Breath
By Khrystia Vengryniuk
Translated from Ukrainian by Kate Tsurkan
Lolita went to the windowsill and lit the last candle; the others had already been burning for some time. Peering outside, she noticed the evening settling in. She arched her back with a feline-like stretch, scratching it lightly with her slender, sharp nails. Then she ran her fingers through her straight hair—slightly greasy from rosemary oil—elegantly twisting it into a bun and securing it in place with a hairpin.
On the nearby wall hung Roerich’s expansive masterpiece "Mother of the World,” beneath which rested a ceramic incense stand. She inserted an incense stick and began to light similar ones placed in corners and on the floor all around the room. With a keen sense, she chose citrus scents like bergamot, grapefruit, lime, and sweet orange. "Oh, another green tangerine," Lolita whispered with joy to herself. Glancing at her watch, she decided it was too early for some matcha tea. A hint of nervousness lingered, prompting her to rub her forearms with her strong, taut hands.
Several times Lolita approached the mirror, carefully examining her outfit. She donned a simple white cotton t-shirt paired with light-colored pants. The t-shirt flared slightly at the bottom, bearing a few wrinkles and a faded, slightly weathered appearance, yet it remained looking clean and fresh. From a closet filled with towels and shawls, she retrieved a small black bag and poured some hemp into a distiller, although she refrained from igniting it.
The melodies did not stop playing. Inhale and exhale. The bell rang.
Nika looked tired, her eyes darting back and forth, her figure hunched over.
"Hello, come in," Lolita said softly and stepped aside.
“Thank you,” she replied, and there was already so much pain in that phrase you could cut yourself on it. Nika’s fingers trembled slightly, and she swayed as she untied her shoelaces. Lolita, determined not to draw attention to what she observed, refrained from fetching her a stool. Instead, she lent support by lightly resting her weight on Nika's shoulder.
Nika surveyed her surroundings and conveyed with a primitive, jerking motion of her hand that something was stuck in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. After fetching her some water, Lolita invited her to settle onto the soft carpet amidst the pillows and light fabric.
Nika drank it greedily and looked for a moment as if she wanted to climb inside the glass. Lolita lit the hemp.
“Close your eyes, girl.” The woman went behind the curtains and spoke from there. Nika obeyed and put her hands on her knees, turning her palms upward.
“Exhale. Now you will let it all out, survive. Go back there. It hurts, I know, but just like that… Unfortunately, just like that. Come back. Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“Have you opened the door yet?” Lolita asked quietly.
“Not yet. I'm afraid.”
“I know, but you have to go in. Exhale, exhale. Go on in.”
She went in.
“What do you see?”
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, noooo!!!!!!!!!” Nika began to scream so loudly that Lolita's whole body was covered with goosebumps. Lolita quickly rushed over, fell to her knees, and embraced Nika from behind, crossing her arms over Nika’s chest. Tears streamed down Nika's face as Lolita gently rocked them both, swaying back and forth until the girl's cries gradually subsided.
The smell of hemp wafted through the room, overpowering all of the other aromas. The sun was almost setting. Nika stopped crying.
“Tell me everything you saw in the room,” Lolita whispered into her ear.
Nika turned around and, looking into her eyes, replied: "She was lying there… There was…a lot of blood." And then she talked and talked, recounting everything down to the smallest detail. She described the incremental chill that tightened its grip on the dead body with each passing second, and the lingering scent of iron and fish that remained in the carpet even after a deep cleaning. While the carpet had to be discarded, it could never be expunged from her memory.
Nika remembered everything, including what her younger sister would wear, how she used to comb her hair and always try to curl it, how they carried the coffin, and how, when they closed it, a small piece of lace had slipped out of it. That was just how she was—always daring and striving for the best possible outcome. Only one of her lovers, overwhelmed by intense emotions, believed that a harmonious ending wasn’t in the cards and instead chose to kill her.
Nika tried not to hold onto any blame against him, understanding the irresistible allure her sister had possessed. She tried to reason that for him, ending her sister’s life must have appeared simpler than facing a world without her. Since then, however, Nika struggled to regain her composure, grappling with the reality that her sister was no longer of this world.
Her fingers dug into the pillows, and she roared as if giving birth. Lolita intervened, lifting her up and swiftly changing the music. Gone were the meditative melodies, replaced by heavy, tin-like beats evolving into trance-like sounds as light as ecstasy. The music beckoned them with a plunge into pleasure's depths. The room resonated with the duet of their screams as Lolita's cries echoed Nika's. Nika, increasingly impassioned, shed her blouse, revealing a short, strapless top.
“Dance!” cried Lolita. "Dance!" Nika shook her head, and her long braids cascaded in different directions, springing from her with a sudden, dynamic energy.
