerait à exprimer n’importe quel son de plainte aux bouchers et aux cochons avec lesquels vous êtes si avec gentillesse demandés de vous marier! Oh, aucune raison d’être les agneaux furieux, pauvres! L’abattage sera doux et sans peine! Maintenant, s’il vous plaît, bougez en avant, vous voyez que la ligne est tout à fait longue et procéder avec gentillesse par la porte. Quel jour merveilleux!” she continued in the same mocking tone, though this time ultimately more boisterous and contemptuously ecstatic, as she tilted her head back and closed her eyes, pretending to be a messenger who proclaimed these words of womanly submission towards those who wished for something different.

Then, she opened her eyes and looked down at Sasha, a smirk playing around her lips and a glint adorning her steely-blue eyes. She would not be overheard by anyone, for both of their fathers were securely located within the mansion’s office (although they could be observed from the window facing the rear garden), and the only person who could possibly be a witness of such bold and daring words was the servant walking across the entrance in order to talk to the cook about that day’s desirable appetizers. “Vous ressemble-je à un agneau, Sasha? Semble-je fragile et faible? Croyez-vous que je pourrais me persuader d’être un agneau?” she asked her, and then laughed. Women treated like lambs and sent to the slaughterhouse in order to get married to men they did not even fancy. Such ridiculous notions, she believed, such a ridiculous and chaotic world they lived in.


♠ Translation ♠

Do not worry. You are coming back with me, and we shall tour Paris together. I am confident I shall have your father’s approval by the evening. You know … I am rather persuasive.

My father … never pressures me about anything. People would assume it is a display of paternal tolerance towards his only and favourable daughter, however I might as well make it clear it is only pure indifference.

Oh, but he loves me dearly … yet he does not know quite how to show it. His perfect, favoured daughter …

I would not worry about these matters, Sasha. The worst thing that could happen is being forced to engage yourself to a quite old and wrinkly Lieutenant Colonel with a large mustache and seven children.

But at least high society would honour you, think of you as a ‘proper woman’, one who has been decent and educated enough to make the ‘right’ choice and thus live up to her family’s expectations – oh, what a wonderful woman!

Good women of Paris and Moscow! You are ever so kindly requested to walk across a thin line of disparity and danger that is called life by proclaiming yourselves eternal slaves to the wicked and poor! Submit yourselves to the power of men and never bear such audacity as would inspire you to voice any sound of complaint at the butchers and pigs you are ever so kindly requested to marry! Oh, no reason to be furious, poor lambs! Slaughter will be sweet and painless! Now, please, move forwards, you see the line is quite long, and kindly proceed through the door. What a marvelous day!

Do I look like a lamb to you, Sasha? Do I seem fragile and weak? Do you think I could persuade myself of being a lamb?

[Sasha Nosova]

She was hit with two different kinds of emotions at the very same time Victoire revealed her father never pressures her about anything. The element of surprise was first, and then the nasty feeling of jealously eventually peeked its way through, but she was not resentful, so much as just longing for the day that her father would back off and let her live her life, make her own mistakes. Sasha too understood what it was like to live with a father who didn’t quite know how to show his love, but she was luckier in the fact that Victoire’s didn’t pester her everyday about something different or here lately, about the same husband lecture every day.

When Victoire discussed the worst that could happen, Sasha wasn’t sure if she was being serious. She thought, at that point, she might have made a mistake in confiding in her, but when she erupted in laughter, Sasha internally sighed with much relief ensuring she had made the right decision. Still, the thought of an arranged marriage to a Lieutenant Colonel really terrified her, let alone someone who she was absolutely positive she wouldn’t care about in the way she believed was right when it came to the philosophy of marriage. One very important factor to Sasha is love. Yes, she was a strong believer, of course, you would never guess from knowing her, even on a best friend level. She may have a hard time opening up to people and truly expressing herself and she may present herself as someone tough on the outside, but deep within, she did feel emotions—strong emotions. She inherited such exquisite acting abilities from her mother that she applied them to her daily life to her advantage. If she didn’t portray herself as the typical emotional young lady, there were fewer questions to answer, fewer discussions to be involved in, and most importantly, fewer reminders of her weaknesses.

