Talma

I had heard a lot about her before she called me on a bright December morning, which happened to be my birthday.

All of my Russian friends found her eccentric, telepathic, unusual. Prior to her call that morning she left a message on my phone machine when I was away: businesslike, yet soft-spoken. She reported that it was 9 AM in San Francisco where she is, and noon in the New York where I am.
“I know a few corporations willing to help your noncommercial organization,” she added. “Buzz me. My name is Talma. It’s my third name and was given to me recently.”

       
Yes, she was unusual all right. I felt her strength and fragility, her naturalness and distinctiveness. Talma was brave and caring at the same time – a mother’s qualities. When we talked, she put between lines that she has a son. He was my son’s age and loved to use her mobile phone.

She was joking and laughing – like we knew each other from childhood. She was talking astutely about everyone I remembered from her circle. In these descriptions of people, many details were lacking, however, the portraits were clear. The most important in a person was evident in her visual pictures. Precise sketches – not caricatures, since they were done mercifully by Talma.

In one conversation she gathered the whole crowd of people – all of them seemed to be moving their own directions, still being connected with each other.

Talma was generous and fast with decisions. In a week I received a big package from her with herbal remedies for everything on Earth: cat’s claw against headaches; pau d’arco for a powerful immune system; cumin tea against grogginess; fennel for good digestion; anise for winter colds; cerebrum as mind and memory stimulant; vital human growth hormone as age-defying restorative; emu fire hemorrhoid cream which she suggested to put underneath of your eyes if they’re puffy after partying; and turmeric for a healthy liver.

“I can regulate arrhythmia, guide dreams, model blood pressure, control circulation, normalize brain functions, command the mood, etc. All this I learned from zeks – survivors of a labor camp where I worked as a psychiatrist in Russia. Plus I have an intuitive talent.”

“Do you work professionally in America?”

“I got their degree and, yes, I worked for a year in a San Francisco hospital, but they closed it – budget cuts, you know how it’s done here.”

“So, learning the survival skills – are you surviving under the capitalist yoke?”

“Stressful. I went through a clinical death – brain hemorrhage. They told me I was OK when I went to an appointment with two doctors and sent me home. I sued them after surviving. They tried to blame my cigarette smoking – yes, I’m a smoker – yet I won.”

“Why do you smoke?”

“Otherwise I would be perfect, which is obscene… You know I also broke my spine when I was young but I am strong as bull.”

“So, you lead a risky life?”

“Yeah . Talking about the liver, turmeric is great; however, if you have already gall stones, it’s easy to remove them by drinking lemon juice combined with olive oil on an empty stomach. I did it five years ago. Clean. All stones just pooped right out…”

Witchcraft?”

“Why not? I recommend to everybody adaptogens like Siberian Mumiё and Chinese limonnick just to keep a balance on life.”

She didn’t ask for anything – she was happy with giving. For my part, I gave most of her remedies to my friends because practically none of those were in my regimen, except maybe adaptogens, just in case. Everyone has something malfunctioning. So Talma made many individuals happy.

Among dozens of tubes and jars and bottles she mailed I discovered videotape with her subtle profile on the cover and her hand carrying sunrays. It was na;ve and touching and looked Russian. “I am a Jewess with a Slavic soul” – Talma was saying in her self-ironic way to me.

Her openness was engaging and inviting into a world unknown to most Americans. A world where everything is real: a smile or a curse. No pretense. No hypocrisy. No false promises. No empty words. No cheap seduction. No games. Only playful humor over the weaknesses of humanity.

She called again. I was away. Her soft voice penetrated gently the distance between San Francisco and New York City. Talma said what you rarely hear in America: “Come and stay with me. Anytime. As long as you want. Our mutual friend from Moscow will visit soon. The one who’s small physically and big spiritually. Almost a genius. With a Napoleonic complex. Guys like that are either very destructive or highly constructive. He chose the latter.”

“Yes, I read his books and wanted to thank him for the happiness he promotes.”

“Sometimes he annoys me with his maxims. And I don’t have patience to read his books. They bore me,” – Talma answered. “Nevertheless, I can speak with him for hours. Always inspiring. Always fresh. Always new.”

“Doesn’t it bother you to have guests in your place all the time?”

“No problem. Anytime, anywhere. Sometimes I leave them alone and go to another apartment. So, don’t worry. I’ve decided that I’ll be your niche defending your back. And our Napoleon will defend your face. You deserve it. In the closed form it’ll be like a symbolic egg around you.”

Talma advocated human cloning: “I read your stuff on parthenogenesis. I believe human cloning is good – even easier.”

“But parthenogenesis was potential self-reproduction for women only. It’s not the case with human cloning.”

Talma’s calls rarely started with hello and finished with bye-bye. It was like they were interrupted by some force – a continuum of thoughts: “I’m practicing death from time to time, you know.”

“Aren’t you afraid that you’ll go too far?”

“I am already there: too far. Fifty years is enough. I’m not sure I want to live the second, less pleasant, half of life.”

“It can have its pleasures.”

“Too demanding. Too many efforts. Practicing death is effortless. It’s ecstatic transferring yourself from one realm to another.”

She was all out, kind and daring, logical and contradictory. And finally she took the whole blow on herself. She exposed herself to a shock, to a total slash. Her monologue stopped as unpredictably as stopped her breathing. Talma transferred herself into another realm. Now, forever.

I assume it was her choice, she loved life too much. It became unbearable. She was looking for an exit and just put down the receiver. She wasn’t suicidal. She was curious and generous up to the point of being sacrificial. She kept her promise: I feel protected by the enchanting egg of creativity she defended. I’m sorry though that she didn’t reproduce her clone. I would have adapted a little Talma.