Sweet Zulka, A Ukrainian Melody, Sort Of..

 This is from Sweet Zulka, A Ukrainian Melody, Sort Of... my novel about Ukrainians who lived on the Lower East Side in the early 1960's. This chapter is about Skrypka and Zulka eating at Veselka or you can read the complete novel at Mykola Dementiuk: Sweet Zulka

Veselka circa 1970 storefront courtesy of Veselka

A Plate of Varenyky

At the Veselka Restaurant Skrypka considered an American breakfast --eggs, home fries, toast and coffee-- but when he saw one of the waitresses, Hanushya, carrying two armfuls of varenyky, he instantly changed his mind.

His mouth watered at the delicious thought of varenyky, those potato dumplings smothered in butter and sprinkled with slices of sautéed onions that hovered at a mouthfuls gulp and swallow.

Absolutely delicious!

He licked his lips again, nodding at a familiar looking man gesturing from across at the counter. Skrypka just waved back, not remembering who he was and glancing at the other eaters who glanced back and continued chattering away.

Most of the diners carried newspapers, the Novoe Russkoe Slovo (New Russian World) or Svoboda (Liberty), two émigré papers voraciously read by the large Lower East Side Slavic community, who pored over these and some other émigré papers.

He loved being in Veselka, the smell and sounds of food being consumed was everywhere throughout the restaurant, plates clattering, glasses clicking, forks and spoons rattling, it all simply was delicious!

Skrypka stood smiling recalling an Ukrainskyy joke poem from years ago: Zuby, zuby, daite mene shruubie Teeth, teeth, give me screws for teeth.

Ukrainian poetry, difficult to translate or to give the correct interpretation, that’s why the Poet, Shevchenko, amongst other Ukrainian writer/poets, is so little understood or translated, that is, successfully.

Skrypka smiled to himself and thought about joining the unknown man at the busy counter to find out he was when the overly stressed Hanushya came hurrying by again and gesturing.

“There’s a seat in the back, just was freed...”

And she was gone to the kitchen for more trays of Ukrainian food.

Skrypka turned and instantly headed to the crowded back room as an elderly woman was now just stepping out; one of his ex-wife’s friends, he knew. They politely nodded at each other, but the woman also was sternly looking at him. There was nothing in her gestures and he knew he couldn’t win his ex-wife’s favor with an old and bitter friend of hers, who looked down on him anyways.

Still other diners waved from the dining room, gesturing he come over but he just smiled and nodded, just passed them by, going to an empty table by a large window overlooking Ninth Street.

Veselka had another smaller window facing Second Avenue. But over the years its growth and expansion had forced the restaurant to take over other small bankrupt stores on Ninth Street, buying up space, tearing down walls and adding a much bigger and larger dining room. It now joined together the Ukrainian restaurant at the front with windows on Ninth Street on the side stretching down the block. Throngs of eaters thrived in at lunchtime.

Skrypka got to order his varenyky from Hanushya, who, with lunchtime finally passing by, no longer seemed so much overly stressed or overworked.

“At least the morning rush is coming to an end,” she gushed, wiping her forehead and ready to write his order down.

Skrypka grinned, drooling at her large bosom right before his eyes. He could make out her brassiere peeking out of her blouse just a mere inch from his hungry mouth.

He cleared his throat.

“A plate of varenyky,” he said, still staring at Hanushya’s big soft bosom, “and a nice glass of compote.”

He looked up from her breasts. Hanushya had reddened from his gazing eyes while writing his order down.

“Is that all?” she asked, looking at him.

“No,” tato winked, lecherously grinning, “I’d love to lick of those two melons you have there, that would certainly make my day.”

Hanushya grew even redder than she was but smiled.

“For you, varenyky and compote coming right up,” quickly turned and exited the dining room.

Tato grinned after her, it’s not that he was crude in his bawdy humor towards the female race but the usual sexual humor was the gist of our community. And it wasn’t so bawdy and daring but we had our own subtle feelings towards it. When we were with our own Ukrainians we joked and spoke openly but when strangers were amongst us, meaning non-Ukrainians, our speech and behavior was hushed and altered to where nothing was said which could be construed as being aimed at the outsiders. We certainly were polite to the outside world. Perhaps it’s like that in other foreign communities, I really don’t know, but in our enclave sexual humor and ribaldry was the norm, that is, And screw the rest!

