Why are they holding hands?

Imagine a day off. Family walks along the Rhine. On bicycles, roller skates, with children, dogs, wheelchairs. Slowly and swiftly, in companies and two by two – from the early morning, so that time is not wasted. By two o’clock, the Beergarten, a spacious beer terrace on the shore, fills up. People park their bikes, pick up baby strollers, take empty tables. Now attention. The sequence of actions is important here. Here is a middle-aged married couple – they are:

1. Settling against each other.
2. Immediately – you might think, otherwise they will fall off the bench – they stretch their hands across the table to each other.
3. And only after that (!) with a free hand, without releasing the shakes (!), are they taken to leaf through the menu.

Read more:

• They love but don’t make love anymore

No, you did not understand. Again. One. Two. Three. It was as if this man and woman were incredibly bored during the bike ride, or the child they were pushing in the stroller in front of them dissolved their warmth, or distracted conversations – and now they waited. Mind you, these are spouses. Couples! For they are not the only ones – there are very young, there are very old, there are completely, how should I say, not of a romantic look, but rushing to confirm the closeness, outline the field, offer support.

Square in the center of Tbilisi. We sat down to have a bite to eat in a simple outdoor cafe, judging by the incredible aroma – traditionally delicious. Several tables are occupied by foreigners. There are a lot of tourists – real, with backpacks – in Georgia. On the side of us are middle-aged, but athletic Frenchmen. She is concentrating on sawing khachapuri. He sips his coffee and studies the map.

A very fat, good-natured Georgian lands on a chair a step away from them and begins to inquire in English (!) about their impressions. He and she answer in monosyllables. The Georgian is not embarrassed by this – his task is to lay out his entire vocabulary, and he is quite pleased with the reaction of the audience. Finally he exclaims: “Welcome in power city”! And turns towards the kitchen. The couple finishes lunch, she packs the card, he pays, they get up together and, as soon as they are near, they join hands. They leave. They have just experienced an invasion, an attack on their privacy – but the danger has passed. After a couple of steps – I can see it from the back – their grip becomes stronger – but what about – further a strange city, an unfamiliar route, unpredictable meetings.

Read more:

• Yuri Rost: “Take my hand and guide me through this night. So that I don’t feel like I’m alone”

Hand in hand. In Moscow, this gesture, familiar to us, apparently, only thanks to Michelangelo, will almost certainly expose foreigners. For Russians, it is either too frank a demonstration of feelings, or too painful a tilt from east to west – we are so sweet not closeness, but the distance between male and female. The period of mating has passed – and the faceted vision of a domestic man, naturally tuned to an external threat, automatically goes out on routine lyrics. Every minute reference to his companion tires him like a cataract. “Not small, not color blind – maybe he will figure it out, he won’t lag behind, he won’t screw up. Here my country is in danger.”

I know, I know – there’s a whole list of costs here, ranging from reduced chivalry to today’s demographic skew. But damn it, I can open the door myself, put on my coat, cross the road and make tea. I won’t get lost. I am simply sad because this simplest symbol of trust and tenderness has so easily dissolved in the poetic culture itself! With poetry today, they say more than ever. Maybe something is wrong with trust and tenderness?