The Ghost of Nikita Akulin

photo : james forsyth 30 worldliteraturetoday.org fiction For Yasha & Dina T en years after Nikita Akulin suffered a fatal heart attack in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge on Halloween, dressed as a mouse on the way to a costume party with his daughter, his work had become famous. What neither man nor mouse had witnessed in life, death was swift in bringing: Akulin’s books were issued, then reissued; commemorative plaques appeared like coats of paint on outer walls and inner chambers—“Akulin lived here”; “In this spot Akulin feasted on the birthday of his fiftysixth and final year”—the widow of the writer grew fat from the lard of new editions, or at least her bank account did; his children learned laziness from sucking the marrow of his famous bones; his friends, of whom there were few in life, but who in death seemed to breed like Amalekites , were bold and corrupt in their recollections of him. And now there was a film. At the approach of the ten-year anniversary of the night Nikita Akulin, dressed as a mouse, fell down on the Brooklyn Bridge, clutching at his human heart through rodent skin, invitations were sent to all corners of the city. Nor was New Jersey forgotten, or Connecticut, and Philadelphia postmen too found mauve, stiff envelopes poking their heads out through the usual litter of their mail sacks. All in all, nearly one hundred letters had been posted; the film showing was an invitation-only affair. The widow, who had been belatedly consulted, agreed with the filmmaker that this should be an intimate gathering. Eight dozen stamps, and that was all. And now the evening was upon the world. It was a bitterly cold October night. Along Varick Street outside the cinema, parents pushed their way through the crowd malingering on the sidewalk, leading their princesses and pirates The Ghost of Nikita Akulin Ross Ufberg September–October 2013 • 31 by gloved hands. The tails of a sleek pinstripe peeked out from the bottom of a heavy coat worn by one of the hurrying fathers, who was masquerading as Al Capone. His daughter was wearing the boxy costume of a washing machine. One imperious mother who dragged along a crying boy—a sheep in wolf’s clothing—coughed as she encountered a cloud of tobacco smoke. She herself was enchanting as a chambermaid. The diamond on her bare hand glistened under a streetlight, then disappeared around the corner. Soon a bell was rung and the chattering crowd of gossipers made their way inside the cinema . They let their cigarettes fall to the sidewalk without putting them out, and a chaotic line was somehow formed stretching from the doors of the theater all the way to the exit. Husbands ceremoniously unbuttoned their dress jackets and fished tickets from their inside pockets; single women fetched theirs from a small purse, or else from a sweatless spot between their breasts. Their furs were bulky, and some of the more delicate of the men, if they could sneak it, enjoyed nuzzling their shaven chins against the rare behind of a minx, or the snout of a fox. There should have been a man to every seat. The ticket checkers were ardent in their jobs and permitted entry to five persons at a time. When all the seats were filled, it was noticed that four people were still waiting their turn in the lobby. Fearful of a scandal, Nikita Akulins’s widow, who went by the flowery name of Lily, entreated several of her close friends, who had been privy to a private screening the week before at her home, to give up their seats. They agreed to do the noble thing and slipped out of their first-row seats, allowing the last of the population to trickle in. With profuse thanks and the heartfelt clasping of the self-martyring widow’s hands, the final cinemagoers entered the hall, and as the lights in the theater dimmed, an attendant closed the doors. Lily and her camp jacketed themselves and were debating a destination when a shadow darkened the glass doors to the outside. The door was jerked open; a gust of wind shrieked

Ancient history · Art · Art history · Cartography · Fell · Geography · Literature · Art, Politics, and Modernism · History · Medicine · Psychoanalysis, Philosophy, and Politics · Soviet and Russian History · Anatomy