AN EVENING WITH A FRIEND

BY KIRILL CHNEEROV

The street looked dull at the end of the day. The shops were at the ground floors of the
simple small buildings. Alvin had to go inside a gallery or a framing place. It couldnt take
anything. The reason didnt matter. A few hundred imagined dollars wouldnt make a
difference. He was placid. His photographs were old for a concerned imagination. It was like
landing on the Moon for him. Let the quiet spirit of the civilization be ignored. His picture
taking was an intimate affair. His were landscapes. He lived through a day when he drove in the
country. Listening to the moves of life smelling the fresh smells he let the air blow in his face.
He saw what he needed. In his mind it was alone, some trees and bushes in a slanting field at the
height of a fall afternoon winded in the colored lives of the ivy under the white sky with a little
of the blue. The surface of the field and the space of the sky would strike a balance. The
harmony of everything around and the evidence of the objects were captured.
As a sign of normality there was a bus stop. Alvin noticed it after he exited the place. He
had his own life and nothing else mattered. He had seen his world and it never departed his
vision for long. Each time Alvin realized that he was by himself he was comforted by that. The
careless atmosphere of his early days crept in and stayed there. Then he had to make steps
forward and forget. His circumstances didnt much bother him. His self was prevailing over the
convincing reality.
The street shadows now were grey and the sky at the horizon was blue and red with some
white. There was a little square with an entrance to the subway. A small busy street with the
three or four story buildings and the restaurants and bars was going slantwise. Ahead diagonally
to the right and again in some distance it was a front of a mansion with a triangular pediment and
a colonnade of matchless proportions taking the entire width. The time of the birth never parted
with the columns and dwelled in the perceptible French windows.
Alvin had to speak to his friend. Theirs was a long affair. His friend was presenting his
views to Alvin to whom they had no use who saw only the undisturbed rest. For Alvins friend
there was a cause to be persistent and he kept on talking. They were advancing forward towards
the meeting of the straggling streets.
After the turn there was a bakery and a coffee shop. Alvins friend was looking for a
reason to look for a reason as he talked and Alvin remembered out of respect to disagree with
him. In Alvins mind remaining from his early days the question why to live rose. The
mumbling of his friend was heard. It didnt matter where the empty street was leading. It was in
the unfortunate state with the drawn down metal gates and posted leaflets.
The evidence of life occurred on the sides of our friends path. The noise of the
restaurants and bars was reaching the ears. The people sat at the tables outside. What was by
now an imposed speech of Alvins friend went on. Their stroll had to have an end. His friend
liked a prolonged conversation leading to a meal. Alvin showed no sign of concern. The
disappearing light of the day wasnt bringing more warmth in the unstirred air.
The friend showed Alvin in a caf which was on a side-street. They were taken through
the sidewalk tables to the terrace and seated by the central passage. What they talked about
scarcely could match what Alvin started then to apprehend. The beer was served and the menu
escaped much of Alvins attention, but he ordered the cheese filled pasta. The beer suited the
moment, it engulfed imagination. The people were everywhere in the caf and everything was
happening in the atmosphere of the soon be non-existent time.

The young waitress was by their table again. This was a chance to see her blond straight
hair only just kept in a hairstyle. Then she left. The beer made Alvin to wonder and not to regret
things holding the reality at bay with the firm and eternal nature. He asked himself why to
change, but then why to maintain the forgotten attitude.
The crisp taste and the body of the beer left no escape. It seemed that it was there, but it
wasnt. The air charmed. It was clear and gentle. Alvins being needed to shun that matter so
accommodating, within the limits and yet creeping over the sensations. His mind was
untouched.