Their first meeting happened on the tram. He felt a touch on his shoulder, and when he opened his eyes, she pointed at the window and said, "It’s your stop." The tram had already stopped, and he pushed his way through the people, following her. She was quite a young girl, not more than fifteen or sixteen, he realised, upon seeing her round, staring face as she turned to him and waited for a sign of gratitude.

"Thanks," he said. "I almost missed my stop, after all." He felt that it was insufficient thanks and added, "Today was such a crazy day, I’m so tired. And at 8 I’m expecting a phone call. So you’ve really helped me out a lot."

It seemed like she brightened up a little, and together they ran through the streets, glancing at the rushing cars. It was snowing, and he noticed that all the cars had their windshield wipers going. When it snowed like this — soft, downy flakes as if somewhere up there, bizarre snowy birds were pulled from above — he didn’t really want to go home. I’ll wait for the call and right after it I’ll go out, he decided as he turned to her, thinking of what to say. To be silent for longer would become uncomfortable. But he couldn’t figure out what topics he could discuss with her and what he couldn’t. While he was considering this, she broke the silence herself, saying, "And I know you."

"What!?" he replied with surprise. "How do you know me?"

"Because you live in house number 112, and I live in 114. We ride on the tram together twice a week, on average. Only you, of course, never notice me."

"That’s interesting."

"What’s so interesting about it? It’s not interesting. You are grown up, you only pay attention to grown ups, you all are so terribly self centered. Wouldn’t you say?" She turned her head to the right and looked at him — a long look, up from below. He began to answer her, and then couldn’t finish, because he didn’t know how to act with her, and what he could and couldn’t say.

They were quiet together for a while, and then, looking straight in front of her as though nothing were wrong, "And, by the way, you never said what your name is."

"Is it absolutely imperative that I tell you?"

"Yes. What’s strange about that, do you think? Because some people think that if I want to know someone’s name, then I’m showing an unhealthy interest in them."

"Okay, fine." He said. "I understand. If it’s really imperative…my name is Rudolph."

"What?"

"Rudolph."

"Rudolph," she laughed.

"What about it?"

She laughed even louder, and he stopped and stood looking at her.

"Ruuu-dolph," she rounded her lips and again went off in peals of laughter. "Ruuuu- dolph. I thought it was what they named elephants in a menagerie."

"What?!"

"Don’t get mad," she touched his sleeve. "But it’s funny, honestly it’s funny. What am I supposed to do?"

"Oh, you brat," he sighed.

"Obviously I’m a girl. And you’re a grown up."

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"And I’m twenty eight."

"So I’ve said. You’re grown up, and you’re called Rudolph." She laughed again, happily casting looks at him that went from top to bottom.

"So what’s your name?" he asked.

"Mine? You would never guess."

"Right, and I wouldn’t even try."

"But if you tried, you wouldn’t guess it. My name is Io."

"What?"

"Io."

"I don’t get it."

"Io. Like ‘Instituting Order.’ Io."

The revenge was instantaneous. He didn’t have the strength to stop, he guffawed rocking back and forth like a bell. It was enough for him to glance at her, and the laughter would take him over again even more and more.

"I-o," he gurgled in his throat. "I-o."

She waited, looking from side to side and then when he had calmed down a little, she suddenly said, "Funny? There’s nothing funny about it. Io — a common Latvian name, and I’m Latvian."

"Excuse me," he smiled, leaning over toward her. "But that really was funny to me. So we’re even, we can stop there, right?"

She nodded.

First came her house, and next came his. They stopped at the entryway to her house, and she asked, "What’s your phone number?"

"You don’t need it," he said.

"You’re afraid?"

"That’s not the point."

"Adults are afraid of everything in this world."

"It’s true," he agreed.

She pulled her hand from its mitten and gave it to him. Her hand was cold and still. He clasped it. "Well, run home, Io." She laughed again. At the door she stopped.

"So now you’ll recognise me in the tram?"

"I should think so. Of course I will."

"Until the tram, then." She raised her hand in a salute.

"…that we ride in together," he added.

Two days later he left on a business trip to the North and didn’t return for two weeks. Here, in the city he could already feel the spicy, sharp scent of the approaching spring, and it seemed to him as if it blowing away the winter’s vagueness, haziness, indistinctness. After the northern mists everything seemed so much brighter and more vivid, even the tram.

At home his wife said to him, almost immediately, "So every day some girl has been calling you."

