LOVE

By Liana Margiva

About the Author

Liana Margiva, from Russia, graduated from Russian Institute of Writers in Moscow. She has published five books of short stories and poems and translated Poor Folk by F. Dostoevsky, A. Kuprin, Henri Barbusse and Prosper Merimee.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pen Culture Solutions
• Release date: Oct 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781638128403

Book preview

LOVE

Copyright © 2023 by Liana Margiva

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-63812-839-7

Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-63812-841-0

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63812-840-3

All rights reserved. No part in this book may be produced and transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher. It hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Published by Pen Culture Solutions 09/29/2023

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LOVE

A lonely gray-haired woman sat on a long, wide deck of a large white two-story house at the shore of the Atlantic Ocean, holding a coffee mug in her hand.

She was not lonely because she was there all by herself, solitude was plastered on her face and radiated from her sad eyes.

The house stood well apart from other, equally posh houses, looking as lonely as its owner. Gloomy sky frowned upon the landscape below. It seemed the Atlantic ocean itself snoozed in anticipation of the Sun which would warm up the waters of the Great Ocean and playful waves would play tag rushing towards the shore.

From her vast deck Olivia loved watching the waves, especially early in the morning when the beach was deserted. The complete silence was disturbed only by the hushed muttering of the surf. In the evening the Sun sunk behind the horizon, painting the ocean in glittering gold. Olivia adored the ocean, its soothing surf sounds filling her soul with peace. It was the ocean, its mighty, spooky waves and Olivia’s affection for them that changed her life forever.

Olivia enjoyed long walks along the beach early in the morning and late at night, near surf’s edge, even on most dismal days when the beach was deserted.

Olivia was always fond of drawing, in fact, she couldn’t remember the time when she didn’t draw, always lugging a burgundy burlap bag with drawing paper and pencils. She stood on the beach, facing the ocean, and draw the waves. On occasion, when the waves grew weary of Olivia’s pesky affection, they slapped her feet, coating them in foam. Yet, Olivia wasn’t angry at the waves, who had no idea how much she loved them, for if they did, they wouldn’t attempt to hurt her. Olivia drew one picture after another, as if teasing the waves by committing their anger to the paper.

Besides the ocean, Olivia loved the seagulls, especially their younglings, who brought her particular joy. She enjoyed watching them run close to the surf, but as soon as the next wave rushed towards the beach, they scattered in panic only to run back towards the water seconds later for no known reason. Standing at some distance from the younglings, Olivia would draw them with passion. It was those dear birds with frightened eyes, running in panic from the powerful waves of the Atlantic Ocean and flocking back to the surf as soon as the waves receded, leaving behind the hissing foam, made Olivia financially solvent. In fact, they made her a fortune so she never had to worry about money any more. She was able to purchase a large white two-story house next to the beach to always be close to those who she cherished the most, who could never betray her – the ocean and the seagulls.

Every morning, as soon as the dawn began to break, Olivia walked to the ocean. Some insomniac seagulls ogled her with perplexity, unable to comprehend why this woman was awake at this early hour when even the sky wasn’t yet awake. At the sight of Olivia, much to her amusement, the seagull younglings would follow her, so she started bringing bread to feed the birds. The younglings grew so accustomed to this feeding routine that as soon as Olivia appeared on the beach, they would follow her around like little children tag along their mother.

Having finished her fragrant brew, Olivia packed several slices of bread in a plastic bag, took her large burlap bag with drawing paper and left the house. The sky remained gloomy – the sun couldn’t break out of the dark clouds. Light breeze caressed Olivia’s face, briefly played with the hem of her long blue skirt dotted with tiny white flowers and hurried off to announce to the seagull younglings that breakfast was on its way. Olivia walked along the deserted beach, taking in the vastness of the ocean which was still slumbering, reluctant to awake from its sweet dream. What’s the point of stirring the waves and rushing them towards the shore when there is no sun to warm it up with its love? A delightful fragrance of freshly baked bread from a nearby café touched Olivia’s nostrils. She looked at the storefront – blinds were drawn, the café was still closed, but not for the employees who were already inside, accepting deliveries. Olivia knew the café’s schedule to a minute, having worked there for many years at the time when she didn’t yet own a huge posh beach house and was nearly broke. She remembered well when she worked all day behind the counter selling delicious pastries, watching the Atlantic Ocean through the window with a mixture of grief and joy and dreaming for a better tomorrow. Though she was always a dreamer, those days Olivia couldn’t fathom she would someday become the owner of one of those luxury beach houses. Now she did own one and she no longer had to sweat all day behind the counter to make a living. Yet her soul was in the same doldrums as it had been before for the same reason: loneliness. Olivia stood, watching the building with its drawn white blinds, visualizing the interior – cobalt-blue chairs around tables covered by thin, white lacy tablecloths, the counter to the right of the front door heaped with fresh pastries and the soft hum of coffeemakers. In the long hall there are tables with upholstered cobalt-blue chairs. In the morning, locals flock to the café to enjoy a cup of fragrant java with freshly baked pastries on the way to work. At night the place is usually packed with patrons who are no longer in a hurry and can hang out in style washing down delectable delicacies with a variety of drinks. At night the view from the large windows of the café features a light show from a string of exclusive houses along the beach – a special romantic ambience. Yet the key element of the view is the Atlantic. Patrons love to watch the ocean over a glass of wine or liqueur. To entice the observers, to make them happy or demonstrate its own grandeur, the ocean would often put up a show, raising huge waves and sending them toward the shore as if reminding the viewers that their blissful sojourn on the beach was at its mercy. For it was in its power to one day sweep those mortals off the beach and plunge them into abyss – the final resting place of many equally blissful souls. In fairness, it must be noted that scaring people wasn’t ocean’s sole mission. On occasion, it pretended to be peaceful, its waters placid and non-threatening.

