All That Is Solid Melts Into Air by Darragh McKeon

Author:Darragh McKeon [McKeon, Darragh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Historical
ISBN: 9780062246882
Google: b6ObAgAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00FJ350MG
Publisher: Harper Collins
Published: 2014-05-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Two hours later Maria leaves the principal’s office. She walks past Yevgeni as he slumps on a chair outside, and when she passes he picks up his bag and scurries after her. She moves quickly when she’s annoyed. So he can tell she’s annoyed.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“Well, you’ve caused it. You had me leave work early. I do this two times a year, maybe it’s okay. How many times is this?”

“I don’t know.”

“I know. It’s four. I’ll be lucky if I’m not fired.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry. This is not good, Zhenya, especially not now.”

It isn’t fair to blame the child for her problems at work. But still, he did call her. He could have called his mother. So maybe he deserves it.

“You could have called your mother.”

She realizes he’s not responding. She looks to her side, but he’s not there. He’s stopped. She’s the one walking quickly. She’s the one who’s angry. He’s the one who should be keeping up. She stops and looks back. He’s standing there with his bag around his ankles. They’re in the playground by now, in full view of how many hundreds, if not thousands, of kids, and yet Zhenya has no qualms in putting down his bag, causing a scene, his hands clamped to his head, holding clumps of hair in his fists. No wonder they pick on him—the child is a gaping wound. Maybe this is to do with not having a father, or with too much mothering, with the women being too indulgent because of his talent. Who knows? Let Alina deal with it. He’s not her child, after all, and she’s not in the mood for it today.

She paces back to him and grabs his arm and drags him back into motion, and he’s as raggedly obedient as a stitched doll.

This child needs to learn some things.

They get on the Metro and talk it out. Yevgeni explains what happened and Maria can see a kind of logic behind it. The things you can’t do as a kid, the actions you can’t take, how the smallest things become magnified, reaching crisis point.

She stops him midsentence.

“Show me your arm.”

“What?”

“Show me your arm.”

Yevgeni pulls his sweater back. Nothing. He knows what she’s looking for already, trying to look casual. Nothing escapes this kid.

“The other one.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Okay, it’s there, you don’t need proof, Mam has seen it already.”

“It’s a Chinese burn then.”

“Yes.”

“Do we need to be worried?”

“No.”

“Zhenya?”

“No.”

“Are there a lot of other kids getting them? Be honest now.”

“Yes. Loads.”

“You’re not the only one.”

“No. We do it all the time.”

Taunts, name-calling, ear smacking, spitting, kicking, teachers handing out beatings, snot flicking, note passing. Thank Christ she isn’t still in school.

She’ll let the subject rest, but she can’t guarantee that she won’t come back to it. It’s a fine balance, being a live-in aunt. She wants him to confide in her, but she feels many of the maternal responsibilities, the same irrational fears, as Alina does.

“I have a question,” Maria says.

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