KATYA

Short Story Excerpt

That evening the icy wind chilled me to the bone and made my lips bleed. Swathed in layers of pullovers and a coat that swept the ground, I looked like a mummy.

I don’t like extremes of any kind and in this city I had my fill. Even though I’d been living in New York for five years, I still found it hard to adjust. The summer’s scorching heat and the « Siberian » winter, bend my shoulders by their weight. But I loved New York so much. My skin impregnated by its smells and my heart afflamed, refused to leave it.

Just another block and then after the crossing of the 12th and 15th, on the left, my cosy loft was waiting with its fragrance of spices and pine. Yes, indeed! Christmas was fast approaching and my tree shone with a thousand stars as it stood proudly guard in its party dress in a corner near the chimney.

Plunged in thought, I was brought to my sense by a weak voice from out of nowhere. I stopped suddenly because a shade along the wall of a building, aroused my curiosity. As it approached, the outstretched hand of an old woman dressed in a shabby, faded wrap, pierced the darkness. On a piece of damp paper, a clumsy scribble asked for alms. Suspicious, I stopped back and looked round to see if there was anyone else about.

"Help me!" she called, as if she was at the end of her tether.
A strange feeling came over me. “Get going, run,” my legs said, but my brain did not respond. From the depths of my memory, the sound of that used voice, emerged like thunder in full daylight on a calm day. There was something familiar to my ears. And a deep pain surfaced. I turned towards her and without realizing it was my French mother-tongue overtook my thoughts.

“Mais, qui êtes-vous, Madame?” (“But, who are you, Madam?)
Surprised, she lifted her head and slowly pulled the scarf covering her tangled hair.
“Êtes-vous française?” (Are you French?) she ventured timidly.
My heart almost stopped when I saw her. I cried out: “Katya!”
My legs trembled, my damp hands shook in the gusty wind, tears came to my eyes and I fell at her feet. My God! I thought. How could you be so blind?
She didn’t dare to move.
“Let me look at you...Laurence!”

Those were her last words before she collapsed in a faint. The ambulance which took her to hospital drove very fast and 30 minutes later she was in the Emergency Unit. The doctors reassured me: chilblains, malnutrition and a few others minor ailments, but she would be back on her feet in a few days.

“Is she a friend of yours?” one of the doctors asked. “She didn’t have an I.D. on her.”

“Yes, she’s French. Her name is Katya Lalonge and she’s a friend that I’d lost sight of. Are you sure she’s going to be all right, Doctor? I beg you to do all that’s needed. I’ll pay for it myself. ”

“Don’t worry, everything will be all right.”

“Thank you so much.”

In the blue-grey corridor of the hospital, my memory played back the film of our life in slow motion. Back in my native country, in a village lost in mountains, my life has been one of sadness and boredom. One day, carrying a suitcase, I left it all behind to settle in a big city where solitude began to gnaw at my heart. I’d known it would be, of course, but like everyone else, I’d risen to the bait and we all have to experience it to understand. I lived in the old ocher-colored building near the center of town. One sunny afternoon, my landing neighbour rang my door bell. She smiled, but the tray of cakes she offered, embarrassed me.