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Dear Mr. Trumper,
I hope this letter finds you well. Before I say anything else, I would like to extend my congratulations on your victory at the most recent world chess championship. I hear you played brilliantly.
My name is Svetlana. I am the wife of Anatoly Sergievsky, and I am writing to you with a request. I know what you may be thinking, but please, do read this letter before deciding to burn it. I’ve heard of your general dislike of Russians, but I have a feeling our interests are aligned at the moment.
You see, I am well aware of your contempt for Anatoly. Please bear with me, as this may sound strange, but I find your plain and open loathing for my husband to be very refreshing. To be honest, I am in desperate need of correspondence with anyone who will not look at my husband with admiration or pity. Everyone in my immediate circle is either overjoyed to have Anatoly back in Russia, or sees him as some poor victim of international politics. I do not mean to complain, but it is exhausting to watch.
Actually, I retract that previous statement. I am writing with the express purpose of complaining to someone who will understand. I believe that you would not scold me for saying bad things about my husband, and you are virtually a stranger, so I would rather you read this than anyone else. Really, who better to complain to about Anatoly than the man who hates his guts?
I realize it is quite selfish of me to send this letter to you, and more than a little rude. Please know that you are in no way expected to respond, let alone respond with kindness. I am simply hoping there is a chance that your contempt for my husband outweighs your apprehension in striking up correspondence with someone like me. Who knows, you may get some entertainment out of my suffering.
If I sound less than sane, prostrating myself before you like some masochist, let it be a testament to what living with my husband for the past few months has done to me. Truly, he lives to torment me, even if unintentionally.
Again, I do not expect an answer of any kind, but I wish you well.
Kind regards,
Svetlana Sergievskaya
Dear Mrs. Sergievskaya,
Your answer is NO. I don’t want anything to do with that fucking bastard, and if you think for a moment that
You know what? I’ll bite. Write me something good about what your asshole husband has been up to at home, and I might write back again.
Though, just so you know, there is such a thing as a diary. You know, if you feel like complaining to nobody in particular.
Also, are you sure you should be telling me any of this? I could take it to the papers, try and make Sergievsky look worse than he already does. How do you know I won’t?
Freddie Trumper
P.S. Mr. Trumper was my father. Call me Freddie.
Dear Freddie,
It is very kind of you to give me a chance. Please call me Svetlana.
While I am aware that I could buy myself a diary and be done with it, it brings me far more satisfaction to write out my thoughts to someone who may actually respond. Hence my bothering you.
As for Anatoly, he hasn’t been out of his room in three days. You may not be aware of it yet, but my husband has many failings, though he usually hides them well. Among them is the fact that he is a complete and utter shut-in. On occasion, I would have allowed this kind of behavior, but it has been so long since he last left his room, and unfortunately for all of us, the children do want to see their father every now and then. Even if he is being apathetic and miserable.
I’ll try and coax him out with dinner this evening. I will let you know how it goes when I finish writing this letter tonight.
Well, he came downstairs to eat, at least. That’s really all I can say on the matter. I realize now that this probably isn’t the kind of embarrassing or interesting news you were hoping to hear about my husband, so I’ll attempt to give you something better.
Anatoly hasn’t played chess in weeks. Not even when he’s holed up in his room alone. I know this because his beloved old chess set is still downstairs and hasn’t been moved in over a month. It’s starting to catch dust, but I don’t particularly feel like putting it away. He can do that himself, if he would stop wallowing in self-pity every now and then.
Now, as you say, you could very well take this to the press. If you decide to do so, I only ask you keep me and my children out of whatever reputational damage you inflict on my husband. Though we’d probably have to cut this correspondence short, and that would be a shame, I think. After all, there’s much I have yet to tell you.
Once again, I hope you are well.
Kind regards,
Svetlana Sergievskaya
Svetlana,
Alright, I see what you’re doing. Color me intrigued. I forgot you even had kids. I never thought Florence would be that much of a homewrecker. Speaking of Florence,
I gotta say, the shut-in thing does not surprise me at all. No chess in a month, huh? Sergievsky must not be taking his loss very well, though I’m not sure the match is the loss he’s so upset about though I kind of get it. Now that I’ve won the championship again, I’m bored out of my mind. I’m officially the best in the world. Where do you go from there? I’m going to be honest, I’ve got no clue of what to do with my life time. When I was with Flore If you happen to have any ideas, feel free to enlighten me.
