19

I remember that day in perfect detail.

In my diary, the large checkered notebook of A4 format, I mentioned it as my happiest day ever.

Although, for the sake of justice, I must confess that in thirty years of my life there have been other days, just as happy - but back then, at that time, it was my HAPPIEST day ever.

The day of my own grandfather’s funeral is the happiest day ever? Hm… How cynical.

But anyway.

The happiest day of my life was September, 9, 1999. All nines. I wouldn’t have been surprised if at that instant even the clock had showed nine hours, nine minutes and nine seconds.

There was a nasty drizzle outside - one of those cold-penetrating autumn drizzles typical for Russian September. I limped my way along the cemetery wall in my high-heeled shoes and my short dress, and, shrinking with cold, I looked around for Him in the funeral procession. But there were so many people following the coffin that they all merged into one black stream and I couldn’t make out whether or not there was Shurik. It only remained for me to wait for the wake the whole village was invited to, and then I might accidentally on purpose take a seat beside him…

Finally, the procession halted by the open grave. The guys carrying the coffin upholstered in purple baize suddenly tripped on something; the coffin lurched, the dead body nearly fell out of it and Gran Zoya gave a scream. And it seemed funny to me, too, but, fortunately, nobody was watching me at that instant.

I have observed that I usually burst out the most irrepressible laughter in situations most inappropriate for it. No funny jokes, even excessively amusing ones, no comedies or stuff can make me laugh as much as, for instance, a person with a solemn face announcing that somebody has died. Or a mourning ceremony at church. At exactly such moments when laughing or even smiling is forbidden I just can’t help it.

Grandad’s funeral service that had been held in the ceremonial hall an hour before had nearly killed me too. When everybody holding a thin candle each surrounded the coffin with long faces and the grey-bearded priest in a cassock started waving his thurible and singing ‘Requiem aeternam’ I got just cracked up. Tanya stood opposite me with a very straight face - yet I could see how hard she found it to keep in public. I stared her in the eye and winked at her. She turned away from me covering her mouth with a handkerchief.

“Hallelujah, hallelujiah, halleluja-ah!” wailed the priest over the body in the meantime.

This “hallelujiah” completely cracked me up. I was literally shaking with laughter. I was shaking so hard that even the candle in my hand blew out. Using this circumstance I sneaked behind the column as subtly as possible so I could hide myself from everyone’s eyes and let myself go. But as soon as I became invisible my laughter was all gone.

During the service and on the way to the cemetery I wouldn’t take off my ‘burka’ so nobody could see my war paint and my s****y outfit prematurely. But, when we had already arrived at the cemetery and I figured there was a glimpse of Shurik’s fair hair in the crowd - I appeared before the public in all my beauty.

Meanwhile the coffin was put into the grave; Gran Zoya wailed: “Let me go to him!!!”, everybody rushed to deter her, huddling around the open grave, so no attention was paid to me. Nobody looked at me at that moment - nobody but the two guys of seventeen or eighteen years old who had been carrying the coffin to the grave and had nearly dropped the body out of it.

“Here, put on my jacket, it’s cold” said one of them, the blonde guy that slightly resembled Shurik, and he wrapped his jacket around my shoulders.

“No, put on mine!” the other, black-haired one chimed in.

“F**k off, I was first!”

“Boys, don’t fight,” I said smiling as I felt their attention rocketing my self-esteem sky-high.

The guys, in the meantime, having wrapped me in their jackets, were treating me to sweets. I didn’t mind it, for I had a sweet tooth and so I could eat desserts twenty four hours a day without a break; I was therefore putting away all the lollies offered to me with great pleasure.

“Once you pop you can’t stop, huh?” said one of the guys.

“Yep”

At some point it slightly got out of hand, though. Seeing me enjoying their company and accepting their flirtations, the guys, as is usually the case, went a little overboard. Probably, some of them, emboldened by my favour, grabbed my b**b, because I slapped the sassy one on the hand and yelled:

“What the hell?! Hands off, man!”

The wailing and lamentations over the grave stopped at once. And, right on cue, all as one raised their heads and looked at us.

Judging by the way my father glared at me it didn’t take much imagination to figure out that after the funeral I was going to have a good spanking. But at that instant I couldn’t care less. It was MY day. And I intended to spend it exactly the way I wanted to, regardless of the consequences.