Gloria's Diary, Albert Russo [reading in the dark .TXT] 📗

sister-in-law.  Ironically, it was thanks to her that I found a job as secretary at the tobacco plantation, on the outskirts of town, mentioned earlier, for she was Maya's best friend, the daughter of the Russian owner who also worked there, and who was treated on an equal footing with any other employee, a fact which I could soon personally aver.  
Mr. Koslov was as strict as he was fair and he made no distinction between the members of his staff, whether they were strangers, or his own children.  
Sasha, his eldest son, took care of the accounting, as well as the auctioning of the tobacco leaves.  I would assist, with genuine curiosity at the various steps of the growth and the transformation of this plant, which made Rhodesia famous around the world: from the moment it was sowed, becoming a tiny and fragile stem, to its full-blown maturity, then on to its conditioning, through the complex stages of parting the leaves, spin-drying and finally cutting.  But even more dazzling was the spectacle of the auction itself: the excitement on the part of the prospective buyers gathering around the caller, until the final and triumphant cry of the highest bidder was uttered.  And this electric atmosphere was enhanced by the virile odor of tanned leather, the primed tobacco leaves exude, and which I used to find so much more "palatable" than the smell of a lighted cigarette.
I was quite proud to add my modest contribution to the success of the company, since we were known for the high quality of our tobacco, which we exported mainly to British and American cigarette manufacturers.
Like most people those days, I was unaware of the fact that smoking could endanger your health, and further cause lung cancer.  When you flip through the pages of  old issues of Life magazine, Readers' Digest, or even National Geographic, from the forties or the fifties - I have kept some of them - and see movie stars such as Elizabeth Taylor, John Wayne, Gregory Peck or Audrey Hepburn, praising the qualities of a Winston or a Camel cigarette, I realize how little medicine knew then about their poisonous effect.  There was even that particular ad where a doctor claimed that smoking was good for your nerves, and consequently good for your complexion!  Nowadays, this would be a shocking assertion, tantamount to wearing fur coats, made of lynx or of leopard skin.