But this isn’t about me. Out of curiosity, why do you write like you’ve swallowed a thesaurus? Don’t get me wrong, your English is pretty impressive for a Russian, but all the big words are a little much, don’t you think? Especially if we’re going to be writing each other regularly.
Freddie Trumper
Dear Freddie,
I do have children! They’re absolutely lovely, and growing up rather fast. As for Florence, I am not so sure how to feel about her. I can imagine you have similar mixed feelings. There’s no need to talk about that, though, if you don’t want to.
So, you say you are bored… Well, I suppose I did offer to be your entertainment. Have you tried picking up a new hobby? What are you good at other than chess? Perhaps you can do something with those other skills.
Speaking of which, the Russian press are saying you may not return to chess. While it is none of my business, of course, and I don’t mean to pry, I figured you might want to know what your image is like over here these days. I doubt Anatoly will return to play matches any time soon, with the way he’s been acting, and as much as I don’t care for the game, I suppose it would be a shame to see two great players go. I’m sure many would miss you. Perhaps even Anatoly would. Ultimately, it is up to you, of course.
There’s another up and coming chess player here in Russia, or so I’ve heard. His name is Leonid Viigand, perhaps you’ve heard of him? The press is saying he may soon replace Anatoly as Russia’s champion, that Anatoly is “getting rusty”, as you Americans might say. I don’t know whether to feel offended for my husband or vindicated that he’s finally receiving some reprimand.
As for my English, I will choose to take your comments as a compliment. I studied to be a teacher, and that included rudimentary English skills that I later decided to improve upon of my own accord. I will try to write more simply if it makes you more comfortable.
Kind regards,
Svetlana Sergievskaya
Svetlana,
You’re right. I don’t want to talk about Florence. I don’t even want to think about her, and fuck you for making me do just that, you fucking commie
You can’t just say “get a hobby”, okay, that’s kind of shit advice. Besides, I’ve been playing chess all my life. No real opportunities to explore my endless supply of other potential talents. I asked you because I want you to come up with something for me to do! Get on it, lady.
Also, life lesson: don’t listen to what the press says. If they’re not lying, they’re exaggerating. Whatever they’re saying about me is probably propaganda, and whatever they’re saying about Sergievsky, well, you’re as close to the source as you can be. Don’t let it get to you. Viigand… I’ve heard of him, but nothing big so far. If he’s really all that, I’ll probably hear more in the future.
I’m not so sure anyone would miss me if I
You know what? You should be glad your husband is getting some backlash. What he did to you and your family was fucked up, and he deserves anything that’s coming for him. Him and Florence both And you deserve to be as mad as you want at him. Don’t feel guilty about that.
Freddie
Dear Freddie,
What you said in that last bit of your letter made me think. You’re right. I believe I do deserve to be angry at Anatoly, as guilty as it makes me feel. He did something I never even thought him capable of, and now he’s acting all miserable, like he’s the one who’s been wronged? I can’t deal with him. It’s funny – I missed him for the entire year he was gone, and yet, sometimes I wish he’d never come back at all.
For the longest time, all I wanted was for him to be happy. It didn’t matter how, or at what cost; I loved him, so I wanted to see him happy. Then I would be happy too.
I realize now the cost was me. All his happiness cost him was me. Now that I know that, I can’t do it anymore. I love him, maybe I always will, but I can’t pretend we make each other happy in the slightest. I’m so angry with him, and so sad it has come to this. He threw our whole life away on a whim. He shouldn’t get to just do that, and yet he was able to. I never would’ve done it, not for my own happiness, not for anything.
I thought he loved me. I’m scared I was wrong.
Sorry for putting all of this on you unsolicited. I intended for these letter to be much more lighthearted than they are turning out to be. Feel free to ignore the self-pitying drivel you just read. I’ve just been contemplating things a lot recently, and what you said… I suppose it finally spilled out.
On to happier things, then. Hobbies! I’d love to ask if you’ve ever considered taking up knitting, but I honestly can’t even envision you doing that. How about gardening? Can you keep a plant alive? Do you even have a garden? I’m sure you have the funds to acquire one, one way or another.
I realize I am rambling once again. Perhaps it is just one of those days. Do look into gardening, though. I mean no offense, but you strike me as someone who does not get out of the house very often. Fresh air is good for everyone.
