Solovyov and Larionov by EUGENE VODOLAZKIN

Author:EUGENE VODOLAZKIN
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-08-22T14:38:11+00:00

S O L O V Y O V A N D L A R I O N O V

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asked Solovyov to take off the bag. Solovyov suddenly felt completely calm; his initial fear had subsided. These

goings-on had obviously stepped outside the bounds of

reality. Using the flashlight, Zoya took out two objects, only one of which Solovyov recognized: a glass cutter. Zoya did not begin with that, though. She took the second object

(three rubber circles, arranged in a triangle), placed it against the glass, pulled some sort of lever, and the contraption

remained, hanging on the window. It had suction cups.

Then came the glass cutter’s turn. Zoya used it to trace

an oval around the suction cups stuck to the glass. As

Solovyov observed the Chekhov specialist’s dexterousness

in wielding the glass cutter, it occurred to him that in

the event of their capture, the clause about break-ins

with previous concert would not apply to them: there was

no previous concert between him and Zoya. She had not

uttered a word about her plans. And he had not asked her

anything.

Zoya used the handle of the glass cutter to knock lightly

on the glass a few times. Then, grabbing the suction cups, she noiselessly removed the oval traced on the glass and

handed it to Solovyov. Thrusting her hand into the opening that had formed, she flicked a latch from inside. The door opened.

Zoya took the suction cup device from Solovyov’s hands,

placed it on the ground, and unstuck it from the glass oval.

The suction cups were returned to the bag with a clang.

Of everything that had happened, what struck Solovyov

most was probably Zoya’s composure. She was first to enter Vorontsov’s kingdom.

Zoya found her bearings flawlessly in the deceased count’s 580VV_txt.indd 203

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E U G E N E V O D O L A Z K I N

palace, even with the flashlight switched off. She took

Solovyov’s hand and led him through several rooms where

all he could see (this was a strange tour) were several

gleaming vases and the fire alarm system’s lifeless flashing.

Darkness intensified the sound: the creak of a floor, the

squeak of door hinges, and even—this was right by

Solovyov’s ear—the bag chafing on his shoulder.

They ended up in the staff area. Solovyov figured that

out from the size of the rooms and, most importantly, the

windows. They stopped in one of the rooms. Zoya squeezed

Solovyov’s hand and froze. The light came on suddenly.

After his eyes adjusted to the light, Solovyov saw they were standing by a wall. Zoya’s free hand was lying on the switch.

She was smiling.

‘This is Taras’s room.’

The space was tiny. A window covered in metal shutters.

Shelf hanging on the wall, heaped with some sort of elec-

tronic odds and ends. Chair. Desk. Zoya’s photograph on

the desk.

‘I’m sure he’s in love with you.’

A steamship’s whistle sounded from somewhere far away,

as if from another world.

‘He loves me.’ Zoya turned the photograph upside down.

‘Is it really possible not to love me?’

She turned the chair and sat, straddling it, then pulled

out the desk’s side drawers, one after another. They were

all empty. They were all noisily sent back. The desk’s middle drawer turned out to be filled with papers.

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