Moscow - London - You

                1 Act - The Light was near to You      

      The plane is going alone the runway, leaving the land, rising over clouds and in four hours it is flying over London, lightened by the sun, and setting down.  The Themes is glittering below like a snake. We can see the famous Tower Bridge there. It is the first wave of impressions.
      I am in the Heathrow; I am passing a passport control. The questions ordinary only in English and I am nervous. There are some buses near the exit. I don’t want to risk and to be lost. So I am going to take a taxi. I can’t understand why the barrier hasn’t got an end. How can I get to the stopped car? My mind is working very slowly; I see that on another side of the road everything is all right: the barrier has the end and the next in turn can is standing with an open for a passenger door. Now I realize-it is England-so we must get into the car from the left side. I go and sit. We go!
      A black “cab” starts; it is carrying me headlong the road from the airport straight ahead. Hills around are green and covered with flowers, though it is February. But the trees are bare yet. It is spring. I am very impressed by a wind generator; it is a white propeller on a high pillar moving in the wind on the right. I see curves of streets running to different sides from the road, they remind me Privet Drive, where Harry Potter lived. I am in London. Taxi driver can’t find a necessary street for a long time. No wonder: the street where there is “Z Hotel Soho” turns to be short and narrow like a corridor in our flat in Saratov.
      I am in the hotel. They have changed the room: it is bigger, better and with a kitchen and price is the same. But I want the room with blue matt glass separating the room into a bedroom and a bathroom. Philip – a very kind fellow- shows me both insuring that conveniences in the flat are better. And really it is so. I can have a shower at last! Though I’d like to have a hot bath so that my body has a rest after my long trip, flight and other troubles. I don't waste time. I have much time before the performance, but if something can happen! That is why I drink coffee, dry my hair and do a little make- up. I put on a beautiful jersey and lace dress, black tights, new beautiful boots which suit me. I like them – a very successful gain in our province.
      I am ready! I am going down narrow stairs covered by light brown carpet to a glass door and I am in the street. My flat is number 11’’a’’. Two locks are locked by one key. I put it into my bag and walk along Charring Cross which is near the hotel to the Garric Theatre. I must look around. It takes me five minutes to get there from the hotel. I can’t believe my eyes. A picture from Internet is before me. I ‘’walked’’ along that street online. I see a poster on the wall of the theatre and you are in it. The second wave of impressions! Everything turns inside me. Is it reality? I can’t believe that I’ll see you.
      I change the electronic printed tickets into real ones in the booking office. I have two tickets: one is for today and the other for tomorrow matinee. A nice smiley girl in the booking office says: ‘’Big Fan!’’ I think she means the play. ‘’Oh, really Big!’’-I think and smile. I ask about the nearest flower shop. To her pity she doesn’t know. I go out of the theatre and run, looking for the most beautiful bunch of flowers. It will give me a reason to come to the stage.
      I am nearly run over by cars and again it is because of the left side traffic. But it is nice that drivers understand and let me go. There are a lot of tourists. It is very crowded. Nobody knows where I can buy flowers. They are so sorry that they can’t help. People are nice, pleasant, ready to help. I return to the hotel. There they tell me that I can buy flowers not far from there. I have been walking for half an hour asking different people (mostly married couples, girls, women, policemen, road workers) about market and every time they tell that it isn’t very far. I begin to worry already. It is time to come back, but I can’t find it. Suddenly I see a sight on the opposite side of the road- ‘’Costa’’. I go there. Counters are full of tinned food, milky food and fruit. And I can’t find flowers at once among this gastronomic abundance. There is only one bunch there. All the rest flowers are little tulips. Pale violet and bright purple flowers are in beautiful silver- violet paper- a wonderful combination of colours. I am satisfied and run back.
