Line

This happened when I was returning to Cyprus. I swear it was Theo. The same frail man, with the same red-wheat hair and freckles that lay scattered on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. We met in Zvartnots. He spoke only English and was dressed differently from when he worked as a model.

I even gathered up my courage and went up to him to say:

- Excuse me, sir! You look like one familiar person…

He slowly turned around, leaning on the suitcase, but when he saw me, he took several very long steps back. He peered at my face for a short time, and then we were separated by a crowd of Chinese boarding the flight.

Then - Larnaca airport. I'm still not used to Cyprus, its small towns, palm trees everywhere. And then the meeting with Theo made me remember Moscow.

The taxi sped me first along the island highway, and then through the low streets of Nicosia. Actually, I live in Paphos and have never been to the capital before.

Nicosia is the very center of the island. It’s even hard to breathe here, and the sparse greenery is even more so buried in hot clouds of dust. But the buildings in the city are the same as in Paphos, Larnaca and Limassol. I walked around the city - or rather the southern part of it - for half an hour, and then found a cafe where there was extremely cheap coffee. Paired with the souvlaki it was divine.

In the cafe, I heard crying coming from somewhere around the corner of the ancient building opposite. I walked in a state of delirium, not understanding what to do next. I don’t like children’s crying, it makes me feel unnecessary panic. It was a boy of 5-6 years old with brown hair and dark, tanned skin. At first it seemed to me that he was a Cypriot.

- Hi! Do you speak English? Are you lost? - He looked up from his hands for a second and looked at me with a look full of tears and misunderstanding.

- Mother! My mom!

“Don’t worry,” I knelt down to pat his cheek, “we will definitely find it.”

My happiness is that the lost one spoke Russian. Of course, Cypriots seem to be fluent in English from birth, but how much can a lost child do? After 10 minutes the boy began to come to his senses. I found out that his name is Kirill, that he goes to a local kindergarten, that his mother is the most beautiful woman in the world, and that her name is Nastya.

At first we just stood against the wall of the cafe, but then Kirill, crashing into the legs of passers-by, began to run in a direction unknown to me. I followed Kirill, hoping that the boy would remember where his parents lived. We passed a few more turns, and then I saw a building with a red and white flag flying. This was the northern part of the city. I was dumbfounded, looking at the boy running away into the distance.

- Kirill, wait! We can’t go there,” he stopped, and I ran up and took him by the elbow.

- My mother is there! - He began to be capricious and struggle.

Finding yourself in such a situation is awkward in itself. But I stood rooted to the spot, squeezing the child’s hand more and more. Letting Kirill go would be the same as losing him forever.

We stood there until high up on the avenue I saw a skinny, lanky figure. She descended very quickly. I couldn't see the faces because the sun was blocking my view. When the figure came close, Kirill jumped on my leg and tore his arm out of his grip.

- Uncle Fedya! - Kirill, shouting, stumbled over the bumpy paving stones as he ran.

Finally, the figure approached the “border”. Theo stood in front of me. I was amazed again. When I saw him at the airport, it seemed to me that he was flying to Europe or Russia. He was wearing khaki overalls over a white tank top.

“Hello,” he said with a heavy sigh, looking at me.

Kirill milled about under Theo’s feet, trying to explain that he wanted to go to the bakery, but got lost. Theo listened to him furtively, but constantly turned his worried gaze to me.

- Kirill, please go home. Your mom is already worried. Just walk up the avenue and you will come out to Ataturk Boulevard. I'll still be here.

The hyperactive child clumsily rushed upward. We stayed face to face.

***

Theo and I met in Moscow. This happened thanks to the journalism department. We were completely different: Theo worked as a model, lived separately from his parents, earned crazy money, was interested in the fashion industry, I liked social journalism, I worked as a barista in a coffee shop near the university and lived with my parents. We looked like 2 sitcom characters with the archetypes of the sad goth and the funny character who always wears something colorful.

When I say we, I don't mean "us" as friends. There is nothing to talk about here: until a certain time there was, and could not be, any “we”. I don’t know how it was possible to be friends with him, but he had friends. Theo rarely came to the university, but when he did, he did it in his own way.

One day he appeared in a pink mesh polo, a black suit - shorts and a light summer jacket - and black Chelsea boots. Then I realized that he had escaped as a couple from a show of some ultra-luxury brand at TSUM.

We met back in November of my first year, when he came to my coffee shop.

- ABOUT! You and I are in the same group!

That day he was wearing a purple sweater with a white bomber jacket over it. It was October, so there was already a slight minus outside. I nodded, since my partner, the head barista, did not allow talking.

- Okay, can I have a latte with almond syrup? Average.

This drink suited him, as lightly crazy as Theo himself. I made a latte and offered food, but he resolutely refused, despite the fact that ten minutes earlier he had been greedily staring at the croissants behind the glass.

Our classes started at one o'clock in the afternoon, so I nodded to my partner, saying that I had to go, and went to change clothes. The head barista—I think his name was Arsen—is a pretty kind guy. He was sympathetic to me, since as a teenager he himself had to pay for college. If our shifts coincided, he easily let me go ten to fifteen minutes earlier.

- Why are you taking a croissant? Usually you take a sandwich, or something more luscious.

- Yes, I want to treat my friend.

Taking a bag of croissant, I boarded the tram and went to the university. I guessed right, because Theo was standing in the smoking room, drinking his latte with almond syrup. I came close and tapped my finger on the shoulder.

“You seem to have forgotten,” I handed him a bag of croissant and drew attention to the smoldering cigarette.

— Croissant with jam? “Theo was genuinely surprised. - Thank you! But I can't.

