Of
Gilded Hearts
and Girded Loins
—by Mishka Zakharin
Mishka’s premier fiction
anthology, a collection of stories unified by the common threads of humor and
romance—or, at any rate, prurience….
Falling somewhere between Dostoyevski and Marx (specifically Groucho),
Mishka draws from his indelible wit and wisdom to weave yarns of love and
adventure that inevitably spin out of control and into naughty things all
about… in tone, Mishka’s stories are occasionally somewhat true-to-life, but more often provide and
almost cartoon-like quality in which the author’s absurdist humor truly shines
forth—and nowhere is this more true than in the anthology’s culmination, the
parodic novella “Anna Karenina.”
Fiction BookSurge
Copyright: 2002 ISBN: 1-59109-308-2
Excerpts—
“Waiting on Forever” – Chapter
4
Saturday
night Jake arrived at Hoppers to find Nick sitting at the bar and none of the
others in evidence. Experiencing a
strange sense of deja vu, he sat down beside his brother and said, “Just
you and me again, hey?”
“I talked to Mussolini yesterday,” said Nick. “He’s going to be in Chicago all weekend.”
“Ah—the Windy City!” mused Jake.
“Shy-town,” Nick mused back.
“Sin City,” commented Jake.
“The City of Brotherly Love,” Nick replied.
“The Big Apple,” ventured Jake.
“The City of Angels,” Nick returned.
“Gateway to the West,” attempted Jake.
“The Sunshine State,” Nick retorted.
“The Continental Divide,” presented Jake.
“Old Man River,” Nick declared.
“Um...” floundered Jake.
“Whatever,” Nick resolved.
“Chicago....”
“Indeed.... And
Johnny and Lee went south again,” concluded Nick.
“Two weeks in a row?
They’re going to go broke. I can
think of a lot of better things they could be spending their money on....”
“They could be here, buying us beer!”
“That was first on my list, too.”
“Well, I guess Lee found himself a hotty down there,” Nick
explained.
“Potential crustacean infestation...” Jake muttered with
disapproval.
“The dreaded P.C.I.—I warned him,” Nick agreed. “But I fear it may already be too late... in
which case he might as well stick to it—at this point he’d just miss the
itching anyway.”
Noticing his brother was scanning the bar, obviously looking
for someone and not so much listening anymore, Nick commented, “And speaking of
itches in need of scratching, you came in awfully late last night....”
Jake smiled, his attention fully regained. “Did I?”
“Or, rather, early this morning. About what time would you say it was?”
“About four-ish, maybe...”
“So should I take it your date with Z went well?”
Jake considered for a moment, and noncommittally replied,
“It was fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes, fine.”
“Hair is fine.”
“Alright, then it was hairy.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere!” Nick said with approval. “And did the two of you—”
“Have Chinese food together?” Jake interjected quickly. “No, we discussed it, but neither of us care
for it much, so we had Italian instead.”
“I’ll bet the Italian was pissed.”
“No, he seemed a kinky, little bastard; I think he enjoyed
it.”
“Good, good...” Nick said, nodding his head
thoughtfully. “But I think we’ve
drifted off course a bit.”
“Okay, alright, alright, okay,” Jake confessed
grudgingly. “It was fine. And that’s all. We had dinner and we danced, and we talked a lot (and we messed
around a little...), and it was all just fine.
We had a good time, but all things considered, it was pretty tame.”
“Well, it was only your first date.”
“Exactly. And it was
very comfortable.”
“And that’s everything?”
“I’ve left nothing out but the specifics,” Jake assured him.
“Well, then,” Nick concluded, “it sounds like it was fine.”
Their conversation drifted to general inconsequentials
concerning the drudgery of real life and other bothersome tidbits of casual
small-talk, but they were interrupted when Z arrived for work.
“Hi, Schnookie-lumps!” she said, giving Jake a lingering
hug.
“Hiya, Sugar-pants!” Jake replied.
“I can’t talk right now,” she said, “I’m running really
late. But I’ll stop back in a bit,
‘kay?”