"What girl?" he asked indifferently, tiredly.

"I don’t know. I figured that you would know."

"I don’t."

"Well, I’m sick of her."

"That’s amusing," he reluctantly smiled.

He was taking a bath when the phone rang. He could hear through the door as his wife answered, "He’s come home, he’s washing up, please call back later." And he was already getting prepared for bed when the phone rang yet again.

"Yes," he said.

"Rudy, hey, you’re home!" resounded a happy voice in his ear.

"Hello," he answered cautiously. "Who is this?"

"Oh, you don’t remember! Come on, Rudy, it’s me, Io."

"Io." Immediately he remembered and involuntarily he started to laugh. "Hi, Io. It sounds like you’ve picked out a more fitting name for me."

"Yeah, do you like it?"

"I was called that when I was about as old as you are now."

"Don’t show off, Rudy, please."

"No, I just…" They were quiet, and then he, unable to contain himself, asked, "So what’s going on, Io?"

"Rudy, who is she? Your wife?"

"Yeah."

"And why didn’t you tell me that you were married?"

"Excuse me," he answered jokingly, "I didn’t know it was so incredibly important."

"Of course it’s important. So, what, you love her?"

"Yes," he said. "Io, listen, please, you shouldn’t call me again."

"You’re afr-a-id," she proclaimed in a singsong voice. "Oh, Rudy, don’t think about it like that. Obviously you live with her, if you want to, I’m not against it. Just, don’t you ever call me. It might be that I’ll be doing business."

"What kind of business?" he asked, smiling.

"Oh just some sort of stuff. Like…like for example if I have to pump water from one reservoir out, and then into a second," she said, never at a loss for an answer. "So that’s possible, right?"

"I don’t know."

"Of course it is. Don’t be afraid of her, Rudy, cause we’re two of us together, and she’s alone."

"Who?" he didn’t understand.

"Your wife."

"Good night, Io."

"You’re tired?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, fine. Shake my hand and lie down to sleep."

"I shake your hand."

"And don’t even start to discuss anything about me with her."

"Okay," he laughed. "I won’t."

Smiling, he returned to his wife.

"That’s Io," he said. "That’s what this girl is called. Isn’t that amusing?"

"Yes," she said expectantly.

"She can’t figure out this problem about these reservoirs. She’s studying in the seventh, or maybe the eighth grade. I don’t remember."

"And you help her with these problems?"

"No." he said. "I’veforgotten all about that kind of math: reservoirs, algebra–it’s difficult stuff."

In the morning, the phone rang at the crack of dawn. It was such the crack of dawn, that there was not a single light on in the neighborhood — everyone was dreaming their last dreams before dawn. Getting himself up, Rudolph glanced at the house across from him. Not a single window was lit up, and there were only four parallel lights shining on the stairwell, like a harmonica. The phone kept ringing ceaselessly. Going up to it, Rudolph glanced at the clock: 5.30 am.

"Hello?" he angrily said into the receiver.

"Rudy, Rudy…."

He became violent. "Io, what the hell are you doing?"

"Rudy," she interrupted, "listen, don’t get angry, you don’t even know what happened."

"What happened?" he answered, cooling off.

"Rudy, but you are not going to be Rudy any longer, you’re going to be Rudolphio." She triumphantly announced. "Rudolph-Io. Isn’t that cool? I just thought it up now. Rudolph and Io together comes out as Rudolphio, like Italians. So there."

"Rudolphio." Despair and fury were mixed in his voice .

"Right. Now together we have one name, we can’t be pulled apart. Like Romeo and Juliet. You’re Rudolphio, and I’m Rudolphio."

"Listen," he said, coming to himself. "Couldn’t you name me next time at a more suitable hour?"

"No, you don’t understand why I couldn’t wait. Well…it’s just about time for you to get up. Rudolphio, don’t forget, and at 7.30 I’ll wait for you at the tram stop."

"Today I’m not taking the tram."

"Why not?"

"I have a day off."

"What’s that for?"

"It’s a midweek weekend, so I don’t have to work."

"Aaah," she said. "And what about me?"

"I don’t know. Go to school and everything."

"Does your wife also have a day off?"

"No."

"Oh, so that’s nothing. Only don’t forget, now we are called Rudolphio."

"I’m so happy."

He put the receiver back down and, swearing, went to make tea. Now he couldn’t go back to sleep, anyway. In the house across the street, light was already shining in three windows.

