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Carmen The Untold Story

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Carmen  The Untold Story

By Yelena Tylkina

"He's mine, mine, and mine!" - My mother, Rita, screams as she lunges at me with a table knife. Instinctively, I knew that she is not talking about the last piece of a juicy sausage. I jump away from a table and grab my chair to use it as a shield.
Rita is an eighty years old, 5'2", 170 pounds, woman from a provincial town of Russia. Presently, she lives in Brooklyn, New York, in a comfortable, one bedroom apartment that she has occupied for the last twenty years. At the reunion lunch with her visiting fifty six year old, 5'7", 200 pounds, ex-Soviet Navy officer nephew from St Petersburg, the old girl unleashes her undying desire.
"The officer is mine!" Rita screams with glistening eyes. In the depths of her own mine there is a theme: she is the gypsy dancer, Carmen, fighting for the object of her affection- the young officer. Deep, dark, murderous feelings rush through her veins. The air in the room is moist and heavy with thickening vengeance. The blood pressure pops way beyond healthy limits. It's time to act fast and not lose the momentum. Rita- Carmen gasps for air, displaying her almost bare gums, squeals and waves the table knife: no one is going to cross Rita-Carmen's path. And most especially not her yoga instructor, vegetarian, 5'9", 130 pounds of muscle, bitchy, artsy-schmartsy, daughter, Lena.
"You fat and ugly shame of the family! You have soft skull! Just look at you! Do you think that you better than me?" Rita-Carmen screams.
"Mother, we will talk about fashion later, and you forget to put in your dentures." I could not get connected with the primal drama and tried to steer the theme back to a civilized world. But Rita-Carmen is choking on her feelings, belches and exhales so heavily that green mucus flies all over the guests.
Vladimir Bulatov, the former submariner, smashes his huge, hairy fist at the table. Plates jump and glasses ring as a distant chorus to his baritone.
"My patience is boundless, but words have to be spoken: wild dogs shit on all of you. I didn�t have enough vodka to take such abuse. I came here with clean t-shirt and look at me now. What am I, a napkin? What do you think because I stayed behind and didn't leave Russia, I am a coward? My father, Aleksey Yefimovich Bulatov could finish two liters of vodka straight from a bottle without blinking an eye. I have two sons, I could have had more, but my wife was weak in this department, something wrong with her plumbing". From the pressure of an intellectual exchange, Vladimir belches loudly, and then passes gas.
Beee, froowww!
"This is my primitive past leaving me. Every day is a step closer to the sublime."
In the high fashion of current St. Petersburg table etiquette, he demonstratively lights a match to destroy the foul stench of his farts. Galina Bulatova, 5' tall, 70 pounds, missing front teeth, jumps from her seat to clean up her full-fledged husband with a paper-tower in the desperate attempt to calm him down. He frown his brows:
"Go back to your place. Don't interfere. I am not a baby. Devil�s horns in all of your collective butts! And you, Lena, will finish in a mental institution with your chakras and bullshit of inner beauty and who knows what the hell you are talking about. Normal people only care for (as Vladimir begins to count by raising his fingers): One- what kind of a car you drive; Two- the house you live in and; Thee-personally, I like to discuss new recipes for food. I love meat; barbeques in general. I love to eat well. But your theory about cosmic energy reflecting our inner world is a final stage of mental decomposition. No one could hypnotize me in to this nonsense."
Rita-Carmen's ears selectively pick up only the word "not enough vodka" as the basis for her next move to win over her "sweetheart" and she rushes to her supply of red wine. Several bottles of "cabernet sauvignon" lay hidden in the closet in response to a doctor's prescription for decreasing Rita's cholesterol and high blood pressure instead of popping pills. I had delivered a case full of red wine. The best that Italy and France could offer suddenly appears at the table.
"Grape juice is for kids and women! I am a man! Real man needs manly things like hard liquor, fast cars and quiet woman." Vladimir turns to his wife and stars at her for a moment with dead-shark eyes. Than, he looks at me and says: "You know, Lena, in the eyes of society, a woman who doesn't have children is a worthless."
Rita-Capmen, who is still squishing bottles of wine to her large bosoms, suggests that someone will go out for liquor and, because no one speaks English, Lena is a perfect volunteer. I refuse to go since, in my view, eleven o'clock in the morning is too early for any type of alcoholic beverage and chauvinistic remarks as well. Rita-Carmen explodes with rage:
"I use to have a statuesque figure before I give birth to you, then I put a few extra pounds. And you only knew how to stuff yourself with steamed vegetables and nuts and only cared about your books. I sacrificed my beauty for you and you're ungrateful and nasty. You always were nasty and fat with a skin like a lizard!"
I feel queasy in my stomach from irritation to participate at this annoying family gathering, yet say: "Of course, I can't see myself through your eyes, mother. But thank you for the review."
"Auntie Rita, you were always heavy like a bulldozer and I had a lot of booze yesterday with other goofs of our family at the Brighton Beach. Man, could those guys drink! Like animals! Too bad, Lena, you don't talk with rest of the family anymore. We drowned ourselves in Absolute. We had a great time, great time...So, Auntie, keep quiet since my brain is shaky. Personally, I like skinny women, like my wife- a little thing. You, Lena, are ok, a model type but the high African ass has to go. And speaking of Africans, I worry about taking the subway, because I fear being kidnapped by Africans and I can't understand your Metro system. In Russia, I couldn't get lost in Siberia without a compass. I would just navigate by the stars. But here, there are too many foreigners. So, I think that a taxi is an appropriate choice. How much from your part of Brooklyn to Briton Beach? I am short of money. You know that traveling is expensive these days and..."
But Vladimir couldn't finish.
"Ahhhh!" Rita-Carmen was beside herself.
"Please, Vladimir, Vovochka, stay!- She grabs Vladimir at the waist and hangs on him like a wet blanket.- Please, we didn't see each other for so long... I need to be part of the family, it is her- she points finger at me- who likes to be alone with her voodoo stuff. Take me, take me now!"
Agitated, Vladimir peals himself off his adhesive Auntie. In the hysterical excitement, Galina jumps around and squeals Russian vulgarities. In the rage of her frustration, Rita-Carmen bites Vladimir in the abdomen. His t-shirt hooks on her lonely last two teeth and for a split second, the sound of tearing fabric freezes the struggle and the surroundings. A large hole in the Vladimir t-shirt displays a heavy bush if dark wavy hair. Rita-Carmen spits hair out and shouts:
"You're hairy and stinky as a rural cunt. Who needs you any way? I am a famous dancer Carmen!" She grabs two paper fans and performs her gipsy dance, accompany herself with an aria from "Carmen" by Bizet: Love has wings and it guides me ahead...
Stupefied, Vladimir rushes to the exit door as his wife follows. The door slams behind the guests. Outside, on the street, a car radio blasts the Tina Turner classic: What's Love Got To Do With It? All those emotions...
I assume the meditative yoga position: legs crossed, eyes shut, and palms of my hands together in the praying gesture to keep my equilibrium.
"Oooom. Oooom..."

Event date: 1 April, 2008
Creative Realism@2008