Kind regards,
Svetlana
Svetlana,
Jesus, you sure know how to pull at a guy’s heartstrings. Don’t apologize, I can already tell you’re about to. There’s no need. If I didn’t want to read your letter, I wouldn’t have. I do have to get something out there, though.
Your husband’s a massive dick, lady. I don’t think I realized just how much until you contacted me. Now, I don’t have the best track record with being kind to people, but if anything, that should make it clear exactly how bad this is. You don’t owe Sergievsky shit, you hear me? Even if you care about him, or he cares about you, whatever. If anything, that just makes the fuck-ups more painful for everyone involved. Take it from someone who knows. I know you live in the same house and all, but maybe you should keep your distance.
I can keep a plant alive just fine, ye of little faith! Also, I leave my house plenty. I take walks and that kind of shit. Never really thought about gardening, though. That’s definitely not something Florence would have sugge I live in the inner city, but the house has a small back garden I might be able to use. Where would I even start, though? I don’t want just grass, that’s boring. What kind of plants do you put in a garden?
Sincerely,
Freddie
Dear Freddie,
Thank you for your heartfelt words. It has been good, having someone to talk to about all this, I think. Keeping my distance from Anatoly should not be an issue. As angry as I have been with him, I do want to make things better, I really do, but he’s not putting in any effort at all. It feels like a waste of time. He’s like a ghost in the house, barely speaking to me at all and only a little more to the children. I just don’t know what to do. You’ve been the only thing keeping me sane these past weeks.
On that note, I have tried to distract myself from my current situation by doing some research on a possible garden for you. I’ve found it is best to get plants native to where you live so as to avoid any invasive species hurting the other plants. Also, of course, you must first decide what kind of garden you want. Are you going for flowers? Shrubbery? Herbs or vegetables, even? Is there enough space to plant a tree if you wanted to? Those are all questions you should ask yourself. Then, of course, there’s the question of environment. What’s the climate where you live? Does the garden get a lot of sunlight? Does it rain often? You’ll want to know these things before deciding on the exact species you buy, because it’ll be a lot more work to keep a plant alive if it is inherently incompatible with its habitat.
Think about it. Also, you should keep up the walks. They are probably good for you.
Kind regards,
Svetlana
Svetlana,
Glad I can help. I know all about rough patches. If you really want to resolve things with your husband, I hope you succeed. I’d never stay with a man who could abandon his children that easily, but It’s not what I’d advise, but who knows, maybe persistence will get you somewhere.
You certainly did your research, huh? Great, because I know next to nothing about plants. I guess some flowers and shrubbery would be nice. No purple, though. Vegetables might be little high-maintenance – I want a hobby, not a full-time commitment. The garden gets plenty of sunlight during summer, though the winter might be a bit more tricky. It rains a normal amount here, I think? Again, I don’t know much. Teach me your ways, oh wise one, and give me a suggestion or two on what plants to get. Though the first step is probably getting rid of all the damn weeds. The whole place is overrun by them.
Sincerely,
Freddie
P.S. Don’t tell me what to do. I will now stop taking walks out of spite.
Dear Freddie,
I screamed at Anatoly today. For the first time ever.
I don’t know how to feel. We’ve raised our voices at each other before, as I’m sure every couple does, but I’ve never had an outburst like today. The worst part is that he just stood there and took it. He’s so apathetic these days, I can’t get anything out of him, and his lack of a reaction just frustrated me more. So I yelled and screamed until my throat was sore.
At least he followed me to my bedroom after, so I suppose I was somewhat successful in getting a reaction. I locked him out of the room, though, and then he went and walked out of the house. Now it’s getting late, and he still hasn’t come back. I worry, even though I should not care. Anatoly clearly doesn’t.
I’m only glad Katya and Misha weren’t home to see it. They deserve so much better than this, than two dysfunctional parents who can’t get along anymore. Last year, without Anatoly, I was lonely, but at least it was peaceful. Now, I have him back, but not in the ways that count, and the atmosphere in the house is so tense whenever we’re in the same room. I want better for my kids. They should have a father who cares. They should have parents who can do better than this. I love them so much, but I feel I can’t give them anything where their father is concerned. I can’t make it better. I don’t think I’m a very good mother, if I’m being honest.
We used to be able to coexist. What happened?
