(c) Arthur Poghosyan Гриша Куква

Grisha Kukva

Arthur Poghosyan

First Digital Publication April 2025

Cover Design by Finnialla Wright

Published by PULP Literary Magazine

pulplitmag.com

Kukva G.

This book introduces the reader to a great work of world-famous Russian writer.

Grisha Kukva (born March 12, 1996) already left a tremendous legacy in literature: about a hundred volumes of prose, dramaturgy, poems, critical articles, and essays – all of these were never written. But still – he is a legend. Why?

Famous cap, a bib with a cherry (which became his «business card»), and delicate skin. Kukva didn’t know yet about his future hard twists and turns of fate which life has prepared for him. 19 assassination attempts, 7 deaths, 2 children, 15

divorces without even one wedding, 2 life sentences, 8 poisonings by eating a noodle, an interstellar expedition, life in Budapest, purchase of a Czechoslovak furniture wall – this is a small list of events happened in Kukva’s life. For the first introduction, his cult novel «(c) Arthur Poghosyan» fits perfectly.

Who is Arthur Poghosyan?

An old man? A legend? A little boy? Or just a man on his retire? Finally, Argentina's government found his rare interview he gave to «The World»

magazine:

– My name is Arthur Poghosyan. I'm a small businessman.

After those words, interview accidentally has broken down…

According to rumors, Arthur Poghosyan is known as a human with supernatural and super-regenerative abilities. He hunts every weekend, but only for birds. He has an ancient military collection and became a frequent guest of deluxe-class auctions in western Sicily. He is excellently skilled in Aikido, but there are some suspicions of prostatitis. Anyway, who possesses any information about personality and history of Arthur Poghosyan, kindly asking to contact Contact-Manager.

Contact-Manager #1

My name is Contact-Manager. I’m here to tell you a story how I met Arthur Poghosyan. Once, I gave up on women. Who else did it – knows: as soon as you decide to give up on them, women furiously try to pull you back into the market of relationships. Long story short: they crave to be craved. And when you are officially refusing to feed their minds by the bubbling of your testosterone, their attention to you becomes unavoidable.

I haven't had sex for about 2 years. After serving in the army, I thought maybe the time had come. Next evening, I bought a ticket from Saint-Petersburg to Moscow and had a journey by train where I was surrounded by 3 young chicks. Next thing I remember was a concert, where many of other women talked to me. One of them sat down pretty close to me, and after this concert we had a dinner

at the bar. I gave her my scarf as a gift and put her on my lap. She spoke to me gently:

– There will be no sex.

I called her a taxi and never saw her again.

To be more precisely I hadn't seen her for a little while. Spring holidays were coming. The girl with my scarf texted me. She wanted to visit me and spend spring holidays together, also to bring me back my scarf. I was in need to be prepared quickly, therefore I bought a blanket for covering while sleeping, a new pillow, slippers for walking, towel for hands, towel for feet, hangers for clothes to hang them, a hair dryer, an iron, cutting board for bread & cheese – there were plenty of things which I never used at my samurai's palace. But while we will be together, we might need some of this stuff.

I bought all these things and waited for her to come over. The closer her visit was, the stronger became my desire of fuck… Plenty of women think that men are just animals which only dream about sex. They are right. I was just a guy who wanted to cut a good piece of a girl's ass for himself. So, holidays began and girl has really arrived. This evening I kindly asked her where she was planning to spend this night.

– I'll stay at my aunt's place.

Hell, no. Turn on the saddest classical music. The violin of the greatest tragedy was erasing all my dreams about hugs and kisses tonight. Indeed, I was an animal.

Just like all others were. I did my best with this thing about giving up on women, so how the fuck this aunt occurred? At the old times, giving up on women was a very smart way to catch more female's attention. Unfortunately, I realized: it wasn't working anymore.

After seeing girl home, I took a drive to mine by trolleybus. The scarf she gave me didn't even have her odor. What a shame. While sitting in trolleybus I watched the screen where war heroes were displayed.

