He didn’t need to know about the state of my marriage. He had enough on his plate. Theshestyorka—the sixer, the lowest rank in the hierarchy, the bottom rung of a ladder that only led somewhere worse—was his world now. Just as he hadn’t told me what was behind the shadows in his eyes, I wouldn’t tell him what was behind mine.
We were both performing fine for each other’s benefit.
I walked him to the door. Thebykiflanked us at a distance that was technically respectful and practically inescapable.
We kept up our pretence all the way to the goodbye. There was no car waiting for him. He walked down the driveway and then he was gone.
The house was exactly as it had been before he arrived, except heavier somehow.
??????
Seeing Ruslan again had taken the wind from my sails. I spent the rest of the afternoon organising my laundry and making use of the balcony. I may have stolen a few cigarettes from Spartak’s jacket. The need for fresh air and tobacco in my lungs simultaneously was an oxymoron I was prepared to live with.
My sneaky bad habit from school. Some things survived everything.
At a distance the sky was streaked with orange and a hint of underlying red as the sun began to set. A beautiful sight I didn’t appreciate often enough. I sucked on the cigarette and watched the filter paper glow red and turn to ash before blowing out a long slow breath. A gust of wind made me shiver, lifting the grey ash off the balcony railing and taking it with it.
“Nasty habit.”
I jumped and turned.
Vadim was leaning in the door frame with the particular ease of a man who had been there long enough to observe and had decided to announce himself in his own time.
“I didn’t hear you knock,” I said, moving the cigarette back to my lips.
He reached out and snatched it from my fingers and flicked it over the balcony in one motion.
I watched it arc through the air and disappear.
He didn’t know about the three others stashed in my drawer. I let it go.
“You had a visitor today.”
His face was inscrutable. His eyes stayed on mine.
“You don’t need my brother,” I said, keeping my voice light.“Why don’t you cut him loose?”
“Let’s call him an insurance policy,” he said, crossing his arms.
Understanding arrived all at once. How had I missed it?
The timing of his visit and moving back to Chernograd.
“You’re a nasty bastard,” I said, with a smile that had nothing warm in it.
“Actually,” he said, straightening,“I’m a client with an appointment tonight.” He pushed off the door frame.“Be ready.”
He turned and crossed the bedroom.
The door opened.
The door closed.
I stood on the balcony in the cold and the fading orange light and didn’t move.
Tonight. Another performance.
He hadn’t harmed me, but I couldn’t guarantee the same for my brother.
