“Andrei, think for yourself. You have to…”
“I don’t have to do anything. Leave me alone.”
Anton looked away. “My brother used to say that too. Shut up, Anton, shut up! He was your age when…” Pain cracked the sentence, made him fragile. For a moment, I saw through my fog of anger, as if his pain, mingled with mine, burned, lighting up parts of his shaded past. That story he told me before: the boy killed in the football attack—it was his brother, it had to be. “…when he…” he tried again. I didn’t feel pity. Instead, I felt my anger double, and double again. Not for myself; for his sake. Moscow—this city takes something precious from everyone. And the damn river kept flowing, on and on, nonchalantly. Are we cursed here? “This isn’t about me, Andrei,” Anton said. “Luka cannot be trusted.”
“He told me that too,” I stifled my anger, to convince Anton. “He’s not like you think. He told me not to trust anyone, including him. He’s alright, he really is, Anton. We have to—”
“You’re wrong, Andrei,” he spoke over me, his expression hard again. “It’s reverse psychology. Did he also tell you that he pays you more? Do you know what he told me? ‘Andrei’s a kid. Don’t tell him I’m paying you more. It’ll hurt his feelings.’ That’s Luka. Why do you think he hired a boy like you to work for him?”
“Don’t treat me like some kid. I’m not. I don’t need your concern or pity.”
“He’s exploiting you. The only person he cares about is himself.”
Past the overhead lamps flanking the bridge, the blue and gold spires of the Novospassky Monastery disappeared behind a fog. I saw the old couple on the far end of the bridge, holding hands. They reminded me of Luka and his wife. Anton’s wrong. Luka cares for others, and he cares for me. Even when he pulled the gun on me, it was because he was angry with himself.
“You can have a different life. Don’t do work anymore. Don’t come in tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“This isn’t for people like you.”
“Why?” A trolley trundled by, holding steady in its lane, ignoring us.
“Why what? It’s for your own good. Trust me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m telling you not to!” He slapped the bridge railing and the metal rang, reverberating down the bridge’s span. “Stay home tomorrow, Andrei. I don’t want to see you there. I don’t want to see you again in that shitty place.”
His expression became threatening. Suddenly, his hand knived towards me.
“Don’t tell Luka about this.” He flicked my ear with his finger.
1.75
Someone’s banging on my room door. Waking up felt like a relief after being half asleep the whole night. Yet, it meant remembering. Memories rushed and laid siege to me.
I don’t want to see you, Anton had said. Everything will be fine, Luka had promised.
When I stumbled to the bedroom door, I saw Old Nelya holding up my jacket with two gnarled fingers. “It keeps ringing,” she said cautiously.
My new ringtone was Elgar’s Enigma Variation VII. Its laughing music sounded cheerful, promising. What is your heart’s delight? the melody asked.
If I have one wish, I want things to go back to what it was before between the three of us.
“Hello?” I answered the phone.
“It’s done,” Luka said.
1.80
Anton isn’t there when I arrive.
“Now, it’s his turn to be late. Come in, come in,” Luka waves. There’s something delirious about him, a joy thrumming through every line of his body. He didn’t insist on the password today, a lapse I didn’t call out. He’d stayed over last night. The alcohol on his breath held a sweet, lingering scent. “I’ve got it,” he says when I walk in. “All that’s left is the exchange. I need to figure out a safe way to arrange that.” He pauses. “That’s none of your business. I promised you’d never see Boris again.”
Before I can say anything, his phone rings. “Anton.” He walks to the door and unlocks it. Anton pauses when he sees me—no nod, no smile, not even a flicker of acknowledgement of our discussion. So I play it cool too. Why not? Everything is as it should be. We are all together. “What do we have left to do?” he asks as he draws a cigarette from the back of his ear.
“Nothing.” Luka chuckles. “Thanks to the two of you, everything’s set. I got what I need.”
“That’s it? Did you see what was in the data repository? So what’s this Project Silence about?”
It’s a military virus, I know, but Luka waves his hand in a vague manner. “I don’t want to know. I don’t poke around where I don’t have to. It doesn’t matter, Anton. It’s done.” A slight pause. “You did well this time.”
Anton blinks at the praise, then shrugs. “Why are we here then?” He has one hand inside his jacket pocket. The other taps embers from his cigarette, as if the world’s his ashtray.
“Do you have to be somewhere else?” Luka bristles. “Bah, I’m not arguing today.” He pulls a Champagne bottle and cups from his olive-green bag. “Andrei, I know you like this. I saw how you drank last time.” His fingers work the twist-cap and, pop! He pours a cup for Anton and me. “To success,” Luka exclaims and my mood gushes like foam. So what if I don’t know enough about Luka? So what if Anton gets paid more? Everything worked out and I helped. I play a role. I’m part of a team. This is what I’m good at; it may be the only thing I’m good at, but it’s something. “To us,” Luka continues.
Us.
“Drink, Anton! Laugh. Be happy. The job’s done. I’ve got your money ready. What else do you want?” Luka says.
“What I want…” Anton says, with a cool smile as he raises his cup. The smoke from his cigarette coils around his hand like a translucent snake. “What I want…is to piss.” He tosses the half-full cup aside.
After he’s gone, Luka hands me an envelope. There’s an unusual formality in the way he holds it out to me with both hands. Inside the envelope, there was money. A lot of money. I’ve never seen so much before. Half of it is in rubles, the other half, in U.S. dollars. I look at him, eager to hear our next step, for him to share the plan.
“I treated you well, didn’t I?” he asks, and I nod, waiting for more.
When he doesn’t continue, I press him. “What’s next? After this, what’s next?”
He finishes his cigarette and pulls out his cigarette case.
“Luka?”
“This is difficult,” he says heavily. “I’m leaving Moscow once the exchange is done.”
I nod. Of course. It’s the smart thing to do. I don’t trust Boris as well. My thoughts run ahead, wondering what I’d be leaving behind when we go. Anna, Old Nelya—what will happen to them? “How long before we come back?” I ask. “Where are we going?”
He fumbles at the spark wheel, which keeps failing to catch.
“Luka?”
Again, the fire doesn’t take. He seems fixated on his lighter.
“What about—” I bit off the foolish word before I could utter it. Because I finally understand what he’s not saying. His heavy silence is a cheap confession: he’s leaving without me. There is no “us.”