Andrea Bennett - Two Cousins of Azov

Sveta stood in the doorway, mouth puckered as if eating something unpalatable: half a lemon, or some imported yoghurt.

‘Well… if you’re going to be stubborn about it, I suppose it could have been a trick… But why?’ Sveta laughed at the possibility and clutched at the fat plastic beads at her neck. ‘Why would Madame Zoya write fire on her table? Did it mean anything to you, the message?’ She cocked her head.

He hesitated.

‘Gor?’

‘No!’ he snapped, striding past her to the kitchen. ‘What has Madame Zoya against me, eh?’ He stared at the calendar. ‘Is this all linked? The séance was just the culmination of all this…’

‘What, what? More horrid things?’ Sveta’s cheeks wobbled as she clucked around him, eyes on the calendar and the peppering of Xs that ranged its dates like pock marks on a teenager’s skin. ‘Are these all…?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. All unpleasant events. The letter…’ He pointed at a date two days before. ‘The letter was very odd: no words. Just… just a dozen dead moths. And tapping.’

‘Tapping?’

‘On the windows… As if someone… as if someone wants to get in.’ Gor scrunched up his face and rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. ‘Started a few days ago.’

‘Scary!’ said Sveta with a shudder.

‘There is no such thing as the supernatural! I will not be cowed!’ He shook a fist to no one. ‘The séance was arranged as a consequence of strange events, and now they are multiplying. But what’s afoot?’ His eyes slid to Sveta. ‘You…’ he said, ‘you are keen on all this nonsense! Did you have a hand in this?’

She looked over her shoulder. ‘Who? Me? Why would I want to scare you?’

‘Huh! Well, I don’t know, Svetlana Mikhailovna! You tell me?’ He took up pacing again. ‘You seem very keen to get to know me, to involve me in your family. And this all started when I met you. Maybe you’re after something, huh? Making yourself indispensable, in my hour of need?’

Sveta’s jaw dropped. ‘After something? With you?’

‘Well, why not? You’re not a stupid woman, and it takes all sorts!’

‘All sorts?’

‘Why did you answer my advert?’ He stopped before her.

‘What?’

‘The real reason?’

‘I wanted to be a magician’s assistant, you stupid old goat! I don’t need or want anything else – not from you, not from anyone! I just wanted a little razzmatazz.’

‘Ha!’ He stared at her, eyes drilling into her soul. ‘Not for the money, but for the “razzmatazz”! Unbelievable!’ He shook his head and slowly walked away. ‘So now you know there is no “razzmatazz”, why are you still around: bringing me cutlets, cups of tea – checking up on me?’

‘Well, this may come as a surprise, but it’s because I feel sorry for you! Yes – sorry!’

He turned, nodding violently. ‘Ah! Sorry for me!’

‘Yes!’

‘You, sorry for me?’

‘Obviously.’ She folded her arms. ‘Perhaps I should go.’ Sveta put the cheese rind on the sideboard and smoothed her cardigan. When he said nothing, she turned for the hall.

‘Wait!’

She turned back.

‘What else do you know about me, Sveta?’ He thrust himself into his armchair and eyed her suspiciously.

‘What do you mean? Only what you’ve told me. Only what you said at the séance.’

‘Is that all? Albina, when we first met: she asked if I was a millionaire.’

‘Yes, but that’s just… gossip.’

He raised an eyebrow.

‘Everyone knows you were a bank manager…’

‘And it follows that I’m a millionaire?’

‘Yes! No! Oh, Albina was just repeating what she’s heard. It means nothing. She meant no harm. You are being rude, Gor!’

He bit down his reply, eyes bulging, and blew through his cheeks, mouth slack. ‘You are right!’ His head dropped into his hands, and he seemed to crumple. ‘I am sorry, Sveta. I… forgive me. I was rude. I don’t think you’re… the one. But you are the connection in all of this!’

‘Nonsense!’ She squared her shoulders. ‘You are! All I did was set up the séance.’ She smiled, her blue eyes silvered with tears. ‘I’m not a bad person. I am your friend.’

‘Maybe,’ he conceded, with a tepid smile. ‘Maybe. Don’t get upset! Here—’ He passed her a spotted yellow handkerchief. ‘But how do we make sense of all this? What does it mean? Tell me more about Madame Zoya? Does she often host séances?’

‘Every few months, when there is demand.’

‘And…?’

‘She relays messages, gives people signs. The people who come are lonely, or feeling guilty, or maybe just sad. She gives them a chance to talk, to share, and, you know… hope. I hear she reunited Alla – the woman from the White Flamingo, you remember – with her cat.’ Sveta smiled with a hint of self-mockery. ‘It gave great comfort to Alla.’

‘A cat. I see. The others there… that orange woman, Valentina—’

‘Valya, yes?’

‘I know her… she worked under me at the bank. And the dark girl…’

‘Polly? From the pharmacy?’

‘Yes. I recognised her from somewhere. I can’t put my finger on it—’

‘Azov is a small place, Gor. There is no strangeness in you recognising these people, surely?’

He was silent a moment, eyes intent on the wall, and then shook his head. ‘You are right. I am suspicious of everyone, and where’s the point? But tell me: this séance was… an oddity – more violent than usual?’

‘Yes.’

‘It was a show for me, then?’

‘You don’t think someone – linked to banking – might be holding a grudge? I don’t know, maybe… if you didn’t give them a loan, or something like that? Revenge?’

‘That kind of thing was extremely regulated. It was not a world of intrigue, believe me.’

‘So, you didn’t make any enemies?’ She smiled slightly and raised her eyebrows, as if talking to a child.

He passed a hand across his eyes and hunched away. ‘I don’t want to discuss it.’

She frowned. ‘Very well. Let’s talk about something else. Don’t upset yourself.’

The clock ticked.

‘I think the “sawing me in half” trick is a great one, don’t you?’ Sveta began.

‘Yes,’ he nodded.

‘And do you think my assistant-ing is improving?’

‘It will do, very well.’

‘I think it’s just as well we have chosen not to do the Wheel of Death, don’t you?’

‘Yes… it seems to have dry rot.’

There was a pause before they both spoke.

‘Let’s go and talk to Madame Zoya!’ said Sveta.

‘I really should be going to the dacha ,’ said Gor.

‘ Dacha ? It’s getting dark, and it’s raining!’ Sveta was firm. ‘Have the silent phone calls stopped, hmm? And the burning smells?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sleeping better, with this tapping going on?’

‘No.’

‘And the horrid letters, the headless rabbit – you enjoy all that?’

‘No.’

‘So: you say Madame Zoya is a fraud, and I say that she isn’t, but either way, we must talk to her: if she is trying to scare you, we must know why! And if she is sincere, we must ask for her help. She might know something we don’t.’

‘It’s all so black and white to you, isn’t it? She might know…’ He closed his eyes. ‘Sveta, there are things you don’t know,’ he said slowly, ‘about me. Things I have done… shameful things, terrible things. I… It’s not so simple.’ He opened his eyes and stared at the calendar.

‘That’s as maybe.’ Her chin tilted as she came to stand before him. ‘But I know one thing, Gor: deep down, you are a good man.’

She held his eyes until he looked away.