“A huge load of emotions that cannot be disarmed with a deep breath”. Fragment of “Dog Park”

Psi Park is a story about inequalities in the modern world, where the rich don’t pay too much for happiness, and the rest of the world can’t even be sure of tomorrow. Where they are so close: Finland – the happiest country on earth, where even dogs have their own parks – and Ukraine, where people work in illegal mines and sell their own lives to survive.

Sofi Oksanen “Psi park”, translated by Katarzyna Aniszewska, Znak Literanova – excerpt:

I still remember the traces of nails that a client had stuck in my gums, as well as the industrial aftertaste of her hand cream. Still, I didn’t want an easier start for Daria. The meeting was a test.

– Do you have makeup remover? The woman turned to me, having finished the inspection of her teeth.

– Of course.

I had already put the bottle on the side table in the conference room before. The client held Daria in a firm embrace, scrubbing her skin like a burnt frying pan and behaving in a way that I remembered so well: she threw questions about the donor above her head towards the coordinator, and did not say a word to her, did not even greet her . Nevertheless, she wanted to meet her in person, to examine her with her own hands. After she had polished and stretched Daria’s face in all directions, she began to study the scalp and check the condition of her hair, although she knew I had checked it myself before – no rings, no tapes, the curls were genuine. Finally she let go of her hair, twirling it in her hands for a good moment, like the strap of her camel wool coat had been before, and sighed with satisfaction.

– Make her undress.

I guessed that this part of the inspection was the reason why the woman sent her husband to the city with a guide. When I was working as a donor myself, the man got acquainted with the history of the city from the tsarist times. This time the leitmotif was Soviet modernism, and Dnepropetrovsk was full of noteworthy buildings from the time of the conquest of space. Later, I promised to take the woman to the Poplawok café in the shape of a spaceship, where her husband’s route would end, and to take a photo of the couple there, so that they could send it to their friends later to prove that their trip was a typical example of architectural tourism.

Daria did as she was told, put her clothes on the sofa and after a short warm-up, stretched her legs in twine. I’ve never been able to do that. My bones did not bend like a ballerina from the Bolshoi Theater, and my posture was not as majestic as Daria’s. The woman glared at her, then began to put pressure on her muscles. Only a slightly quick swallowing of saliva revealed how Daria must be feeling; her eyes became impenetrable. I was proud of her. Though she lacked experience, she behaved like a well-trained horse.

– I adored Nadia Comaneci. The gymnast, the woman confessed. – I wanted to be like her. There are so many talented athletes here.

I bit my lip to keep from reacting. I decided not to draw her attention to the fact that Comaneci did not come from Ukraine at all, but from Romania Ceausescu – where she herself would never want to live. She did not want to be like the invincible Nadia, a girl of the highest rank who was forbidden to travel because of the risk of escaping to the West. We and Daria could laugh about it later. After taking a lot of photos together on the Dnieper, I was going to take the girl to a cafe and remind her of the amount she was supposed to earn. She was the exception. Usually people treated their donors like goddesses. And how the client behaves during the procedure does not in any way indicate what a parent will be.

“Daria could have competed in the Olympics if she hadn’t suffered an ankle injury,” I noted.

– She’s taller than most gymnasts. And Ukrainian women, in general.

– This discipline attracts people of short stature only because a short torso limits sports possibilities. But Daria had a passion for this sport, moreover, she is an excellent choice, taking into account your husband’s height.

My explanation was unnecessary, the woman had already made her decision. I could feel it from the warmth emanating from her body, I saw in the dreamy gaze that approved the shape of Daria’s shoulders and the structure of her body, the size of the foot and the line of her shoulders. The skin has passed the exam. So did the hair. Teeth and eyebrows. No glasses, blood transfusions, organ transplants, radiation exposure, travel to high-risk countries, which had to be ticked separately on the form. No physical ailments, no mental disorders, no medications: with Daria, her mother, father, any grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, uncles, cousins. Daria did not even have holes in her teeth, and the enamel on them gleamed so white that it was possible to suspect that she had undergone some treatment. She was perfect – and the woman wanted the perfect daughter.

