Yelena Moskovich - Virtuoso

Amy steps one sneaker carefully in front of the other at the edge of the wall of the house with the brown roof and grey satellite dish. Low-waisted flared jeans, soil-stains on the knees, dark-green zip-up, navy-blue backpack on her shoulders. One hand tracing the pallid stone, she moves around the house.

A wind picks up the loose blonde hairs straying from her thick ponytail, and wisps them across her cheek.

The emptiness is shifting around her. She turns her head back to the lone dirt road, stringing away into the dimness shared by the soil and the trees and the night and the man’s departure.

She’s seen the man leave, from the bushes, where she was waiting and watching. He was in his grey suit, with shined shoes and a shined head, locking and bolting the door with even-handed accuracy, stopping only to cover his mouth with a sky-blue silk handkerchief when he coughed.

Below, in the dirt, at the tip of her foot, there is a stone. She picks it up, steps back, and tosses it at the window with the three iron bars. It clinks against the glass, then drops onto the ledge of the windowsill. There is no echo. The darkness makes foam of noise. Her arms are crossed over her gut, the backpack straps dangling against her jean pockets.

“Dominika…” she whispers with her head tilted up, “it’s me!”

From inside the house, a heavy chain is dragging, the chinks pulling apart then hitting against each other.

“It’s me, Dominika!”

She’s made her way to the door, wide and wooden, with a dark iron frame. Near her belly button, the keyhole is a black copper, made for a bulbous key. There is a thin light coming from the hole. She watches it. Just then, it disappears, and through the hole, an exhalation.

The keyhole looks like it’s breathing.

“ Amy …” the breath filters out of the keyhole.

“ O my Amy …”

“Dominika? Dominika!”

“O my sexy Amy!”

She crouches down carefully, palms on the door, and approaches her eye to the keyhole. She squints, then opens her eye wide and feels a warm breath on her eyeball, then squints again.

“But I can’t see you…!” Amy whispers.

The chain lifts and drops and Amy flinches back, then catches herself on the door and peers back into the keyhole.

“I see… red… is it your dress?”

“ I wearing it for you, my love! ”

“I want to see your face.”

“ I cannot, my beauty… chain not long enough .”

Amy unzips her backpack and takes out the toolbox and sets it at her feet. She begins to feel around the iron door frame, wedging her fingernails between the metal and cement lining.

“Geez, it’s really… solid!”

“ Yes, he made very strong! ”

“I need like a blow torch or something!”

“ You bring this with you? ”

“No… All I brought was like… my dad’s toolbox, and most of the tools they took away at security, they were asking me why I needed a wrench and a hammer and different-sized screwdrivers, I got nervous, I didn’t know what to say, I told them I wanted to make art. What kind of art? The security guard was asking me. I really had to think on my feet, and to be honest, I don’t really know too much about art, so I just said I want to build something… like a small house… as an art project, but the security guard kept asking me to explain further, so I told him that I was going to build a doghouse around myself using only my father’s toolbox as, like, people came and went and there was a sign that said they should, like, bark at me, as they watched, until they got bored and wanted to leave. I dunno, I just kind of ran with the idea… Then I stopped talking and the guard was just staring at me. He asked me if I make feminist art. I got nervous again, cause I wasn’t sure, but I think it was definitely a trick question. And I couldn’t remember anything from my European History class, ugh, I really should have listened better, like, was feminist art illegal in Europe or something? Just in case, I told him I didn’t know what feminist art was. He raised his eyebrows at me, and said, alright, well what kind of art do you make, then?

All I could think about was you, Dominika, I was afraid he wouldn’t let me through, I was trying to be very careful, watching his facial expression, thinking about my words, and I could kind of feel the tears coming up and I was squeezing my chest shut so they wouldn’t come up, I was telling him, Sir, I just want to make a doghouse actually, for a dog I love very much, Sir, and, um, the dog lives here and, um, the reason I am using my father’s toolbox is because my mother does not have a toolbox, Sir, because in my country, most women don’t own toolboxes yet, and, um, of course, after the doghouse is made, I will return the toolbox to my father, Sir, and myself back to America before my ninety-day tourist visa is up – I showed him my return ticket, and he handed me back the half-empty toolbox and I walked through the security gate…”

“ Oh my darling! My clever girl! What long journey you had. And now you are here, so close to me! ”

“But how am I supposed to get this door open now…”

Amy hits the door with her flat hand.

“Fuck!” Amy yells out.

“ Shhh… my angel, please… ”

“I’m sorry,” Amy whispers, “I… don’t know… what to do… I feel like such an idiot… with this stupid toolbox and… I love you, Dominika! Ugh, I wish I could dismantle this door and this house and everything and we could just be together! But they only left me the shitty tools I can’t do anything with! I can’t even scrape off the wood of this fucking door if I wanted to, how am I supposed to break you out of here—”

“ Kiss me. ”

“What?”

“ Kiss me, my love. ”

“I want to! But… shouldn’t I try to get this door down first?”

“ One kiss, please! ”

“Um… okay! But… how??”

“ Put your lips to hole where key goes, my angel. ”

Amy looks at the black copper keyhole.

“My lips?” she says hesitantly.

“ Yes, my Amy, my sexy Amy !”

“But what if… he comes back and… and—”

“ Amy, my beautiful girl, I wish I can hold you, you so nervous .”

“I’m scared, Dominika. I… I’m stuck out here, you’re in there, and he—he—he’s going to come back!”

“ Shhh… everything be alright. Kiss me and I show you everything alright .”

Amy glances around, still nothing but the forest and the lone road. She looks back at the wooden door, focusing towards the keyhole.

“Okay…” Amy murmurs.

She begins to lean in, pursing her lips as her face comes closer to the wood and her eyes close. The cold metal ridge touches the skin of her lips.

“ Come closer, my love …”

She leans in closer, pressing her lips into the copper-framed keyhole, pushing the pulp of them inside the thumb-sized space.

“ My angel, come closer …”

Amy is pushing her face up against the door, the key-shaped ridge prodding into her teeth.

“ Closer, closer …”

Her nose is bending into the wood, the grain stamping her forehead.

“ Clo —” the voice drops.

The night is cut in two with one sharp shriek from inside the house.

Amy jumps back away from the door, her hands over her mouth.

“Dominika…??” she is getting up to her feet. “What’s happening??”

The shriek comes again from inside the house and Amy winces, stepping away from the door.

The shriek is stretching into a scream and the chain is clanging against itself frantically.