Nora’s Round 7 Challenge: Incorporate Dostoyevsky (taken from Igor’s Story). Word limit: 600.
Read COCO 6 here (see “Similar Posts” at the bottom of this post for any earlier entries)
When I get back to our apartment at nine o’clock the other women are already at cabaret. Police like I expected don’t even give me ticket. Police are mostly men and every man likes cabaret. Even ones who don’t go still want cabarets around. To feel it is possibility if they want to try it tomorrow.
Its Cypriot woman who hate the cabaret. I wouldn’t either want to have so many young woman come to my country to make sex to my men. Now you have the marriages between older Cyprus man and young cabaret woman from Russia or Romania. Although there is also joke that cabaret help Cypriot man to stay with Cypriot wife. But really most of us only joke from bitterness for not having marriage. In our countries when you don’t marry young you are finished. Like milk that goes bad. In poor countries they throw milk out even when its still good.
Its Tuesday so cabaret is quiet. Rodica and Svetlana and others are sitting on bar stools in lingerie waiting for man to walk in. This is most of cabaret job. To sit half naked and bored under disco ball listening to same pop songs over and over. At least its not Greek rembetika music like they play in barakia.
Yiannis is counting money behind bar. He knows about police because I called him from station.
You ok Ivana? he say still counting money.
Did you tell them anything?
About the cabaret. About the sex. Don’t lie to me Ivana. I will find out. If you lie you know what happens.
I didn’t tell anything.
He nods but makes face like he shit himself. Why did you wait for police on street?
They found me. What should I do? My clothes was still in apartment
Yiannis starts counting money faster which means he’s angry.
Ivana next time you avoid police.
But Stavros was tied up. And bleeding.
Shut up. Next time you come to me first. Okay? Okay?
Yiannis always he is like this. And he expects everyone of us to make sex with him anytime he feel like it. But he never once hit me. It could be worse. That’s what I say.
I sit next to Rodica and tell her about Stavros and Frodo. She doesn’t say much. We’ve all seen too much strange things. Nothing effect us anymore. The stories are to much to believe sometimes. I have crazy dream to someday be writer and describe what it is the cabaret life. Because to many books are selling that have not interesting story.
It help me to think this way. Like maybe I suffer now but find redemption later. Not from God but maybe through writing. Maybe I do this now to create deep spaces inside me. Like deep well you must go down for the sweet and clear water. Like Dostoevski after he came out of Siberian prison and after they took him out to shoot him in freezing snow. His masterpieces like Brat’ya Karamazovy came from this misery and suffering.
I am not Dostoevski. I know that. But when you need help you grab onto whatever life throw to you.
A young man walks in and sits on couch. The others look at me. Because of my trouble today they give him to me. I walk over and sit beside him and put my hand on his leg and say Hello. What is your name. What do you do.
I wonder if Frank will come. I hope yes.