I understood her delight. I felt the same way the first time I saw Daria on the sofa in my office. My old agent’s voice had already started ringing in my ears, who had promised the girl’s career was going to rocket and started reminding me of the things I had missed without realizing it. I felt the taste of victory on my tongue, and the memory of the love lenses had for me in my chest – and I knew I would get them to adore Daria, who for now was just an unripe fruit on the tree, but that was about to change.

The plan formed in my head in seconds. First, we needed a healthy baby as proof that Daria was fit to be a donor. After his birth, the agency will assign her more important clients, give her a better salary, and she will be able to put enough in her sock to give up in time. Will undergo the procedure several times, no more, by no means. During this time, I will raise the capital and we will gradually start thinking about introducing Daria to the world of modeling. Catwalks will be our goal, we will not be satisfied with anything less than this.

At that time, I followed the dizzying career of Natalia Wodianowa, who appeared on subsequent covers of “Vogue”. I remembered well how quickly Soviet features went out of fashion, even if a moment earlier they were worthy of any great film roles. whoever could have predicted. But the Eastern models still hadn’t lost their luster, and there was something about Daria that looked like Vodianova, who had earned the nickname Supernova. Daria could be the next hot name. But to be successful, she needed me; that with her self-confidence, a little encouragement can work wonders – as it used to be in my case. Without me, Daria will certainly make the same mistakes and if the orders do not come right away, she will be worried about what to buy food for and for what pay the rent.

I decided to buy her apartment in Paris or something for both of us. She won’t have to experience the life that I met in the agency’s shared apartments with their bunk beds. Of course, Russian women were the majority, and some of the other girls were surprised when I spoke Ukrainian to another girl from Ukraine. Redundant language, they said. Sometimes you felt like you were in the Soviet army. One once poisoned competitors with castor oil to get into test shots, while the other twisted with pain on the beds. We were enemies to each other. Veterans did not want to share what they learned with us, the inexperienced. Some could not withstand the competition and hunger, so they returned home just before the start. Some on the side made arrangements with sponsors, others – changed the industry or were forced to do so. It won’t happen to Daria. I’ll protect her from anything.

She was extremely photogenic, which could already be seen in the amateur photos she took at home; and after reviewing the preliminary classification form and after meeting the client for the first time, I became convinced that it is suitable for modeling. Years of practicing gymnastics have taught her to use her body as an instrument, a tool that must withstand the gaze of others, their words, and endless criticism. She treated her body thoroughly professionally. And unlike me, it is not the first time he will go to the West. Full shelves at any supermarket will not overwhelm it with its abundance.

She will not stop at every corner and admire the next butcher, fish and pastry shops, and look in disbelief at the counters bowing with goods. She won’t be wandering the streets of Paris with saliva dripping from the corners of her mouth, she won’t be scared at the sight of bloody meat in a restaurant, but she’ll be able to tell the waiters what steak they want. I still made such blunders. It won’t happen to her. He’ll start in a much better place. And I will not cheat on her. I will not cut the fee more than good manners allow, and I will come up with an attractive nickname for her. For example, Rocket. It sounded even better than Supernova.

When I become her agent and we go to the shows, I won’t show that I know the people we’re going to meet. They will greet me, chatter, let me know that we are old friends, and I will only frown slightly, as if trying to remember if we’ve ever actually met. And I’ll smile apologetically. I’ll pretend I don’t remember anyone. The photographer who always made me take my shirt off, regardless of the nature of the session. The man who called us piglets when he once caught us killing our hunger with croissants. And even less so for the countless hands that never handled needles or scissors carefully when trying on. Also the stylist who cut my ponytail without asking for permission and thus took away from me the opportunity to participate in long hair sessions for many months. Or the woman who used a felt-tip pen to mark lines on my hips where she could see excess fat, as if my body was an anatomical diagram. I won’t remember any of these people – and demand double the rate from everyone who has ever suggested that if I don’t spread my legs, I don’t count on work.

The more I thought about it, the more I was willing to let go on certain points. Daria didn’t know that my boss had finished beautifying the biographies of the girls, but the change of birthplace didn’t seem like a big deal. There were always some risks involved with the procedure, and some of the girls later returned to us as clients themselves. Anything could happen. If I had a daughter who was considering donating cells, I would advise her not to do so until she has had her own children – if at all. I was done with it myself as soon as I became the coordinator. I couldn’t imagine Daria doing this any longer if other possibilities arose in the future – and they were to arise.