The first step. A dating story

Who do you think should make the first step to start a relationship? In our culture it is customary for it to be the man. At least, that is what the overwhelming majority of women think. Yet many men, as surveys show, would like the woman to make the first step. And many are also convinced that in fact it is the woman who makes the first step, but in such a way that it looks as though the man is making it. The "experts" say that she makes this first step with her body, or with her eyes, or with something else, but the outcome is always meant to be the same: the man must mysteriously read the signal that the woman will not turn him down, and boldly take that very "first" step, which is not really the first at all. All in all, the science of the first step is complicated and unpredictable.

It was a different matter in the old days, when parents found a match for their offspring, agreed the bride price, arranged the joint management of the combined family assets — a flock of sheep, say, or fertile fields — and knocked some sense into the young couple if for one reason or another they could not get along together. There was no talk of love then, true. But love, as we know, is an abstract and subjective notion: everyone understands it in their own way and expresses it however it happens to come out, so sometimes, even nowadays, the young need a little help. That is what happened, for instance, with Elya and Leonid.

Elya was not one of those girls who always manage to bend this changeable world to their will. She counted herself rather among those who bend. For as long as she could remember, she had always tried to live up to somebody's expectations, to be that correct, good girl who deserves to be praised. She disliked conflict, avoided escalation and always tried to help everyone and to do something for everyone. This was shamelessly exploited first of all by her own relatives, and after them by colleagues at work, pupils, girlfriends, friends and so on. But Elya did not mind. Some are destined to be counted among the gods, and others are destined to fire the pots and clear up after the gods.

The only thing she could not deliver was her mother's demand that she get married at once and produce as many grandchildren as possible. For "married" you need a suitable man, after all: healthy, caring, kind and good-looking. And a bit of love would not hurt either. And although there were plenty of kind men around her, and caring ones too, they somehow paid Elya no attention. Elya quietly accepted this fact, sometimes reflecting that there was something not quite correct about her, and then took her mind off the sad thoughts by plunging even deeper into work and into helping those close to her. Elya's mother, Margarita Mikhailovna, had nothing against Elya's helpfulness, but she understood that if she let things take their course she would never live to see any grandchildren. And so, after a brief audit of the potential sons-in-law, she settled on Leonid.

Leonid worked at the office where Margarita Mikhailovna kept the books. He was one of those people who accepted everything this cruel world handed them with truly Christian patience. The kindest of quiet men, always ready to help and to serve as a shoulder to cry on, taking on any job and entirely harmless. If anything, it was he whom everybody was inclined to hurt and to take advantage of. Lyonya was an ever-obliging helper to everyone except himself. At times Margarita Mikhailovna felt sorry for Lyonya, but she wisely reasoned that if the choice was between his comfort and the comfort of her own daughter, the choice was more than obvious — and so before long Leonid was invited to a family dinner.

For such an occasion Margarita Mikhailovna made her daughter bake a custard-cream cake on top of the main menu, criticised her dress as too modest and finally handed her one of her own. That very "little black" one that she liked to call her "cocktail dress", even though she had never once worn it to a cocktail party. Leonid, as Margarita Mikhailovna had instructed, turned up in a formal suit and, as a bonus, brought pirozhki he had baked himself.

- I was so nervous, Margarita Mikhailovna, that I really fancied some pirozhki, and then I thought that maybe you would like pirozhki too, so I baked a batch... I'm sorry if anything, I didn't mean to offend you...

The dinner was rather strained. The young pair barely looked at each other, glancing every now and then, almost in fear, at Margarita Mikhailovna. Margarita put on a brave face, took the lead at the table, proposed toasts and refused to the very last to admit that her idea might fail. The "young couple" she had got were far too shy... She herself, for one, would never have let such an opportunity slip! But these two... It was painful to watch! Pointed politeness, anything so as not to blurt out too much, as if a dozen anti-sexism and anti-harassment activists were monitoring the dinner! Elka, who was usually a bit of a nothing anyway, had now gone completely wooden — she had not even changed her posture in a whole hour, as if she had been laced into a corset! Margarita Mikhailovna sighed deeply and tried to drive out of her head the panic creeping into it.

- Arkasha, fetch the cranberry vodka from the sideboard, and the shot glasses, those ones from Abkhazia! she said to her husband grimly. She had been saving the bottle for New Year, but now extreme measures were called for. Either she would get the young couple drunk so that they would finally deliver some action, or she would get drunk herself so as not to grieve over the young couple.

- Lyonya, I have been meaning to ask you for a long time: have you given any thought to your future?

- Margarita Mikhailovna, what do you mean?

- Well, you are such a treasure, so good around the house, so handy! We all worship you at the office! Surely there must be a girl who would want to take care of you too?

- Well, somehow there isn't... I am probably not good enough...

