Daria Desombre: The Sin Collector

“It won’t be,” Katya had snapped. She was determined to marry a rich guy.

Katya was glad about moving, though. She could finally get away from Masha’s ugly face. Only months later Katya realized she was dying of loneliness in their dull new neighborhood. Life without Masha was boring. It was as if some sort of engine had been removed from her mind, one that had given emotional tone and tension to Katya’s life. And Katya was no idiot. She knew she couldn’t talk with her new neighbors the way she had with Masha. All these girls talked about was boys, makeup, and clothes—the three subjects she and Masha had never, ever discussed.

At first, she got a kick out of looking through their dog-eared issues of Vogue . Then she felt lonely again, remembering the guys from Masha’s special math and physics school who used to come over. She didn’t always understand the things they talked about, but those boys were a whole lot more interesting than the ones her new neighbors were always drooling over. Katya dreamed of eventually marrying one of those math-and-physics boys—provided, of course, that he made a lot of money, and didn’t work as just a boring old researcher somewhere like her mother.

So Katya decided to get back in touch with Masha, despite the ten metro stops between them. She knew, deep down, that her jealousy was pointing the way like a compass, that Masha would continue rising up into the cream of society, and that Katya needed to hitch a ride.

And so, a year after moving away, Katya had dialed the Karavays’ number, as nervous as she’d ever been. Masha was surprised to hear from her—but pleasantly surprised, thank God. She invited Katya to come visit.

When Katya had emerged from the metro station at Bolshaya Polyanka and breathed in the gasoline-infused air, she’d felt as if she had finally come home. That feeling only got stronger in Masha’s apartment, so strong she didn’t know what to do with herself. This was the apartment of her dreams, the apartment where she had spent half her childhood, the place she thought of as her real home. She sat down across from Masha at the kitchen table and felt the tears welling up in her throat.

“What’s wrong?” Masha asked.

“I missed you,” Katya said, and she wasn’t lying at all.

Katya had wanted to impress her old friend. Getting ready for that visit, she had put on her makeup very carefully. But now, looking at Masha’s bare face and embarrassed by her own tears (after all, Masha hadn’t missed Katya enough to cry!), Katya realized the truth: she had lost again. Simply because Masha existed on a completely different level.

An awkward silence settled over the table. Masha and Katya drank their tea quickly, pretending not to notice the obvious: they had nothing to talk about. Katya was devastated. Friendship with Masha was her only excuse for being in this apartment.

“Know what?” Katya finally blurted out, desperate to break the silence. “There’s a guy with a Harley who likes me!”

“A Harley?” Masha asked, confused.

“You know, a motorcycle, the really cool kind? He’s already been in jail for stealing, can you believe it? He told me I don’t look any older than sixteen. So I said, ‘Well, I am sixteen!’ And he said, ‘Don’t tempt me, baby girl!’” Katya jabbered on, her eyes growing bigger and bigger as she continued the story, holding Masha’s gaze the whole time.

After the guy with the Harley, Katya talked about Sveta, who lived in her new apartment building and whose mother beat her up for wearing eye shadow and lipstick, even though she was already fifteen, can you believe it? Then there was the “Great Silk Road” that ran in front of their building, always filled with the people who sold things at the cheap marketplace next door. And a soldier who had come back from Chechnya sick in the head, who sat in the bushes until his mom came out and told him everyone was gone, the ambush was over, and it was safe to come inside for dinner.

Katya was turning out to have a real gift for storytelling. She played the part of the terrified vet peering out from behind the bushes, then the self-satisfied dude on the Harley, then Sveta’s mother, cursing her out so loud everyone could hear. Masha laughed till she cried, wiping the tears from her eyes, and when Natasha came home from work, Masha told her mom she had to sit down and listen, too. Katya gave an encore performance of the best parts of her story, perfecting them as she went, and now she felt awesome, triumphant. She had won! It was working!

It went on like that for years. Katya sort of became Masha’s personal court jester. With other people, Masha held very intellectual conversations. With Katya, she relaxed, and sometimes she would even gossip. That didn’t bother Katya. Neither did the sideways looks Masha’s school friends gave her: Who are you? Where do you study? They could see right away Katya wasn’t one of them. But Katya knew that herself, and she didn’t mind, just went right on playing the fool. Masha always introduced Katya as her oldest friend. Oldest friend. It was like an honorary title. Anyway, she’d be one of them, someday. Maybe even be better than them. There was no rush, she had time—that’s what Katya thought.

Until Innokenty. Yes. Until Katya noticed Innokenty.

“Okay, you, too. Talk to you soon,” Masha said, and tucked the phone back in her purse.

“Your old neighbor friend?” Innokenty lifted his glass of white wine. “You should have had some of this. It’s very light, and it complements the asparagus well.”

“You’re such a snob!” Masha said happily, stabbing at the asparagus with her fork. “By the way, she’s still in love with you.”

“Huh.” Innokenty frowned. “And she’s still jealous of you.”

Masha snorted and shrugged.

“I wish I had something to be jealous of! You should see how my new boss ignores me. Yesterday he saw me with Nick-Nick. He thinks I’m just an annoying rich girl with no brain.”

“But you do have a brain.” Kenty smiled.

Masha sighed. “No, not these days, I don’t. I’m just going around in circles. Around what, exactly, I don’t know. I’m looking into these strange deaths.”

“Aren’t there always plenty of those?”

“No. These are strange deaths in strange places.” Masha pulled the map of Moscow out of her bag. “Look.”

Innokenty laid the map out next to his plate and glanced over it while finishing his asparagus.

Masha watched hopefully, afraid to say anything. She hadn’t told Innokenty anything about the murders, so this map, marked with a cross at each crime scene, was his introduction to her puzzle. But they were used to trusting each other’s mental abilities, and while logic reigned supreme in Masha’s head, erudition guided Innokenty’s.

Finally, Masha couldn’t wait. “Well?”

“This is silly.” Innokenty pushed the map away. “Nothing’s coming to mind.”

Masha obediently took the map back. “I have a little time before I have to get back to work.”

“Let’s have some dessert! That’ll make you feel better.” Innokenty winked at Masha and insisted on ordering the biggest slice of cake in the display case, a monster covered in fruit and whipped cream.

“I’ve just made a deal for a fantastic icon,” he told her while they both dug in. “One made for the Old Believers, seventeenth century. I already have a buyer for it, too. I’ll be able to take a month of vacation, and, if you want—”

“Yelnik is one of them!” Masha interrupted him, nearly stabbing Innokenty with her cake-laden fork.

“Umm, what?” he asked.

Masha took out the map again, and Innokenty pulled a heavy gold pen from the breast pocket of his cherry-colored velvet jacket. Masha scribbled some quick circles on her napkin to get the ink flowing, then added a new little cross on the map next to Red Square.