The Lovers - стр. 31

“Do you dance?” asked Konstantin Konstantinovich when the waiter had finished his job and left, and the ensemble started to play The Moonstone^>3.

“Yes,” replied Dina.

“May I ask you to dance?” Her companion stood up and reached for her hand.

Dina thought that she could not possibly get any more flustered, that she had reached all possible limits that were compatible with life, so she barely touched her teacher’s palm with her fingers. Her heart was ready to stop altogether – it had deviated from its normal rhythm so suddenly that it simply couldn’t remember it, and was thus in complete disarray.

Konstantin Konstantinovich led Dina to the center of the dance area and held her right hand in his, while his other hand rested ever so gently on her back.

Dina’s breathing had become almost even and her heart had calmed down somewhat and continued its work, albeit in very unusual, hitherto unknown rhythm… No, it recalled that something similar had happened when Arthur Davlatyan had invited Dina to slow dances at student parties – his touch had been just as pleasing. And yet everything was different this time and even more intense.

One of Dina’s hands lay against Konstantin Konstantinovich’s chest, feeling the soft woolen fluffiness of his tweed jacket. The other hand absorbed the heat of the man’s palm, sensing the slightest movement of his muscles as he squeezed and released Dina’s fingers. It seemed as if streams of energy were flowing from his hand… entering her, filling her up. His breath touched her cheek… Dina could hear it, loud and uneven… and it stirred something up inside her.

“You’re so light,” Konstantin Konstantinovich said in her ear.

His voice had become low and slightly husky. She glanced up and her whole being was enveloped in the light radiating from his eyes.

“Really?” She asked, bewildered, not meaning to say that at all.

“Really.” He laughed and pressed her close to him.

He released her at once, but that quick embrace, the passing touch of cheek to cheek, and his low laughter, almost made Dina swoon.

“Bring me the moonstone… bring me the moonstone…” the lead singer uttered, then the music subsided, the saxophone player and guitarists put down their instruments, and the musicians went off for a break.

Dina and Konstantin Konstantinovich walked slowly across the bridge towards the tram stop.

They had spoken so much and so eagerly at the café, amid the noise and music, that it seemed strange that both were silent now, when they were alone in the silence.