- You are wonderful, Lyonya, get that into your head! Margarita Mikhailovna protested, drained another shot of cranberry vodka for courage and went in for a frontal attack, - I don't know what we would do at the office without you! Elechka, Lyonya is such a catch, such a catch! And our Elya is such a homemaker! She cooked the dinner, by the way, and the cake as well! Lyonya, do you like it?

- Very much, Margarita Mikhailovna!

- Then marry her, damn it! Margarita exclaimed in desperation, then took fright that she had pushed too hard and added more quietly, - stop dragging your feet!

The "young couple" stared at Margarita Mikhailovna in amazement, and she realised that she had cut off her own line of retreat. Klochkov's famous "...there is nowhere left to retreat — Moscow is behind us!" suddenly rang out clearly in her head. Margarita drained another glass that Arkasha had solicitously refilled, gave a grunt and laid all her cards on the table.

- Right, here is how it is! Take it from my life experience! Sooner or later you will suddenly realise that you have spent your lives on utter nonsense! And while you were running around dealing with other people's problems and other people's business, working for somebody else's pocket and watching news that nobody needs at all, life somehow slipped past you unnoticed. You will understand that every evening you come home reluctantly to empty, cold, dark flats, and there is no longer anyone to fill that emptiness, because by then you are unsellable goods yourselves. And so in the end you have helped everybody you could, except yourselves. What for? Now, with my life experience, I look and I see that all of this can be avoided. You two are a wonderful couple. But, blast it, shy and indecisive. So I am making the first step for you. Elya! I fed you and swaddled you, I raised you and brought you up. In the name of everything I have done for you, answer me: do you like Leonid Igorevich?

Elya's eyes went wide with fright and she pulled her head into her shoulders, but she did not dare argue with her mother, especially in that state of hers, and so she gave a barely visible nod. That was enough for Margarita Mikhailovna.

- Lyonya! In the name of this affection and in the name of the courage shown by my only daughter, answer me: do you like Elya?

- Margarita Mikhailovna! You have a wonderful daughter...

- Do you like her or not?! Margarita Mikhailovna scowled, looming menacingly over Lyonya.

- Y-yes... Leonid Igorevich squeezed out in fright, with a sidelong glance at Elya to see whether she had taken offence.

- Then get married, blast the pair of you! Margarita Mikhailovna barked so loudly that the "young couple" flinched. Along with them flinched Arkasha, the shot glasses from Abkhazia and the crystal in the sideboard, - I have done everything in my power! Have you eaten? Then off you go... for a walk! And don't come home before ten! Or don't come back till morning at all... I want grandchildren! Is that really so hard to understand? Am I really asking for too much? What has become of young people these days...

Alas, in their arguments about who owes whom what first, the theorists of the first step often forget a simple truth: not always, of course, but often the point is not the first step but every step, and people who cannot bring themselves to take responsibility for the first step will not take responsibility for the second or the third either. After Margarita Mikhailovna's frontal attack neither Elya nor Lyonya could pretend that nothing had happened, and yet they still dutifully waited for somebody else to suggest that they meet and go to the theatre or the cinema. When walks together did finally become a habit, it was still a long time before they dared even to take each other by the hand, although deep down both were exulting that they were no longer alone.

Margarita Mikhailovna did her best to work miracles of patience and not to get in their way; more than that, at work she took her future son-in-law under her wing, not letting colleagues overload him with work. But at home she kept losing her temper and subjecting Elya to something close to an interrogation. Elya, who had by then begun to genuinely appreciate the kind and harmless Lyonya, complained to him about her mother almost in tears. And finally Leonid could not bear her suffering any longer.

- You know, there is probably only one way to put an end to this: move in with me.

Anyone who has decided that this is already a happy end is deeply mistaken. The characters of Elya and Lyonya are, of course, perfectly compatible, but there is a reason why this combination is met so rarely. Even though Elya moved in with Leonid, a good deal of time passed before their relationship stopped being platonic. They were delighted with each other, and the more they talked the more they came to value each other, but Leonid, with his characteristic self-sacrifice, was convinced that he was not good enough for Elya, while Elya... With her characteristic conservatism and indecision she was genuinely afraid of destroying the good thing they already had, imagining that Lyonya might suddenly not like her and would send her back to her mother.

Margarita Mikhailovna really did circle around them like a kite, trying to find out how things stood. But Elya and Leonid managed to hold out and to protect their private life by telling her nothing. What is more, the presence of such a formidable "common enemy" drew them still closer together. It was after yet another row that Margarita Mikhailovna made for Elya that she came home in tears. Leonid comforted her for longer than usual, said some reassuring nonsense, stroked her shoulder... And then it all somehow happened by itself, and now a wedding could be planned. A quiet, modest one, for the closest relatives only. And then they could go on living, supporting and protecting each other, without high passions and without particular adventures, but quietly, cosily and calmly. For love can be like that too: quiet, unnoticeable, dependable and peaceful.