better.
The heap of coins grew. Sasha stuffed them into an old sock and kept it in the bottom desk drawer, under a pile of old essays. Who knew what Mom would say if she ever found this treasure, but lately Mom had a lot of other things on her mind.
A shaving kit was now comfortably placed on the bathroom shelf, an extra toothbrush poked out of a glass, and Sasha no longer dared to roam around the house in her underwear. The smell of men’s cologne overpowered all the other familiar smells. And Mom, who, as long as Sasha could remember, had always belonged to her and her only, now shared her attention between her daughter and Valentin—and the latter, the new kid on the block, got the lion’s share.
It was obvious that Valentin intended to establish “close contact” with Sasha. He initiated long meaningful conversations at the dinner table, and Sasha’s upbringing prevented her from leaving right away. Waiting for her were numerous textbooks, many unread chapters, and unfinished papers; then, on the border of night and day, there was her run, a humiliating trip to the bushes, and the clanking of coins hitting the bathroom sink. Yet Valentin asked detailed questions regarding her life, her plans for the future, questioned her desire to become a philologist, inquired whether she’d ever considered literary translation from English, and spoke at length about some business colleges that offered stipends and all sorts of stimulus programs for students with a high grade-point average. Sasha swallowed these conversations like spoonfuls of fish oil, then hid in her room and sat there at her writing desk, mindlessly doodling in her notebooks.
Valentin worked in the field of medical technology, something that had to do with research, or testing, or maybe sales, or perhaps all the above. Sasha memorized nothing of his detailed stories about himself. He had two children, either two boys or a boy and a girl, and he spoke of them at length and with gusto, stressing how much he loved them. Stunned by the hypocrisy, Sasha took her cooling tea into her room and sat there, leafing through the college brochures. She struggled to keep her eyes open. In the heart of winter, when the days were short and dark, the lack of sleep felt like torture.
In the beginning of February a thaw set in, and then—in one single night—everything was frozen again. Sasha went for a run, completed the ritual, and on the way home, right near the entrance to her building, she slipped, fell, and broke her arm.
She sat quietly, enduring the pain, until Mom woke up. Mom saw Sasha’s forearm, panicked, and called for an ambulance. Valentin emerged, volunteered to accompany Sasha, frowned, commiserated, babbled all sorts of nonsense like “All things are difficult before they are easy,” and his stream of consciousness made Sasha feel five hundred times worse. The ambulance took her to the trauma center, where an old surgeon, gray from a sleepless night and cigarette smoke, silently rolled Sasha’s arm into a cast.
“Like apples from a tree,” he said to the nurse. “They just keep falling. We should expect more harvest today. And you”—he nodded to Sasha—“you need to make an appointment with your physician. And don’t worry, stuff happens. You young ones heal fast.”
Valentin took Sasha home in a taxi. The pain was almost gone. Valentin ruminated on how lucky it was that Sasha had broken her left arm, which meant that she could continue attending school and her college prep classes, and she could still take notes, because her right arm was just fine! Sasha felt as if her head had ceased to be round, had turned into an aerodynamic tunnel, with Valentin’s words getting sucked into one ear and, whistling and roaring, flying out of the other.
Mom called from the office, worried, asking how things were going. Deadly calm, Sasha assured her everything was fine; then she went into her room and lay down on the couch, neglecting to remove her sweater.
What was she going to do now? It was fourteen degrees outside. How was she supposed to pull her sleeve over the cast? How was she going to manage getting dressed and undressed by herself?
Three alarm clocks stood in a row. Two ticktocked quietly, one winked electronic numbers. Every day, every day, and Sasha had two months in the cast …
“… People fall, break their bones, die under the wheels of a car …” But Sasha had done everything, met all the conditions! Why did this have to happen to her?
Don’t worry, said the old surgeon. Stuff happens. And really, had Sasha been about seventy years old or so, then, yes, it would be truly terrible. And this, this was simply an inconvenience, an unpleasant accident, nothing tragic …
Unpleasant, but not tragic. If Valentin had not had his heart spasm on the beach, how would his relationship with Mom have developed? Would it have developed at all?
Sasha crept into the kitchen. She poured herself some of Mom’s valerian root mixture, gulped it down—absolutely disgusting!—crawled under the blanket, and fell asleep.
At twenty-nine minutes past four Sasha flew up, as if on a trampoline. She sat up, her mind muddled by sleep, and tried to stretch her arm but jerked with sudden pain.
She remembered; shook her head—did this mean she’d slept for almost twenty-four hours?
Her mouth was dry. Sasha stood up, drank some water from the teapot, managed to pull on her sweatpants, and stuck her feet into her boots. She poked her right arm into a sleeve, grunting, and heaved her jacket over the left shoulder. Holding a ski hat, she went outside.
The sky had cleared up again. The stars burned brightly. Icy patches in the courtyard were cleared haphazardly; some spots were heavily covered with sand and salt. The cast grew cold on her arm, a strange, unpleasant sensation. Only a few minutes remained until five o’clock. Sasha walked faster. She went down into the underground crossing, holding the railing with her good arm. Her steps echoed in the dark tunnel. Only seconds remained.
A lone streetlight burned at the park entrance. A man stood leaning on its pole.
Sasha marched by with bulletlike determination. And only having stepped onto a snowbound path, she startled and glanced back.
The streetlight reflected in the smoky lenses. Two bright yellow dots.
“Go home,” said the man who stood under the streetlight. “Get some rest. Starting today, you don’t have to run anymore.”
Strangely enough, the absence of her morning runs proved to be excruciatingly difficult. It felt as if life had lost meaning. Valentin’s presence aggravated her more and more. Once he even left to stay at a hotel, and Mom did not speak with Sasha for several days. All alone, Sasha roamed aimlessly along the streets, hating school and college prep courses. The tutor ended up canceling their sessions.
Valentin reasoned with Mom to be patient. He convinced her that Sasha’s issue was that Sasha was no longer taking painkillers by handfuls. He had a good point.
In March, the cast was removed. Mom suggested that now, finally, Sasha’s nerves would get back to normal, and her “weirdness” would cease.
And Mom was right as well. Having shed the cast and regaining the use of her arm, Sasha calmed down almost immediately. The chain of everyday existence again settled over the familiar cogs, and it turned and turned again, counting the days: morning. School. College prep. Homework. Evening. Night …
A collection of identical days. A settled rhythm. Sasha learned not to jump at seeing passersby in dark glasses; spring came, and more and more people wore shades. At school, money was being collected for the prom. Many arguments ensued, and many disagreements—some parents, like Sasha’s mother, suggested having a modest celebration, and some insisted on expensive gifts for the teachers and a river cruise.
Sasha wrote a test essay for her college prep courses and, to her dismay, got a B.
“Don’t choose a free topic,” her instructor insisted. “Pick a standard theme and elaborate on it just like you were taught. Free topics are for geniuses and idiots—don’t make the same mistake twice!”
Sasha listened, nodded, and knew that sooner or later the man in the dark glasses would appear again … and essays just didn’t seem all that important. He would come, and