Vintage Watches

It took us a long time to get used to that gate. Blake said – Their creaking sounds like the song of a pheasant at the moment of mating. Maybe. I like old facades, large stucco, things with history, Blake is not good for that, he is good for disco bars, streets full of traffic, neon lights. We're different, but we're together. He would never support me in wanting to take apart old junk, that's a good thing. If he had been around to distract me tonight, I might have missed that box.

It's the second hour of the night, it's quiet, our new house is not so new, his hair is the gray branches of a weeping willow, his eyes are dusty windows with wooden glasses, his heart is an attic littered with old records, shoes, boxes and rags.

Under the basket of shabby life is her, a heart-shaped box, with a photo card glued on top, Kurpatov's atelier, 1880. I stare at it for a long time, wondering what's inside. What interesting faces. A woman in a corset, with a monocle, in her forties, thin and tall, her hair pulled back in a bun, with curls falling over her face on both sides. A man in uniform sits in front of the fireplace. Strange, he sits and she stands on his right hand and leans on his shoulder, beautiful. Inside my find is a letter, almost corrupt, almost dusty, but the lines having lost their bright color still live, still tell….

The letter – «Don't tempt me.

You possess time and freedom, I possess only myself.

Stay my friend, the best, the first, the most careful and supple, because your word is butter, its creamy taste stays on my lips and I think…

You need thoughts to think them, don't you?

Don't tempt me….

I can believe you so that I lose touch with this planet, my steps become light, the force of attraction leaves me.

Don't tempt me. I love the night as the stars love it, but they come out when they wish and go out when the sky tells them to.

Don't tempt me…

I'm just getting used to breathing in tune with my desires, the water becomes less cold, the fire doesn't burn, the wind is the warmest blanket.

Don't tempt me I can believe, it's more than love. It's more than…

Do not tempt me if you are not ready to serve me as I serve the truth.

Fear your desires, desire is passion, a man of reason loses everything with passion in his hands. He can no longer give up what does not belong to him.

Don't tempt me…

I belong to myself, I have found that little part of God inside, we have almost agreed to keep out of each other's way.

In the beginning it was quiet, silent, almost an eternity, almost love, but it kills. Everything disappears, everything becomes you. No emotion, no nothing…

Don't tempt me, I anger at anger, I resent resentment, I forgive in return, I know how to…

Don't tempt me…

Or be me.

Trust me as I trust you.

But it's hard.

I know everything, all your secret passions, flaws, complexes and pleasures. I am what touches your fingers when you look at the sea, I am what breathes on the back of your neck when you walk away. You walk away from the answer, from the woman, from life.

I am what smiles with you.

Don't tempt me, or you'll have to believe in me, because I believe in you. You won't be able to say I don't exist, even if I never stand beside you.

Don't tempt me…

But as you know, the universe rejects the 'not' particle…»

The rest of the paper dried up and there was no way to read it.

I took the box downstairs to the bedroom. Why was it so interesting to me? Antiquity, history, vintage, something distant and inaccessible, it was like looking into the past through a keyhole.

There was a magnifying glass somewhere, Blake threading a needle through it. Through the thick glass she managed to read part of her first and last name—An…, I guess Anna, Iv…, Ivanova? Ivolgina? Ivleva? Who is she? Why didn't she send that letter? Or did she? Maybe that man's box is in the photo, and he kept the letter as a memento?

Blake came back, noisy, bright, with attitude. I didn't want to show him the letter, as he would always laugh at my sentimentality. He found it himself, but the document didn't bring irony or sarcasm to his voice.

Blake: - Do you think they lived here?

Me: - Who?

Blake: - That woman in the picture and him.

Me: - I guess someone wouldn't, just like that, keep things like that.

Blake: - He loved her, I think this is his home.

Me: - Why?

Blake: - I found a walnut pipe and tobacco in the attic once.

Me: - You were in the attic????

Blake: - I was looking for a baseball. Looked around, saw a pipe, wanted to smoke, changed my mind.

Me: - Why didn't you tell me?

Blake: - You know me from the other side, I can imagine your sarcastic comments about my adventure. Blake smiled with his eyes. By the way, there's a year and an atelier there. Let's send a request to the archives. Interesting. I don't think many people could afford pictures in those days, this couple sure came from high society. Maybe there's still some data on that.

Me: - And you don't feel sorry for the time, the money?

Blake: - No, can you imagine how happy the family will be. Maybe it's the only proof of love.

A week went by. Blake sent out requests to all the archives, everywhere he waited for the answer – «No record.

Too bad. My optimism faded with each new rejection. On the eighth day, in the morning, I was awakened by a call – Mrs. Eliot?

Me: - Yes, I'm Mary Eliot.

On the phone: «Peterhof Archives is calling for you. We were very strange to receive your request, but we found the answer.

The photo shows Countess Antonina Ivanitskaya and her husband, Colonel of the Cossack Regiment, who served in the protection of the Tsar – Andrew. According to our information in 1917 all the adults of this family was shot, but we do not know where the children disappeared to. We only know that Antonina's daughter Daria lived in Moscow and that her grandchildren left the capital of our motherland. Nothing is known about the other children, and there were seven of them, six brothers and a sister. That's all we can help you with. They hung up the phone.

On the one hand there was very little information, but on the other there was already a name – Antonina Ivanitskaya. Something threw me into a fever, my cheeks were covered with blush, my heart was beating frantically. Call it what you want – intuition, omen, a feeling I felt – the solution is close. I decided to take another look at the box with the letter. It was sturdy, made of plywood or cardboard, obviously hand-painted, with two angels and a dove on the lid. The lid is too heavy. I opened it. Inside, the cardboard had come away a little, and after careful examination, I found a piece of board, very small, as if a splinter. I tried to pull it out. Something clicked and the lid opened. There were many pictures, Antonina in the hall, playing the piano, her sons under a huge willow tree playing badminton.

Each photo was carefully inscribed with dates, names, and location. I went back to the bedroom for my magnifying glass. The very bottom photo is of Antonina's husband and he has a boy in his arms, blond, playing with a clock on a chain. A clock! For about half an hour I studied them. The clock! Or rather, the lid of a watch. You can't find a second one like it, a two-headed eagle spreading its wings, lilies and the letters O.I. on the sides.

Blake called out to me, but I couldn't hear him; he went up to the attic.

Blake: -Mary, what are you doing here? I've been here about twenty minutes. I thought you were ready. It's Valentine's Day dinner at the branch manager's tonight. He just got married and he's throwing the whole department a party.

Me: Blake, go get my great-grandmother's pendant. I haven't worn it in a long time, it's heavy, it's silver, it's bulky.

Blake: - Decided to wear it to the party?

Me: - Bring it!

We were late for everything, we spent another half hour looking at the pendant and the watch in the photo. It's not a pendant, Blake, it's a watch cover. This house, my house. These are my relatives. My Mammy used to tell stories when I was a kid, and I used to listen to them like fairy tales. Talked about a girl like me, only her name was Maria, there, in those stories, she was so divinely sweet, so light and airy. I never would have thought that it was about me. I'm big and clumsy and grumpy.

Blake smiled: «My princess. Is lightness here? He put his arm around her waist. Or is it here? He took me by the cheek. The lightness is here, Blake pointed to his chest, inside. I never doubted you were a princess, and now we have our own ancestral castle and it seems we're too late? So it's just the two of us tonight, no, the three of us.

Me: - Why the three of us?

Blake: -The results of your examination came back. Now the only question is, who's it gonna be, a boy or a girl? We already know the names. If the girl is Antonina and the boy is Andrew …