— Models often have to lose weight, right? - He nodded, continuing to look at the package. - It's a pity. I just don't like sweets. In general, I usually take sandwiches. And then I saw a client who was clearly very hungry and...

Theo dropped the cigarette that was lying neatly in his hand. By the way, that day his hands were framed by neat black nylon gloves. He shook my hand in gratitude. He almost snatched the package. I lost concentration, staggered slightly, and almost fell over both of us - we are the same height, but Theo is much thinner.

***

- Where else would we see each other? — Theo’s words were carried by the mountain dry wind.

“But we saw each other at the airport, but you pretended that you didn’t know me.”

He smiled and squinted, looking up at the lazily passing cloud. He had changed: now he had a haircut with a comb over, was dressed in a viscose jumpsuit, even his face was touched by deep expression wrinkles.

A motorcycle with European license plates passed to my right. He honked his horn and we retreated to the wall of the house. There were light wicker chairs there - on the Greek and Turkish sides. We sat down.

- Theo, what are you doing here?

He chuckled.

“Are you still calling me Theo?” It's quite childish. I'm Fedya now.

- What are you doing here?

- I live. And you? Are you on vacation? — Theo looked at his own hands, touched by the sun and local winds.

- I live here too. But not in Nicosia. Why north?

He was silent for the first few minutes. The window of the house opened from above and it seemed to me that the owner of the chairs was looking at us. I shouted “sorry” to him in Greek, but he didn’t react. Then, in English, he nodded and told us not to worry.

“And you have changed,” Theo said, after a squeezing pause.

Smiling weakly, Theo took out cigarettes. He loved Sobranie Colours. When I first looked at his cigarettes, I couldn’t help but think that he was smoking children’s crayons. It was funny to see him somewhat matured and old, faithful to his cigarette habits. Theo lit a cigarette.

***

At the end of January '22 we met at the club. And we crossed paths in the smoking room. My parents are strict, so I very rarely went out to bars and clubs. But that day they left for the Golden Circle tour, and I didn’t want to be alone at home.

In the smoking room of the club stood a lanky and thin guy. He was wearing a thin turtleneck with a wool coat over it. He smoked cigarettes that looked like children's crayons. I didn’t immediately recognize Theo’s silhouette and called out to him.

- Hello! Do you go to clubs? — Theo’s question touched me.

- Yeah. Just imagine, I even smoke.

It was true. I started smoking the same day I wrote my first piece for the BBC. Smoking helped cope with adrenaline and heavy thoughts.

I took out a pack of blue Camel and lit a thick cigarette.

- Oh, is this Camel? Military style.

-Are you cold? - Theo was clearly afraid, his eyes were glazed. But he did not answer, continuing to look at the wheels of the taxi driving away from the square.

I untied my scarf and wrapped it around Theo's almost bare chest. His body vainly gave out the warm air, leaving nothing for himself. He looked at me with his speckled brown eyes, clearly not understanding what was happening around him. As I walked away, Theo looked at the scarf and said thank you.

We finished our 3rd cigarette and discussed migrant camps on the Belarusian-Polish border. He had not heard anything about what was happening in Donetsk and Lugansk, and I did not burden him with that either.

- Let's get out of here? - Catching my gaze, he decided to immediately answer my question. — There is a 24-hour cinema near my house. “Death in Venice” is shown there. I really wanted to go, but everyone is busy.

I nodded and we went to the cinema.

And just before the start of the war, he left. And I never saw him again. He didn’t manage Instagram and didn’t respond to my messages. Our classmates told me that Theo was very depressed.

***

- Why aren’t you in China? — I broke the silence hanging over us.

- Why did I have to be there?

- But you went there, didn’t you?

Theo exhaled a ring of smoke into the air. His habits haven't changed at all, and I'm even surprised that he doesn't perceive his former nickname that way now.

- Yes, that's true. I just decided not to return. You know, like in the Union, there were “defectors”. Well, here I am too. Lived in Hong Kong, Shanghai, Beijing. Then the money ran out. Went to Vietnam. I didn’t want to give up my career, but in China you can’t manage Instagram, and I still had to leave the agency.

Theo stretched out in his chair, resting his lower back against the flimsy wicker back. A soldier with a machine gun at the ready appeared at the top of the street on Theo’s side. I shuddered, but Theo didn’t bat an eye. A guy who looked about 27 years old came up close to him and they started talking in Turkish. The soldier nodded and walked away, fixing his gaze on me and my chair.

- And what is your fate here?

- Actually, I live here. True, in the south - in Paphos. In '22 I transferred to a Georgian university and continued writing for the BBC. Then he became a columnist. Do you remember there were protests in Georgia?

- What? “It was as if Theo wasn’t there.”

- Well, in a word, I moved here for now. I've been living here for about 1.5 years. I just can’t understand how you ended up in Northern Cyprus?

— I am married to a Turkish woman. We met just in Vietnam. I worked as a hostess in a hotel on the coast. Seasonal work, but quite profitable there. Well, then I met her. We lived in Mersin for a couple of months and then moved here. Do you know how many Russians there are here? They buy apartments like no other!

- Why be surprised? I came to Nicosia to conduct an interview with one of our people. True, he lives somewhere in the south.

Then the curtain of silence fell again. I was sad that Theo was already married. Of course, I was also already in a very long relationship. But also imagine that it will change so much that everything around will turn around. I raised my head up and burst into laughter.

- And you know, at my last class in Russia I showed an investigation about you.

He laughed too.

- And what were you investigating?

-Where did you go? No one really bought it, because at the presentation I spoke weakly. And the teacher appreciated it. He just read the text and said that he would remember this story for a long time.

“So,” Theo also looked up, his words became better audible, “what are we going to do?”