April 3rd
Ive been watching Poppy for a while nowshes a proper oldfashioned bird whos desperate to settle down. These days most women seem to prefer a single sausage to a whole hog in the kitchen, and the market is flooded with all sorts of sausages, no shortage of variety. Cohabitation is no longer a scandal; its even encouraged, unlike the days when modesty, pride and propriety were the order of the day.
Nowadays a bloke like Obadiah isnt even viewed as a scroungerafter all, his estate sends him a steady trickle of rent, making him a comfortable rentier. Give Ivor Iles a smartphone and hes instantly hailed as a successful vlogger whos made it. When it comes to marriage, the script is Live as you wish! Meet in hotels or hourly flatswhat a world weve created! Theres even something called a guest marriageno need to rush to the register if youre not sure what might crop up after the vows. Back then a mismatched pair of socks or a botched borscht could be a disaster; today the real threats are childishness, a mothers overprotectiveness and an endless stream of nothingtodowithme from the lads.
And of course, women now have a laundry list of demands beyond bread and amusement: Eat your own bread, love. Shopping, too, has become a sport.
Poppy is a pleasant exception. Shes attractive, untouched by any modern tuning of the body, holds an upperclass degree, and commands a respectable salary. Yet, oddly enough, the men around her glide past her, forming couples with other women as if walking a welltrodden path to the same old pitfalls.
Dont imagine shes never had suitorsshes quite pretty, after all. Its just that none of them ever reach the register. Shell be turning thirty this year, and the old socialist talking point that a woman should have a child before she hits twentyfive now translates to before sixty in todays terms. She isnt keen on bearing a child alone.
She also clings to horoscopes, or more precisely, astrological forecaststhose clever inventions that were originally devised to line pockets. In these uncertain times every forecast is cheerfully optimistic: On Tuesday morning, expect a fateful meeting with a billionaire! So you might as well keep a toothbrush handy; who knows what serious intentions might be lurking.
Poppy seeks a partner who matches her zodiac. Shes a Sagittarius, a fire sign, and the other fire signsAries and Leoare considered the calmest among them. Her first love blossomed in her first year at university, which nowadays would be called nursery agewhat do eighteenyearold toddlers even know? They do know the basics of where theyre heading. Sex education now looks nothing like it used to, so let the flowers bloom.
Then came the creative block. She had to cover the utilities, transport and food. Suddenly she discovered she had to buy groceries herself instead of raiding a shared fridge. Previously her parents funded her, but she was now living alone, and the budget for two was insufficient.
Her boyfriend, Vadim, was bewildered. Arent you supposed to buy the food? he asked. Why me? she replied. But the fridge is yours and Im not the landlord, he explained. The logic was sound. Poppy, ever resourceful, answered, If thats the issue, Ill hand over the reinsgo on, be the head of the household! The next thing I know, Vadim vanished, stopped greeting her, even though they shared a class. Being a Sagittarius apparently means dodging commitment.
She mournedVadim had been her first love. Yet youth sweeps away time. A second steady boyfriend appeared in her third year, not from her university. Sergey, a man in his early thirties, declared his intentions: Well marry, love. He was divorced, but love knows no boundaries. Unfortunately, Yuris employment was unstable. This was before the modernday gigeconomy crisis, yet his life was riddled with permanent stress: bosses were impossible, demands erratic, the work schedule unbearable.
When Poppy suggested he try courier work, he proudly declared, Im an analyst! She retorted, Can an analyst be a courier? He scoffed, Then drive and analyse as you wishmy funds are low. She pleaded, Ask your mother for help! He replied, Ive been telling her about temporary difficulties for months. He quoted Mayakovsky on the length of time and boasted of his erudition. Poppy, quickwitted, warned him to stop begging for food; the old days are gonemove on. Yuri, a Capricornrenowned for diligencecouldnt take the insolence.
Thirdly, Len, another suitor, also trusted the stars. They met on an astrology forum, and their chats blossomed into genuine affection. Yet he kept referring to their signs as zodiacs in a whimsical way. When Poppy asked why, he laughed it off. Her grandmothers wise words rang in her ears: You cant have it all without a bit of compromise. His speech was peppered with nonsenseSneedurka, Stervadessa, Dubina Regovitchwhich wore thin over time.
Both Len and Poppy had solid jobs; Len was a widower with an adult son. They grew comfortable, even when Lens grandfather, a former MI5 officer of Polish descent, shouted Jesus, Mary! at a family gathering, turning the occasion into chaos. Their attempt to register their marriage hit snags. Len, a Taurus, grounded like a Capricorn, proved to be overly sensitive.
Enter Peter, a divorced, childless gentleman, handsome, reasonably welloff, educated, with a dry sense of humour. He was a Virgoanother earth sign, famed for thrift and practicalitymaking him an ideal partner for a stable domestic life. He moved in with Poppy, rented out his own flat, and asked to be registered at her address.
What for? Poppy asked. Youre already registered at your own place! Peter replied, We love each other now; were a family, and everything should be shared. She remembered a joke, Write your address on my lease, please Oh, forgive me, wrong startdo you believe in God? The conversation turned romantic: We love each other
She agreed after a pause, Alright, Ill register you, and youll register me. Peter, puzzled, asked, Where? She answered, In my flateverythings ours now! He protested, But you dont live there. She suggested a rotating arrangement: One month here, one month there. The compromise left both feeling empty, like a fish out of water.
Peter fell silent, unsure how to respond. Poppy pressed, Its a sensible solution! The idea of registering a stranger in ones home seemed absurd, yet they pressed on, each a little more desperate.
Later, after dinner, Peter suggested a cinema outing. Shall we go? he asked. Sure! she replied, relieved that at least the night saved them from further argument. She asked, Will you still register me, Peter? Im not sure we finished that bit. He turned away, and she let him goperhaps the wedding would never happen.
Two of Poppys three friends had married in the sense of staying together for months to a year, the third drifting like a joke. Poppy herself had lived with several civil partners for over a month each; love was there, but not the romantic kindmore about deeds than feelings. As the locals say in a certain unfriendly land, There are no bad people, only bad matches.
When Poppy turned past thirty, she stopped chasing marriage. She earned a promotion, upgraded her cottagetype flat to a twobedroom house, bought a new foreign car, and took a short holiday. She concluded that life had turned out well for her. Modern medicine now stretches the childbearing window to sixty, and sausagesplentiful as everstill line the shelves.
Lesson: love isnt a checklist of signs or a race to the register; its the everyday choices we make, the compromises we accept, and the peace we find within ourselves.
