She had knocked at the door seven times before it opened. In front of her now stood Albina Babinski dressed in tan pants and a buttoned long-sleeve red shirt. For an instant, Vera thought she had knocked at the wrong door, but when the woman spoke, Vera knew she had not. Fully made up, the widow of Fedot Babinski looked almost pretty.
“I do not intend to contradict you. You are a pest. What do you want?”
“To find something, someone, to prove Ivan did not murder his wife and your husband.”
“I told you what I know.” She hesitated, sighed, and held the door open. “Oh, come in.”
She stepped out of the way and Vera stepped in. Albina closed the door and motioned toward the couch, where Vera sat down. The room had been cleaned.
“A drink?” Albina asked.
“Maybe. Yes. I have been running everywhere,” said Vera. “Now I am going back, looking for a small sign.”
“Fedot was a womanizing devil of no character,” said Albina as she sat in the armchair facing Vera.
“You used to be a boxer,” said Vera.
“I used to be a boxer,” Albina confirmed.
“A good one?”
“Yes, but there was little market for women boxers in Russia at the time. Is there a point to this question?”
“Your hands, particularly the left one, are covered in makeup.”
“Are they?”
“Yes. You showed them as little as possible the last time I was here.”
“Very observant. Do you have some point to make?”
“Your knuckles are red and raw.”
“Yes. I have a skin condition. I use a lotion from the Dead Sea. Would you like some tea?”
“I think you killed your husband,” said Vera.
Albina Babinski coughed. The cough was followed by a sigh.
“That he deserved destruction I do not deny,” she said. “That I did the deed I do deny. I’m having tea. You may join me. Or you can simply get the hell out.”
The latter was said gently and with a smile.
“I have a word that will prove your crime,” said Vera.
“Speak it,” said Albina, moving across the room and into a small kitchen from which she continued to address her visitor.
“DNA,” said Vera, still seated.
Albina was back in the living room, a blue ceramic teapot in her left hand.
“I plan to tell the police to check the DNA at the crime scene. I am sure they already have it, but they have had no reason to check it against yours.”
Albina weighed the ceramic pot and considered what to do.
“You watch too many American television police shows.”
“I watch none of them,” said Vera.
Albina moved across the room, teapot now at her side. Vera considered moving quickly to the door. The woman with the teapot was much bigger than Vera and, besides, she had been a boxer. Vera had entered the apartment looking for further information. She had talked herself into finding a murderer.
“Do you plan to kill me?” asked Vera.
“Plan? I have no plan. I do not want to go to prison. Not for killing that bag of lying, cheating filth. I do not wish to hurt you. I do not wish to hurt Ivan. I followed them to that room, called Ivan, and told him to hurry to the hotel room. Then I heard the sounds inside. They were not screams of ecstasy. The door was open and they were in the middle of the room. He was beating her with his fists. He did not even notice my presence. I picked up the vase or whatever it was, hit him. He let her go. She crumpled to the ground as if her bones had turned to water. I hit him three or four times and then I punched him in the face. I do not know how many times.”
“Maybe you can convince the police and a judge that you lost your mind for a. .”
Albina was shaking her head “no.”
“I knew what I was doing.”
“Soon the police will check the DNA even without my asking them to. Then you will have to answer for two murders. And what will you do with my body?”
“Get something to wrap you in and carry you out of here tonight.”
Albina towered over her guest with a look of great sadness.
“I will scream.”
“Few will hear and those few will not respond. You are not in a luxury high-rise building, not even a fully respectable Stalin concrete tower.”
Vera looked around for something with which to fight back. Nothing was close enough to get to before the larger woman could beat her to death with teapot or fist.
It was at this point that Albina raised the pot high. Vera held her arms over her face and tried to rise with no plan but to get to the door. But the blow did not come. Slowly, cautiously, Vera lowered her arms.
“I cannot do it,” said Albina, looking at the pot in her hand. “Can I get you some tea? A glass of wine?”
“Tea will be fine,” said Vera.
Albina nodded and moved back to the kitchen, her voice now coming to her visitor as if she were in a cave.
“Where was I? Oh yes. He did not even notice I was there.” I picked up something, I do not remember what, and hit him in the side of the head. I hit him hard. I watched the blood come as he turned his head to look at me. There was so much blood. I had seen a great deal of blood when I was a boxer, but this was different. This was Fedot. I would say he was astonished. It came to me that he had sinned and now knelt before me in prayer. Do you take sugar?”
“Yes,” said Vera.
“I waited for someone to come and count him out. A fight without a winner.”
Albina Babinski returned and continued.
“The pot is on. It does not take long.”
Once again she sat across from her guest. This time Albina folded her hands in her lap. Was her makeup giving way? Vera thought so. The two women were quiet for a while.
“I met Fedot Babinski in Gomel; that is in-”
“Belarus,” Vera added.
“Yes. I was working in a hair salon. I went to see the fights one night. Fedot was in the main event. He won. After the fight I went for a drink with my friend. Fedot came in. I was not as you see me now. I was considered to be a beauty of sorts. Maybe I can go back to hairstyling if I am not hanged.”
A high-pitched whistle came from the kitchen. There was time enough to get up and run to the door when Albina rose, but Vera simply continued to sit.
Minutes later, the tea was on a trivet on the table and the two women were silently drinking.
“Fedot taught me to fight. I did well, far better than he. He enjoyed the additional money but complained about my ability. Gradually, he wore me down and I stopped boxing while he continued to both box and be the Giant’s sparring mate. He also continued to bing-bang every willing woman of even passing good looks. I complained, but it did no good. Oh, I am sorry. I do have some cookies to offer you.”
“No, thank you.”
Albina’s head turned as if on command and she looked at the television sitting on top of a table across the room.
“I watch a lot of television,” she said. “I spend most of my days looking at that little screen and waiting, waiting for him. I cheated on him just once, three years ago. A young boxer with a fine body and a nose already flattened. I cheated once and felt guilty. Fedot Babinski cheated often and felt no regret.”
“Perhaps you could argue that you were trying to save the woman. After all, she was beaten to death by him.”
“I hit him two or three times with whatever I had in my hand and then I pummeled him with my fists.”
