almost to the wall, the elevator clanged and reopened the doors. Aspirin saw a cop in winter uniform and a woman in an old coat walking in through the front door. Only finding himself face-to-face with him in the tight space of the elevator, did Aspirin recognize the cop. They had already met, only that time the cop wore plainclothes.
The woman was that same youth liaison officer on whom Aspirin tried to palm Alyona off a while ago.
“The child does not attend a mainstream school. Moreover, she stopped attending the music school as well. She plays violin in underground intersections for money.”
“That’s not true,” Aspirin blurted out.
The youth liaison officer pursed her lips. The cop glanced toward the window, at the bright blue March nightfall.
“Doesn’t she play in underground intersections?” the officer clarified.
“Not anymore. And she didn’t do it for money.”
“What for then?”
“For fun,” Aspirin said through his teeth, feeling like a complete idiot.
The cop and the liaison officer exchanged glances.
“Don’t you have anything to do?” Aspirin said, brimming over with quiet fury. “So many homeless people, abandoned children, beggars, drug addicts . . . Do you have that much time on your hands that you can visit me and question why my daughter chooses to perform in the underground intersections? There is no law forbidding doing that!”
“Alexey Igorevich,” the cop said, “we have an official statement from the children’s services. They want to take away your custody, via legal proceedings.”
“What?”
“If the court decides that you are not providing the child with the reasonable amount of care, such as nutrition, education, et cetera, or that you treat the child with cruelty—”
“Cruelty?”
“I have a statement signed by her violin teacher,” the woman said. “You have stopped the child from attending the music school under the threat of physical punishment.”
“That’s a lie!”
The woman shrugged. “I have spoken with the teacher; she assures me that you threatened to throw her down the stairs and that she has witnesses.”
“Dammit,” Aspirin muttered. “It’s total nonsense, do you understand? Alyona! Alyona, get over here!”
Nothing happened.
Swearing under his breath, Aspirin went to the living room. Alyona lay on the sofa, her feet propped up on the wall, her disheveled head with headphones almost on the floor. The entire floor in the room was covered by CDs, sheet music, candy wrappers, and some other paper trash. Mishutka lay on the piano keys in the same pose as his owner, feet propped up on the lid.
Irritated, Aspirin jerked the cord out of the socket, switching off the tiny lights on the stereo front panel. Alyona opened her blurry eyes and sat up on the sofa. A pair of wrinkled sweatpants. Pale, withdrawn face.
The cop and the liaison officer walked in from the kitchen without an invitation and stood behind Aspirin without speaking. He gritted his teeth and walked over to the girl to pull off her headphones: “We have guests. You should brush your hair.”
“Why don’t you leave me alone, father dear,” Alyona suggested in a clear loud voice. “Turn everything back on and close the door behind you.”
Aspirin controlled himself.
“Tell me please: have I forbidden you from attending music school?”
She glanced at the visitors over his shoulder: “Why?”
“Have I ever forbidden you, or not?”
She fell back on the sofa and jerked her feet up in the air: “You have, you have forbidden me! You have put me on a chain, put a muzzle on me, made me live in a doghouse, gave me raw bones to eat! Bowwowwow!”
He grabbed the collar of her sweatshirt and pulled so hard the seams crackled. “Oh really? Then get out of here. Here they are, ready to take you to a detention center, right now! Get the hell out of here!”
The cop and the liaison officer did not utter a sound. Alyona glanced at them again over Aspirin’s shoulder.
“They are not taking me anywhere. You are my father, you are supposed to take care of me. Let me go, you are hurting me!”
With a soft dull sound, Mishutka slid from the piano keys to the floor.
Shuddering inside, Aspirin let go of the girl’s collar. Without looking at Alyona, ignoring the visitors, he left the living room and closed the door behind him. A minute later Carmina Burana rumbled through the speakers at full volume.
He wasn’t sure what happened with their guests.
By midnight the slush on the street had frozen to resemble a mirror. Aspirin walked on ice; his reflection walked upside down, pressing on the soles of his shoes and constantly glancing