Who Is Martha? by Marjana Gaponenko Page B

hastened her step in an attempt to prevent Levadski from rising. She opened out her palms like headlights as she came towards him. She had only come to ask whether everything was to his satisfaction. Levadski nodded, perfectly content.
    “If you would like the sheets changed, just throw the card on the bed. Card on bed – change. Card not on bed – don’t change,” the chambermaid explained and held up a gray postcard. Levadski watched her throw the card onto the bed twice and pick it up from the bedspread again. While throwing, she raised one eyebrow and then let her hand drop casually. It was really just a single dropping of a card from the hand of a person who was used to being served. When she picked up the card it bowed to her like to someone held in high estimation, a completely flat and square person.
    “I have got it,” Levadski said, when the chambermaid wanted to repeat the procedure once more. How long would he be staying, she wanted to know. “I don’t know,” Levadski said, “hopefully long enough.” The chambermaid gave a conspiratorial smile. The Elisabeth Suite was just the right ticket for an old man like himself, in her opinion.
    “I know this suite,” he said, “You must excuse me for remaining seated.” He would offend her if he were to get up now, the chambermaid said. “As a gentleman I find it much more difficult to remain seated in front of a lady than to get up,” Levadski admitted.
    “I don’t understand,” the chambermaid said smiling and blushed.
    “I know this room,” Levadski repeated, “I have stayed here once before. As an official speaker at a conference for birds. It is the same room, with the midnight blue silk wallpaper, the magnificent Louis XVI furniture, the crystal chandeliers, mirrored doors and the bathroom with a gilded domed ceiling. It can only be the same room.”
    A classic room wouldn’t be the right choice for you, the chambermaid said. Not so big. The bathroom too small. Only a shower. It was only here that he would be able to let off steam. Levadski laughed. “If I could, yes!” The chambermaid shook her head slightly at a loss and made her way towards the door. There was pride in her gait, resolve and character. Levadski liked it. “That’s the way a thresher crosses a field,” he thought, “thrusting her legs like tired whips.”
    When the door had closed and the rattling of the keys at the chambermaid’s hips was no longer audible, Levadski rose groaning from his armchair and picked up the gray card from the bed. “With pleasure,” it read, “we will service your room every day. We are happy to change your sheets if you place this gray card on the bed.” Levadski let the card drop as instructed and picked it up again. “A shame to die,” he sighed, “things are only just beginning to get exciting.”
    He entered the bathroom, which was about the same size as his apartment on Veteran Street. The State can have the apartment, Levadski thought, I am going to sit in this bath until doomsday, I have no other choice! I won’t for the life of me be able to get out of it by myself! Levadski desperately wanted to take a bath. With a tub like this it would be a sin not to bathe!
    May the sun go down, but let me have my bath! He was choked by sadness. His old moldy bath suddenly appeared before him, dumb and unreproachful. It had been an evening like every other, Levadski had returned from his customary constitutional, made himself a fried egg, sat down in his rocking chair, leafed through a paper on Pedantic Waste Disposal and Its Influence on the Diet of Birds of Prey , yawned, stood up, shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the bath. Then he changed his mind and pulled the drain plug. A shower would be enough. An evening like any other. But something was not right. On this evening Levadski lost interest in climbing into his bath for the simple reason that he didn’t like it anymore. He didn’t like it anymore because it had grown old,