She continued to listen to Victoire speak of society’s approval of the Lieutenant Colonel arrangement and Sasha truly appreciated her sarcasm, another confirmation that Victoire felt exactly the same. Before she had the chance to tell Victoire she was surprised and relieved that she seemed against what their society has tried to influence upon them, Victoire jumped up and was hovering over Sasha. It caught her off guard, and her body tensed for a tiny moment from the sudden change of movement. This time, Victoire was passionately giving a speech, mockingly acting like those who are typically proud to be submissive to their social order, even if it degraded the rights she believed women were entitled to—choosing who to spend the rest of your life with.

All she could do when Victoire finished, was smile the biggest smile Sasha has ever willingly displayed. She had never been more positive until this very moment that she could trust Victoire. Still smiling, she said “En fait, je ne pense pas que vous et un agneau partage de la ressemblance, mon cher ami!” She got to her feet and continued on, her face more serious, “Je peux vous assurer, vous êtes une lionne et vous ne permettrez pas de n'importe qui vous traiter comme un agneau! Je ne le permettrai pas!” She took Victoire’s hand and shot their hands towards the sky and spoke with arising confidence, “Nous vivrons la façon que nous voulons, et nous surmonterons ceux-là dans notre façon ! Personne nous arrêtera!!” Sasha felt she could do anything in the world she wanted to, even fly! She was overwhelmed with happiness and she had never exhibited this much of it in front of anyone else. Victoire was now and would always be her best friend. She didn’t want her to ever leave because now she had found her new security blanket, her comfort zone.

Before Sasha let herself get carried away, she finally sat back down on the naturally emerald cushion of the world and sighed. She looked up at Victoire, realizing the hard journey ahead for her friend and herself with her new no-one-will-get-in-our-way mindset and spoke less confidently, “Pour vivre cette façon ne sera pas facile…..one chose que je suis le plus effrayé de, est l'échec. Je refuse d'être obéissant aux décisions impliquant mes questions personnelles que je n'ai pas obtenue aider décident, mais d'autre part, je ne veux pas me défendre, juste échouer au final.” Sasha couldn’t believe the automatic switch in her emotions from being completely excited to suddenly worried and she was sure Victoire thought she was crazy, but she was presently battling herself internally. In desperation, Sasha politely requested, “Me dire que le c'est possible être regardé en bas par notre civilisation, mais être en général heureux avec nos choix.” This had to be true, because what else could be worth fighting for?

Translation

Actually, I do not think you and a lamb share any resemblance, my dear friend!

I can assure you, you are a lioness and you will not allow anyone to treat you as a lamb! I will not allow it!

We WILL live the way we want, and we WILL overcome those in our way! No one shall stop us!!

Living this way is not going to be easy…..one thing that I’m most scared of, is failure. I refuse to be obedient to decisions involving my personal matters that I didn’t get to help decide, but then again, I do not want to stand up for myself, just to fail in the end.

Tell me it is possible to be looked down by our civilization, but be overall happy with our choices.

[Victoire Beaudoin]

Hands intertwined, fingers locked, and they pointed towards the sky, towards a future that would never be theirs. Towards illusions whose birth had been pre-conceived by a formidable power which was neither within their jurisdiction, nor their reach. How many more years, how many decades of hope or despair would have to come before they would look upon their feminine race and be relieved at its final and triumphant acknowledgement of equality? How many more women would have to suffer from masculine arrogance and blinded pride, brutal force and eternal submission? Victoire smiled as Sasha called her not a lamb, but a lion, and knew she was the right person to be open to; not that the young woman had any scruples whatsoever in unleashing the force of her nature upon others, but to reveal innermost feelings she had to first feel secure and protected. Sometimes allowing yourself freedom of speech and expression of emotions to the wrong person proved unwise and ill-thought of; and far be it from Victoire to maintain cold at someone simply due to a lack of principal communication or character incompatibility (as she usually laughed or scorned at such events), she would at some points simply shut her soul to any unwanted visitor, and once her mind was set at such an act, it could hardly be altered, bless her obstinacy and fierceness of heart. “Personne,” she whispered, smiling, and then laid back down on the grass with Sasha, and sighed deeply, resting her left hand on her stomach.