Olivia reached a small ranch house, stopped and gazed at it for a while, then broke a sad smile and continued down the beach. She visualized herself getting up in the morning and coming up to the window to look at the ocean, as if to make sure it was still there. This was the very ranch house where Olivia used to rent a room from an old couple, who lived with their daughter in the city. Olivia was, in fact, housesitting in exchange for a room.

She came to the edge of the surf where flocks of seagull younglings were milling, who, when catching a glimpse of Olivia, immediately surrounded her. She smiled at them like at some dear friends, took out the bread, broke it into little pieces and proceeded to feed the birds. The hungry younglings broke into a feeding frenzy, followed by grown-up seagulls joining them at the breakfast table. Olivia settled down on the sand, watching the birds feasting on the bread.

The sky began to wake up, the sun installed itself on the heavenly throne, its cheerful radiance started to warm up the Earth. The Atlantic was also coming out of its slumber, loathing to remain in hibernation for so long. Somewhere far away menacing waves swelled up and scrambled towards the shore. Olivia took out her drawing portfolio and began to draw the waves as their murky walls surged towards her. She kept drawing until the waves subsided, then laid down on the sand and closed her eyes. Several reckless seagull younglings climbed on top of her, unafraid, since Olivia had long become their playmate and never missed a chance to feed them. Failing to find any food on Olivia’s body, the birds took off and flocked back towards the surf.

Olivia’s heart sunk when she saw the café – she could vividly remember how it all began. That day she felt particularly melancholy since early morning. She grew weary of wasting her life day after day behind the counter selling pastries and coffee to the patrons. She was dreaming of a happier life, but meager finances firmly held her back. That night was no different from any other night until the door opened, letting in a stocky, gray-haired man. Olivia shot him a quick glance, the man noticed that and broke into a smile. He headed for a corner table and settled in a chair next to a glass wall.

Although the man’s hair was completely gray, his attractive countenance spoke volumes about his true age, much less than one could surmise by the color of his hair alone. His gleaming, happy visage shone a magic ray upon Olivia’s heart, filling it with peculiar warmth. He wore a dark chocolate-colored shirt with white elbow patches, and a white placket which made the shirt look particularly fancy. He was wearing a gold watch. His brown eyes under dark, bushy eyebrows radiated sincerity. His face projected such kindness and warmth that one couldn’t help but feel drawn to him at first sight. A young waitress approached the man, who made his order, then turned to the window and stared at the vastness of the Atlantic. In the growing dusk multicolored lights illuminated the waves endlessly chasing one another. A while later the waitress returned with man’s order – a whole broiled fish with a wedge of lemon on a bed of salad greens. The man glanced at Olivia, smiled and picked up a fork and a knife. He ate unhurriedly, clearly not in a rush. Olivia kept shooting glances at the man, wondering what powerful force was drawing her to him. Serving pastries to the customers, Olivia was unable to resist stealing an occasional glance in his direction. Having finished his dinner, the man paid his bill, got up and started towards Olivia, who suddenly felt befuddled and embarrassed.

May I have two pastries, please, the man uttered, breaking a cheerful smile, for breakfast.

Olivia put the pastries in a paper bag, placed the bag on the counter in front of the man and told him the price. The man deposited the cash next to the register, gave Olivia another smile and headed for the exit. She followed the man with her eyes until she saw him getting into a large burgundy sedan and driving away. Olivia suddenly felt depressed.

That night changed Olivia’s life for good. She was unable to forget the handsome face of the stranger nor his cheerful smile. It stood prominently in her eyes, etched in her memory and soul. The work day was coming to the end. Olivia took off her white apron, packed several pastries in a bag and headed out together with the rest of the employees. She walked home slowly, thinking about the gray-haired stranger.

