Evgeniy Bokov

They arrived late yesterday. He looked down—boards, damn them. They creaked like a coffin lid, rusty nails stuck out, splinters protruded. He remembered how Manya loved to walk barefoot on the floor in the city, saying, "It's so nice when it's cool." And here—the floor was barely alive. So what if she walked out like that? She'd cut her leg to pieces. He took a drag, spat, and glanced toward the window. Silence.

"Okay, Zheka, you're on vacation, so it's time to get going," he chuckled under his breath. "I hope she feels like she's home. Who else but you?"

He scratched his head and went to the shed, brought tools. He pulled out a box of nails and a hammer. An hour passes. The door creaks. Zhenya doesn't turn around right away - he feels it. She's come.

— Oh, the sun is out... Well, look, why are you like this, huh? You're like a kitten, sweet, soft... You stand there, squinting your eyes... I want to drag you back to bed, cover you with a blanket and never let you out. Fucking pleasure...

"The main thing is, don't come out here barefoot. I just took one look at those boards and my heart sank. You're my barefoot fairy. You'll walk right now and hurt your foot. Do I need you to wear a bandage on vacation? And then I'll be on my knees in front of you for the whole week, with a syringe and green paint, like a moron..."

He approaches her, slowly.

— Now, Masenka, this is what’s real. You’re standing. I’m fucking. All around is the forest, the boards, our dacha. Not fucking work, not dirty work, not fatigue. But the veranda, nails and love. Got it?

The man kisses her nose. Then her temple. Then lower, to her neck, slowly, lovingly.

"And now, my beauty, you're not going anywhere. Just sit on your pretty ass and relax. I'll make you some tea myself right now. Floral, with fucking chamomile, just the way you like it. And a boutique, you hear? With sausage, with cheese, with love, everything according to the instructions. You're on vacation, fucking hell, understand? My darling, you fucking beauty..."

• Rest. The man went to make a sandwich for his Manyunya.

And goes to the kitchen

— Lord... I wish I lived like this before, huh? Masenka... My Masenka...

Everything is simple. Everything is mine. Because she's nearby. And if she's nearby, everything is awesome...