a stool with one hand, the girl with the other, and dragged both outside the door. “Sit here, and I’ll come get you. Don’t touch the doorbell. You touch it—you die. Is that clear?”
Alyona bit her lips and nodded.
“Excellent.” Aspirin giggled again. “I’ll buy you some ice cream later.”
He closed the door, first the top lock, then the bottom one.
Dasha peeked out of the bathroom: “Have you solved our little problem?”
“Problem has been solved,” Aspirin murmured, struggling out of his pants. “And what problem—there is no problem whatsoever.”
He took the desirable, pliable woman in his arms and carried her into the bedroom, toward the pile of crumpled sheets.
Thursday
He woke up with a start, as if from a slap.
The clock chimed seven. Dasha snored softly, her lips slightly opened.
Aspirin got up and took a walk around the apartment. Biting his lip, he looked into the spy hole, then unlocked the front door.
Alyona was sleeping on the floor, wrapped up in her blanket like a little ball. Tears had dried on her face, making random grooves on her cheeks.
“Do you want to try on this dress?” Aspirin’s voice cracked under the weight of his own generosity.
“No, thank you. I don’t need another one.”
They had been getting quite a few curious looks from the saleswomen in the children’s clothes department. The middle-aged one with the dark hair clearly longed for melodrama—the way she looked at Alyona was triggering within her thoughts of a new Cinderella. From provincial poverty to city riches, from orphanage into the arms of a loving father, and everything the child deserved would be hers: a fancy apartment, a handsome groom, a law degree. The young bleached blonde preferred a true crime scenario: she glared at Aspirin as if he were a demon seducer, purchasing a child’s soul with a few cheap dresses. Fortunately, the blond clerk was called to the cash register, and they no longer had to deal with her unwanted attention.
Alyona spent some time choosing tights, socks, and underwear, while Aspirin continued to suffer. Then it was time for larger purchases; a life-size mannequin stood by the entrance, clad in a ballroom gown complete with a crinoline. Aspirin glanced at the price tag and decided it was high enough to soften the pangs of his guilty conscience.
“Why?” Alyona said. “Where would I ever wear something like this?”
“You can take it with you to Pervomaysk.” Aspirin was getting more comfortable with his role. “You can show your mom. Or you can wear it to school, for the New Year’s Eve ball or something.”
The dark-haired clerk almost swooned.
Alyona lifted a corner of her mouth. “No, thank you. I would rather have a warm jacket. Because it’s almost fall, and I get cold in just a T-shirt.”
Trying not to look at the clerk, Aspirin followed Alyona into the depths of the stuffy store smelling of new clothes. They bought her a warm jacket and a tracksuit.
“Let’s find a new bag,” Aspirin said.
“What for?”
“To pack all this stuff in. How are you going to take it all to Pervomaysk?” He had been saying the town’s name a lot, as if invoking it would make it where she was truly from.
Alyona said nothing. Aspirin chose a backpack with an image of Winnie-the-Pooh and stuffed all the purchases inside. Still saying nothing, Alyona strapped the backpack to her back.
“By the way,” Aspirin said casually as they passed the school supplies department, “do you need anything for school? There are only a couple of weeks left until September—first day of school and all that. Notebooks? Daily planner? Pencil case?”
“I am not going to school,” Alyona said.
“Meaning?”
“I am going to start music school.” Alyona stared past him. “I told you—I need to learn how to play the violin. I don’t need anything else.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Aspirin said, discovering fatherly, almost sadistic notes in his voice. “Children have to go to school. Every day. At half past eight. Didn’t you go to school in your Pervomaysk?”
Alyona said nothing. Aspirin noticed the cashier listening to their conversation. He grabbed Alyona’s hand and led her toward the exit.
Her hand was soft and limp. Aspirin realized this was the first time he’d ever held her by the hand—the first time since he brought her to his home. It was hard to believe only three days had passed.
“If I am to be your father,” he said, making his way through the thin crowd, “I must be responsible for you. Right? I must check your homework. Attend school conferences.