If I was that waitress instead of a sales clerk at the coffee counter, I would have a much better chance of getting his attention, perhaps even getting acquainted with him, Olivia surmised, perhaps I could even make the first move! But a man of his stature, driving such an expensive car would hardly consider being with a lowly waitress. This could only happen in a movie, she thought bitterly, avoiding stepping on the yellow leaves falling from trees. The fall wind was blowing with gale force, enjoying its potency and reminding the leaves that nothing in life is permanent. The same wind which shook the branches and relieved the leaves of raindrops’ weight in the Spring, expedited their doom in the Fall. Merciless, it will rip them off the home branches where they knew the joy of life and love of the sun, fell asleep to the lullaby of bird chirping, confident that life and joy were eternal. Olivia reached an old ranch where she rented a room and sat on a wooden bench under the window, staring out into the ocean which was dozing off. The exhausted waves lazily, out of habit, rolled towards the beach, deposited their foam and lethargically withdrew. Olivia’s passion for the ocean, her incessant observation of its transformations had led her to believe she now understood the silent, ominous language of the Great Ocean. It seems the gray-haired stranger loves the ocean too, Olivia surmised, remembering how the stranger immediately turned his gaze to the ocean after ordering food. Stranger’s charming smile was etched on Olivia’s memory.

Olivia watched the ocean for a while before entering the house. She was very tired after a long shift with no chance to sit down. She was in the habit of going to bed early and waking up before dawn. Next morning Olivia woke up early, when the dawn was barely breaking, got out of bed and came to the window, staring out to the Atlantic Ocean. She seemed to have woken up before the ocean had – the water was placid as if it wasn’t there at all. She made coffee, had some breakfast and headed out, lugging her burgundy burlap bag with drawing paper and a plastic bag filled with last night’s pastries. Olivia came to the beach, sat on the sand and proceeded to draw. As if sensing that it was about to be drawn in a slumber, the ocean suddenly grew angry, raised large waves and sent them towards the shore, attempting to erase the embarrassing incident from the drawing. Olivia saw the approaching waves and committed them to the drawing. Out of nowhere the seagulls appeared overhead, followed by the younglings that flocked around Olivia. They knew it was breakfast time. She put her drawing in the bag, took out the bag of pastries, crumbled them into little pieces and began to throw them towards the hungry crowd. Having had their fill, the younglings flocked towards the surf, while the grown-ups kept doing circles around Olivia, picking up the leftovers.

After feeding the seagulls, Olivia paced the beach for a long time. The sky was beginning to clear and the sun came out, finally waking up the ocean. The blissful waves played tag before rushing towards the shore to shower the seagull younglings with the foam before retreating only to regain strength and return to the beach seconds later. When a wave hit, the younglings at first scattered, scared, then turned and ran back to the surf. Olivia got up and headed home. At eight o’clock she was already standing behind the counter wearing her white apron.

The fragrance of freshly baked bread tempted the passerby, the morning crowd shuffled in, eager for the first cup of aromatic brew. Olivia kept glancing at the corner table hoping the gray-haired stranger would show up for breakfast, but then remembered his words when he was buying pastries: for breakfast. The café was filling up, there were many women with children. When she wasn’t busy serving patrons, Olivia gazed at the ocean through large glass windows. In the turquoise sky the Autumn sun, having lost a great deal of its strength, was still trying its best to warm up the great Ocean, which, blissful and lackadaisical, kept sending the waves towards the shore. Unable to resist the view, Olivia began to draw the waves chasing one another towards the beach. Disappointed that Olivia wasn’t on the beach and unable to shower her with foam, the waves grudgingly receded. As the day wore on, Olivia’s spirits sored. She was glancing at the front door, hoping that it would open, letting in the gray-haired stranger. Indeed, later, when Olivia was packing up pastries for an old lady with a cane, the door opened and the gray-haired stranger walked in. He immediately headed for the corner table, which had just been vacated. Right away, Olivia’s heart raced and her face flushed. She felt that and chuckled with surprise, her eyes still glued to the man. The gray-haired stranger seemed to feel the vibe - he intercepted Olivia’s gaze and smiled. She felt embarrassed: what would he think knowing I was staring at him, Olivia thought. A slim young waitress approached the man, wrote his order on a pad and left. The gray-haired stranger turned to face the window and kept gazing at the ocean until the waitress returned, depositing a plate of chicken and rice on the man’s table. Olivia kept stealing glances in the man’s direction, but, when he intercepted her glances, she’d look away and begin to talk to the patrons waiting for their pastries. Once they left, Olivia started to look at the ocean, shifting her eyes frequently from the water to the man at the corner table. He is unbelievably handsome, Olivia thought, I wish he could fall in love with me and took me away from this place to a better life.

The ocean seemed to understand that the dining patrons in the café were enjoying the view from the windows more than their food and, to reinforce their awe, it would raise the waves high and send them towards the shore. Once the waves beached, they receded, leaving the hissing the foam on the sand, only to be followed by new waves, even more terrifying than their predecessors. I wish he liked me, Olivia mused wistfully. Suddenly she pictured herself sitting at the table facing him, wearing a beautiful pink knee-high dress. And he seems to be in love… Do you like the food? he asks with a smile. Yes, it’s delicious, Olivia responds. This place is so nice, we will come here every night. Just look at the ocean, how turbulent it is. You’d think it ought to have calmed down by nightfall, but it’s bulging with strength which depraves it of peace. In this respect, some human souls are very similar. Yes, dear, you are right. Some people have no peace in their souls, not knowing what they miss in life, what they desire, what they suffer from. I know what they miss and what they desire, the gray-haired man says, they miss love, true, honest love. "Oh, yes,