know. I would have led him out, that was definite. The door had already opened . . . But he did not come. I failed.”
“You didn’t fail.” Aspirin practically forced the tea down her throat. “You did it. You played two strings!”
Alyona laughed softly.
“This world . . . It’s so fragile. I made a window, a window in its shell. A wound, really, if I’m being honest. And it fought back. It resisted, it broke my strings. Your world. It must have hurt. I knew I wasn’t going to last very long.”
Aspirin picked up the phone and put it back down. Whom would he call?
“You need to rest. And then you can try again.”
“No, I can’t. I lost. I did my best, but I lost, Alexey. I don’t have any more strings.”
“So what,” he asked hesitantly, “now you will be simply—my daughter? Right?”
She closed her eyes.
“I am sorry. There is no point for me in living. I won’t be anyone anymore.”
He held her shoulders.
“Listen to me. I don’t care. You are my daughter, the rest does not matter. Your stepfather will never hurt you again, and your crazy mother—”
The doorbell rang.
“I am going to throw her down the stairs,” Aspirin said through gritted teeth. “And let her complain as much as she wants to whomever she wants.”
He took a few wide, decisive steps toward the hallway and threw the door open, not bothering to check the spyhole.
“Good evening, Alexey Igorevich.”
A whoosh of cold air. An icy, wintry chill. Aspirin froze on the spot, his mouth opened, staring into the corkscrew eyes, greenish-blue, serene and merciless.
Aspirin’s Adam’s apple jerked up and down; he lowered his gaze. His guest was barefoot, camouflage pants rolled up, long narrow feet clean and white, as if made of alabaster.
“I am here for Alyona.”
“I didn’t invite you,” Aspirin said hoarsely, not moving.
The guest smiled thinly.
“Well, Alexey Igorevich, sometimes I show up without an invitation.”
He stepped over the threshold. Aspirin took a step back. His knees weakened.
Not a single sound came from the living room.
“Wait,” Aspirin said quickly. “One minute.”
The guest turned his head.
“Yes?”
“I need to speak with you.” Aspirin forced the words out. “Let’s go into the kitchen, I have, um, some wonderful brandy . . .”
The guest smiled wider and shook his head.
“No, Alexey Igorevich. Not today.”
He entered the living room.
Aspirin ran after him, moving along the walls of the living room, nearly toppling a case of CDs in the process, and finally inserting himself between Alyona and the guest.
“Hey there, little one,” the barefoot man said, paying Aspirin no attention.
Slowly, Alyona opened her eyes, and, to Aspirin’s horror and surprise, suddenly smiled.
“You came.”
“But of course.”
“You didn’t desert me.”
“Of course not.”
“You were right,” Alyona lowered her eyelashes. “I failed. I couldn’t do it.”
A pause hung in the air. Aspirin tensed up like a goalie. He expected the barefoot man to try to approach Alyona, and he wasn’t sure he would be brave enough to try to stop him, but still waited, trying to control his shaking knees.
The barefoot man said something then, a short, sonorous sentence.
Alyona shuddered and opened her eyes.
“What did you say?”
The guest repeated his sentence. He paused and said it again, and this time Aspirin understood:
“You did it. He heard you. He regained consciousness. He remembered who he was.”
It was very quiet. Alyona took a deep breath, and her pale greenish cheeks suddenly blushed, as if someone splashed her with pink paint.
“It is his choice,” the barefoot man said softly.
Alyona exhaled and shook her head.
“I am tired.”
“I know. Let’s go.”
The man reached in his pocket and pulled out a long leather case. When he opened it, white metal flashed in the light of the lamp, and Aspirin thought he saw shiny surgical instruments.
“No!” Aspirin took a step toward the sofa, shielding the girl.
“Alexey,” Alyona said weakly.
“You cannot . . . get out!”
The guest took out two parts of a flute, put them together and inserted the mouthpiece.
“Give us a chance to talk,” Alyona said quickly.
The barefoot man shrugged. “Whatever you want. Talk as much as you need.”
“Alexey.” Alyona’s eyes were as clear as on the day they first met. “Give me Mishutka.”
Aspirin hesitated, then reached for the bear, picked him up—so light and fluffy—and handed him to Alyona.
“You see,” she said, pressing Mishutka to her chest. “I have to go.”
“I don’t see! Where?”
She smiled. “Home. I wanted to go back anyway. This is the right thing. This is good. Don’t worry about me, I did everything I could. And I succeeded.”