Hanushya quickly returned with a plate of varenyky and a class of compote.

Once again he eyed the lovely bulky bosom but also greedily looked upon the food. He was starved for both yet knew he would take the food over the other.

Hanushya was a pretty Ukrainian girl who had arrived from Europe a year or so ago and had worked at Veselka ever since then. After the war many girls had come to American shores, the fact that they were young and seemingly unattached made them appear as prime meat ready for the taking.

Yet this was a New Country and the usual selection process, meaning natural bawdy behavior espoused by most Ukrainian men was looked down upon by the Americanized Ukraintsi. So, of course, tato had learned to behave.

The restaurant had a few waitress/girls working various shifts since it was a 24 hour establishment with hungry Ukrainians and Russians stopping in for a taste of the Old World food and delicacy. And, of course, ogling the newest émigré waitresses, along with some American diners, also wide-eyed and drooling, looking over tits as well.

“Dyakuyu thank you,” he merely said to Hanushya and dove right into the tasty meal, shoveling the varenky in his mouth, now and then glancing out up at Ninth Street while sipping the delicious cool compote.

Skrypka ate heartedly, eyeing Hanushya whenever she came in from the front room with another plate of food for some newer diners but most of all concentrated on chewing the varenky and sipping his compote.

When he noticed an angry looking woman stalking up Ninth Street, her flowered dress certainly a remnant of the Old World fashion, with a beribboned hat atop her head and a thick strand of necklaces at her neck.

Outlandish, Skrypka thought, but typical of ethnic Ukrainians dress choice, would-be flowers all the time.

He shook his head and was about to turn back to his remains of his varenyky when after the irate woman hastily came a teenage girl looking so lovely and appetizing.

Unlike the woman with her old fashioned clothing the girl was dressed in an attractive fashionable powder-blue jacket and skirt, with white high heels on her feet.

Skrypka could almost hear her clicking from the street outside.

My God, it’s Zulka!

Skrypka leaped up and pounded on the window, even picking up a fork and striking the glass so he could be heard.

Zulka did hear the clatter and looked his way, adjusting her beehive hairdo on her head.

She instantly recognized Skrypka, a smile breaking out on her face, but she did look after the irate disappearing woman who had turned off Ninth Street onto Second Avenue.

Zulka shrugged at tato who gestured she come into Veselka, waving his arm at her.

Zulka nodded and turned, disappearing around the corner to Second Avenue.

Skrypka felt tense but very hopeful and happy, his sudden erection hardening and rising as he sipped his compote.

In a matter of moments he heard the loud click-clack of feminine footsteps bounding and approaching on the floor outside the separated dining room.

Click-clack came nearer to the back.

He perched nervously, still holding his glass of compote with the fruit remains at the bottom.

He turned as her high heels entered the back room.

Click-clack…

The surge of peace and satisfaction was overpowering as the erotic lust swept upon him. His penis was hard and he felt her hand clasping the top of his own as she sat down in a chair across the table. Her tight skirt rose up her thighs and he was certain he saw the edges of her nylon tops falling down on the other as she lifted one leg up, her white skin under the hose teasing and beckoning.

Oy Bozhe, can’t cum again, can I?

“Pane Skrypka, what are you doing here this early?”

Her sing-song melodic voice was soft and flirting, like a beautiful accordion piece summoning the joys of the summer season; it made him feel stiff and alive.

“Was that your mamtsya, I just saw with. Are you in trouble?” he asked.

“Oh, you know how mothers can be, first they have to learn how to dress.” she snorted. “I told her many times the war is way over. This is America, not no Ukraina!”

She grimaced but waved her arm, dismissing the thought from her mind.

“What are you doing here on a Saturday?”

“I told you I have a wedding to play at…”

“Oh yeah, yeah you did, and I told you I’d be there,” she said, winking and smiling, and rocking her leg, smiling at him.

“I also plan to do some dancing and...other things, you know...”

She winked and fluttered her eyelashes at him, then licked her red lips, reaching in her purse for something.

“Did you just have those delicious varenyky?” She again licked her lips. “I just love them!”

“We’ll get you a plate,” he said, “as soon as Hanushya gets back.”

“No, no, I’m not hungry. Anyway there will be more than enough to eat at the wedding reception. I’m sure there will be some varenyky, or else why would we be there, eh?”

He cleared his throat.

