Epilogue

She wasn’t nauseous anymore, but she was running to the bathroom all the time—Sashka was pressing on her bladder. Her mother had persuaded her to name the baby Sashka. Well, Ulyana gave in, since her mother had talked her out of it back then. She was the one having the baby, so her mother could name him whatever she wanted; Ulyana had no ideas of her own. So it’d be San Sanych, then. San Sanych was due around New Year’s: a Capricorn, it seemed.

And now it was November. The weather was miserable—wet snow and an icy wind, so nobody was coming in. And the crisis was probably having an effect too; people had less money. The last month had been dead as a doornail, though November used to be a good month back when Anatoly Sergeyevich was in charge. But the big hope was December, with the office parties and New Year’s trees—everyone wanted to look beautiful for the holidays, which meant waxing and tanning beds—and then they’d spend another two weeks recovering. A little massage wouldn’t hurt either.

Kristinka was sitting in her little nest, on the sofa by the entrance, legs tucked under her—glued to her phone, messaging some guy she was seeing. Ulyana was doing the books and stroking her belly so the baby wouldn’t kick, and, to rest her eyes, she kept glancing now and then at the canvas banner: it now showed lush green jungle, with an ancient Indian temple lost somewhere among the foliage. It was more relaxing that way.

A dreary evening was dragging along, but there was nothing to expect from it now; all she had to do was sit it out till closing and get home. Then the entrance door upstairs clanged.

Ulyana looked up hopefully—and went numb.

A huge man in a heavy sheepskin coat was coming down the stairs. Although he had a hat on—a pricey one, almost sable—Ulyana recognized him right away. He came down, took off his hat, and his bald head gleamed. It was that very same man.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” he said with a smile. “I thought you’d closed. How come?”

Kristinka stared at him, could hardly believe it, finally realized who he was, squeaked, and clutched the sofa.

“The owner changed,” Ulyana replied cautiously.

“And who’s the new one?”

“Well, me, for instance.”

She just hadn’t had time to think of a lie.

“Well, for instance…”

He brushed the snow off his hat and set it right in front of Ulyana on the counter. The hat looked like some animal shot on a hunt. The client turned his shiny leather head toward Kristinka and slobbered all over her with his eyes, like he was sucking on a pacifier.

“Same old cast of characters.”

“We’re closing now,” Ulyanka said.

“You just never fucking learn, do you?” the client smirked. “Closing, huh? Not afraid of jinxing it, boss lady?”

Ulyana froze. She had to find some way, right now, to put a hex on this man. Make sure he never came back.

“My husband was killed in the SVO,” she said.

“My condolences. But we’re still alive!” He laid his meaty paws on the counter in front of Ulyana. “Right, then. Five grand right here. That’s a full-body massage. Full. Body. And there’ll be another ten grand in tips if I like it.”

“I’ll file a report on you,” Ulyana tried again.

“A report? Where, I wonder?” He grinned.

“The FSB.”

“Oh-ho! The FSB itself? And what are you going to write to them? About a massage? They’d laugh their asses off. No, go ahead, write it, of course. It’s just that the chain of command runs in such a way your report will land on my desk. I’ll look into it. Promise.”

Ulyana stayed silent. She didn’t know what else to say. And, really, there wasn’t anything else to say.

“So. Okay. What’s the plan?” the client asked.

“I won’t,” Kris squeaked.

“Who asked you? I’m talking to the owner.”

Ulyana wasn’t looking at Kris or at the client. She was studying the ancient Indian temple in the dense jungle. San Sanych was kicking in her belly; her anxiety had rubbed off on him.

“Ulyan?”

“What do you mean, ‘Ulyan’? What do you mean, ‘Ulyan’? Are you completely out of your mind?!” Ulyana shouted at her.

She opened the closet and grabbed her puffer jacket. She covered the five thousand with her hand.

“I’m going out for a smoke.”

“Ulyan!! That’s such a rat move!” Kris burst into tears.

“Weather’s pretty shitty out there,” the man smirked. “You can stay here, I don’t mind.”

But Ulyana was already running up the stairs, one hand holding her belly; Kris made a move toward the exit too, but the client thrust out his huge arm, caught her, and dragged her to him. What happened next was unclear: the staircase blocked the view.

“Are you completely fucking heartless?!” the invisible Kristinka squeaked as a final shot.

Then the iron door slammed shut, and nothing more could be heard. Ulyana leaned against it, as if someone might still burst out, took out her vape, and inhaled the sweet smoke. Melon. She held it in, then exhaled. Vapor billowed upward. It drifted past the neon cursive sign “SPA SALON ‘ULYANA’” and bloomed red, catching its color from the sign.