into a frown.
‘Ah, you’ve come again, have you?’ she asked Iryna. Smart, too – an edge of wariness in her expression, a sense that maybe she had spoken too much the last time.
Reikhman asked for some black tea, no sugar, and sat down on a lumpy sofa and tapped his case lightly with his fingertips as she bustled around her tiny kitchen. Iryna sat, stiff and upright, on a chair facing the net curtains. Against the far wall of the lounge was a heavy wooden sideboard, stacked with plates and knick-knacks, and above that an icon of the Virgin. A good mother of the Church and someone who had been decent to his master back then. Well, not the Elephant for Anna, for sure. Something else, something painless.
The kettle whistled. He opened his suitcase and fished out a small pillbox, masking it from view. ‘Hold up, mother, I’ve got some saccharine for my tea.’ Lithe, quick on his feet, perhaps the most striking thing about Reikhman was the way he could move into other people’s space without it seeming an obvious act of aggression, as if they were somehow doing him a favour. In the tiny kitchen, he said, ‘Where’s the tea, mother?’
Anna pointed to three cups brewing. He squeezed past her, edging her out of her kitchen, moved closer to the cups, his back to her so that she couldn’t see what he was doing. He unscrewed the pillbox marked ‘Saccharine’ in simple black letters, dumped one pill into the first cup of tea and stirred it with a teaspoon, taking care never to touch it himself. Reikhman turned round and called out to Iryna, ‘I’ve forgotten the paperwork. Could you go back to the car and retrieve it?’
‘What paperwork?’ She snapped the words out, each syllable ringing with alarm.
‘Go back to the car. I will phone you with further instructions. Do that. Do that now.’
Iryna walked out of the flat and got into the lift, cursing her lack of courage.
Reikhman and the schoolteacher made small talk. He had been authorised to tell her that the highest authorities appreciated her work as an educator. He was getting into his stride when the old lady took a swig of tea and cut across his talk, looking at him straight on. ‘Don’t treat me for a fool. First she comes’ – she nodded at the door, signalling the now departed Iryna – ‘questions, questions, questions about one little boy more than half a century ago. Now you, in your fancy suit with your metal suitcase and your camera. Why all the interest in an old lady like me? What’s this about? What’s going on?’ No doubting her intelligence. The doubt, of course, was about her loyalty, if tested. Hence the reason for his visit.
She stopped and put her hand to her mouth. Pinky-white stuff – foam – was on her lips, dripping down from her nostrils.
‘Wha—’ The whites of her eyes fluttered in their sockets; the foam bubbled out of her lips, nostrils. It was not meant to happen quite like this. Too instant, too unsubtle. He would need to have a quiet word with the technical department.
The whites of her eyes gave one last swivel and then she slumped in her chair. He went to the toilet and came back with some tissue paper, which he used to wipe the pink foam from her lips, nose and the front of her dress. She appeared not so bad now, as if she had fallen quietly asleep in her chair, apart from a strange, vivid blueness around her nose.
Satisfied that the contract was complete, he closed down the camera, snapped shut his suitcase, left the flat and pressed the lift button. He walked out of the block of flats, got into the Mercedes and said, ‘So, all done. Where can you get a decent meal in this town?’
Iryna was out of the front seat with unimaginable speed, running towards the block. Reikhman’s rear door had somehow been locked – she must have reactivated the child lock. He barked a command at the moron of the driver to open his door but by then it was too late: Iryna was inside the block, going up in the lift. Ever the
‘Ah, you’ve come again, have you?’ she asked Iryna. Smart, too – an edge of wariness in her expression, a sense that maybe she had spoken too much the last time.
Reikhman asked for some black tea, no sugar, and sat down on a lumpy sofa and tapped his case lightly with his fingertips as she bustled around her tiny kitchen. Iryna sat, stiff and upright, on a chair facing the net curtains. Against the far wall of the lounge was a heavy wooden sideboard, stacked with plates and knick-knacks, and above that an icon of the Virgin. A good mother of the Church and someone who had been decent to his master back then. Well, not the Elephant for Anna, for sure. Something else, something painless.
The kettle whistled. He opened his suitcase and fished out a small pillbox, masking it from view. ‘Hold up, mother, I’ve got some saccharine for my tea.’ Lithe, quick on his feet, perhaps the most striking thing about Reikhman was the way he could move into other people’s space without it seeming an obvious act of aggression, as if they were somehow doing him a favour. In the tiny kitchen, he said, ‘Where’s the tea, mother?’
Anna pointed to three cups brewing. He squeezed past her, edging her out of her kitchen, moved closer to the cups, his back to her so that she couldn’t see what he was doing. He unscrewed the pillbox marked ‘Saccharine’ in simple black letters, dumped one pill into the first cup of tea and stirred it with a teaspoon, taking care never to touch it himself. Reikhman turned round and called out to Iryna, ‘I’ve forgotten the paperwork. Could you go back to the car and retrieve it?’
‘What paperwork?’ She snapped the words out, each syllable ringing with alarm.
‘Go back to the car. I will phone you with further instructions. Do that. Do that now.’
Iryna walked out of the flat and got into the lift, cursing her lack of courage.
Reikhman and the schoolteacher made small talk. He had been authorised to tell her that the highest authorities appreciated her work as an educator. He was getting into his stride when the old lady took a swig of tea and cut across his talk, looking at him straight on. ‘Don’t treat me for a fool. First she comes’ – she nodded at the door, signalling the now departed Iryna – ‘questions, questions, questions about one little boy more than half a century ago. Now you, in your fancy suit with your metal suitcase and your camera. Why all the interest in an old lady like me? What’s this about? What’s going on?’ No doubting her intelligence. The doubt, of course, was about her loyalty, if tested. Hence the reason for his visit.
She stopped and put her hand to her mouth. Pinky-white stuff – foam – was on her lips, dripping down from her nostrils.
‘Wha—’ The whites of her eyes fluttered in their sockets; the foam bubbled out of her lips, nostrils. It was not meant to happen quite like this. Too instant, too unsubtle. He would need to have a quiet word with the technical department.
The whites of her eyes gave one last swivel and then she slumped in her chair. He went to the toilet and came back with some tissue paper, which he used to wipe the pink foam from her lips, nose and the front of her dress. She appeared not so bad now, as if she had fallen quietly asleep in her chair, apart from a strange, vivid blueness around her nose.
Satisfied that the contract was complete, he closed down the camera, snapped shut his suitcase, left the flat and pressed the lift button. He walked out of the block of flats, got into the Mercedes and said, ‘So, all done. Where can you get a decent meal in this town?’
Iryna was out of the front seat with unimaginable speed, running towards the block. Reikhman’s rear door had somehow been locked – she must have reactivated the child lock. He barked a command at the moron of the driver to open his door but by then it was too late: Iryna was inside the block, going up in the lift. Ever the
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