Aspirin looked around. It would make a great headline: “Dr. Aspirin Looking for Pharmaceuticals.” Although, no, the word was too long, and the rhythm was all wrong, it should be “Dr. Aspirin in search of a cure.”
The front door banged open. In reality, it opened and closed very softly, but in the silence of a sleeping house, every sound made an impression. Aspirin looked: a woman walked in, an umbrella under her arm—his neighbor. They had exchanged greetings for the last few years, but he didn’t know her name and didn’t even remember whether she lived on the third floor or on the fourth.
At the sight of Aspirin, the woman tensed almost imperceptibly, then relaxed in recognition.
“Good evening.”
“Good evening,” Aspirin mumbled, seeing himself through her eyes: a crumpled, banged-up, not-quite-adequate thing. “Do you happen to know where a twenty-four-hour pharmacy is around here?”
“On the corner by the subway station,” the woman said. “But it’s closed tonight.”
“So much for it being open twenty-four hours,” he muttered.
She laughed politely. After a pause, she asked, “Why?”
“I need something for a fever. For a high fever. Something to break it with.”
“Are you sick?”
“It’s not for me.”
“Would ibuprofen work?”
“Yes, of course. Is it safe for children?”
Something in the woman’s eyes changed.
“How old?”
“About eleven,” Aspirin said and immediately regretted his answer. “I mean, eleven.”
“Yes, it is safe. What’s your apartment number? I will drop it off.”
“Fifty-four.” Aspirin felt a great deal of relief.
Five minutes later she rang the doorbell.
“Excuse me, Aspi . . . Aspirin?”
“Alexey,” he said.
“Sorry. Here is the ibuprofen. I also have this cold medicine—you need to mix it with a glass of warm water.”
Alyona had a coughing fit in the living room.
“Impressive,” the neighbor said. “Have you called the doctor yet?”
“No,” Aspirin said.
The woman frowned. Her thick blond bangs could not conceal the two deep vertical lines on her forehead.
“Have you given her an expectorant?”
“Huh?”
The woman glanced into the living room. Alyona did not react—she still sat on the sofa, hunched over, eyes half-closed.
“How could you let the child get to this condition?” the woman asked sharply. “What’s her temperature?”
Aspirin did not reply. The woman gave him a cold, measuring stare and walked into the living room without an invitation. She wore slippers, and they slapped against the floor in accusation at his parenting.
“Hello.” She sat down by Alyona’s side. The girl finally turned her head. “How are you feeling?”
“Lousy,” Alyona said, and her voice matched her answer. “It’ll be fine. It’s just a cold. It’ll pass. It’s nothing serious.”
“Of course it will pass,” the woman said. “But we should try to break your fever. And I am going to bring you an expectorant. I have Dr. Mom, and it actually tastes pretty good. Is that your teddy bear?”
Shuddering inside, Aspirin watched his neighbor cradle the monster in her arms.
“He’s very cute,” the woman said. “What’s his name?”
“Mishutka.”
“Hold him tight, he’ll help you get well.”
The woman turned to Aspirin, all of the warmth in her voice when talking to Alyona gone.
“Give her the ibuprofen, now. Take her temperature. If anything happens, call the ambulance—this is no joke!”
The door closed behind her. Aspirin looked at the pouch in his hand, turned it over, read the directions. He understood nothing, even though the steps were as simple as they come.
“How is this not a joke?” he asked the ceiling. “I don’t understand. Because you and I know your friend is going to come over, wave his hand over you, heal you, make you whole—after all, he made your birth certificate right in his bag, one wave of his hand, yes? So what’s the point of this whole coughing drama? Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”
Alyona almost choked from coughing; she opened her cloudy, sick eyes. “To feel sorry? You think too much of yourself, Aspirin.”
“Of course.” He was far too tired to feel irritated. “You are in my house, you eat here, sleep here, bait me with your bear, and yet I am not worthy of your attention. I am a tool for you, that’s about it. Why are you shivering like that?”
“Because I’m sick, you idiot.”
He came closer, watching Mishutka out of the corner of his eye. The teddy bear lay on the sofa, spreading its soft paws over the blanket, staring beyond Aspirin.
“I will never tell him about that night,” the girl said, and at first Aspirin thought she was talking about the bear. “I will tell him everything . . . but this. I will find an intersection. I will