brought her the monkey just for this, to scare the daylights out of her in some unsuspecting moment when she thought herself safe, and him far away.
It took her a long time to prise free the animal turds from the frozen pane. She did not bother with the carpet, did not approach the animal at all. Instead she withdrew into the kitchen, lit a smoke, and checked whether the electricity was on. It was, and she boiled two pans of water, the first to heat the large ham the Colonel had brought her that morning, the second for some potatoes. When they were done she peeled them, then cut them into thin slices with a heavy kitchen knife that said âSolingenâ on the blade and sat in her hand just so. She imagined, her brows screwed up in concentration, how it might feel to slit the animalâs throat; hold its chin up like a corner-store barber and cut it ear to leathery ear. Imagined the Colonelâs reaction if he should return to a slaughtered animal, the carpet soaked with its blood. In the background she could hear its chattering, less aggressive now, and she realized that it wished for food. It would be childâs play to poison it. There was bleach, formaldehyde and lye underneath the sink, and a tub full of sleeping pills by the bed. She filled a china cup with potato water and placed it in reach of the animalâs outstretched arm. It grabbed for it and knocked it over. Up close the stench of its faeces was overpowering, even in the icy air. She walked back into the kitchen, fetchedanother cup. This time she slid it closer. When she saw it drink in hasty, sloppy draughts, she brought it a potato and some dried slices of apple. The monkey handled the food dexterously, using its tiny, black leather palms. Throughout it did not take its eyes off her, and she, too, crouched and watched it feed. The eyes did not seem to have any whites, and the fur around them was yellowed and encrusted with old secretions. She took a napkin from the table, wet it with her own spit, and reached to clean them away. The monkey recoiled, bared its fangs. Then Sonia heard the key in the lock, straightened, dropped the napkin mid-step, and rushed back to the kitchen.
When the door opened and the Colonel led in a stumbling Pavel, they found Sonia striding to the dining table, a steaming dish of potatoes clutched between two cheerily coloured tea towels.
Pavel sat in his chair, exhausted. The kidneys were bothering him and he wished that he could lie down on the sofa rather than sit at the dining table on a high-backed Biedermeier chair, a napkin spread across his lap, and good kitchen silver lined up before him. He watched with strange fascination as the Colonel cut the ham into half-inch slices upon a wooden cutting board, and listened to his story of how he had bought the monkey, quite cheaply, from a decommissioned
Wehrmacht
corporal after a nightâs carousing earlier that week. âI know what you will say, Pavel, he stinks and he is filthy, but by God I love the little critter.â The woman, Sonia, was dishing out boiled potatoes and fetched beer for the Colonel, chamomile tea for Pavel. The food stood before him and obscured the stench of animal; it rose to his nose and seduced his body. Pavel realized that he was hungry, ravenous even, and felt ashamed. He closed his eyes to conjure up Boydâs body but already it was difficult to rememberthe details, the smell of gammon thick in his throat. Unable to wait any longer, he cut himself a bite and chewed on it. It tasted wonderful. He tried the potatoes and found them well salted and seasoned with chives.
Chives,
he berated himself,
you are betraying a friend over the smell of chives
. He chewed another bite and hoped the Colonel would break the silence. He didnât.
âWho did it?â Pavel asked after he had finished the first slice and mopped up its juice with some bread. Sonia slid another onto his plate with a meat fork. âWho killed
It took her a long time to prise free the animal turds from the frozen pane. She did not bother with the carpet, did not approach the animal at all. Instead she withdrew into the kitchen, lit a smoke, and checked whether the electricity was on. It was, and she boiled two pans of water, the first to heat the large ham the Colonel had brought her that morning, the second for some potatoes. When they were done she peeled them, then cut them into thin slices with a heavy kitchen knife that said âSolingenâ on the blade and sat in her hand just so. She imagined, her brows screwed up in concentration, how it might feel to slit the animalâs throat; hold its chin up like a corner-store barber and cut it ear to leathery ear. Imagined the Colonelâs reaction if he should return to a slaughtered animal, the carpet soaked with its blood. In the background she could hear its chattering, less aggressive now, and she realized that it wished for food. It would be childâs play to poison it. There was bleach, formaldehyde and lye underneath the sink, and a tub full of sleeping pills by the bed. She filled a china cup with potato water and placed it in reach of the animalâs outstretched arm. It grabbed for it and knocked it over. Up close the stench of its faeces was overpowering, even in the icy air. She walked back into the kitchen, fetchedanother cup. This time she slid it closer. When she saw it drink in hasty, sloppy draughts, she brought it a potato and some dried slices of apple. The monkey handled the food dexterously, using its tiny, black leather palms. Throughout it did not take its eyes off her, and she, too, crouched and watched it feed. The eyes did not seem to have any whites, and the fur around them was yellowed and encrusted with old secretions. She took a napkin from the table, wet it with her own spit, and reached to clean them away. The monkey recoiled, bared its fangs. Then Sonia heard the key in the lock, straightened, dropped the napkin mid-step, and rushed back to the kitchen.
When the door opened and the Colonel led in a stumbling Pavel, they found Sonia striding to the dining table, a steaming dish of potatoes clutched between two cheerily coloured tea towels.
Pavel sat in his chair, exhausted. The kidneys were bothering him and he wished that he could lie down on the sofa rather than sit at the dining table on a high-backed Biedermeier chair, a napkin spread across his lap, and good kitchen silver lined up before him. He watched with strange fascination as the Colonel cut the ham into half-inch slices upon a wooden cutting board, and listened to his story of how he had bought the monkey, quite cheaply, from a decommissioned
Wehrmacht
corporal after a nightâs carousing earlier that week. âI know what you will say, Pavel, he stinks and he is filthy, but by God I love the little critter.â The woman, Sonia, was dishing out boiled potatoes and fetched beer for the Colonel, chamomile tea for Pavel. The food stood before him and obscured the stench of animal; it rose to his nose and seduced his body. Pavel realized that he was hungry, ravenous even, and felt ashamed. He closed his eyes to conjure up Boydâs body but already it was difficult to rememberthe details, the smell of gammon thick in his throat. Unable to wait any longer, he cut himself a bite and chewed on it. It tasted wonderful. He tried the potatoes and found them well salted and seasoned with chives.
Chives,
he berated himself,
you are betraying a friend over the smell of chives
. He chewed another bite and hoped the Colonel would break the silence. He didnât.
âWho did it?â Pavel asked after he had finished the first slice and mopped up its juice with some bread. Sonia slid another onto his plate with a meat fork. âWho killed
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