Armenian brandy. She didn’t refuse, but drank very little; cradling the snifter in her hands, she studied the “legs” of the liquid on the glass.
“Do you have children?” Aspirin asked.
She shook her head. “No, just nephews.”
“You must be a very kind person.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Well,” Aspirin chuckled, “you’ve come to my aid. Armed with vinegar. And that, whatever it’s called. In the middle of the night. Of your own volition.”
“It’s not a big deal,” she smiled. “I never sleep after my shift.”
“I don’t sleep either,” he said, and poured a little more brandy into her nearly full glass. “Second night in a row. And I have to be on the air at nine in the morning.”
“I read somewhere,” the woman touched her lips to the surface of the amber liquid, “that occasionally . . . in some cases . . . sleep deficit and an intense workload may have a therapeutic effect. I mean, when psychological trauma is present.”
“Are you a psychologist?”
“No, I am an engineer.”
“Right. You said that earlier.”
“Yes. I’m a techie. I work at a power plant and had a late shift tonight.”
“You don’t like Radio Sweetheart, do you?” Aspirin guessed.
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s just something that’s come to me.”
“I am quite open-minded.” She spoke calmly, but her eyes sparkled with a hint of sarcasm. “If someone listens to something like that—that means it’s needed.”
“It is needed,” Aspirin said. “Kids from vocational schools, and truck drivers, and office drones . . . And there is no reason to be condescending.”
She inclined her head. “Alexey, I’m not asking what happened to you. But perhaps you should sleep for a few hours, and then you’d be in a better position to decide—”
“There is nothing to decide,” Aspirin said quickly. “Everything is going to resolve on its own . . . or not. Whatever I do to try to fix things only makes them worse.”
She studied his face; tactful, she didn’t ask what sort of violence one had to endure to have a trail of four claws on one’s face.
“Have you tried contacting the police?”
Aspirin groaned.
“You should take a time-out,” the woman said touching her lips to the brandy. “Just go to bed.”
“I will try.”
Walking her out, he suddenly remembered. “I am sorry . . . what is your name?”
Saturday
“My darlings, today is a special holiday for all sensible mankind. The work is finished, Saturday is again upon us, and we’re anxious, we’re willing, but not all of us are able. . . . It’s a glorious Saturday morning at Radio Sweetheart, the last weekend of the dying summer, and it’s sunny outside . . . What a silly heavenly body—in the morning it rises, and in the evening it sets, and if only it were the other way around . . . But we digress, and my producer tells me we have a caller. We have a lovely caller. Hello, we’re listening! Tell us who you are and what you desire in this life! Oh no, I suspect our girl is shy—she hung up. But no fear; at least now we can listen to our next performer, and what will she sing for us, I wonder . . .”
Aspirin spoke with his eyes closed.
A minute, then another. Commercial. Weather report. A minute, then another, minutes following minutes. Aspirin’s measured, upbeat, occasionally even stylish mumbling filled the interiors of cars and apartments, whispered in headphones, and roared from speakers. If I am mad, Aspirin thought, lifting his eyelids for a split second, then you are certainly insane. I am pulling your leg, babbling in your ears, lulling you to sleep, I bleed nonsense, and I can right now, without changing the tone of my voice, share my entire story, and nothing will change, nothing will happen. Another idiot will call in with a song request . . .
In the morning a doctor from a local clinic made a house call, listened to Alyona’s chest, and diagnosed bronchitis. She took a long time writing a prescription, even longer to explain to Aspirin how to use mustard plasters, and why cupping therapy was barbaric and belonged to the previous century. She threatened him with the possibility of pneumonia, which would definitely happen if he didn’t take certain measures, and told him about a few cases in her own practice, in which children would have to be hospitalized even though everything started with a simple cold.
Aspirin pulled the doctor into the kitchen.
“Would it be best to hospitalize her right now?” he asked,