At midday somebody knocked at the door. Just then he was washing the floors and so he opened the door holding a wet rag in his hands, which for some reason he hadn’t had the sense to leave somewhere on the way.

It was her.

"Hello, Rudolphio."

"You!" he said with surprise. "What’s happened?"

"I also decided to take a day off."

Her face was like a saint’s, without a single drop of what they call pangs of conscience.

"Oh, so," he said firmly, "you’re playing hooky from school, you mean. Well, come in since you’re here. Let me finish the washing."

She didn’t take off her coat, but sat on a chair next to the window and watched as he bent over to pass the rag along the floor.

"Rudolphio, in my opinion you aren’t happy with your family life," she announced after a minute.

He straightened up.

"Where did you get that from?"

"It’s really easy to see. An example: you are joylessly washing the floor, and happy people don’t behave that way.

"Don’t make things up," he said, laughing

"You say you think you’re happy?"

"I don’t say anything."

"Well, so…"

"Why don’t you take your coat off?"

"I’m afraid of you," she said, looking out the window.

"Wha-What??"

"Well, you’re a man."

"Oh, that." He laughed. "So you dared to come here anyway."

"Well, we together are Rudolphio."

"Yes," he said. "I keep thinking about that. It obviously imposes certain responsibilities on me."

"Obviously."

She was quiet and while he went to rattle the bucket in the kitchen, she sat quietly. But when he came out to her, her coat already hung on the spine of the chair, and Io’s face was thoughtful and sad.

"Rudolphio, I cried today," she suddenly said.

"Because of what, Io?"

"Not Io, Rudolphio."

"Because of what, Rudolphio?"

"Because of my older sister. She made a big scandal over the fact that I decided to take a day off from school."

"In my opinion, she’s right."

"No, Rudolphio, that’s not true." She stood up and went over to the window. "There’s a possibility that you won’t understand me. Today I was so happy after talking to you…"

She fell silent again, and he looked at her attentively. Through her dress her youthful breasts rose and fell, like two small nests built by mysterious birds that would raise their fledgling young. He noticed that through the course of the year her face had become longer -- beautiful, and he felt sad at the thought that in time there would be a boyfriend by her side. He went up to her, hugged her to his shoulder and, smiling, said, "You are going to be wonderful."

"Truly, Rudolphio?"

"Truly."

"I believe you," she said.

"Yes."

He wanted to move away, but she called, "Rudolphio!"

"Yes."

"Why did you get married so young? Because in two years, I would marry you."

"Don’t rush," he said. "You’ll get married to some really wonderful guy."

"I would like it to be you."

"He’ll be better than I am."

"Yeah?" she drew it out, incredulously. "You think that there are better men than you?"

"There are men thousands of times better."

"But then they wouldn’t be like you." She sighed clumsily.

"Maybe we’d better have tea," he suggested.

"Okay."

He went into the kitchen and put the teapot on the stove.

"Rudolphio!"

She stood before the shelf with books on it.

"Rudolphio, we have the same beautiful name. But look, even the writers don’t have better names than us." She fell silent. "Maybe, maybe only this one. Ek-zu-pe-ry. That’s beautiful, isn’t it?"

"Yes." He said. " And have you read it?"

"No."

"Take it and read it. But without skipping school, agreed?"

"Agreed."

She started to put on her coat.

"And tea?"

"Rudolphio, it’s better for me to go, all right?" Her smile was sad. "Only don’t tell your wife I was here. Okay, Rudolphio?"

"All right," he promised.

When she had left, he felt suddenly overcome by depression, as though he were full of some kind of unexplicable but still undiscovered melancholia, nevertheless essential to his nature. He put on his coat and went out to the street.

Spring arrived suddenly, almost without warning. In just a few days, people became friendler, and in these few days, it seemed a transition was made from a time of expectation to a time of completion. Springtime dreams, with the mastery of an experienced fortuneteller, promised them happiness and love.

On one of those days, it was already evening when Rudolph was heading home, and a middle aged woman stopped him.

"I’m Io’s mother," she stated. "Excuse me, but it appears — that you are called — Rudolphio."

"Yes," smiling, he agreed.

"I know about you from my daughter. She recently has been saying a lot about you but I…"

She stopped short, and he understood that it was difficult for her to ask those things that a mother had to ask.

"You shouldn’t worry," he said. "Io and I have a most wonderful friendship, and nothing bad is going to come of it."

