Rotten by Oleg Razumovsky

I remember when I worked as a porter on the railroad, I regularly drank beer in a beerhouse at the station. Beer there was usually old and warm. Fucking sour. In general, rotten and smelly. But no one complained.

It was hot, smoky, sweaty and somewhat human inside. Quite a lot of fun too. But by nine o’clock in the morning people were usually leaving the place. Decent men went to work, winos started to drink stronger beverages in other joints. Only the most useless scum remained here. Me including.

I drank another two bottles and was in this half-asleep, dreamy, otherworldly state of mind when all unpleasant thoughts kinda vanish.

Yesterday or maybe the day before yesterday, and perhaps it was a week ago – sometimes my memory fails me nowdays – I was drinking with my buddy named Spindle and our gals Rat and Monkey in Mad Horse saloon. It was fun. We talked and laughed real loud. We felt quite at home in this stinking place. We loved it.

At the end Rat freaked out. She began to walk among the tables and stick to customers in dark corners. Insulted them and even beat somebody on the head. She staggered and could hardly stand. And then I shouted loud: fall, slut! Rat tried to look back and immediately collapsed on someone’s table. We laughed with Spindle like two idiots. Then my buddy jumped to Rat, took her in his arms, and brought her to our table. He put the gal on his lap and began kissing and undressing her. He nearly fucked the bitch in the middle of the room but barmaid intervened. She always yells at us from behind the counter, and sometimes even calls cops. Someday we must punish the bitch. By all means. One hundred percent, comrades.

We left Mad Horse when it was pretty late, and Spindel carried Rat home. For some reason I took Monkey with big tits and a constant silly smile on the red face to the Ho Chi Minh Trail, which is in the ravine just behind the University. We drank among the mountains of empty bottles, cigarette butts and piles of fresh shit. Then started to play hide-and-seek.

At last I sat down on a stump and relaxed. Nearby there is a hostel where students from Germany lived last summer. Me and Spindel, we once met in Mad Horse german girls from there and treated them to cheap rotgut vermouth. They liked it very much and called the stuff Wermacht. The gals started to drink it regularly. As a result they began to miss lectures. Eventually, some of them were put to hospital with delirium, some others packed up their things in a hurry and went straight to Germany, speaking only Russian on the way, as they plain forgot their native language.

These sweet memories kinda cheered me up.

I grabbed Monkey by her firm buttocks and pressed against a tree. She instantly began to carry on like crazy. Screamed and bit me like a wild cat. Swore constantly every three minutes. She smelled strongly of sweat and their purely feminine. I’m not talking about the fume. She reeked of alcohol. It felt like she didn’t fuck for a hundred years too, so hot she was. I was doing it to her hard for a very long time. Monkey raved. She had a dozen orgasms, maybe more. While fucking the whore scratched me all over with her brightly painted fingernails. At the end she stopped screaming, just squealed like a pig. Then she somehow softened and went into a trance. She closed her eyes and became sorta unconsious, and her body was quite sluggish. I screwed and screwed the bitch, not noticing that it was already late in the night and the full bloody moon appeared in the sky .

The hangover was very heavy. 5-star. I never left my flat during the following day. Fell asleep fitfully, then abruptly woke up, as if someone hit me in the side. My heart periodically pounded furiously, then suddenly died down. I was afraid. Fact is I cheated some black junkies the other day, took their money and never gave them the drugs I promised. If they caught me, I would be finished. No doubt about it, comrades.

At times it seemed to me that the blacks are on the way already, that they are at my door, calling my name… I was perspiring. I wanted to throw up but couldn’t. Fuck! I had no pills, no booze and no money at all.

The only solution was to go to Mad Horse and meet there somebody who could save me. Otherwise…

The moment I entered the saloon I saw Monkey. She had a huge black eye, but was happy to see Rotten. And she leads me straight to the table where I see my friend Spindel, Rat and some other guys.

Naturally, we all got shitfaced drunk. Who was paying, I do not know. What is the difference after all? Today they buy me a drink, tomorrow I pay for them. I immediately put down two consecutive glasses of vodka, bit a piece of apple and felt much better. The lights lit up brighter, the band began to play real good music, Spindel, my buddy, was whispering something nice into my ear. Monkey screamed that missed Rotten terribly, as if she hadn’t seen me for a hundred years. The last thing I remember were her large fat red lips… and passed out. I came to on a bench in front of Mad Horse. And whom do I see before me but them black junkies. Guram and Nudar. And I feel so bad, comrades. Very lousy. The punks start to scare me and threaten to stab me. They thought I would be chicken shit about it. Marons! Oh, suck me off, motherfuckers, I cry, Rotten isn’t afraid of death. C’mon, do it!

They stood for a while, looking at me gloomely

and then went away, disappeared in the darkness for good.

As soon as the junkies were gone, there appeared my true Monkey. She was absolutely drunk and hardly understood what was going on. And I, to get away from my nightmares, laid the bitch on the bench, covered with rotting leaves, and fucked her good and proper. Felt much relieved afterwards. Lit up a Winston confiscated from the slut, and nonchalantly watched her move away from me. She was staggering. One time she almost fell down, but miraculously kept her ballance. Then I saw her no more.

It was raining heavily by that time but I didn’t care a fuck.

Oleg Razumovsky

Oleg Razumovsky was born in Smolensk, Russia. Served in the Navy. Graduated from teachers training school. First publications in underground reviews The Third Modernisation,(Riga), Mitin Journal (St.Petersburg), Chernovic (New-York) and others. Books by Franc-Tireur USA: Ho-Chi-Min trail, Merry Pictures and others. Literary prizes: Star Phallus (Moscow), Silver Bullet (USA), and Nonconformism 2015,Russia. Translations in Bulgarian, Dutch and English. Quite recently Razumovsky’s stories have been published in Roadside Fiction magazine, Bicycle Review, Mad Swirl, Offi Press and HST.




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