naked floor and only with her head toward the east. Instead of a watch, she wore a tiny compass on her wrist. She and Aspirin fell in lust at first sight and made love like wild cats—on a park bench, on the beach, on the hood of someone else’s car. They were as happy as they could be, and Aspirin never even considered moving away.
Three weeks later they had broken up, but still—he hadn’t thought about going to London.
“Everything is fine,” Aspirin made sure his voice sounded upbeat. “Mom . . . I was thinking. I have been so f . . . so busy lately. It would be nice to get away for a bit. What if I come for a visit?”
“What about your visa?” Mom asked after a short pause.
Aspirin couldn’t remember if he had a visa, but he had good friends at the consulate.
“I will figure it out,” he said confidently. “Go ahead and send me all the visa paperwork just in case, will you?”
“Are you sure everything’s all right?” Mom asked for the third time.
Alyona lay on her stomach, eyes shut, head moving from left to right. Sounds of Wagner streamed from the stereo: Lohengrin, the prelude to Act III.
Aspirin perched on the arm of a chair. The girl’s eyes remained closed; his presence seemed to be unnoticed. Her face did not look relaxed—it looked as if Alyona was in the middle of an intense mental effort.
How could a child be so well-versed in classical music? Alyona’s relationship with music seemed almost unnatural. Aspirin thought of how she found a melody on his piano that first morning that nearly made him lose his mind. He recalled the strings that she did not dare to accept, and how the camouflage-clad guest simply dropped them on the floor.
The corner of the package with the strings poked out of Alyona’s jacket. Aspirin tiptoed over and reached for the package.
Alyona opened her eyes. Her hand already held Aspirin’s wrist, and her grip was strong—far stronger than a little girl’s should be—and painful.
“Let go,” he barked.
She let go of his hand, placed her palm over the strings, stuffed them deeper into her pocket, and removed her headphones. “Why did you do this?”
“What?”
“Why did you touch my jacket?”
“I wanted to make sure you’re still alive,” Aspirin said, as if it was the most natural action in the world. “Lying here like a stoned zombie. Want me to switch to some pop?”
“I don’t want pop.” Alyona clapped her headphones back on. “Would you mind leaving me alone now?”
“Oh really? Am I bothering you as you listen to my CDs in my apartment?”
Aspirin turned off the stereo, and stood in front of the sofa, hands on his hips. “Seriously—how else can I be of service? Sink’s full of dirty dishes, there is nothing to eat here, bread’s all moldy! Get your ass to the store!”
Silently, Alyona got up and went to the door. Aspirin followed her. “Three days you spent on this couch. Three days! All you do is sit around listening to music. What are you—a bloody young Mozart-in-training? You love it here, don’t you? Freeloading, no cares in the world. So convenient to hang around daddy’s neck, isn’t it?”
“What do you want me to buy?” Alyona inquired calmly, tying her sneakers.
“You’re the lady of the house, you figure it out! Meat, vegetables, whatever else normal people should have in the fridge. Here is the money, bring the change back.”
He locked the door behind her and exhaled. Apparently, it was acceptable to treat her this way. Interesting. There we go. That is another way. We shall see.
In the kitchen the first thing he saw was Mishutka nestled in the chair. The toy’s plastic eyes stared above Aspirin’s head.
Aspirin swore, which made no impression on the teddy bear. Aspirin reached for the toy, wishing to study it more closely, but at the last moment pulled away. What are you, he thought, a chicken? He reached for it again . . . but was saved by a telephone call.
It was Whiskas, and Whiskas was in an extremely good mood. “Luba Kalchenko does reside in the city of Pervomaysk, and she happens to be married. So your little darling must have run away from her stepfather, or just wanted to have a nice vacation. My advice—give her some money, put her on the train, and bid her good-bye.”
“What if she doesn’t want to leave?”
“What do you mean—she doesn’t want to? Send her away, and stop bugging