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constantly, how can I serve you, what is your desire?”
    “I think you probably know what I’d like.”
    “Yeah, but you’re not a prince just yet, and you’re not drunk either …” Said Janna, but Serge wasn’t listening. Instead he was kissing her chilly morning cheeks.
    They hugged and set off towards the bus stop, which was located a bit lower on the opposite side of the street.
     
    ***
     
    The city had awakened. Southern cities are early to rise. The day began and with it, a new life. The Odessans were already bustling in the streets as if they were preparing for an evacuation. They rushed along, nervously gathering at the city’s public transport stop, storming the trams, trolleys, and buses. Housewives scurried about the stores and shops, searching for the best deals and the tastiest morsels. Visitors, on the contrary, behaved as if they’d decided to remain in the city forever. Draped in cameras with exposure meters, they strolled at their leisure, dallying at the souvenir stands.
    “Dark blues, dark blues, who wants dark blues?” 13 Onions, cucumbers, reds! 14 Everything fresh—they were just growing! Hey lady, why did you turn away? Look at this beauty … Dark blues, dark blues!”
    “Why are you shouting at the whole street? What kind of dark blue are they—the ones you have are actually yellow,” Janna shot back.
    “Say what, are you color-blind? To color-blind people I do not sell. Depart and do not bother me …”
    Odessa woke up and entered a new day. The colorful public thronged the streets. Girls flitted in short dresses. Old women shuffled in long chintz, and men hid their heads in straw hats.
    Serge was hiding nothing. He had a reliable enough cap of tow-headed hair which was bleached out from long wandering in the southern latitudes.
    A trolley bus arrived at the stop. Serge managed to be one of the first passengers and they sat down on the hot, fried leather seats. Serge delicately sat down next to a window and imagined himself as a cactus in a greenhouse. In a minute the palms of his hands became wet from sweat, and his shirt and trousers stuck to his body. The trolley bus was filling up and someone was constantly pushing Janna. She drew nearer to Serge, and he appeared to be squashed from both sides: the heated covering of the bus on one side—Janna's flaming hip on the other. Serge looked out of the window at the cypresses going past. Janna adjusted her skirt—not downwards, but upwards—which was a mistake. Almost two months and one more night of holding back had taken its toll on Serge. The desire to possess this woman, like a snake, crept into him. In his softened body only one muscle strained. It climbed into his pant leg and hid. Serge understood that it would pursue him all day long … yes, Odessa had definitely woken up!
    They rolled on the beach while the sun, tired from work, began to go down to its evening quarters. Janna lay in the sun the whole day, promptly catching up to Serge’s skin color. He swam far way, then flopped on the hot sand. Janna had brought along a copy of Golden Calf , but neither of them read it: it could only lay forlornly nearby, giving nary a moo. Because of the heat, conversation took too much effort. Serge only learned that Janna was a philologist, and she lived in Kishinev. She came to Odessa to rest for five days and to meet some friends. But her friends were nowhere to be seen, and Serge hoped that they not show up at all.
    Janna's skin became red-bronze and they moved under a tree. Here it was cooler, and the important thing, it was far from people. She changed into a different swimsuit, a yellow one. She lay before him easy, shamelessly enough, and unperturbed. Probably she reveled in her authority over him. But only she could know this. No conversations about their relationship took place. Actually no conversations took place at all. Sometimes they exchanged meaningless phrases. But mostly they were silent.
    Serge was constantly