I’m sorry, I keep dragging our conversations down like this. Maybe it’s the house. I can’t relax in my own home anymore. Sometimes I fear it may suffocate me.
Right. Better things. As for the garden, you should definitely take care of the weeds before you put any new plants in. Make sure you pull out the roots as well – if you don’t remove those, the weeds will just keep coming back, and your garden won’t be able to thrive.
I find the vinca minor to be a beautiful plant. Its leaves are evergreen, and its flowers have a lovely color. It is more commonly known as the small periwinkle, or myrtle in the United States, from what I’ve read. It is generally grown as a groundcover, and easy to cultivate. Though in some parts of America it is considered an invasive species, I think you should be fine as long as you have a contained garden.
Kind regards,
Svetlana
P.S. Please keep taking walks! I’m sorry about what I said. I’ve heard I tend to be overbearing at times. It really is good for you, though.
Svetlana,
Let’s make one thing clear. You are not a bad mother, okay? First of all, none of this is your fault. If Sergievsky grew up and acted like an actual father and husband, you wouldn’t be in this situation. Like you said, if you’re trying to patch things up with him and he’s not reciprocating, that’s his damn fault, not yours. Second, you and your husband not being on good terms with each other might not be great for your kids, but even your writing makes it obvious that you love them, and I’m sure they know it too. I wish all parents loved their children as much as you seem to love yours. Also, you took care of them for a whole year, and you didn’t have Sergievsky for that, right? I doubt you really need him now.
All that to say: shit sucks right now, I know, but I think you’ll be alright eventually. You seem like that kind of person.
I see I was right in calling you wise one when it comes to the gardening stuff. At this point we should probably share custody over the garden – you’re making more of a contribution than I am. I plan to rectify that, though! I bought a whole book and everything. I don’t know if your vanci vinca minor is mentioned in there, but there’s a florist (botanist? whatever, plants) just down the street. I might go ask them if they have it. In the meantime, any other plants I should know about? Don’t be shy.
I already know you’re going to try and apologize again for telling what you did, and I’ll say it now: don’t you dare. You’re my friend If I wasn’t ready to hear about your problems, I would’ve ignored that very first letter you sent me. Stop worrying so much.
Sincerely,
Freddie
P.S. I was kidding about the walks, don’t worry. I can take care of myself at least a little.
Dear Freddie,
You’re always consoling me about one thing or another. Since you don’t want me to apologize, I will simply say: thank you. I’m really glad to have you as a friend.
I hope you’re right. I hope things will get better. For both of us. I get the feeling there are things you aren’t saying, and you don’t have to tell me anything, but if there’s anything I can do
How are you doing, by the way? It feels strange to keep talking about my own life when I know so little about yours. Of course, you’re mostly hearing about my problems, because the rest of my daily life is mostly devoted to caring for Katya and Misha, something I am overjoyed to do but may not be the most interesting to anyone else. So what does the life of a two-time world chess champion look like?
I think it’s a good idea to visit someone and ask about the options for your garden. I know a little, and I can recommend some nice species, but I’m no expert. They’ll likely be able to tell you more.
Speaking of nice species, have you ever heard of the reseda or mignonette? It isn’t native to North America, but it does grow there now. The flowers have a very strong smell – apparently, the Victorians used it to scent the air in cities. That may not be something you prefer, but I thought I’d suggest it either way.
Take care and kind regards,
Svetlana
Svetlana,
Sorry in advance for all the swearing. Fuck. Guess this time it’ll have to be you consoling me.
God, this is going to make me sound like a fucking lunatic, but I need to tell someone this and you’re the only person I really talk to these days. Which, I know, sounds pathetic, but it’s not as bad as it seems, okay? Don’t fucking pity me.
Anyway, getting to the point. I saw Florence yesterday.
Insane, right? After all this, this bitch she had the audacity to move back to the same city we used to live in together. Who would’ve thought? Maybe I should’ve known this would happen, but it’s a giant fucking city, I didn’t think it’d be this easy to run into someone. And of all people… It couldn’t have been Walter or something. No, life had to fuck me over and throw Florence at me again.
You know what made it so much worse? Oh my god. Her fucking father was there. Yeah, the one who’d been imprisoned by the Soviets, the one who only got out because I won the championship against Anatoly? That guy.