Suzy, Maya and I soon became inseparable, to the extent that we were dubbed the three musketeers.  One of the boys working for the plantation insisted upon calling us the three buzzing mosquitoes.  Either he knew nothing concerning Alexandre Dumas' novel - that was a possibility, for he was a little gruff around the edges and he laughed in a booming voice - or else he just thought he was very funny.
In the beginning I used to go to work, bicycling all the way from my house, through the outreaches of the city, and I therefore had to wake up at 5:30 in the morning, since I had the keys to the office, and had to be there before everyone else.
Once Maya and I became close friends, she offered to come and fetch me with her car, which was a welcome relief.  Thanks to her apple green Morris Minor, we could enjoy some pleasant weekend escapades outside the capital.  I have to smile when I think of that little car whose bonnet reminds one of Mickey Mouse, without the ears.  The noise of its engine sounded midway between a long squeak and a muffled groan, especially when Maya had to put her in first gear, as we began to climb one of the surrounding hills, like the Kopje, from which we would catch a splendid view of Salisbury, particularly during the rainy season, when the avenues were wreathed with the soft blue and orange trails of the jacaranda and the flame trees.  When the incline got a little steeper, Maya would rev up the engine, producing a wrenching, almost asthmatic belch from its entrails, and for a few seconds, the Morris would stand still like a restive mule that refuses to budge, only that in this case, I always feared that the car might roll backwards and get us smashed against a boulder, or worse, plunge us downhill into a ravine. 
The Koslovs doted on me as if I were just another member of their family.  I would oftentimes be invited for dinner on Saturday evenings, and they would then insist that I stay over, and share Maya's bedroom.
One day, Maya approached me and asked, in a confidential tone of voice:
"Did you ever notice anything ... special ... about Sasha?"
"No, nothing in particular, only that he and I get along pretty well together, as far as work is concerned, and that he's very considerate with me, and gallant too, a quality rare in such a young fellow, specially compared to the English boys of our generation, who play sports and who are somewhat more rough and tumble." I replied, not expecting what was going to follow.
"In fact, he doesn't know how to express it, but he has a soft spot for you," she confessed.
I was taken aback by this revelation, because, as much as I liked Sasha and appreciated his gentle manners, I never thought of him outside of the work context or that of casual socializing (when I ate with the Kislov family).  He was indeed a straightforward and conscientious young man, and yes, one could call him handsome: he was tall, well-built and had an engaging smile, with typical slavonic features - high cheekbones, lightly slanted hazel eyes.  Now that his sister pointed it out, I admitted to myself that he had a certain charm, yet he didn't seem to be aware of it.  I had been convinced, all the time, that the only subject that mattered to him was the plantation, that he wanted to assert himself first as its future heir, before he could think of settling down with a nice girl and start a family.  He certainly never appeared to me to be a womanizer and on the rare occasions he would join Maya and me at the house of an acquaintance for what was then called a surprise-party, he always kept to himself, looking a bit like a loner.  Actually, since he didn't like to dance, I believe that these social evenings bored him.  Of course, he never showed any sign of this, for he was too polite to want to hurt his hosts.       
”These things occur more often than you think.  But don't start worrying about it, take your time to ponder over it, and when you feel ready, we can discuss it." Maya added, as she saw that I remained speechless.
Of course, after this revelation, I began to see her brother with different eyes, paying attention to details I had neglected in the past: like the way he dressed, always so neatly, but without affectation, always wearing the same off-white shirts, that he changed at least twice a day - I noticed this from the impeccably starched collar, for he perspired abundantly - thick brown shoes covered in dust, which he would put on for work only, swapping them at the end of the day for Italian moccasins, after having taken a hot shower in the den behind our offices, and donned a tan or light-blue short-sleeved shirt with a dark tie to match, no jacket, and smelling of baby talcum powder.  This was a ritual with him, that none of us followed, neither his father nor Maya, for we waited till we got back home to wash and slip on more comfortable clothes.
In spite of the many tasks he had to accomplish and all the responsibility that went with them, such as, and I repeat here what I have said earlier, the conditioning of the tobacco leaves, from their inception to the end result, the actual selling of the finished product, with the vociferous haggling that went on during the auctions, not to mention the handing out of salaries on Saturdays and the grievances pickers and other workers put forward to him.  All of that he faced with equanimity, never raising his voice, even if he was presented with a tough problem.  His honesty and his kindness were appreciated by everyone who worked under him, and whenever there was a bone of contention between members of the staff, it was to him that they automatically turned, rather than to his father, whose proverbial rigidity made them feel quite tense, even though he did treat them with fairness.
I then began to ask myself where exactly I would fit in Sasha's mind and in his heart, he who seemed to live exclusively for the family enterprise.  It was Maya who paved the way to a rapprochement between the two of us.
One Saturday evening that I was spending at their farm, after her folks had retired for the night - they used to go to bed quite early, a little after dinner - and as we were sitting in front of the fireplace, with the logs crackling and sending out soothing sparks, Maya confronted her brother rather bluntly:
"Didn't you have something to tell Gloria, you know the thing you repeated to me this morning?"
Sasha's tanned face suddenly became all flush, like that of a clown whose cheeks are painted red.  He then looked at me and stuttered:
"It's ... it's that I ... don't want to rush things."
"Look here, Sasha," said Maya, in a tone that was at once inviting and firm, "We've been discussing this for a few weeks already.  I think it's time that you voice it out directly in front of Gloria.  After all it's a very normal and natural feeling that you have."
I looked at this tall man who was used to giving orders to dozens of human beings, with benevolent authority, suddenly losing his bearings.
"OK then," my friend blurted, "I shall make the announcement to her myself." 
And, facing me, she said:
"Darling, you should know that Sasha has strong sentiments for you, and he wishes that you see each other more frequently, so as to be better acquainted."
"Why not!" I replied, casting her brother a timid smile.  
He looked at me, a little fazed, as if he didn't expect such a swift reaction on my part, then, in a whiff, his jaws slackened.
"We could always try," I added, encouragingly, "with an open mind.  Let's take our time and see if it works out, if not, we will remain the good friends we have always been."   
That last phrase at once puzzled and reassured the young man.  There could be hope then.

We spent the rest of the evening together, with Maya by my side - I insisted that she be present, for I needed her moral support.  We planned the next outings, and even mentioned the possibility of taking a short break, always in the company of my chaperon - for in those days, it was not considered decent that two unmarried persons spend a vacation on their own - in nearby Mozambique, or further down, in Durban, the capital of South Africa’s Natal province.
That last prospect pleased Sasha a great deal, so much so that he loosened his tongue and even started telling us a few jokes, some of them rather bawdy. He had never made me laugh like this, for, usually, the funny one was Maya.

Then came the month of July - our winter in the southern hemisphere – and Sasha drove us in his comfortable blue Austin to Durban, which was still nice and just warm enough to be able to bathe, unlike Cape Town, on the Atlantic coast, at the opposite tip of the country, where it