editor’s office. Do you think the food you eat just falls down from the sky?”
She didn’t respond; he shut the door.
“Not bad,” the editor said. “Not bad at all. Have you ever tried your hand at sci-fi?”
“I have,” Aspirin said. “When I was a kid. It was about astronauts.”
“Astronauts aren’t today’s trend,” the editor said.
“Depends on the astronaut,” Aspirin objected sensibly.
“What happened to your face?” the editor said, changing the topic. “Did you get slapped around by some chicks again? Those scratches look just like nails!”
“I ran into a streetlight,” Aspirin said. “Went mushroom picking last night.”
The editor howled with laughter, clearly believing his version was the correct version.
Let him.
Fifteen minutes later Aspirin stepped outside, pleasantly burdened by a stack of bills. Sunglasses protected his eyes, one of which was so swollen it wouldn’t even open, and his ear still ached, and yet Aspirin felt a hell of a lot better. His fable would have a large audience, perhaps pushing a million copies. Let people read it, let them be amazed, or let them laugh—that was fine with him—but the next time they saw a barefoot man in camouflage pants and with a leather pouch around his neck, let them pause and wonder. The modern world was insane, that much was obvious; in this world truth could turn into delirious nonsense, and delirious nonsense into truth, and everyone sensed it on some level.
Truth was what everyone believed in, but what truth was was always up for debate. Fact and fiction were blurred, and what mattered was often how loud and how often you could say something. As a journalist—or, at least connected to the journalistic establishment—he was a part of the worldwide mechanism churning the truth out of a vacuum.
And that meant what he got out to the wider populace could be very loud, indeed.
A group of boys loitered around his car.
“Hey, Alexey,” his thirteen-year-old neighbor from the seventh floor said, “what happened here, anyway?”
“Well, I had this teddy bear, and I locked him in the trunk,” Aspirin said. “But he got mad and climbed out.”
The boys giggled, exchanging amused glances.
“‘Telling the truth is easy and pleasant,’” Aspirin murmured, walking away.
The apartment was empty—no sign of Alyona or her bear. The headphones and discs were strewn over the sofa. For all that mess, though, the dishes sparkled and the kitchen table was buffed to a shine.
Maybe she’d left for good? Aspirin wondered. He immediately chastised himself for such hopeful thoughts—yeah, sure she had. She must have been in such a hurry, she even cleaned the kitchen first, idiot.
He mused at the girl’s confidence. He could always bolt the doors from the inside. Let her complain to the concierge, let her bother the neighbors—he was the master of his own domain after all. He had a right to kick guests out if he wanted to. Except, of course, people would view him as the monster. “But she’s just a sweet little girl,” they’d say.
Sweet my ass.
Also, even if they didn’t put up a fuss, how long would he have to hide behind the bolted door? He would have to come out at some point.
He still wasn’t hungry, but the thirst that had bothered him since that morning persisted. He’d gulped a bottle of mineral water and started making tea when the front door opened.
Alyona entered. Despite the sunny, warm weather, she wore a coat buttoned up to the top, and a beret pulled over one ear.
“I went to the music school,” she said as soon as she saw Aspirin. “Here is an application form for you. There are no auditions—for violin they have open enrollment, because it’s not very popular. There is a fee. But it’s not expensive, it won’t bankrupt you.”
She coughed, covering her mouth. Aspirin noticed how pale she was—even paler than she’d looked when her barefoot friend came for a visit.
She took off her coat and placed the bear on the footstool by the door.
“Also, I need to buy a violin. For my height, I need a half. I talked to one of the mothers there. Her daughter is switching to a three-quarters. Her old violin is not very good—it’s just a wooden case with a neck—but it’ll be just fine for practicing. Are you listening to me?”
“I am listening,” Aspirin said after a pause. “What else do you need?”
“Nothing. Here is the application form.”
With the tips of two fingers, Aspirin held the paper she placed in the middle of the kitchen table. “I . . . request