At home, she locked herself in the bathroom and studied the coins. Three identical disks, an unfamiliar symbol consisting of rounded interconnecting lines on one side; perhaps a face, or a crown. Or, perhaps, a flower: the longer Sasha stared at it, the more three-dimensional the symbol appeared, as if it slowly rose above the surface of the coin.
She rubbed her eyes. On the reverse side, a smooth oval resembled a zero or the letter O. Of course, there was no stamp of gold content, and Sasha was not exactly an expert on precious metals, but somehow she had no doubt that the coins were made of pure gold.
The first beachgoers appeared on The Street That Leads to the Sea. It was about six in the morning. Sasha stretched on her cot, covered her head with a blanket and squeezed the coins in her fist, thinking hard.
Her throat felt sore, but the nausea had disappeared completely. Of course, one could assume that Sasha’s stomach couldn’t handle yesterday’s baklava, and that the coins were simply lying in the exact place on the gravel where she became sick. And that the man in the dark sunglasses was simply a pervert, who used a very convoluted way of spying on naked girls on the beach. In the dark. In the wee hours of the morning.
She squeezed her irritated eyes shut. No. One could not assume that. Sasha felt removed, thrown out of the normal world into the unreal. If one believed what one read in books, it did happen to people, and happened quite frequently.
Or was it really a dream?
Surprisingly, she fell asleep. And when she woke up, it was a perfectly normal morning of July the twenty-fifth. Mom came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, and gave Sasha a worried look:
“Did you go somewhere?”
“I went for a swim.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Why?” Sasha croaked. “It was really cool. The sun was rising. There was no one in sight.”
“It’s dangerous,” Mom said. “And why didn’t you say something to me?”
Sasha shrugged.
“We should go to the beach,” Mom looked at the clock. “It’s almost nine. Let’s hurry up.”
Sasha sucked in her breath.
“Mom… Do you mind? Can I just lie down for a while? I didn’t sleep well.”
“Are you sick?” Mom touched Sasha’s forehead in a familiar gesture of concern. “No, you don’t feel hot. You are asking for it with your night swimming, it’ll spoil the entire vacation.”
Sasha did not reply. She squeezed the coins so hard the edges bit into her palm.
“I boiled some eggs,” Mom seemed worried. “Mayonnaise is in the fridge. Those lovebirds, the neighbors, ate half of our mayonnaise already, but oh well. What can you do?”
She kept wiping her perfectly dry hands.
“I made plans to meet up with Valentin at the beach; it would be rude not to show up, you know… I promised we’d be there today.”
Sasha thought of yesterday. Valentin was the name of Mom’s new acquaintance, the light-skinned, fair-haired man who seemed so interested in the dolphins. Sasha remembered how Mom introduced her by her full name: “This is Alexandra.” Mom’s voice had a special note of importance, but Sasha did not pay any attention to it yesterday. The dark man rose and left, leaving behind a task to perform—and fear. Sasha felt chilly in the middle of a warm stuffy evening. The flowerbeds smelled sweet, Valentin’s cologne was woodsy and fresh. Sasha remembered the scent, but could not think of his face.
“Sure, go ahead,” Sasha pulled the blanket up to her face. “I’ll just stay in bed for a little, and then I’ll join you guys.”
“We’ll be in the same place,” Mom said quickly. “The eggs are on the table. I’m off.”
She grabbed her beach bag and hurried to the door. At the threshold, she stopped and looked back:
“Don’t forget your swimsuit when you leave. It’s on the balcony, drying off.”
She left.
The second time Sasha woke up, the metal clock showed half past eleven. At that time of the day, the sun was scorching, and the sea was boiling with the mass of swimming bodies, like matzo ball soup. It was too late to go to the beach, or maybe it was too early. It depended on one’s point of view. Maybe around four o’clock.
Sasha was shocked by her own mundane thought process. She stared at the coins in her hand. She never loosened her fist in her sleep—the moist skin kept the outline of the round coins. Sasha gingerly moved them from the right hand to the left.
What should she do with them? Throw them away?
The doorbell made her jump. One coin slid off her palm and rolled underneath the cot. Nervous, Sasha found it on the dusty rug, threw on Mom’s cotton housecoat and stepped into the dark hallway.
“Who is it?”
Theoretically, it could be her mother. Or a postman. Or…
“It’s me. Open the door.”
Sasha staggered back.
The apartment was empty—the neighbors were at the beach. The door was locked. A flimsy door, made of pressed wood shavings, covered with cheap faux leather.
The coins stuck to her sweaty palm. Holding them in one hand, Sasha used the other hand to open the door—a difficult task that took a while.
“Good day to you,” the man in mirrored sunglasses stepped over the threshold. “I’ll just be a minute. Let’s go to the kitchen.”
He led the way down the corridor, as if he’s been to this apartment many times before, as if he were its actual owner. Of course, the building was standard enough.
Sasha followed him like a dog on a leash.
“Sit.” The man pushed a chair toward the middle of the kitchen. Sasha fell onto the chair—her legs gave out from under her. The dark man sat down in front of her. “Coins?”
Sasha opened her fist. Three gold disks lay on her red palm, moist, covered with drops of sweat.
“Very good. Keep them. Please retain all of them, all that you will get. Don’t bother with the swimsuit—you must enter the water naked, it’s not dangerous, no one is watching you. Continue swimming, don’t be late and don’t miss any days. Tomorrow. The day after tomorrow. And the day after that.”
“I’m leaving on August second,” Sasha said, and was surprised by how thin and pitiful her voice sounded. “I…we have train tickets. I don’t live here, I…”
She was convinced that the dark guest would command her to move to this small town forever and ever, and enter the sea at four in the morning in January, and in February, and until death do us part.
“Didn’t I say that I won’t be asking for the impossible?” he stretched his lips slowly, and Sasha realized that he was smiling. “On August second you will go for a swim in the morning as usual, and you can leave after breakfast.”
“I can?”
“You can.” The man got up. “Don’t oversleep.”
He walked over to the door.
“Why do you need this?” Sasha whispered.
There was no answer.
“Where are you going?” Mom sat up in bed.
“For a swim.”
“Have you lost your mind? Get back to bed!”
Sasha took a deep breath.
“Mom, I really need to do this. I’m…building character.”
“You’re what?”
“You know, building character! I’m building up stamina. In the mornings… Sorry, I’m late.”
Gasping for air, she stepped onto the beach. Nervously, she looked behind her—not a soul; even the all windows in the nearby hotels were dark. She took off her sundress, pulled off the underwear, threw herself in the water and swam, broad front crawl strokes, as if trying to swim out of her own skin.
She had difficulty breathing. Sasha switched to an easy “beach” breast-stroke, scooping up water with her feet, holding her chin high above the water.