head; she said nothing, but Aspirin got the distinct impression that there would be no free passes. No breaks. The girl sat by his side, gazing into his face with dry, inflamed eyes, and Aspirin felt like an amateur standing by a surgical table. Here was a wounded patient, bleeding profusely, needing urgent help—but Aspirin had no knowledge of how to even start.
“Umm.” He knew he had to say something quickly, and with great conviction, without any amorphous “calm down” and “it’ll all work out.” “Listen. They say Paganini could play on one string. You see, his strings broke too and he still played his Caprices on one string. If Paganini could do it, why can’t you?”
“On one string,” she said slowly, as if half asleep. “No, Alexey, that’s not possible.”
“Then,” Aspirin said, feverishly searching for the right words, “then use a regular E string instead of the special one. You know, a normal one. It’ll be like a crack in a clay pitcher. Like they did in the ancient times to prevent the Gods’ envy. Remember, like when a potter made a particularly good pitcher, he’d leave a small crack in it, a flaw, to make sure he didn’t anger the Gods. Then maybe you can play your song, and the world won’t break.”
She stopped smiling. Aspirin’s heart jumped into his mouth: “Alyona?”
She threw herself at Aspirin, her arms tight around his neck, her face pressed against his cheek so hard that Aspirin felt a twinge of pain; Mishutka was squeezed between them so hard that the bear’s hard plastic nose poked Aspirin’s chest.
Part III
February
“What’s up?”
He’d woken up a minute ago. Irina lay with her eyes open, her cheek resting on her hand.
“Nothing,” she smiled with her lips closed.
“Was I snoring?”
“No.”
He glanced at the clock. It was half past six, a bit early, but he had the morning shift today.
Aspirin sat up in bed and lowered his feet to the floor. Lately their morning ritual of waking up in the same bed had developed a tiny crack, a hint of discomfort. A vague false note.
“Still sleepy,” he complained. “But I need to get up. You should go back to sleep.”
She didn’t respond.
Aspirin reached for the bathrobe hanging on the back of the chair. The robe was soft and comfortable. Everything was good, calm, comfortable, easy. If only it weren’t for that look and that silence.
“If I ordered a general to change himself into a seabird, and if the general did not obey me, would that be my fault or the general’s?” he asked spontaneously.
“Is that from The Little Prince?” Irina asked after a pause.
“Yes. The answer is ‘Yours, Your Majesty. Because you asked for the impossible.’”
“Am I asking for the impossible?”
Aspirin tensed up. Early morning was not the right time for this sort of discussion.
“You don’t ask for anything.” He touched her arm gently, conciliatory. “I am off.”
“Go,” she pulled the blanket to her chin. “Have a good show.”
“You have a good day too.”
Her door slammed behind his back. Still wearing his bathrobe, a cigarette in his mouth, he went up to his apartment. A neighbor carrying a full trash pail gave him a knowing look.
He sat in his kitchen, by the window, took a long drag on his cigarette and closed his eyes. He had to give Irina some credit—she was certainly perceptive. She was right. She did ask for the impossible. Her steep demands took a toll on their relationship, like a worm eating away at an apple, and no one could tell how long the second round of this neighborly idyll would last—a week? A month?
He was thirty-four years old. He liked his status. He valued his relationships with women on their own, without any additional expectations. Either she would understand that, or . . . that would be a pity. What a shame that would be. There were very few women like Irina out there.
Alyona was still asleep. He left a pack of defrosted ground beef on the counter for her to make meatballs.
As he was leaving the club, a young woman, fresh as a daisy, asked for an autograph. He drew a man behind a controller, signed “Aspirin,” and the girl nearly melted in gratitude.
From the car he called his music guy, got a list of all the new stuff, and stopped at the store. He grabbed a cup of coffee with the sales guys and signed another flyer for the girl at the cash register. He spent all his cash on a stack