Pravles Redneckoff 🇷🇺 Z

Surroundings of Semmering, Lower Austria

Friday, September 27th, 2019, 14:00

After the walk, Lisa and Buba have lunch in a restaurant near a gentle ski slope with T-bar lift towers at its base and summit. A couple of months later, this hill will be covered with snow. Packs of children will learn the snowplough technique there.

Opposite of this hill is the slope of the Hirschenkogel – a much higher mountain and a much harder ski slope. There is a chairlift there. Buba tells Lisa they could ride it up the mountain tomorrow.

After lunch they go to their hotel room. In the center of the room is a round table with three chairs around it. Next to it is a cupboard with a minibar and glasses. From the window you can see postcard-grade scenery.

However, it isn't the scenery that captivates Lisa's attention. She notices that there is only room for both of them, and in that room is only one bed.

You've been trying to avoid all the weird things about him, Lisa thinks. Now is the time to confront him.

"What's that?" Lisa says.

She points at the bed.

"You wanted me to groom you into Ukrainian politics. Connections to Abramovich and whatnot," Buba says. "This is the ticket."

He takes two glasses from the cupboard and puts them on the table, then a little bottle of red wine. He does not look at Lisa.

Wine again, Lisa thinks. It's always something that is supposed to blur my mind.

Let's not jump to conclusions, Lisa thinks. But let's not underestimate this frenemy. I want to find out who will be the first to break the silence.

Buba pours wine into glasses.

"I'm kidding," Buba says.

He smiles at her and exposes his teeth almost as white as his beard. He hands her the glass with the wine.

"I think I'll pass," Lisa says. "Who knows if you are truly joking?"

Buba puts Lisa's glass on the table.

"You really think I could do that to you?" Buba says.

"I don't know what to think," Lisa says. "Given the way you treat Timur."

"So, a father can't joke with his son any more?" Buba says. "You think that fooling around in the restaurant is one of those invented crimes, how is it called?"

Buba clicks with his fingers.

"Abuse and neglect," Buba says. "Is that what you are hinting at?"

"Among other things, yes," Lisa says. "Why do you hate him so much?"

"If I hated him, I wouldn't have brought him to this haven of a country," Buba says. "He wouldn't survive a day in Moscow, or Grozny, or any other part of the former USSR. Here he gets by. And that's the most he can hope for given his…"

Buba makes circular movements around his temple.

"You think he is retarded?" Lisa says.

"It's you who said that," Buba says.

"Mentally-ill people are incapable of goal-oriented behavior," Lisa says. "He did some research for me, and I saw the results. Believe me, a mentally-disabled person couldn't have done it."

Lisa's feet feel heavy from walking.

I will keep standing to stay alert, Lisa thinks. Just in case he is not kidding.

"You mean you got that idea about true Christianity from Timur?" Buba says. "If so, I recognize his handwriting."

Buba laughs and drinks wine. He turns around and looks from the window at the mountains.

"I can't imagine how we can be a family," Lisa says. "Given your attitude towards Timur."

Buba turns around.

"What do you mean by 'family'?" Buba says. "You really thought about marrying him? Honestly?"

"Yeah," Lisa says. "That's the main reason I spent so much time with you. Wanted to get to know my potential father-in-law."

"Do you want a piece of advice?" Buba says. "I have to warn you – it may hurt."

"Bring it on," Lisa says. "Let some of your wisdom rub off on me. That's the second reason for hanging out with you."

"Alright," Buba says. "Here it is: Stop being such a hypocrite."

That was unexpected, Lisa thinks.

"Can you elaborate?" Lisa says.

"You've built your whole theory around living for the society," Buba says. "Improve yourself so you can improve the society, help it survive and prosper. Is that the gist of your true Christianity?"

"Yes," Lisa says.

I'm wondering where he is going with this, Lisa thinks. Are there loopholes in my reasoning?

"The greatest gift you can give to your society is bearing and raising healthy kids," Buba says. "A big part of it consists of mating with a man with the right kind of DNA."

"Timur has your genes," Lisa says. "And judging by the way other people receive you, you must be a genius."

"Genius tends to skip a generation," Buba says. "If you want to maximize the benefit to society, you should get impregnated by the smartest available man. Then you would walk the talk about saving Ukraine."

"You are hinting that I should sleep with you, the genius?" Lisa says. "For the greater good?"

"Again, it's you who said that," Buba says. "And it still would be infinitely more honorable than what you want to do – marry a retard. All right, to each their own. But please, stop pretending that you are better than other people just because you can come up with elaborate mental constructs."

I know I shouldn't run experiments on humans, Lisa thinks. But this time it's just so damn exciting!

"Thank you for your wisdom," Lisa says.

She licks her lips and plays with her hair.

"Is that it?" Buba says. "You aren't going to virtue-signal, blabber on and on like a lawyer at court? Or hit my head with that bottle?"

"I won't," Lisa says with a throaty voice. "Can I make a suggestion?"

Buba looks at her intently. They stand at the opposite ends of the round table.

"Sure," Buba says.

"There is something women have been doing since the dawn of time," Lisa says. "A woman gets impregnated by an active man who has good genes, but is not faithful because he can have any woman he wants. Then, she marries a caring man. He has worse genes, but is more invested into the relationship. He is the one who will raise the kids of the woman and the high-energy man."

Buba puts his glass on the table and squints.

"It's a win-win for society," Lisa says. "It gets the best of both men. Just like the gospel of true Christianity preaches."

"This makes sense," Buba says. "That's evolution of the fittest. Go on."

"You are active and smart," Lisa says. "Timur is caring. What do you think?"

"I'm glad you came to your senses," Buba thinks. "I like it, I like it very much."

He starts pacing around the table.

"If we do this, will you open up your Rolodex for me?" Lisa says. "Help me get into Ukrainian politics and all?"

"Of course," Buba says. "You know, I always wanted a second chance after that mishap with Timur. But I never could find the right woman, and something always came in between. You are a godsend."

He runs his hands through his beard several times.

Look at our mighty Chechen Richelieu, Lisa thinks. An old wise man who turns into an adolescent boy at the hint of free pussy.

"Let's celebrate," Lisa says. "Give me that wine glass."

"Of course," Buba says.

He runs around the table with both glasses in his hand. He dashes to Lisa with an agility that rivals Dr. Zemanek's.

He is the groupie now, Lisa thinks. And I'll cosplay Zhirinovsky.

She takes the glass from him.

"To our future family," Buba says.

He raises the glass.

She tosses the wine into Buba's face.

It runs down like red tears from his face on his white shirt.

Buba looks at Lisa with big eyes and blinks more frequently than usual.

"Take one step closer and I'll scream," Lisa says. "You'd better thank your Muslim God I haven't cut your throat, you gaslighting scumbag."

She walks out of the room and takes the stairs instead of the elevator.

Want to be on the safe side, Lisa says. If he follows me, I'll see or hear him faster than in an elevator.

She reaches the ground floor and walks through the lobby. She gives a big smile to the male receptionist.

He'll remember that for months, Lisa thinks. Telling an asshole he is an asshole is severely underrated as a cure against melancholy. Especially if you do it face to face.

She walks down to the valley where the railway station is located. She boards a train to Vienna.

From the window she can see the mountains, the viaducts, gorges, and sheep on the fields.

God created the Semmering train route as His private miniature railroad, Lisa thinks. You'd need to resort to Russian cursewords to describe its beauty, even as a diehard Ukrainian patriot.