Liberty by Andrea Portes

Author:Andrea Portes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-03-24T04:00:00+00:00

20

Saint Clement’s Church, if it were anywhere else on Earth, except possibly Rome, would be the landmark everybody in town would travel from near and far to see. But, because it’s in Moscow and everybody is obsessed with Saint Basil’s Cathedral on Red Square, it really doesn’t get the credit it deserves. I know you know Saint Basil’s—it’s the red one with all those colorful bobble towers on the top everybody always puts in movies to show you are in Moscow. Like the Empire State Building for New York. Or the Eiffel Tower for Paris. Saint Basil’s is the establishing shot for Moscow. Here. Now you are in Moscow. See? There’s that red church with all the bobbles in Red Square!

But Saint Clement’s is nothing to sneeze at. Not that you go around sneezing at churches. What are you, a satanist?

The entire thing is red, almost an orange red. With white pillars and domes everywhere. And blue onion domes, called cupolas. The blue is for Mary. And then in the middle, a cupola of gold, for God. It all hails from the Byzantine Russian Orthodox tradition, some say influenced by Persia. Which means it has the feeling of everybody just going up to it and putting more and more stuff on it until it is not only beautiful but kind of insane. And I love it. There’s something so happy about it. Happy yet elegant yet shocking.

Right now, our little squad sits on a bench across the square facing out on Saint Clement’s. Uri, Katerina, and me. There’s a kind of post-roller-coaster-ride rush we are all feeling. Or have you ever gone bungee jumping? Afterward, you just laugh manically and feel like you have somehow cheated death. Yeah. That’s what we feel like now.

I’m the first one to talk.

“Um . . . does anybody know what just happened?”

But Katerina changes the subject.

“How you know how to fight like this, American Paige?”

I shrug and try to laugh it off.

“My mom. She was sort of paranoid and wanted me to be able to defend myself.”

“Defend yourself from what, nuclear bomb?” Uri scoffs.

Katerina keeps her eyes on me, not really buying it.

“While we’re playing twenty questions, what’s with the gun?”

“What you mean?” Katerina asks.

“You know. The death stick you are holding in your hand.”

She shrugs. “I have to defend myself.”

“Seriously? Here, let me see it.”

Katerina hands over her gun. It’s a Glock. The kind cops use. Totally unoriginal.

“Oh, cool.”

This is what I say before I walk down the steps and throw it into the storm drain.

Down, down, down—plop. Never to be seen again.

“What the fuck?!” Katerina cannot believe I just did that. I don’t blame her—I can’t believe I just did that.

“Guns are for macho losers who don’t know how to fight. And you don’t need one. Clearly.”

Uri and Katerina contemplate this. But I can tell they’re both a bit perplexed.

“Back in the States, ninety people are killed by guns every DAY.”

Katerina shrugs. Either because she fails to understand or cares not about the import of my most recent statement.

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