"Of course, yes, of course," she said embarrassedly, hurrying. "But Io, she’s a whimsical girl, she absolutely doesn’t listen to us. And if you influence her…you understand, I am afraid, at that age, that I must be afraid, she might do something stupid. And then, I’m afraid that she doesn’t have any friends in her own class, not even any of her own age."

"That’s bad."

"I agree. It seems to me, that you have influence over her…"

"I’ll talk to her about it," he said. "But, in my opinion, Io is a good girl, and you have nothing to worry about."

"I don’t know."

"Good night. I’ll talk to her. Everything will be fine."

He decided to phone her right away, not to put it off, particularly since his wife wasn’t at home.

"Rudolphio!" It was clear that Io was happy to hear from him. "How clever of you to call, Rudolphio. I cried again."

"You should never cry that often," he said.

"It’s all because of The Little Prince. I’m sorry for him. Was it true, was he here with us on earth?"

"In my opinion, it’s true."

"In mine, too. And he didn’t know us -- that’s such a terrible thing. If it weren’t for Exupery, nobody would have found out. It wasn’t for nothing that he had such a beautiful name, like us."

"Yes."

"I’m still thinking about it: good, that he became the little prince. Because it’s frightening: what if suddenly he became absolutely ordinary? And what about us — then we would have too much ordinariness."

"I don’t know."

"But I do know, it’s exactly like that."

"And the planet of people, you read that?"

"I read the whole thing, Rudolphio. In my opinion, Exupery is a very wise writer. Even frightening to comprehend how wise he is. And kind. You remember: They ransom Barka at the wedding, they give him money and he spends it on shoes for children and doesn’t leave anything for himself."

"Yeah," he said. "And remember Bannafusa, who robbed and plundered the Arabs, and they hated him and loved him at the same time?"

"Because without him the desert would seem absolutely ordinary to them, and he made it seem dangerous and romantic."

"You’re pretty sharp, if you understood that," he said.

"Rudolphio," she went silent.

"I’m listening," he said.

She was silent.

"Rudolphio," from somewhere inside him it rose, and he said. "Come to me now, I’m alone."

Looking around herself, she came to the armchair and sat on it.

"Why are you so quiet?" he asked.

"She’s really not here?"

"My wife?"

"Well, yeah."

"She’s not."

"Quite a hag, she is."

"What?"

"A hag — so there!"

"Where did you come up with that word?"

"No other word goes so well with her as that one does."

"Io, don’t ever talk that way."

"Not Io, but Rudolphio."

"Oh, yeah."

"Not long ago I called and she answered the phone. You know what she said to me? ‘If,’ she said, ‘you are concerned about reservoirs, it’s better to consult a teacher.’ In my opinion, she’s jealous of the two of us."

"I don’t think so."

"Rudolphio, isn’t it true that I’m better than her? I’m taking shape quite nicely, and I have everything ahead of me."

He smiled and nodded.

"Look, see. In my opinion it’s time for you to divorce her."

"Don’t say such stupid things," he snapped at her. "I allow you to say way too much."

"Out of love, yes?"

"No, out of friendship."

She, scowling, fell silent, but it was obvious that it wouldn’t be for long.

"What’s her name?"

"Whose — my wife’s?"

"Yeah."

"Klava."

"That’s quite a burden."

He got angry: "Stop it."

Rising, she suddenly shut her eyes and said, "Rudolphio, I’m not normal, excuse me, I didn’t want…"

"Only don’t cry," he warned her.

"I’m not going to."

She walked over to stand by the window.

"Rudolphio," she said, "Let’s say this, I wasn’t with you here today, and we never talked, okay?"

"Okay."

"Just think of it as if we said goodbye on the phone."

"Sure."

She left.

Five minutes later, the phone rang.

"Goodbye, Rudolphio."

"Good bye."

He waited, but she had already put the receiver down.

She didn’t call him again, and he didn’t see her for a long time, because yet again he left and didn’t return until May, when the scales of the sun finally tipped towards spring. At that time he always had a lot of work. He remembered her, and put it all off saying, I’ll speak tomorrow, the day after tomorrow -- but that way he never did.

They met suddenly — finally, on the tram. He saw her and stood impatiently, pushing his way through the crowd, he was afraid that she would leave -- that she could get off at another stop, and he would, most likely, not decide to jump out after her. But she stayed where she was, and he understood a fact about himself -- that the relations between them made him much happier than need be, if they were truly only of friendship.

