“I set aside pages with Stalin’s picture on them—don’t want to damage those—and make a bed under the warm pipes. It’s not so bad in here. The basement is cozy.
I think of the time I last saw Aunt Larisa. It was before she married that jerk. Dad dropped me off and said he would be taking Mom to the hospital because she was ill. I stayed in Aunt Larisa’s room for two days. I didn’t even go to school. When Dad came back, he said Mom had died at the hospital. I started crying, and Aunt Larisa hugged me and said to my dad, “You look guilty, not sad.” He didn’t say anything, just took me home. There must have been a funeral. I wonder why he didn’t take me. I need to ask him about that.
The pipes gurgle and hiss above me. In one of the apartments, someone turns on a record player. Normally I only listen to marching music, but this song I like. It’s pretty and gentle. Why did Aunt Larisa say my dad looked guilty? He didn’t. He looked sad. He blamed himself for not being able to save my mom.
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