this string of words in his sleep or under anesthesia. One of his buddies once pointed out—not without a hint of envy—that Aspirin’s verbal ejaculation had nothing to do with the higher function of his nervous system, but was rather a purely physiological act, like sneezing or defecation, and the joy it brought his listeners was of a purely physiological nature.
That buddy of his wasn’t entirely wrong.
“And here we have our first caller on the line. Let’s see—who do we have here? Inna is on the line, hello, Inna. Are you home or at work? You’re home? See here, Inna, the entire country is envious of you, because the rest of the country is at work at this moment. We’re going to play a game, you know the rules, but let me remind the rest of our listeners—I am going to think of a word, and Inna has to figure out which word I am thinking about. Inna, you have one minute, you can ask me questions, and I will answer. And—go.”
Today was Tuesday, and he was supposed to be at Kuklabuck at eight in the evening. Aspirin hadn’t expected to get any rest the night before, but by half past midnight he was gone—and didn’t wake up until six in the morning.
Alyona was asleep in the chair when he left his bedroom, wrapped in the towel, the chestnut brown teddy bear with the plastic eyes pressed against her chest. A small T-shirt, jeans, striped socks, and white panties were drying on the radiator. Aspirin stood in the bathroom for a long time, staring at the clothes, trying to understand what to do, where to run, and whom to call.
At eight in the morning he was live on the air. Half an hour before that he managed to get hold of Whiskas.
“You should have told me the truth from the start.” Whiskas did not hide his annoyance. “What the hell was all this nonsense about some random girl, and you picking her up out of pity?”
“She’s not my daughter! I am telling you—I was set up. Her documents are fake. They speak some sort of weird language. Albanian, or something like that. They are going to murder me, and because of her they will inherit my apartment!”
“That’s paranoia,” Whiskas snorted into the phone. “You are not exactly feeble, you are a public figure of sorts, so why would they want to take a risk like that?”
“When you see my cold body in the morgue . . .”
“Take your Prozac and let me sleep. I worked all night, you know.”
Whiskas hung up.
Aspirin wasn’t feeling all that well, so he decided not to drive and instead called a cab; he had twenty minutes before the start of his show. The girl in the towel woke up and raised her head.
“I am leaving,” Aspirin said. “Get dressed and get out of here. I am not leaving you alone in the apartment.”
“Where should I go?” she asked, still not quite awake.
“I don’t care where you go. To the playground. All children need fresh air. Quickly, my cab is waiting.”
“Can I come with you?” The girl was already in the bathroom, which he would have given her credit for, if he was feeling generous.
He wasn’t.
“No. I am going to work.”
“My jeans are still wet.”
“They will dry on you. Or go without pants, your choice.”
“May I please stay?”
“No.”
“May I sit in your office? I will be very quiet.”
“I said no!” Aspirin barked. “You will sit outside!”
The girl came out of the bathroom. The dark spots weren’t completely gone from her T-shirt—on a closer look, one could trace where the blood had dripped from her nose. Aspirin winced.
“Move it.”
He pushed her out of the apartment and emitted a mental sigh of relief—here was a hint of progress. The girl was out of his home and her questionable birth certificate was in Aspirin’s bag. That left very little in terms of possible pressure on him. Almost none.
“Wait! I forgot Mishutka.”
“He can wait.” Aspirin pushed the elevator button.
Twelve minutes remained until the live broadcast. The car was waiting by the entrance.
“Sit here.” He pushed the girl toward the bench.
“May I please come with you?” she asked once more.
“You may not.”
He slammed the car door. The cabbie drove confidently, passing on the right, crossing the solid line—Aspirin would never be brave enough to drive like that. At the studio he was met with reproach, but he ignored it; he slammed the soundproof door, slipped into his place in front of