Let me set the scene for you. I’m in too deep now anyway, I might as well start explaining. I was having a normal day, you know, went around town, decided I should get myself a new pair of shoes, started looking for the right ones. Could’ve been any other day. It wasn’t though. Because I was walking, and I looked around, and then I saw her fucking coat.
I would’ve recognized that stupid purple coat anywhere. It always felt like nobody else in the entire world owned something like it, or if they did, they didn’t wear it. Maybe that’s true. Maybe she really is the only one walking around in a purple coat. Because I looked up, and there was Florence. Fucking hell. Mind you, the last time we even saw each other was in Budapest.
At first she didn’t even notice me, she was so busy talking to her father. Then she turned her head. I could see immediately that she recognized me, I’ve known her long enough for that. I mean, how couldn’t she recognize me? We lived together for years.
Our eyes met. She stared at me. I thought, just for a second, that she might stop there and call me over. Introduce me to her father – as an acquaintance, as her ex, as someone she hates – say anything, really. I even slowed down my pace to give her more time, can you believe that?
But Florence did nothing. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but she kept walking, and averted her eyes, and just like that, the moment passed. She was gone. Again. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck
That’s when it really, actually hit me. She’s moved on. She doesn’t care. She has her dad, and with the way I’ve treated her, she has no reason to care about me anymore. I get it, and I’m happy that she’s got him back, she deserves that. It’s just another reminder that I no longer matter to her. She’ll be at peace without me, and I will always be here missing her, asking myself, what if, what if, what if?
You have to understand, as much as I hate her for it, that it was my fault. It was all my fault. I was horrible to her, Svetlana, and I pushed and pushed until she couldn’t take it anymore. Until she left me and ran off with Sergievsky. I didn’t realize how much I’d truly lost until she was gone. She was the love of my life, and I managed to screw it all up. By then it was too late for me. Hindsight is one hell of a drug, let me tell you that.
You asked what the life of a champion looks like. Well, here you have it. I’m nothing but a terrible, pathetic, lonely man who pushes people way and is too cowardly to beg them to come back. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I figured you’d be disappointed.
Maybe it’s good that I’ll be working with plants. Maybe they’ll be more forgiving than people.
I’m going to regret sending this.
Freddie
Dear Freddie,
Thank you for trusting me with this. I don’t know what to say to make things better, but I’ll try.
I am sorry things did not work out between Florence and you. No, I don’t think that’s what you need to hear.
I want you to know that you don’t seem like a terrible person to me. A little ill-adjusted, maybe, but not bad. Not now, at least. Maybe you were before, I don’t know about that, but people change. If you think you did wrong, then you should aim to be better now, but I do not feel comfortable judging you for a past I know nothing about. You know what I said about getting the weeds out by the roots? That doesn’t just apply to gardens.
Also, I believe we’re more alike than you might think. Certainly, we are both lonely. I must admit my first letter to you was a plea for companionship more than anything else. We were both abandoned when Anatoly and Florence left. I figured we’d understand each other. I was right. Both lonely, and perhaps both a tiny bit pathetic. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. But not terrible. You, at least, have been quite the opposite of terrible thus far.
Attached to this letter should be a packet of arnica seeds, also known as mountain tobacco – that is, if postal services haven’t confiscated it. I don’t think they would. They tend to grow in the mountains. I think they’re beautiful. If you want to, you can put them in the garden. Be careful when they start growing, though; they could cause some irritation to the skin, so handle them with gloves just to be sure.
Please take care. I’ll be here whenever you want to write.
Love Kind regards,
Svetlana
Svetlana,
Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for the seeds. I looked up the species, they’re pretty. I’ll be sure to plant them once I’ve got this whole garden thing going.
Thanks for what you wrote, also. You give good advice.
Honestly, the reason I seem like a better person now is probably the letters. Turns out having time to reflect on what you’re saying rather than just spitting it out makes it much harder to be an asshole without feeling guilty. Even then, I’m impressed you’re willing to put up with me. People tend not to do that. I can be a massive prick at times, but I swear, I’m trying to do better. I like to think I’m learning from my mistakes. I didn’t recognize them for years, and it cost me everything a lot.
I keep getting so damn mad at Florence, even though I know objectively I’m more guilty than she is. It just annoys me that she was able to move on so quickly, and I was stuck. And then I just get into my own head about it, like I’ve been doing ever since she left, and it makes everything worse.