“I’ll be here.”
As an after-thought, as she disappeared into the kitchen,
she added, “How’s it going, Nick?”
“Very well, Sugar-pants,” answered Nick. “How kind of you to ask....”
Trying unsuccessfully to avoid the overly amused grin his
brother was wearing, Jake said, “Alright, what’s your problem, beanhead?”
“’Schnookie-lumps’?” said Nick. “’Sugar-pants’?... You’re not telling me something.”
Jake smiled. “It was
fine...”
“Uh huh. Well, maybe
some weekend when she doesn’t have to work—if it’s fine with you—the two
of you could double with Sara and me.”
“I think I could see that happening.”
“My goodness!” Nick said, in over exaggerated shock. “How very uncharacteristically optimistic
you seem tonight.”
Before Jake could answer, Z came back out, and he waved her
over.
“Hey, could you do me a quick favor?” he asked her.
“Sure, what do you need?”
“Smell my beard for me?
Tell me what you think.”
Slightly skeptical, Z leaned in close; Jake met her halfway,
at the last instant tilting his head and tenderly kissing her lips.
“Trying to be sneaky, huh?” she said, smiling. Giving him a quick kiss of departure, she
added, “Cute, but I don’t really see the need for it....”
“You’re a clever mammal,” Nick noted, when she had
gone. “A sly fox. One might say—a tricky turtle?...”
“I don’t think so,” Jake disagreed, seeming suddenly rather
disgusted with himself. “I screwed up.”
“How’s that?”
“I accidentally kissed her; now how am I going to know if my
beard stinks?”
Nick glanced at his brother, about to say something;
changing his mind, he sipped his beer instead.
Then, shaking his head, he changed his mind again, and said, “Sometimes
you’re just odd.”
* * * *
* *
“Anna Karenina” – Chapter One
It all began in the summer by
the sea with the lieutenant’s widow... she was a handsome woman, somewhat stern
of countenance, and certainly much more attractive by candlelight and either at
a distance or right up close where it becomes difficult to focus completely—but
her form had not deteriorated as yet, and, having had numerous lovers, her
experience and enthusiasm made up for any shortcomings elsewhere; her family
had come from money, so mostly Vronsky played the gigolo, paying her enough
attention to keep her paying for everything else, and went his own way the rest
of the time. It wasn’t that he didn’t
care for the widow, for, in his own unique way, he really did... but such was
his nature: Vronsky for Vronsky’s sake.
Vronsky Vronsky had grown up in Siberia—and often commented, “if it can truly be
said anyone grows up in Siberia!...” and then he would wink
knowingly. But no one really ever
understood what he meant by it, and if they tried to inquire he would round on
them sharply, strew obscenities over them and, if feeling particularly bitchy,
slap at them until they cried uncle.
Then he would laugh and, if they had fallen, help them back to their
feet, and pat them on the back, and brush off any dust from the floor, and call
them brother or sister or what have you, and then go on completely jovially as
if nothing had ever happened. If
nothing else, he was generally great fun at parties... so long as everyone
remembered to keep a close eye on their drinks and their wives—though not
necessarily in that order.... Vronsky
could be very Epicurean in his outlook—in that he sought out the pleasures of
the senses, believing such to be the only true path to ultimate peace of
mind—yet he lived for the moment, rarely looking to the future. He might be described as egocentric or
selfish on any number of grounds, but Vronsky was not at all an evil person...
when others judged him negatively, he would always defend himself by stating
that he was merely the product of society, that he was exactly what the world
had made of him and, thus, should not—indeed, could not—be held
accountable for his apparent sins; he was, at best, a tool of the fates, and,
at worst, a victim of the given situation.