"Hey, Io," he touched her on the shoulder, saying.

She turned, frightened, and looked at him, and then nodded with happiness lingering on her face.

"Not Io, but Rudolphio, like before," she corrected him. "We’ve always been friends, haven’t we?"
"Obviously, Rudolphio."

"You were away?"

"Yeah."

"I phoned once in awhile, and you weren’t there."

"I’ve been back for a whole week already."

There were a lot of people on the tram, and they were constantly shoved together. It happened that they were moved absolutely next to each other, and her head was under his chin and when she raised her face and he, listening, bent over, it was necessary to avert his eyes, because they were so close.

"Rudolphio, do you want me to tell you something?" she asked.

"Of course I want you to."

Again she raised her face, so close to his that he wanted to squint his eyes.

"I am lonely without you all the time, Rudolphio."

"You silly," he said.

"I know." She sighed. "But I don’t miss all those other boys, I’ll never need them in a million years."

The tram stopped and they got off.

"Are you going home to your Klava?" she asked.

"No, let’s walk for a bit."

They turned to the river, walking across abandoned lots where there were no roads, jumping over pieces and piles of trash, and he took her by the arm, helping her to get across all of the barriers.

She was quiet. It was unlike her, but she was quiet, and he felt that she, like him, was full of excitement, strong, and humming uncontrollably

They went out of the ravine still holding hands, looked at the river, and somewhere through the river, and again at the river.

"Rudolphio," she said, unable to contain herself any longer. "No one has ever kissed me, not even once."

He bent over and kissed her on the cheek.

"On the lips," she asked.

"Only the very closest people kiss on the lips," he forced out, tormented.

"And I?"

She shuddered, and he was afraid. In the next moment he suddenly understood — didn’t feel or think but just instantly understood — that she had struck him, slapped him for real on his very real cheek, and suddenly began to run away — through the abandoned lots, through the piles of trash, through the agitation and the waiting.

And he stood and watched her run away, and he didn’t dare even call after her, he didn’t dare run after her and catch her. He still for a long time stood, devastated and hating himself.

It happened on a Saturday, and early Sunday morning her mother called.

"Rudolphio, excuse me, but please, I, really, I’m waking you…" her voice was confused and trembling.

"I’m here, I’m listening," he said.

"Rudolphio, Io didn’t spend the night at home last night."

He had to say something, but he was silent.

"We’re desperate, we don’t know, what to do, what to undertake, it’s for the first…"

"First calm down," he finally said. "Maybe she slept over with a friend."

"I don’t know."

"Most likely that’s what’s happened. If in an hour or two she doesn’t come, we’ll go look for her. Only calm down, I’ll call you in an hour or so."

He put down the receiver, thought and said to himself, you also should calm down, maybe she really did sleep over with a friend. But he couldn’t calm down, on the contrary he felt that he was struck with nervous trembling. In order to get closer to her, he went into the storage room and, whistling, started to rummage through his old things, his school books. His algebra workbook had gotten lost somewhere and he searched for it to distract himself a little.

The telephone hid, and it was quiet. Rudolph shut the kitchen door after himself and started to leaf through the workbook. There it was: if, in the course of two hours, you have to pump water from one reservoir into a second…

The phone rang.

"She’s home!" the mother cried, unable to restrain herself.

He stood and listened.

"Rudolphio, come over, please come visit us."

She cried again and then added,"Something has happened to her."

Not asking permission, he took off his rainjacket and the mother quietly led him by the hand to the door of her room.

Io sat on her bed, her legs crossed in front of her, rocking herself, looking straight in front of herself at the window.

"Rudolphio!" he called.

She nodded at him and didn’t say anything.

"Rudolphio!"

"Stop," she made a wry face, disgusted. "How can you be Rudolphio, you’re just plain old Rudolph. Absolutely ordinary Rudolph, you understand?"

The blow was so strong that pain immediately seized his entire body, but he forced himself to stay standing, he went to the window and leaned on the windowsill.

She continued rocking, back and forth on the springs of her bed.

"Well good," he agreed with her. "But explain, where were you?"

"Go to hell." …she answered him tiredly.

He nodded. Then he took his jacket off the hanger and, not answering the silent questions of her mother, descended the staircase and went to hell. Sunday had just begun, passersby on the street were few, and nobody stopped him. He crossed the abandoned lots, descended to the bank of the river and suddenly thought, so where to, now?