of us. Before the sunset.”
Aspirin glanced at his watch. Five minutes after five. When does the sun set in September?
“Are you pulling my leg?” Aspirin asked hopelessly.
With deliberate care, she hung up her new jacket, folded her scarf on the shelf, and placed her umbrella in the corner.
“Thank you. I really was very cold.”
She couldn’t have been nearly as cold as he was right now.
Aspirin went into the kitchen—he wanted tea. No, what he really wanted was a drink. He reached for a bottle of brandy, and then froze—should he tell Irina? He realized that he didn’t know her phone number, though, or her apartment number—or even her floor. Was it three or four?
A single musical phrase floated from the living room. A fragment of a melody. Another cold shiver went down Aspirin’s spine, perhaps from the music, perhaps from this new sensation of “a hole in the universe.” As if a thin film quivered slightly, and beyond that thin film was absolute chaos.
“Do you know where Irina lives? The neighbor? The one with the medicine, you know? That one?”
“Fourth floor. I remember taking the elevator with her.”
“What’s her apartment number?”
“Ask Sveta. She knows.”
“But how do I explain why I need it?”
“Why would you need to explain? You are such a child.”
Alyona was right, of course.
Not bothering with the elevator, he ran down the stairs. A moment later, he ran up the same stairs to the fourth floor. He reached for the doorbell, then paused, holding his breath, and lowered his hand. He ran back to his apartment, grabbed his jacket, ran down the street to the drugstore. He bought cough syrup, and a handful of the most expensive pills and supplements, then tossed the receipt. A few minutes later, he was back at Irina’s door.
He rang the doorbell.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, Alexey. Your neighbor.”
“One minute . . .”
She must have taken a moment to compose herself. At least, when she opened the door—only an actual minute later—her face looked calm and even peaceful, and only her inflamed, bloodshot eyes spoiled the overall impression somewhat.
“I brought you some pills,” Aspirin babbled. “Because I have been such a jerk—you helped us, probably emptied all your stash, and now it’s flu season, and you should always have something available at home just in case.” He almost added: “My dear listeners, we need to take care of ourselves, as no one loves us more than we do, so let us all march down to the nearest drugstore, replenish our medicine cabinet, the Department of Public Health wants you to . . .” But he bit his tongue just in time.
“Thank you,” Irina said. “But you shouldn’t have. I didn’t lend it to you.”
An awkward pause hung in the air. Aspirin stepped from foot to foot.
“Would you like to come in?” Irina said without a hint of hospitality.
“No, thank you. I am only here for a second. That very nice man you were talking to . . . I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere. Is he a local official, by any chance?”
“No,” Irina sighed. “It was my husband. An ex-husband. A never-has-been, really.”
“It’s her husband. An ex-husband. A never-has-been, really. I am not sure I understood it.”
“Does she love him?”
“Who the hell knows. I have no idea,” Aspirin admitted.
The sun went down.
“Tell me you made it all up, please?”
“I made it all up.” Alyona dangled her legs under the table. Steam from a cup of tea in front of her pretended to be a tiny tornado.
Aspirin, not believing her, took a sip from his cup and burned his mouth.
As soon as the burning subsided, he demanded: “Tell me what you saw.”
Alyona said nothing.
“Was it the Grim Reaper over his left shoulder? Was that it?”
“What do you think,” Alyona asked, very businesslike, as if she’d never heard his question. “Will they tell her right away? Or later?”
“How do I know? I’ve never had an ex-husband. Or a never-has-been one for that matter.”
Alyona carried her cup to the sink, washed it, and placed it carefully on the dish tray.
“I have to practice,” she said sternly.
“How much are you going to practice? You’ve got violin marks on your face, like someone busted your jaw. I wonder what the neighbors will think of me . . .”
“Do you really care what the neighbors will think of you?”
Alyona left the kitchen and once more picked up her violin. Aspirin listened: she played scales, the sounds coming fast and clean, then an étude, then another one, repeating it over