– Zoya, please.
– The sisters live with their mother and their father and they’re as happy as can be. Until one day a man, in a uniform, came to arrest them and Leo interrupted:
– Zoya? Please?
Zoya glanced at her sister and stopped. Elena was crying. Leo stood up.
– You’re both tired. I’ll find some better books tomorrow. I promise.
Leo turned the light off and closed the door. In the hallway, he comforted himself that things would get better, eventually. All Zoya needed was a little more time.
Zoya lay in bed, listening to the sound of her sister sleeping-her slow, soft intakes of breath. When they’d lived on the farm with their parents, the four of them shared a small room with thick mud walls, warmed by a wood fire. Zoya would sleep beside Elena under their coarse, hand-stitched blankets. The sound of her little sister sleeping meant safety: it meant their parents were nearby. It didn’t belong here, in this apartment, with Leo in the room next door.
Zoya never fell asleep easily. She’d lie in bed for hours, churning thoughts before exhaustion overcame her. She was the only person who cherished the truth: the only person who refused to forget. She eased herself out of bed. Aside from her little sister’s breathing, the apartment was silent. She crept to the door, her eyes already adjusted to the darkness. She navigated the hallway by keeping her hand on the wall. In the kitchen, street lighting leaked in through the window. Moving nimbly, like a thief, she opened a drawer and took hold of the handle, feeling the weight of the knife.
SAME DAY
Pressing the blade flat against her leg, Zoya walked toward Leo’s bedroom. Slowly she pushed open the door until there was enough space that she could sidestep inside. She moved silently over the wood floor. The curtains were drawn, the room dark, but she knew the layout, where to tread in order to reach Leo, sleeping on the far side.
Standing directly over him Zoya raised the knife. Although she couldn’t see him, her imagination mapped the contours of his body. She wouldn’t stab him in the stomach: the blankets might absorb the blade. She’d plunge the blade through his neck, sinking it as far as she could, before he had a chance to overpower her. Knife outstretched, she pressed down with perfect control. Through the blade she felt his arm, his shoulder-she steered upward, making small depressions until the knife tip touched directly onto his skin. In position, all she had to do was grip the handle with both hands and push down.
Zoya performed this ritual at irregular intervals, sometimes once a week, sometimes not for a month. The first time had been three years ago, shortly after she and her sister had moved into this apartment from the orphanage. On that occasion she’d had every intention of killing him. That same day he’d taken them to the zoo. Neither she nor Elena had been to a zoo and, confronted with exotic animals, creatures that she’d never seen before, she’d forgotten herself. For perhaps no more than five or ten minutes, she’d enjoyed the visit. She’d smiled. He hadn’t seen her smile, she was sure of that, but it didn’t matter. Watching him together with Raisa, a happy couple, imitating a family, pretending, lying, she understood that they were trying to steal the place of her parents. And she’d let them. On her way home, on the tramcar, her guilt had been so intense she’d thrown up. Leo and Raisa had blamed the sweet snacks and the motion of the tram. That night, feverish, she’d lain in bed, crying, scratching her legs until they bled. How could she have betrayed the memory of her parents so easily? Leo believed he could win her love with new clothes, rare foods, day trips, and chocolate: it was pathetic. She’d vowed that her lapse would never happen again. There was one way to make sure: she’d taken the knife and resolved to kill him. She’d stood, as she stood now, ready to murder.
The same memory that had driven her into the room, the memory of her parents, was the reason she hadn’t killed him. They wouldn’t want this man’s blood on her hands. They would want her to look after her sister. Obedient, silently crying, she’d allowed Leo to live. Every now and then she’d come back, creeping in, armed with a knife, not because she’d changed her mind, not for revenge, not to murder, but as a memorial to her parents, as a way of saying she had not forgotten them.
The telephone rang. Startled, Zoya stepped back, the knife slipping from her hand, clattering to the floor. Dropping to her knees, she fumbled in the pitch-black frantically trying to find it. Leo and Raisa were stirring, the bed straining as they moved. They’d be reaching for the light. Working by touch alone, Zoya desperately patted the floor-boards. As the telephone rang for the second time she had no choice but to leave the knife behind, hurrying around the bed, running toward the door, slipping through the gap just as the light came on.
Leo sat up, his thoughts sluggish with sleep, intermingled dreams and reality-there had been movement, a figure, or perhaps there hadn’t. The phone was ringing. It only ever rang because of work. He checked his watch: almost midnight. He glanced at Raisa. She was awake, waiting for him to answer the phone. He mumbled an apology and got up. The door was ajar. Didn’t they always close it before they went to sleep? Maybe not; it didn’t matter, and he headed into the hallway.
Leo picked up the receiver. The voice on the other end was urgent, loud:
– Leo? This is Nikolai.
Nikolai: the name meant nothing to him. He didn’t reply. Correctly interpreting Leo’s silence, the man continued:
– Nikolai, your old boss! Your friend! Leo, don’t you remember? I gave you your first assignment! The priest, remember, Leo?
Leo remembered. He hadn’t heard from Nikolai in a long time. This man was of no relevance to his life now and he resented him calling.
– Nikolai, it’s late.
– Late? What’s happened to you? We didn’t start work until about now.
– Not anymore.
– No, not anymore.
Nikolai’s voice drifted off, before adding:
– I need to meet you.
His words were slurred. He was drunk.
– Nikolai, why don’t you sleep it off and we’ll talk tomorrow?
– It has to be tonight.
His voice cracked. He was on the verge of crying.
– What’s going on?
– Meet me. Please.
Leo wanted to say no.
– Where?
– Your offices.
– I’ll be there in thirty minutes.
Leo hung up. His annoyance was tempered by unease. Nikolai wouldn’t have got back in contact unless he had cause. When he returned to the bedroom, Raisa was sitting up. Leo shrugged an explanation:
– A former colleague. He wants to meet. Says it has to be tonight.
– A colleague from when?
– From…
Leo didn’t need to finish the sentence.
– Out of nowhere, he calls?
– He was drunk. I’ll speak to him.
– Leo…?
She didn’t finish. Leo nodded:
– I don’t like it either.
He grabbed his clothes, hastily getting changed. Almost ready to leave, tying his shoelaces, he saw something under the bed, something catching the light. Curious, he moved forward, crouching down. Raisa
