White Niggers
Chapter 9
Saturday, August 3rd, 2019, 17:00
"Capital City Lights" restaurant, Fischhof 3, 1st district of Vienna
Timur found a post on the forum of Russian emigrants about an upcoming meeting. He goes because he is still grieving over his mother's departure.
He takes the subway to Schwedenplatz and then goes down the Rotenturmstraße into a narrow sidestreet. He hears organ music – the nearby Anker clock is chiming, indicating it's 5:00 PM.
It's an Art Nouveau clock adorned with figurines that parade on its front, accompanied by music. Most figurines represent Austrian politicians from various epochs. A few writers and composers are thrown into the mix to avoid the impression that the creator of this clock glorifies the equivalents of Joe Biden and Hillary Clinton from the Middle Ages.
At the corner of Fischhof and Bauernmarkt there is the red sign "Capital City Lights" written in an old Slavic font above a sliding glass door. Timur goes through that door into a restaurant with several little tables close to the windows and a large one in the middle. There is a window to the kitchen, from which the sizzle of the deep fryer and the smell of meat and spices is coming.
Timur nods at Shmuel, a 60-year old Bukharan Jew, the owner of the restaurant.
"Good evening, Timur!" Shmuel says. "Is everything alright?"
Shmuel radiates stoic optimism like a Santa Claus with a yarmulke.
"My mother went to Moscow," Timur says. "Other than that, everything is fine."
Timur goes to the long table around which about a dozen people sit. They are drinking beer and kvass, eating Chebureki, and, most importantly, talking with people they know and even with total strangers.
There is only one person who is neither talking, nor listening. That's Zoe Kuzina. She is sitting hunched over at the empty end of the table. Timur got to know her by accident during such meeting about a month ago. He takes a place at the table opposite of her.
"Hello," Timur says to her. "How is saving lives going at the General Hospital?"
Zoe slowly moves her eyes up from the Bloody Mary.
"Do we know each other?" Zoe says.
She has bags under her eyes. Could be hangover, tears, or overindulgence in Glamazon makeup.
"We met last time. I'm Timur from the 'Il Mercato' pizzeria." He says, "Best pizza in town."
"Oh, yes, yes. Now I remember," she says. "How are you?"
"The usual," Timur says. "Not bad."
He is reluctant to admit he paid several hundred Euros for his principles. Zoe won't like that. She's got where she is precisely because she isn't fussy about her morals.
"How are you?" Timur says. "Everything fine with Andrew?"
"We are getting divorced," she says.
She sips on her cocktail.
"I am sorry," Timur says.
"You shouldn't. Andrew has always been a jerk," she says. "I could not take it any longer."
Andrew is a scientist at the mysterious Institute for Applied Sciences in Laxenburg, a town close to Vienna. It employs scientists from vastly different fields – from forest researchers to mathematicians. Skeptics believe it is an extension of the greatest red tape boondoggle in Austria, which is the United Nations.
"I actually didn't notice he is a jerk," Timur says. "To me he seemed quite smart. Didn't he help you with your research?"
"Let's change the subject," Zoe says.
Timur does not respond because he notices a young blond woman enter the restaurant.
She is 6'2" and has gleaming blue eyes. Her back is as straight as her shoulders. She holds her head high. She wears a white dress and a reserved smile on her face.
Here she is, the woman you can fight – and win – a war over, Timur thinks. They say that behind a man's success there is always a woman. A woman like this.
There is something about her that stands out. She is confident without being condescending, viscerally attractive without being vulgar.
You are not the only man who sees it, Timur thinks. And she certainly knows that, too. Hundreds of high-quality men, better than you, compete for her attention. And if they don't, they should.
They say it's not the place that enlightens people, but people that make a place shine. Vienna is as dark and cold as the Arctic during the polar night. That's why Mother left, Timur thinks. That's why I've been dying here.
Until now. But not any longer. The dying is over, because there is a star now on the sky which shines as brightly as the North Star.