Pavel Selukov’s first collection of short stories, «Khalulaets, ” was published in 2019. At the same time, his most famous book, „Obdyty Tarkovskogo: Non-Intelligentsia Stories, ” was released, for which he received the „Big Book“ and „National Bestseller“ awards. Selukov modestly refers to himself as a „proletarian writer, ” which seems reflected in his writing style—raw and vivid, often focusing on the lives of ordinary people who typically inhabit the outskirts of any Russian city, not just his hometown of Perm. In general, he is a quite vibrant and recognizable voice in contemporary Russian literature—a rough, honest, and deeply human fellow from Proletarka who managed to break through from the working-class neighborhoods of Perm into the literary mainstream. This is particularly evident in his short stories, such as „The Strong Woman, ” the full text of which we publish below.
We met in a cafe. She had brown hair, I was just myself. I stared into her expressive eyes, sending her flows of brute force. «I grew up on the streets, I can take care of you, I know life—be my girl, ” the flows communicated. She responded with glints in her eyes and a smile. I beat up the waiter. Then the manager. Then the chef. She gave in. Her gaze softened. My tongue licked her swollen lips. We started dating. I loved her like an animal. She returned the feeling.
One day we were walking down the street when it started to rain. I took off my windbreaker and offered it to her. She said, «No need!» I said, «You’re a weak woman, and I’ve lived on the streets.» She replied, «That doesn’t matter.» I said, «Take the jacket, bunny.» She said, «How long, I’m Olga.» I said, «Don’t mess with me, sweetie.» Then hail the size of a chicken egg began to fall from the sky. One piece hit me in the head. The light went out in my eyes. My strong body gracefully fell onto the wet asphalt. I woke up immediately five minutes later. She was lying on me, shielding me from the hail with her body. I moaned. A whisper reached my ear:
— And who’s our little sweetheart here? Who’s our bunny, huh?! Who?! Tell me, damn it!!
I was crucified on the sidewalk. I felt sick. Foolish lips murmured:
— I… I’m your bunny…
She laughed. Hailstones struck her head. Blood dripped down. But she just laughed and laughed like the devil. «I’m getting married, ” I thought, „I’ll marry her tomorrow!“ A strong woman. I couldn’t delay.