Lolita grabbed the girl by the arms and squeezed her palms harder and harder, so that her sharp fingernails dug into the skin and made incisions similar to needle pricks. Lolita shouted “Dance!" once again, took a tambourine from a hook on the wall, and handed it to Nika.
She immediately caught the rhythm and struck the tambourine, spun around, and kept in motion, dancing with an unrestrained fervor. It was as if the events of the past minute had entirely evaporated. She hit the tambourine and danced. “Dance!” Lolita shouted, urging her on. Nika, caught up in the music, continued to play the tambourine and spun around to the point of dizziness. "Dance!" Time slipped away unnoticed as the hours passed. Deep into the night, Lolita continued to watch Nika, controlling her every movement and exaltation. Nika's eyes remained closed, and she gracefully extended her arms, raising them above her. Waves of movement then plunged off of her, and she seemed to slip into a trance. It seemed that she was finally beginning to calm down.
With her eyes half-opened, Nika moved toward Lolita, who sat in the corner bathed in the warm glow of a salt lamp and puffed on a cherry cigar. Leaning in, Nika planted a light kiss on her lips. Lolita pulled away, her gaze colored by confusion. Undeterred, Nika attempted a deeper kiss. Lolita gently halted her advance and took her hand, guiding her to the bed. She pulled back the cover and handed Nika some cotton underwear, knowing sleep would swiftly claim her. Then Lolita returned to the window and indulged in a slow, contemplative smoke, gazing at the flickering candlelight. Grateful to the Universe for bringing Nika back, Lolita soaked up the rhythmic melody of her snores in the stillness of the room.
Sometime before dawn, Lolita lay quietly in bed next to her and fell asleep.
The late morning unfolded with Nika’s slender fingers delicately caressing Lolita's face, brushing across her eyebrows, eyelashes, and the corners of her lips. Nika was calm and smiling.
“Are you feeling better?” Lolita gazed back at Nika and cupped her face in her hands.
“Yes!” Nika breathlessly exclaimed, without a hint of hesitation.
“You wanted to kiss me yesterday,” Lolita smiled.
“I still want," Nika replied, biting her lip. “What did you do to me? "
“You did it all yourself—you screamed and danced your pain away.”
“What have you done to me that I still want to kiss you?” She closed her eyes tightly. “When I’m calm, it feels so good,” she continued.
The coffee was bitter but smelled sweetly of lavender. Neither of them knew what to talk about.
“Can we see each other again? Nika leaned over the steaming coffee and took a deep breath.
“We can do anything,” replied Lolita with a smile.
“I want to pay you for healing me,” Nika said. She began to rummage in the pockets of her discarded pants and look around for her purse.
“It wasn't me who healed you, you just listened to me and did it yourself. Your pain had already become a burden and you could no longer bear it, but did not know how to leave it behind. No one has ever succeeded the first time, you are the only one. And it will not return. The pain will not go away, but now you will remember your sister for who she was, and not with this deadly sadness that burned not only your breasts but also your bones. I know how it hurts. How it burns!” Lolita looked somewhere in the very center of Nika's pupils, came close, took a lock of her hair in her hand, leaned over, sniffed it first and kissed it tenderly,
“Go! Because it's normal for you to become attached to me. And that I can do the same. But we don't have to, no matter how much I like you. It won’t be true. It will just be another form of escape.”
“What if we met under different circumstances?” Nika asked, her eyes filling with tears.
“That would be easier for me.”
“That would be easier for me…” Nika repeated, covering her lips with her palm.
Outside the window, the day remained unchanged—the weather held steady without rain, and it felt as though even the sun had paused in its course. Time seemed elusive, its passage uncertain. Nika methodically slipped on her shoes, while Lolita lingered in the corridor, an air of guilt surrounding her, as if she were reluctantly pushing Nika away.
“Give me one last thing,” Nika asked softly, “give me some of your breath.”
Lolita approached Nika, closing her eyes as if anticipating something new. Nika parted her lips, and Lolita exhaled a warm breath into her mouth.
“Now my breath is in you. Forever.”
Silently, Nika descended the stairs and moved unnoticed beneath Lolita's window. Lolita cast one final glance outside, observing her as she descended the trail.
Of course, she looked.
Khrystia Vengryniuk is a poet, author, literary historian, and painter who lives in Chernivtsi, Ukraine, where she serves as editor-in-chief of Chorni Vivtsi, one of the country’s top publishers of children’s books. She has authored a novel, a short story collection, and volumes of poetry, as well as contributed to several anthologies. Her words have been published in English translation in Guernica, The Los Angeles Review of Books, and is forthcoming from The Translation Review.