“You could come over too, if you want. I’m sure Mama will make plenty of food.”
His nostrils flared again, and he chewed the cookie some more, then took a sip from the comically small cup. “I’m going to see my babushka in Tyumen.”
“Is that where you grew up?”
“Listen,” he said, setting the cup down, “you don’t need to know where I grew up. I have to go. Here is my cellphone number. You don’t call it unless you have to. It doesn’t mean you’ll get Vitali—it means you’ll get me and I’m moody when Idon’t get my beauty sleep. You don’t say a word more than you have to, and you sure as fuck don’t say it near listening ears.”
He stood, only bumping into the couch once, and headed for the hallway. I stared at the roses. Just over a week left.
I took off after Misha in time to catch him being assaulted with leftovers wrapped in plastic. A whole freshly bakedvetrushkawas among them. I heroically rescued him, shoving him out the door and onto the landing before Mama tortured his entire life story right out of him. It was good to leave some mystery.
He didn’t press the elevator button right away, just stood there in that sad lighting, thumbing the still-hot food in his hands. Then, he glanced at the door. I took the hint and softly shut it, and even leaned against it so Mama couldn’t muscle it open to tell me to put on a hat.
“I like you, Katya,” Misha said hesitantly. “You ever been to Tyumen?”
I let out a‘ha!’ “Are you inviting me?”
“The rural area—that’s where my babushka lives,” he said, ignoring me. “It’s not always good people out there. Sometimes a drunk asshole—he’ll tie up a guard dog outside to keep the thieves and rapists away. But then, it’s winter. And he will forget to feed it. You understand?”
“Yes…?” I said. I didn’t.
“He will forget to feed it and days will go by and the dog is starved. The next time the drunk goes out there, the dog does not have an interest in rapists and thieves. It tears its master’s throat out instead.”
“What… what does that mean?”
“It means the dog will never be a guard dog again. What it will remember for the rest of its life is hunger, but you see, there isno chain anymore.” He drew in a breath and pressed the button. The elevator lit up, two floors away. He wasn’t facing me when he said, “If you happen to come by money, maybe money you have already, it would be good for your family to see Crimea. Hell, St. Petersburg. Ass-fuck Siberia. Somewhere the dog can’t find you. Because it is a very hungry dog.”
The elevator rattled under his weight, and the doors trembled and squeaked as they closed.
* * *
About Russia:
borsch– traditional beet soup
hren– swear word equivalent to ‘hell’
ushanka– traditional fur hat with ear flaps
vetrushka– sweet cottage cheese pastry
10
Nameless
Vitali is dead.
That was the first thing Elena panted out as she fell against me when I opened the door. She took the stairs, and there were a lot of stairs to take.
“Wait—wait what?” I tried to calm her, stroking her hair as she doubled over, breathless and inconsolable.
“He’s—he’s dead,” she wheezed, and thrust her purse into my hands. It bent and hung open, revealing a hairbrush and an extra pair of socks with a bundle of crinkled papers wedged in between. My insides twisted, knowing whatever was coming would be awful, but unclear on how awful because Elena tended to jump off cliffs rather than climb the mountain.
“Come to the kitchen,” I said quietly as she kicked off her snow boots.
I was just about to make tea. Mama took Maxim to the movies where they were showing one about an American Christmas. It was December, and Vitali was supposed to return any day.
I set the tea kettle down with shaking hands as she coughedand spread the contents of her purse across the small table with the checkered vinyl cloth.