Sorry about that. If you were here with me right now, I’d probably be less miserable.
Sincerely,
Freddie
Dear Freddie,
I’m glad you like the seeds. I figured I should give you at least something to start with. I have more suggestions, if you want them, like diphylleia, which has really interesting flowers that turn translucent in the rain and go back to white when dry. For that reason, it is also known as the skeleton flower. Pretty cool, right? I thought so, at least.
I’m sorry Florence is causing you pain, even now. While I think it is completely fine to be angry with her, it shouldn’t continue to the point of hurting you. That isn’t healthy. I hate to say it, but perhaps we should both follow her example and focus on moving on. Maybe that’s what Anatoly has been thinking as well, maybe that’s why he’s so withdrawn. Do you think he simply saw earlier than I did that our marriage was going to fall apart? Perhaps it was wise of him to leave me when he did. Perhaps I should have ended things even earlier. I don’t know.
I might give decent advice, but when it comes to my own situation, I have no idea what to do. Anatoly and I are at a stalemate of sorts. We still don’t talk much, but he’s trying to be more involved with Katya and Misha’s lives. I want to give him a chance to atone and be a good father, even if he can’t be my a good husband anymore. I suppose it’s better than how things were before, but I can’t help but wish for more. More than this.
I wish I could be there with you as well. It would probably be a lot of fun.
Kind regards,
Svetlana
Dear Svetlana,
Moving on. That’s a pretty foreign concept to me. I don’t think I’ve ever moved on from anything in my life. I don’t know how. I usually just find something to distract myself with until the next thing comes along. I want to do better than that, though.
I’ve been thinking about travelling, maybe. The world’s a big place, and for the past, what, eight years, my life’s been nothing but chess and Florence and Florence. Even at international competitions, I was too busy with chess to really enjoy the locations. I’d like to see more, I think. Maybe not now. After all, I can’t exactly plant a garden here when I’m in another country.
Also, question. Is it weird that I sort of miss you even though we’ve never really met? It’s just, it feels like we have, because we’ve been writing each other for months now. Not to make things weird or anything. You’ve become kind of a constant in my life, is all. In the time it takes for our letters to reach each other, I’m bored out of my mind. You’d better get the next one to me quickly.
Sincerely,
Freddie
P.S. Forgot to say, but the skeleton flowers do sound pretty cool. I like your recommendations so far, keep ‘em coming.
Dear Freddie,
Anatoly asked me who keeps sending me these letters. He said it was fine if I had a lover somewhere, that he wouldn’t judge me for it after what he’d done. At least he’s not a hypocrite. I had no idea how to explain to him that it was you. It was really funny, actually. Other than that, life has been pretty quiet lately.
You know you don’t have to get a garden, right? If you want to travel now, you should. You haven’t planted anything yet; don’t let it stop you.
I don’t think it’s strange for you to miss me. I’ve been having similar feelings, actually. I think about you often – not in a weird way, of course. Just, sometimes I imagine you in the room with me, giving witty commentary, advice, that kind of thing. That is not weird, right? So I understand. Having the real Freddie Trumper here would probably be preferable.
Probably.
I’m kidding. I would love to meet you face to face some day.
Kind regards,
Svetlana
P.S. Look up ipomoea! It is a genus with over 600 species and many of them have beautiful flowers. You can probably pick whichever one will look good with the other things in your garden.
Dear Svetlana,
Ha! Me as your, what, secret admirer? That’s fucking great. You know what, I can kind of see it, with the way we’ve been writing. Alas, we tragic lovers doth find ourselves separated by oceans and land masses the size of which could make any man shiver in despair… Or something like that.
Also, nope, I’ve made up my mind. I’m sticking with the garden now. I’ve grown attached. I can go see the world later, I figure I’ve got at least a few years ahead of me, right? Plenty of time to make the garden into something nice and then do other things.
I’ve been thinking about putting in a tree as well, but I don’t think there’s enough room for that. It’d block out all the sunlight, which would be a shame. I want to be able to sit in that garden and actually enjoy it. In better news, I spoke to the plant people down the street today and they liked your recommendations so far. You’ve really proven yourself, wise one.
Have you ever thought about calling? It’s not as charming as writing to each other, I’ll admit, but it would be nice to just talk, I think. If you want to. I don’t know. It’s the closest we’ll get to actually meeting up, I guess. Just consider it.
