I can’t take any more! Lena thought. This is straight out of Dostoyevsky, in the worst way. That’s all I need, Smerdyakov with a syringe!
“Fine, let’s go back in,” she said, and she rang the bell.
Olga’s younger son, blond, blue-eyed Gosha, eleven and a half years old, opened the door.
Late that night, in her quiet, empty apartment in Vykhino, Katya Sinitsyna stood under a hot shower in panties and a T-shirt. Tears streamed from her eyes, mixing with the hot water. She was so tired from crying, but she couldn’t stop. Only now, back from the funeral, did it hit her what had happened.
Mitya was gone. Who cared about her now? Her stash was going to run out very soon, and she wasn’t going to be able to get any money for more. If Olga didn’t drive her out of the apartment, she might try renting one room or selling the apartment and buying a smaller one. No, it would never work. The apartment was registered in Mitya’s name, and Olga had probably done something to make sure Katya couldn’t sell it without her consent. She was nobody now. She didn’t even have anyone to call since all her friends were Mitya’s.
For some reason she was dying to call someone, anyone, to hear her own name through the phone. There was only the noose for her now. But that was too scary. Scarier even than her loneliness. This way at least her soul remained. Here you suffer, but afterward your soul can rest.
Who’d she been talking to recently about her immortal soul? Someone nice, kind, good… of course! Regina Valentinovna! Why hadn’t she thought of her sooner?
Katya turned off the water, pulled off her wet clothes, wrapped a big towel around herself, slapped her bare wet feet to the kitchen, sat down at the table, lit a cigarette, and picked up the phone.
For a second her gaze rested on the thick gas pipe that passed over the kitchen doorway, and once again Mitya appeared before her, dead. Her heart hurt. It boomed. Shaking her head, Katya drove away the vision and dialed the number.
“Regina Valentinovna, forgive me for calling so late.”
“That’s fine, Katya. I wasn’t asleep. You’ve had a very hard day. I was expecting your call.”
“Really?” Katya rejoiced. “Maybe we can do a little work right now?”
“Certainly, child. We should!”
Closing her eyes, Katya began speaking into the receiver in a strange monotone.
“Mitya’s gone. I didn’t realize it until now, when I came back from the funeral and was totally alone. Being alone scares me. Olga might throw me out of the apartment. I have no money. I have nothing. I even asked Olga’s friend for money today. We went out onto the stairs to smoke. Olga realized I needed to shoot up, so she sent this Lena out on the stairs with me.
“Lena started feeling sorry for me and asking questions. She even asked whether Mitya had shot up. How could she think that about him? She saw some scratches on his arm. He was lying in the casket, and she noticed the scratches.”
“Lena Polyanskaya?” the voice in the receiver asked cautiously.
“I think it’s Polyanskaya. I don’t remember exactly.”
“Was it unpleasant for you talking with her?”
“Yes. I said that if she was so good and wanted to pity me, I’d prefer she give me money. Now I’m ashamed. I have the feeling I’m going to start asking everyone for money soon. I’ve got some ampoules left, but they won’t last me long. I’m afraid I won’t be able to take it.”
“Yes you will, child.” The voice in the receiver was calm and kind. “Go on, please.”
“Then there was a meal. It’s all pretty foggy. I don’t even remember who brought me home. I just have this bad taste in my mouth from having asked a stranger for money. Mostly I’m afraid I’ll start asking others. And also, it hurts when people think badly of Mitya. I know, I know for sure he wasn’t shooting up. But that woman saw the scratches on his arm.
“She was with their grandmother the whole time at the funeral. That old woman is a rock. She didn’t shed a tear. They’re all rocks. No one was crying over Mitya but me. Olga thought I was hysterical because I needed a fix. She doesn’t even understand how someone can cry over losing someone. All she cares about is that her precious children don’t notice anything, that no one knows I shoot up.
“It’s always like that with them. As long as everything is proper on the outside, they couldn’t care less what’s really going on. I’m a human being, after all. No one felt sorry for me. And now no one loves me.
“They have everything, and I have nothing. My father and mother don’t need me, and Mitya abandoned me. He really did abandon me, and in a horrible way. He got sick and tired of dealing with me. My addiction ate up his energy. But he couldn’t leave or divorce me. That wasn’t his way. Lord, what am I saying?” As if coming to her senses, Katya opened her eyes and took a drag on a cigarette.
“Don’t get upset, child. Whatever gets said gets said. Remember our method: you have to wrap everything bad in words, like garbage in a newspaper, and throw it out. Only then will your soul be cleansed.” The voice in the receiver was soft and reassuring. “Katya, dear, you have to unburden yourself of every last detail. You mustn’t forget a thing.”
“Maybe I should go to church?” Katya asked suddenly. “Maybe a convent? That’s better than the noose.”
“Try not to get sidetracked, child. If you do, you won’t be able to sleep tonight. And you need to get some sleep. That’s what you need most right now, a good night’s sleep. Please, continue, Katya. Polyanskaya hurt you. She noticed scratches on Mitya’s arm. What else did the two of you talk about?”
“Nothing. She realized the conversation was upsetting me. She was in a hurry to get home. Her husband’s flying to England tonight, and her little daughter… She didn’t even join us at the table. She just stopped into their grandmother’s room to say good-bye. The old woman had already gone to her room to lie down. I don’t remember anything after that.”
“Did Olga see the scratches on Mitya’s arm?”
“I don’t know. Olga didn’t talk to me. She can barely stand my presence. It seems to me all she thinks about is why it happened to Mitya and not to me. She wishes it was me dangling in the noose. That would have been better for everyone, including me. And Olga doesn’t believe Mitya did it himself. Neither does Polyanskaya, I don’t think. They think someone helped him.”
“Did they tell you that? Did they ask about anything?”
“Olga asked me in detail how we’d spent the day, minute by minute. But that was a long time ago, not today. I don’t remember exactly when. I just got the feeling she was torturing me with her endless questions.”
“And Polyanskaya?”
“Polyanskaya only asked about the scratches.”
“Then why do you think she doesn’t believe Mitya committed suicide?”
“I just have a feeling. It’s as if they all think I’m to blame.”
“Have you heard any talk? Where did you get this idea?”
“Does it really matter who thinks what?” Katya shouted into the receiver. “Let them think what they want about me and about Mitya. What’s does any of it matter now?”
“All right, child. Don’t get upset. I can see you’re already feeling better. Now you’re going to hang up and go to bed. You’ll sleep soundly and sweetly. You’ll fall asleep right away. You’ll shoot up one last time and then sleep for a very long time. You’ll sleep long and hard. You’re already feeling very sleepy. Your legs are heavy and warm. You feel calm. You’re going to put down the phone, give yourself a shot, and go to sleep. Sleep. A shot and sleep.”