While they worked, I watched them from the bay window in the kitchen. Gregory had settled into the living room with his iPad, but I got the impression he was evaluating me more than actually reading the news.
The twins’ movements were quick and precise. Their tasks didn’t occupy them for long. Next, I asked them to wash the windows. Sweaty and dirty, they came to see me in the kitchen when their work was done, leaving muddy tracks behind them.
“Come on, take off your shoes. Look, you’re getting everything dirty.”
They glanced indifferently at the mess and took off their shoes in silence.
“Socks too!” I added sharply, assuming Gregory was watching.
Their socks slid into a ball on the ground. It was then I noticed a dark spot under Vanya’s foot.
“What’s that tattoo?”
Gregory leapt from behind his screen. There was an inscription under Vanya’s bare foot.
He resisted, trying to stop me from touching him, but my grip was firm. In blue ink, a word was written in an uncertain hand. The points were sloppy and the letters collapsed on themselves, making it hard to read. Vanya had obviously done the tattoo himself. Unless his brother had done it? I yelled at the boys to go to their room. I wanted to be alone with Gregory.
“Fe.”
“It could be a brand, or a logo,” Gregory guessed.
I suddenly wondered whether Daniil had also gotten a tattoo. Gregory’s face dropped. We stormed into their room, the door hitting the wall.
The twins were stretched out together on Daniil’s bed. Pressed tight to each other, they stared at the ceiling. Vanya hadn’t bothered to put on other socks and in this position, his tattoo was clearly visible. How had I not seen it before?
“Daniil, do you have a tattoo as well?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
It was the same.
“Since when? What does it mean?”
My voice trembled. I nervously scratched the nape of my neck as I spoke. Each question I thought of led to another, which I didn’t ask, knowing they wouldn’t respond. I didn’t know what to think anymore. I left their room, slamming the door.
“Listen, it’s not that big a deal, Emma. I mean, I have the Budweiser logo on my shoulder, after all. It’s just kids being kids.”
Getting forty dollars isn’t a problem. Our parents have been giving us an allowance that we don’t know what to do with for a few years now. But we hesitate to use Mathilde. We’ve never needed anyone before.
After thinking about it for a few days, we finally decide to pay her, if only to see what she can offer. Once we’ve recovered completely, we make our way back to the vacant lot, knowing she’ll come to find us there. The first visit yields nothing. Mathilde isn’t there. The second time, she plants herself in front of us as we’re sitting side by side at the foot of the silo.
“You ready?”
We hand her the money in response. There is no more negotiation. Mathilde unrolls the rope and tosses the hooked end toward the ladder. We hadn’t noticed the hook the first time. She is clearly accustomed to doing this, seeing as it takes her only three tries to get the hook onto the first metal rung. Holding the rope firmly in one hand and the hammer in the other, she climbs easily up the wall, her feet planted in familiar divots. When she stands up on the ladder, she lets the hammer fall in front of us, inviting us to do the same. It takes considerable effort and we lose our footing several times, but after a few tries, we manage to climb the wall. Getting up the ladder is easy, if dizzying, after our first try.
Mathilde punches the door, which opens with a loud creak. She disappears above us. Once we reach the summit, we finally gain entrance into the cavern.
It takes a moment for our eyes to adjust to the darkness. We slowly begin to make out the interior of the silo.
At first, we can only see the opening. Then we realize that around the border of the walls hangs a large platform that descends in levels inside the depths of the tower. The outside ladder has a matching one inside that allows you to access the pit directly. Large bolts, hoses, and hooks cover the walls. The whole centre is empty, with a twenty-metre drop. The platform is a good metre wide, but we take a step back nonetheless; that chasm wants to eat us up, and there is no railing to hold onto.
We can imagine that at one time, the structure was full of grain. What would happen if we fell in here? Was it dense enough to hold the weight of a person, or would you sink, like in deep water?
We don’t know.
Mathilde doesn’t share our nervousness. She is sitting down, her feel dangling in the void. We notice a sleeping bag, a canteen, and a Petzl headlamp behind her. Does she really sleep here?
“I’ve only spent one night here so far. I told my parents I was staying over at a friend’s house. But I’m moving in soon,” she said.
“You’re not afraid you’ll fall while you’re asleep?”
“I tie the rope around myself and attach it to this hook,” she says, pointing to a loop above her.
We try to imagine how a little rope like this could hold her if she fell and doubt the effectiveness of the technique.
“Why do you want to run away?”
It’s a personal question. This isn’t like us.
“Because I don’t need anyone.”
We are quiet for a long time. The outside noise is dulled by the silo. The high, sharp pitches that normally harass us are softened here. The world is reduced to this one image of the void, to the structure’s metallic smell. We feel at peace here, soothed.
It’s warm inside,
