A memory unfurls from the furthest reach of my consciousness, too quickly to fight.Cologne. Silk. Copper.That night Robert came to me, his face bloodied, a stack of bills clutched in his fist.
“Shall we play a game?” he asked, knowing full well that I couldn’t refuse. “Tell me.” He threw the bloodied cash in my face while I remained seated on the bed. “What is real and what is not?”
I learned a lesson then that remains with me to this day: Nothing is more important to a man than his money. Not women. Not drugs. Not family. Not even his soul.
This Mischa must hoard it at the expense of everything else. By selling something?
As Xavier removes stack after stack of dollars—American from what I can tell—Vanya approaches a cluster of cardboard boxes in one corner of the room. After assessing the cash, he hefts two boxes and brings them closer to the table.
“They’re packed,” he explains as he sets the second box down. “Ready to ship. You can sell them at the going rate with a little bit of interest for the inconvenience of having to accommodate you directly.”
Irritation flits across Xavier’s face almost too quickly to catch. “Fine,” he says, still removing stack after stack from his briefcase.
As the growing pile continues to climb, I can’t help but stare. It’s more money than I’ve ever seen in one place. Even Robert never carries so much on him at one time. The obscene display betrays a more nefarious purpose, however. What on Earth could one box contain to be worth so much?
I shy away from the answer and face the wall. After a few more minutes, Xavier and Vanya seem to conclude their business. The former leaves, his briefcase in tow. I hear it swishing through the air at his side as he turns down that narrow outside hall. When he’s gone, Vanya just sighs. There’s a leathery hiss like that of paper being sorted, counted, and stored, though I never saw a safe.
Just when I gather up the nerve to peek again, he calls to me. “You’d do best to forget what you saw. If you want to extend your life for however long you can, anyway.”
I don’t dare turn away again. Instead, I study the wallpaper. The base is dark gray with leaves in a lighter print forming a simple design that crawls out in every which direction. Far, far away to the farthest reaches of the room.
“I have to go,” Vanya says after a second’s silence. Something unspoken hides within his weary tone. A warning:Keep to yourself. Stare at the wall.“When I return…if…I’ll bring you something to eat.”
But why? My welfare has to be at the bottom of his leader’s list. For whatever reason, he made this offer solely out of kindness. Or perhaps pity. One word he used rings ominously. If.
If you are still alive.
“Th-thank you,” I force myself to whisper regardless.
Without bothering to respond, the man leaves, switching the light off and drenching me in shadow.