It was a hazy, nebulous summer—if only in the seeming of
circumstance... for the weather nearly always seemed to waver between extremes;
it couldn’t just be hot, it had to be 110 degrees and humid, with the sun
raging down over the world, baking everything in sight, and with lizards on the
walls and everyone waking from siesta in the early evenings and speaking in Spanish,
but then panicking because they couldn’t understand what they were saying...
and it couldn’t just rain, there had to be torrential showers and flooding and
mudslides and tornadoes—and, of course, the ice storm in early August that
really baffled everyone, but only lasted a couple of hours before the ungodly
heat returned, so it ended up sort of okay aside from a few melted snowmen and
a nasty ice-fishing incident.... But
Vronsky remained nearly oblivious to the oddities of his environment—indeed, he
barely even noticed when the Mongol hoards invaded late in July, conquering the
remote resort villa where they stayed and declaring it the capitol of their
newly revived empire....
The invasion was led by a mighty warrior
calling himself Chimi-khan...his real name, of course, was Yamyinsky
Yamyangovich, and he was just a silly man with grandiose ideas—but, as no one
knew of this, he was generally taken to be quite a formidable and intimidating
figure. Claiming descent for
Batu-khan—himself a grandson of he who had been dubbed “Manslayer” and “Master
of Thrones and Crowns,” the mighty “Prince of the Ocean” and the terrible
“Scourge of God,” that lovably ineffable man-god Chingis-khan—the uninfamous
Chimi-khan swept his Mongol forces through the region, leaving in their wake a
population rife with, if not terror, at least a sort of queasy uneasiness. The warrior-prince announced his intent to
resurrect the Pax Mongolica, the golden age of Tatar conquest and rule, but, in
truth, once his army had settled in, their actions seemed rather sluggardly...
many began talking of the Lax Mongolica, and the self-professed Great
Horde—heir to the centuries earlier Golden Horde—was often instead reduced to
the We’ve-Certainly-Seen-Better-Days Horde....
Although the Tatars and their leader vehemently denied it, many of the
natives believed them to be merely on holiday—especially given they spent the
majority of their time on the beach drinking exotic, touristy drinks (the ones
with little umbrellas and tropical fruit) and chasing about the local
harlotry, occasionally shaking down
some well-to-do passers-by for “taxes”—and hoped that perhaps they would, along
with the other vacationers, leave in the autumn and return to central Asia from
whence they came... but whatever their long-term plans, for the summer at
least, the Mongols’ authority was absolute, and Chimi-khan’s word was law....
But the “Lost Mongol Invasion of the
Nineteenth Century”—as it came to be known, before it was immediately and
almost entirely forgotten—was really neither here nor there... for Vronsky
Vronsky was preoccupied by other intentions—namely, his own—and, all in all,
was not in the clearest frame of mind.
When not playing either with or upon the graces of the widow, he had
found another distraction to fulfill his lustful appetites, and in spite of the
way the vodka and opium tended to mute the debauchery of his fleet—though
passionate and thoroughly vulgar (in as many ways as he could come up
with)—tryst with the spunky and youthful Lolita, he could honestly say he found
great pleasure in her company... she was a very naughty little girl, so he felt
he could justify the spankings, but during his more lucid moments he wondered
if, even under duress, he might ever be able to excuse the things they did with
various kitchen implements; he knew she was just an innocent, hotty nymphet, so
really couldn’t be faulted for any wrongdoing in their endeavors, but certainly
the blame could not be cast upon him either... or, if it could, he didn’t so
much care. To Vronsky, it came down to
one, underlying factor: The dream we
all dream, versus the life we all live....
But he had decided long ago that he was going to live the dream—because,
the way he saw it, if you didn’t... well, then, what the hell?!...
But, once again, as with the Mongol
invasion, neither the widow nor Lolita—nor the summer by the sea, if the truth
be told—have much to do with anything about anything at this point... aside
from mentioning it was upon his return to Moscow at the end of summer when
Vronsky first met Anna....
Contents—
Les Malheureux Batard
Rhamses ‘XCVI
Cookies For Margot
“Fuck Arizona!”
The Spy From Denmark
And the Gypsies Danced
Waiting on Forever
Anna Karenina
Author’s Note
Possessed
By the Daemon Mishka