Sincerely,
Freddie
P.S. I went to the library and tried looking up the different species of ipomoea. There’s way too many! I might just go with the first kind I actually come across.
Dear Freddie,
You are very dramatic. If you hadn’t gone into chess, I’m confident you would have had a great future as a playwright or novelist.
From what you’ve said, you’re probably right that a tree might not be a great idea. We have a fairly spacious backyard here at home, but in a confined garden, it may take light and water away from the other plants that need it.
I’ve been looking into plants that don’t just provide flowers, as it might be nice to have some fresh herbs from your garden, something like that. One of the easier ones to cultivate is mint (officially called mentha), as it grows in many conditions and all year round. You can make tea with the leaves, at least with peppermint or spearmint. Careful, though! It spreads like wildfire. Better to keep it contained in a pot or barrel.
I would love to call. We can do both, can’t we? We’ll just keep writing, and also do the occasional phone call. I’d love to like to hear your voice, I think.
Kind regards,
Svetlana
Dear Svetlana,
Just you wait. Some day I’ll come out with a chilling autobiography that will be delightfully over-the-top. People will read it and say, “Why did that amazing writer even play chess? Who cares that he’s a two-time world champion? His talents with the pen are unparalleled!” I’ll trade my trophies for awards. I’ve played chess for long enough now. Maybe it’s time for something new.
How have you been lately? I hope things are looking up for you.
On my end, there’s progress in the garden! I’ve finally started removing the weeds. There are so many, I’m only now discovering that there were tiles underneath. They’re all wonky and cracked now, though. Guess I’ll have to get rid of most of those as well. At least it’s a start.
I’m so glad you
I wrote my number on the inside of the envelope. Call me whenever. I’ll probably be awake.
Sincerely,
Freddie
Dear Freddie,
Like I said… dramatic.
I’m writing this a few days after our phone call, though nothing much has changed since then. Like I told you, the kids are starting to appreciate Anatoly again. I’m glad. In the end, their happiness is my happiness. And I appreciate seeing him put in some effort at last.
He’s asked me again about potential secret lovers yesterday, insisting that he’s completely fine with it, that he doesn’t want me to feel like I need to hide anything from him. It hurts, in a way, that there’s no jealousy on his part, because that means it’s truly over between us. We live in the same house, we take care of the same children – our children – and we’re still married, for goodness’ sake! Yet, we will never really be together again, not as a couple. It's difficult. We’re both trying, and it is still difficult.
It is also strangely freeing. I may be a married woman in name, but I am effectively back to being single. I haven’t been single in so long. I could sleep with whomever I want, though there’s only one person who though I may be getting a bit old for that kind of lifestyle. I suddenly have more freedom than I could wish for.
I really liked calling you. You have a nice voice. You’re really very witty, you know that? Sorry again about my accent; I can hide my roots all I want when writing, but they become terribly obvious whenever I open my mouth. Hopefully it didn’t bother you too much. I’m looking forward to our next call.
Kind regards,
Svetlana
Dear Svetlana,
I told you already, I like your accent, it doesn’t bother me. Don’t worry about it.
As much as I still dislike the bastard, I’m glad things are going alright between you and Sergievsky. You deserve that, at the very least.
Welcome to the single life! It takes some getting used to, I know. After Florence left me, I sought distractions in particular people places, but I kept feeling guilty about it and it fucked with my head. Glad Anatoly gave you the green light on that. And you’re not too old, come on! Have some fun, enjoy your life. Again, you deserve it.
Now that I’m actually working on the garden, it’s also got me looking at the house. It always feels like something’s missing. I might know who what it is, but it’s not so easy to get, so the garden comes first.
No plant recommendation this time? Are you losing your touch, Sveta?
Sincerely,
Freddie
Dear Freddie,
It’s been quite a while since the last letter I sent you, hasn’t it? I suppose, with how often we call each other, they’ve become rather obsolete. I’d still like to keep up the habit, though. I enjoy writing to you.
I would love to “have some fun”, as you put it, though I’ve no clue where to go for that. I’ve been a married woman for years, I’ve fallen out of those youthful circles. I don’t suppose you know anything about Moscow nightlife? If I could go and “have some fun” in America, I would. I wouldn’t know where to begin.
What do you think is missing in your house? Maybe I can help you get it.