She turned over once more, and smiled at her warmly, and touched her cheek fondly, with that single, affectionate gesture offering Sasha all her support, compassion and love; meeting someone like Sasha had been a refreshing experience in her young life, for she had been used to superficial female companions, those who envied her fiercely, those who wished to befriend her for personal interests, and those who simply hated her. Females were a vicious kind, and having Alexandra Nosova appear in her life excited the French girl, who wished above all to create a genuine connection with someone. Having failed to do so thus far, the dispatch to Moscow had been one of the most rewarding experiences she had had. “L’échec, mon cher Sasha, est humain. Chaque personne devrait rater de temps en temps, autrement que la vie serait-elle avec le pur succès et sans l’angoisse et l’anticipation de connaissance vous étiez presque là, mais n’êtes pas? L’échec force quelqu’un pour travailler plus dur, l'échec est l'échec … est un stimulant. Vous devez toujours vous défendre, doit toujours mettre les gens dans leur endroit chaque fois qu'ils se moquent, le rire sur ou pardonnent le préjugé contre les femmes – ne doit jamais toujours renoncer, ou céder..” She turned her glance away from her friend’s eyes and up in the sky, speaking the next words with a bitter touch on the surface of her voice, as a melancholic aura passed through her face. “Le plus mauvais échec dans la vie réveille un jour et se rend compte que vous n’avez jamais réussi à rien pas parce que d’autres n’admettraient jamais vos efforts, mais … parce que vous avez même pas essayé.”

She returned her glance back to Sasha, and the warmth reappeared in her pale-white face, as the glorious sun was shining down upon it. “Les gens sont juste cela, Sasha. Ils sont les gens. Ils font des erreurs, toujours, ils sont faibles, faillibles et donc les petits … Gens sont juste les gens. N’eux permettez pas de ruiner votre vie. N’eux permettez pas de dicter vos actions. N’eux permettez pas de dicter votre Bonheur,” she told her, and her hand found Sasha’s on the grass, as she held it tightly. Victoire’s hand was so pale, creating a contrast to Sasha’s slightly tanner tone; both feminine hands, both equally fragile, and equally strong. “N’eux permettez pas,” she said in a whisper, and her steel-gray, ice-blue eyes smiled at her. But then, she jumped up all of a sudden, without any warning, and pointed her finger at Sasha in an accusing way, though it was obviously playful. “Assez de cela maintenant! Vous avez promis de m’enseigner comment utiliser le revolver Nagant et je refuse de m’avérer vain dans cette région à l’avantage ridicule de philosophie!” she commanded her with a brisk tone, and then reached down on her, as she grabbed her hands and tried to push her up. “En haut, en haut, en haut, en haut, en haut!”



♠ Translation ♠

No one.

Failure, my dear Sasha, is human. Every person should fail once in a while, otherwise what would life be with mere success and without the agony and anticipation of knowing you were almost there, but are not? Failure forces someone to work harder, failure is … failure is an incentive. You always must stand up for yourself, always must put people in their place whenever they mock, laugh upon or condone prejudice against women – must always never give up, or give in.

The worst failure in life is waking up one day and realizing you never succeeded in anything not because others would never acknowledge your efforts but … because you never even tried.

People are just that, Sasha. They are people. They make mistakes, always, they are weak, fallible, and so small … People are just people. Don’t let them ruin your life. Don’t let them dictate your actions. Don’t let them dictate your happiness. Don’t let them.

Enough of that now! You have promised to teach me how to use the Nagant revolver and I refuse to prove worthless in that area at the ridiculous benefit of philosophy!

Up, up, up, up, up!