“That’s a very beautiful outfit you have on, what is that color, turquoise?”

She shrugged, looking at herself.

“It might be, but I think it’s called powder-blue. At least that’s what it said on the store label...you like it?”

She stared at him and winked, lowering her voice.

“But you should see what else I have on…”

And she blushed and reddened, looking back at the other diners then moving her chair so they wouldn’t see anything. She pulled out a small bottle of alcohol, quickly took a sip. Glanced at him and offered the little bottle, shrugged when he shook his head and refused, replaced it back in her purse.

“Guess what I have on?” she said again.

His mouth was open, his breathing very shallow. He shook his head.

“I have no idea,” he scowled. “But I know a young girl like you shouldn’t be carrying whiskey bottles around.”

“Aw, you’re no fun,” she sat back. “Anyway it’s not whiskey it’s gin, no big deal at all. In these quarter pint bottles they mix it with sugar, doesn’t taste like real alcoholic gin at all. It’s like soda, sweet pop.”

She sat back, looking about the room. A few people still kept eating and chattering.

“But it still has a little kick to it,” and she winked at him, her leg touch his under the table.

“I had gin last night,” he also clasped her hand as recalled the rum and Coke from last night. He reddened. “I meant rum and Coke.”

Her eyes brightened.

“So you see, we could’ve have had a drink together.”

He cleared his throat, licking his lips.

“Are you wearing those lovely nylons that you had on yesterday? Those were very nice.”

She blushed again but smiled back at him, nodding her head. “Nylons, black nylons, and something else, too… C’mon, guess...?”

He rubbed his forehead and his face.

“Please tell me, you know, as a man I really have no idea what a woman’s clothes are called, besides that of bra, panties, nylons, the rest are beyond my feeble manly mind. Anyway, you wear such beautiful and lovely things, that as a man, I can’t really say.”

A disappointed Zulka looked at him, her red lips frowning.

“As a man you seem to know little about women…” she pulled her hand away.

“Excuse me, what do you mean?”

“Oh, never mind… C’mon, guess what I have under my jacket?” they looked at each other. As if frustrated she weakened, “I’m wearing a bustier,” which came out in a whisper.

He narrowed his eyes and leaned to her.

“A what, say that again?”

“A bustier…”

“What’s a bustier?”

“You don’t know?” she looked around at the emptying tables, not many sat near them anymore. “A bustier is this…”

And she opened up the front of her powder-blue jacket showing off the bustier she had on. Tato was certain he was going to have a heart attack.

He gaped, his mouth drooping open and his eyes bulging wide. The bustier hugged and squeezed her waist and rose to the tops of her breasts, puffing her bosom and holding her body as a girdle would do. But it was more than just a girdle it was like a shimmering long high glove holding her flesh and breast privates in, but with the tops of the lovely breasts puffed upwards and barely exposed. He was certain he was making out the edges of her nipples and that he was going to drop.

“You like?” she asked.

Skrypka was flabbergasted, stunned speechless, but he breathed out, “Yes, I do, very much so.”

Zulka sat back, covering up the front of the bustier with her jacket.

“I knew you would,” she winked, taking tato’s compote and swallowing a sip; very little of the mixture remained but she did nibble on some remaining fruits at the bottom. “Ah, nice,” she smacked her lips, swallowing a fruit and rubbing smears of red lipstick on her mouth.

Skrypka glanced at his watch.

“Hey, it’s almost 2pm, the wedding reception isn’t set to begin till 5. How about we go to my place, I can show you more of my apartment,” and he winked, “I’m sure you haven’t seen everything there is to see in the daylight. How about it?”

“Aw damn, I’d love to but the wedding ceremony starts at 2:30pm,” she said, looking at her watch and standing up. “I really must be there. Mamtsya will be outraged if I don’t show up. Maybe after wedding we can get together,” and she fluttered her eyelids.

“One never knows what can happen then, can one?” She lecherously grinned at him. “You know what people do after weddings, don’t you?”

His mouth was still open, he rubbed his face, “No, what?”

She winked at him and whispered, “They fuck, what else?”

She fluttered her eyelashes, blew him a kiss and click-clacked out of the Veselka Restaurant.

He ejaculated, his eyes clenched shut, his mouth grimaced, until he opened his dreary eyes and sat open-mouthed, breathing chaotically almost certain he was about to have a heart attack.

Oy, Bozh