The motley crew of the sea gather in the port taverns of the world. This is their refuge, where you can get drunk as hell without fear of being mistaken for a drunkard. In the port tavern, drunken sailors of all nationalities sing songs and their singing is like the wind howling in the cables.
It was a rainy November evening. The ‘Big Tits’ tavern in the harbor was noisy. From the screen came the baritone of a cowboy, the air was saturated with beer, tobacco smoke, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Chuguev sat behind the bar sipping Mexican vodka. His ship was at the terminal, being unloaded, he had handed over the watch to the chief mate, and the whole night was at his disposal. It was slushy outside the window, and he didn’t feel like going anywhere. Here was his home, he was among his own and so, he was relaxing.
A man sat down on a nearby barstool. He was clearly in a good mood, singing along to the cowboy on the TV, and immediately ordered three tequila shots with pink grapefruit. He lined up the glasses and began cutting the citrus into thin slices.
Chuguev squinted at his strange neighbor. No one ordered a drink in a bar like this; everyone had a drink and then asking for another. He caught a familiar accent in his neighbor’s purr.
“I knew it,” Chuguev joked. They clinked glasses and toasted their acquaintance. The guy turned out to be Russian and called himself Greg, aka Grigory.
Greg smiled at Chuguev’s question about the three drinks:
“I lived in Mexico for a few years and the local muchachos there taught me how to drink tequila properly,” he said, “you put a slice of grapefruit on your tongue, then you suck the nectar of God through your teeth and enjoy the citrus. You can suck the whole bottle that way. With red grapefruit, tequila has a special flavor and it hits your brain very gently. They call this drink a “tequila sandwich”, it has its secret.
Chuguev was all ears.
“If you want to party in company, but keep your head clear so you don’t do anything stupid, then a ‘tequila sandwich’ is just what you need!” Greg continued. He turned the empty first glass upside down and slid a saucer of citrus slices towards Chuguev.
“It is no secret that alcohol eats up the vitamin C in our bodies, and the sugar in alcohol clogs the blood vessels. It makes you drunk quickly, and in the morning you have a headache and shaky hands,” he smiled. Tequila is good because it is made from the juice of the agave plant, which has no sugar. Or almost none. There are many kinds of tequila. There is, of course, the surrogate. But if it says “100% Agava” on the bottle label, you can drink it. And pink grapefruit has more vitamin C than any other fruit. It’s called ruby red. This citrus fruit replenishes vitamin C loss and keeps your head clear. And it’s a good friend to have with any drink,” Greg added, finishing his second drink and cutting a slice of grapefruit with his knife.
Chuguev smiled as he recalled an episode. He had once met a Russian IT guy in a bar who had been lucky enough to get a job with an American company. Russians wear American jeans, celebrate American Halloween, and dilute their language with American slang. And while they mock America, they all dream of living in it. This guy had a cock comb on his head, tattoos, chains, and shit. He didn’t realize he was overdoing it, that he looked like a monkey who had already stood up on his hind legs but had forgotten to hide his tail.
The IT guy acted defiant, knowing that in a normal country, he wouldn’t get a stick up his ass for such an outfit. He sipped tequila from a glass and defiantly licked salt from his hand.
Chuguev couldn’t help himself:
“Americans drink tequila like that?”
“Yes, they do!” the guy boasted, “lick, drink, lick…”
Tequila has recently become fashionable in Russia. But it is still followed by dumplings, pickles, and muzzles. Traditions of the ancestors.
They drank tequila, sucked sweet and sour grapefruit, and crunched roasted pistachios. They talked about politics and the decline of Christian morality, about emigration and emancipation. All men’s conversations end with a topic, and Chuguev and Greg were no exception; they moved on to the exoticism of M+W relationships. Usually, people who don’t know each other aren’t very talkative about this subject, so they gently bring it to a close. Every couple has skeletons in their closets. But whether it was a chance meeting or the rain outside the window. Or maybe it was the tequila that loosened their tongues.
“I once had an affair with a Russian girl,” Greg played with his third empty glass, and the bartender reacted immediately.
“She was from Vladivostok, a damn good-looking girl. Said it was hard to find a husband there, all the drunks. So she married a Jew and he took her to America. Had a son with him and they split up. For some reason, a lot of young couples who come to America from the Soviet Union get divorced,” he shrugged.
“Anyway, we had an affair,” he continued, “we spent our days by the sea and our nights in drunken binges. She was fun, quite intelligent, and good at everything. I couldn’t be without her, I missed her when she wasn’t around. Women probably like gentle rapists, they see them as their tame wild animals. We feel that way too, and I protected her like a male protects his female. I’ve thought about living together, and she’s hinted at it too…”
Greg fell silent, looking out the window at the dripping rain. By his facial expression, Chuguev guessed that the interlocutor in his story touched the innermost. Therefore he kept delicately silent too.
“But once she made me nervous,” Greg said after a pause,
“I caught her at night, going through my wallet, looking for credit cards, then checking files on my computer. She thought I was asleep, but I was discreetly watching her. Anyway, after that, I decided to check on her. I pretended to be sad for a few days and then I told her that my business had failed and I was close to bankruptcy. I asked her for a few hundred dollars. And I stopped our restaurants..”.
“After a week I returned her money and she immediately disappeared. She didn’t answer my calls for a long time, and then she sent me a short ‘…sorry, I need someone who will make me feel like a stone wall…'”
“Cynically and frankly she explained that she was looking for a rich man, and I was a beggar to her. So all her love words were an act, a game,” Greg grinned wryly.
“A year went by like that. I remembered our nights together, and I was hooked on her,” he played with his glass, and they drank some more. “It’s a big city, but if you go to the same places regularly, people recognize you. And they told me she was seeing one or the other,” he smiled.
“Meanwhile, I was doing well, Greg continued, “I bought out my partner’s share and became the sole owner of the transportation company. I sort of forgot about her, but one day I couldn’t resist writing her a few lines and bragging about how I’d gotten out of trouble. I mentioned that I had rented an expensive condo in a posh neighborhood and was thinking of buying it back from the owner.”
She immediately called, “Greg, I’ve been alone all year. I was scared at the time, but eventually, I came to my senses…”
“She played again,” Greg smiled, “and in that moment I realized that she had just helped me get rid of a shell of memories. I told her that I was very busy with my business and didn’t have time for restaurants. And added that I’m not a stone wall builder and that I’m in another business. And hung up.
***
It was after midnight. Chuguev was pretty drunk, he came to the gangway on autopilot.
But in the morning his head was normal, so Greg’s recipe must have worked.
The next night he picked up two girls in a bar and they drank a bottle of tequila in his cabin. Afterward, the three of them turned in the same bunk. Now that was a sandwich!
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