The Sin Collector

MASHA

Masha woke up because she was cold. They hadn’t bothered to light the stove last night and settled instead for the space heater, which had been a mistake. She huddled against Andrey as best she could, warming one icy foot against his side, then a frozen hand under his arm. They had slept all night, interlaced like a strange kind of jigsaw puzzle. But at about two in the morning, Andrey had gotten up to turn off the heater, not wanting to risk a fire, and by morning, the small bubble of warmth generated by their combined bodies had drifted away. Masha finally gave up that blissful state of forgetfulness she had forged out of Andrey’s sleepy breath on her cheek. It was time to get up and do some thinking.

Carefully, so she wouldn’t wake him, Masha stretched out her legs and swung her feet onto the cold floor, then jerked them back again, shivering. But the thought of turning on the heater in the kitchen and of the old fleece Andrey had lent her last night gave her courage. Masha got out of bed, grabbed a small pile of clothing, and hustled into the kitchen, where Marilyn Monroe was already sitting at the ready. The mutt watched absentmindedly as his master’s girlfriend slipped into a T-shirt and jeans in record time, then added a sweater, his master’s fleece coat, and then, with a satisfied hum, his master’s wool socks, which had been drying near the stove since last ski season.

Then Marilyn’s new mistress disappeared again into the bedroom and returned with the heater. She put on the tea kettle… and she opened the refrigerator! Marilyn Monroe couldn’t wait any longer. He stood up and went to press his flank against his mistress’s legs, just in case she might have forgotten the poor hungry dog in the house. And the mistress, who was a kind soul, not yet spoiled by a strict master, offered Marilyn a pair of sausage links right away. She watched thoughtfully as Marilyn gulped them down as noisily as ever, and then gave him another one. Marilyn tried to handle that one with a little more sophistication, out of respect for the lady, and then he went to wait meekly at the front door. And the mistress understood him. She unhooked the latch and let him out to run around.

As Masha watched the dog forge a new path through the frosty yard, she wasn’t thinking about anything. She simply let her eyes absorb the fog outside the window, the dark mass of the hedges that separated their little cottage from the next one, and the absolute silence. All she could hear was Marilyn’s muffled tread over the freshly fallen, damp leaves, and the sound of his curious canine snout snuffling through the grass, crunchy with frost.

The boiling kettle brought her out of her reverie, tossing its poorly fitted lid. The lid landed with a crash on the wooden floor and rolled around the kitchen. A creaking sound from the bedroom told Masha she had woken Andrey after all. She frowned guiltily. He walked past her, looking adorable in just his jeans, his eyes still half-closed, and Masha couldn’t help reaching out for him, pressing his sleep-warmed body against hers for a second. But Andrey, trying to stifle a yawn, muttered something about having to take a shower before he let anyone get near him. Soon the makeshift outdoor shower was gurgling aggressively on the porch, and she could hear him whooping and hollering like a child.

Laughing, Masha set the table, putting out almost everything they had brought from the twenty-four-hour supermarket the night before: yogurt, cheese, ham.

A couple of minutes later, Andrey returned, fully awake now. He kissed her on the cheek and poured some hot water over the grounds in the new Turkish coffee pot. Yesterday, in a weird housekeeping frenzy, they had even bought extra coffee for the future.

Once the coffee was ready, they sat down at the table. Masha warmed her hands around her mug. Andrey made himself a ham sandwich. They looked at each other awkwardly. Their first breakfast together. Andrey put his sandwich down and reached across the table, palm facing up. Masha smiled and put her hand in his.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Andrey said, with the confidence of someone who has slept well and woken up in a good mood.

Masha nodded, and urged him back to his bread and ham with her eyes.

Andrey laughed. “Who do you take me for, Marilyn Monroe?” he asked and took a huge bite, then a swig from his mug.

“I was thinking,” Masha began, then stopped.

“Yes?”

“I was thinking that I was wrong to treat Innokenty that way. I was just so scared. First my stepfather…” She gripped her coffee cup a little tighter. “And then they took my mom to the hospital, and Kenty told me about his family, and then all those pictures…” She looked up at him. “But none of that means anything, Andrey! I know Kenty inside out. I’d have to be insane to suspect him of murder! Cliché as it may sound, he truly would not harm a fly. Do you believe me?”

Andrey nodded.

“I’ve known forever that his family was unusual somehow. But that never mattered. I was too shy to ask about them back then, when we were kids, like, Why are your mom and dad so weird? I bet, if I had asked, he would have told me the truth. But I wasn’t curious enough. I was too obsessed with my own little demons. Then he picked the worst possible day to reveal that secret to me. As for the photographs…” Masha lowered her eyes and used her fork to trace a flourish on the tablecloth.

“Well, it’s pretty clear what they mean,” Andrey said, sighing.

“Sure,” said Masha, quietly. “I guess I must have known on some level, but I just never wanted to admit it to myself. I was so happy having him as my friend, but from a certain perspective, I was taking advantage of his feelings for me. I—well, to be honest, I’ve been a bad friend. A terrible friend!” Masha looked at Andrey sadly.

He wiped his mouth and made himself another sandwich. “There’s no point punishing yourself, Masha. Yesterday it was your mom, and today it’s Innokenty. Think about it. There’s no way you could possibly have been a good friend to him. We can’t be a good friend to someone who’s in love with us. Because our friendship will never give them what they really want. So we hurt them, no matter what. But Kenty’s a big boy and he made his own choices about your relationship. He had plenty of chances to tell you he loved you and see how you would have responded, try to win you over or whatever.”

Masha suddenly giggled. “‘Or whatever,’” she mimicked him. “What do you mean or whatever?”

“Well,” said Andrey, pulling her by the hand over to his lap. “For example…”

Masha nodded thoughtfully. “Right. We all know how long and hard you courted me.”

“I’m more interested in the result than in the process,” Andrey whispered in her ear.

“Uh-huh. Kenty would be horrified if he knew how easy it was.”

“No, you’re not easy. You’re just—very selective.”

And with that momentous declaration, Andrey kissed her.