      Passers-by look at me. The bunch is really very beautiful, and attracts everybody’s attention. I come in time as I like. Everybody in the theatre looks at my bunch. It is only one in the theatre. I look around and go to a cloak-room, which I could hardly call a cloak- room, as the saying is that for Russians ‘’theatre begins from cloak- room’’. May be our weather is the reason for requiring a larger area for our coats and other clothes in winter. Here the cloak-room is a very small room, in which a warm African woman takes my jacket, hangs it, and says that I should pay a pound. I give her yellow round coin with portrait of the Queen; English coins mostly have almost round hexahedral form. The woman gives me a pink tiny square piece of paper , which I put into my purse at once as I don’t want to lose it. I feel myself a snob, because of my captious thoughts. Though I haven’t got another jacket with me in England and I don’t know their rules, I am ready to go forward to my fortune. I think it is unconsciously. Even the most important feelings turn to be less acute in such a fuss.
      The woman in the cloakroom asks me about the bunch, whom it is for. And I begin to realize that they have no habit to present flowers after performance. She wants to take the bunch, but I would like to present it myself. She calls a girl wearing a uniform. She must be an employee in the theatre. The woman asks her to help and we go downstairs. The girl tells me something and according to her intonation I understand that it is a question. She looks at my bunch and I say whom it is for. She doesn’t understand me at once as I don’t pronounce your name correctly.  And I begin to understand from her attempts to explain something to the foreigner that they do not present flowers after performance and she wants to take my bunch. But I remain adamant and want to give it myself to one whom it is intended for. She calls somebody and there come a dark-haired girl not very tall wearing a uniform. The first girl tells her something and the girl leads me downstairs; at the same time she takes my bunch as I cannot already resist. We go through a hall then we pass a corridor. She opens different doors and looks into the rooms. I follow her. And suddenly I begin to realize that we are going to you. It is impossible to think about my hair at that moment, I haven’t an opportunity to look in a mirror. But there is a strong wind outside. I can’t stop my heart beating. The girl opens the door at the end of the corridor, that leads outside and I see you in the doorway.
      You are standing in the soft light of a lantern like a statue, wearing a long coat, high and very handsome. A third wave of impressions covers me wholly with my head. And I can’t overcome my feelings. I don’t expect you to be so attractive. There can’t be such a man in reality. I come nearer. You are not alone. You have been talking to a young man whose face is familiar to me- he is an actor Nick Moran. The girl is saying something, holding my bunch. You are listening to her in a silence and then look at me. The light stops. Your eyes are wonderful, like blue mountain crystals. They are very expressive and very beautiful! The girl stops talking, the young man is looking with curiosity, you don’t say anything. I must talk. The air is paralyzed by absolute silence I have so much to say to you, but now I only want to embrace you and not to talk, and it would be better without any witnesses. The pause becomes really absurd. I am confused and from being the lady in elegant black dress, specially made for that evening, I become a ‘’bad duckling’’. I step back. The girl is saying something, I don’t hear her. You look at me. I become clumsy and stooping. But from my ‘’shell’’ I am still looking at your hand, your long fingers and I want to take it and never leave it again. I take a packet with my book and  take it out.
      - It is you! - You exclaim, looking at it and smiling.
      I don’t hear any possible negative note in your voice, but I can’t relax (you know about me!) I am rustling by the packet, as if I want to find something safe in it. I take a hare- a Symbol of Olympic games in Sochi – a present from our country and reminiscence that I am from another country. I take the hare by its ears. You pay attention to it and wait that I’ll give it to you. But I don’t. I can’t do such a simple action and put it back. I am very angry with myself, because it is my last hope to touch your hand. My dear sunny hare, forgive me!
      Through another door the ‘’ stars’’ of England come out into evening darkness. It becomes boisterously and far from reality: from you and me. It is too little time left before the performance and the girl turns to the door, offering me to go as I understand. Never the less it isn’t correct to stay and I turn from you and go into the theatre. At last I turn back and cry in English that you are very handsome. You smile.

London 19.02.14

http://www.proza.ru/2018/09/08/1753