Also, I forget the plants one time, and you’re already on my back about it? How demanding. Well, then, have my next recommendation: zephyranthes, a genus of about 170 species with a wide range of different flowers. Other names for the plant are rainflower or fairy lily. I find them quite nice.
By the time this letter reaches you, it’ll already have happened, but I can’t wait to call you again. I like hearing from you.
Kind regards,
Svetlana
Dear Svetlana,
Demanding? How dare you. Maybe I just really like learning about plants.
You’re right, we should keep up the habit of writing, even with all the calls. It’s fun. Even though I don’t really have anything to say to you now, since we talked so much yesterday. We’ve really begun racking up the phone bill.
Unfortunately, no, I don’t know shit about Moscow or its nightlife. I was hoping you could show me some day, but I guess you’ll have to just go and see for yourself. You have some girl friends, right? Maybe they know more.
As for the house, well. It’s you. You’re what’s missing.
Don’t worry about the house. Garden first! I asked around, and apparently you just buy rainflower as an already-grown plant, not as seeds or anything. How does that work, do you have to move it out of the pot? Won’t it die then?
Hope you’re doing okay.
Sincerely,
Freddie
Dear Freddie,
I should have known you were simply using me for my limited plant knowledge. I feel incredibly betrayed, haha.
As for the rainflower, you’re right. You usually buy it in a container of sorts but you can move it out along with the earth it came in, and put all of that into the ground somewhere. Don’t worry about it dying; it’s a bulb, those are usually quite hard to kill. It’s just like repotting – if you do it with care, you should be able to do it just fine.
It’s funny, we never end up talking about plants when we’re on the phone. Then again, perhaps I simply have too many things to talk about with you.
I do have “girl friends”, but if am being honest, I don’t particularly want to return to such a lifestyle. The nightlife isn’t what I’m missing. What I need, well, I don’t want to call it love – most of all, I’m looking for companionship. Comfort, I suppose. Someone.
Who knows. Maybe that someone is right around the corner.
I hope you’re well.
Kind regards,
Svetlana
Dear Sveta,
I just finished another call with you. I miss you already.
It’s interesting, how quickly you can come to care about someone. It’s been, what, a year since your first letter? I don’t know anymore. In all that time, we haven’t ever actually met, and I still feel like I know you.
I forgot to mention, but I’ve planted the arnica seeds you sent me that one time. I can’t wait to see how they come out. They’re next to the skeleton flowers. I’m far from done, though. I’ve decided to keep a small part of the plot tiled, to have a little bit of a terrace. Still need to pick the tiles, though, since the old ones are garbage. After that, it’s more planting.
On that note, I’ve got a question for you. I know I was joking when I said we might as well share custody, but would you like to come visit and help me actually make something of this garden? It’d probably be much easier with two people, and let’s be honest, I could really use the help. I know we’ve talked about meeting each other before, and I figured: why not like this? And, well. Ah, fuck it.
It’s time I stopped beating around the bush (pun not intended) and tell you what I’ve been thinking.
I want to see you. I really want to see you. I want to talk to you and see your face, and do fun things with you, and finally, actually, put together this damn garden. I want to spend time with you, because I really, really like you.
I hope I’m reading this right. Of course, you’re completely free to refuse. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s just, if you do want to come and visit, I already know what you’re going to say: how would we even make that work? How would we get you to the States? To that I say, just leave it to me. I’m sure if I throw a big enough tantrum with Walter, he’ll pull some strings and make it work.
Please call me when you’ve read this letter. We can talk about it.
Yours,
Freddie
Dear Freddie,
You know, in all this time writing to you about plants, I realize I never told you what my favorite one is.
It’s going to sound very cliché, but I like the rose bush. Also known as rosa, the genus has over three hundred species and tens of thousands of different cultivars. As I’m sure you know, the flowers are gorgeously colorful.
Many see roses as a pain to cultivate due to their thorns. It’s an added challenge, certainly, but I like that. You need to handle them with care, but it makes it all the more special when you finally see those flowers bloom. I believe it’s worth the effort.
I’m not sure where I was going with this. I suppose I just wanted to tell you something about myself that you didn’t know yet. This letter might not even reach you before I do.
I can’t wait to finally see you, but you knew that already.
You’d better get a vase ready. I might just show up at your door with a bouquet of roses.
Love,
Svetlana