One of them was Eugenie Sky – 17 years old girl, she was working at the Nazi’s canteen and poisoned the soup, as a result more than 100 soldiers were dead.

Killers are always becoming heroes during the war. Plus, the same named girl broke my heart once.

I should say that every year I receive messages with pictures «Happy Holiday!»

or another shit with all the wishes and nice words like «love», «joy», «wealth»

which have nothing in common with reality I live in. Real life, yes? Sometimes it can be a bit unpleasant, so you can escape from it to the cinema, games, religion, sex, patriotic feelings and especially holidays. Which allow people to sit down at the table and pour the glasses with the second chance, with an opportunity to live, an opportunity to look out of the kitchen’s window, to laugh.

I couldn't use such services. Couldn’t trust these holidays. Filling the glasses were more like a betrayal. I didn't want to deal with illusions. That's why I came to a great grey nowhere, until I got married. We worked both, me as an engineer, and she was a writer. Soon, we bought the first car. I taught her how to drive when the truck faced us. The next thing I remember, I was crawling out of car and heard her final words: «Beware the yellow snow».

I felt guilty with not even a scratch on me, realizing my wife has gone. It was the moment when I was going through her stuff and found a letter by Arthur Poghosyan. I thought I knew every friend of her, but couldn't remember his name. Of course, very soon I found nothing in my pocket to pay for apartments, because every penny went to a glass. I moved to my friends' flat, but soon couldn't bother their cozy life by my presence and left without a word. I walked around cathedrals and cemeteries, slept there. Later friends found me and brought to life again. First things first, so I had to find a job. So, I hooked an eye on a contact-manager vacancy, offered by the man named Arthur Poghosyan.

Young guy barely older than me. He seemed sharp, extravagant. It was the first time I saw him. And it was unpleasant, even embarrassing. I was trying to talk about his letter I found through my wife's stuff. But he didn’t want to hear about that, then all of a sudden, he spat at me while I was talking. That damn spit hit me right in my throat, which has almost sent me after my wife.

Anyway, he left me a pager during our interview, which I carried in the back pocket, thinking about maybe I could catch him again to ask a few questions. But Arthur Poghosyan disappeared as accidentally as he came. It took a while to get me a job and rent another apartments. The world continued to stay the same as it was, and my life was alright. Searching for Arthur Poghosyan haven't brought any results yet. Soon, the second wave of melancholy came over me. I was that close to bankruptcy and starting to drink again, and also (suddenly) to kill myself. I didn't want to cry neither scream, therefore after working I was running circles on a football field. I set myself an aim: if I am able to finish one thousand laps, then I will give myself a permission to die. While not achieving required results, I decided to reduce the killing permission to one hundred laps which were equal to forty kilometers. Next Saturday & Sunday I dedicated myself to completing it. I had nothing to lose, even if I had… I ran more than one day and finally did it – green light. Now I had to find out how to finish myself. Actually, ten or fifteen laps more would make me dead already.

How strange but whole next week I went to work as usual, ate cereals for breakfast, had lunch at cafe, took myself home by subway, fell asleep and woke up. For some reasons I changed my mind. I wanted to live. And one of those days with cereals, job and subway… The pager beeped. There were digital numbers that looked like coordinates. According to the map, that place was at

«Tavrichesky» garden near one famous writer’s memorial. Under his right foot was lying a yellow parchment, which was similar to the letter I once found among my wife's stuff. Beyond any doubt, it had to be Arthur Poghosyan.

Fate

Fate and its place in human’s life worried the greatest minds for a while. This fate concept also hasn't ennobled the grey color of my everyday life by sterility of its absence. That's why me and my new Contact-Manager had a plan to face a challenge, according to which I will spend almost 37 years in complete isolation, having in my pocket only «Parliament Aqua» cigarettes and gingerbread. I ate my gingerbread much earlier before being isolated while title «Impotence» on cigarettes attracted my very attention. In hysterics, I tore up the contract right in front of Contact-Manager's face.

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