Chapter 29

Aina smiled at him. Her face was almost translucent. Nothing was hidden. Everything was in it. Her honest gaze made Arsy blush. How in the world could he go through with the sham Mademoiselle story?

“I’d be pleased to do the interview,” Aina said politely.

Arsy hesitated. Aina was different from any other girl he’d ever met. She had natural beauty. Yet she also had a a sense of style with her red boots and simple black dress and glorious reddish blond hair. Her eyes sparkled and there was humor in them.

Aina looked into Arsy’s handsome face—oh that smile!  The idea of being part of Mademoiselle intrigued her but getting to know this gent intrigued her even more.

The next moment, the very air they breathed became thick with romance. Arsy forgot all about Ivo who had peered out of the kitchen to watch the encounter.

“Would you have a bit of time? Say twenty minutes or so. We could go to the place across the street. It would be more private and we wouldn’t be disturbed.”

Aina replied without hesitation. “Yes. Let’s go.”

* * *

Ivo felt a chill. He shivered. Could he somehow sense the Angel of Death hovering nearby? If he did, he quickly tuned out, kicked aside his bucket and mop, and followed the two as they headed for the front door. But once outside, Ivo stopped. His face contorted. His hand clutched at his chest. The next moment, he slumped to the ground.

A sudden shaft of light, left over from summer, bathed him in gold. Seconds later, the light vanished.

Arsy half turned, noticed a man lying on the top step of the stairs. He knew instinctively that he should keep walking. Luckily Aina hadn’t noticed anything. Arsy knew that she would have been horrified.

He hurried her across Raina Boulevard to the little coffee shop on the corner. Just before taking the stairs leading down into the basement, Arsy looked over his shoulder again and noticed a woman (it could have been Liga) bending over the slumped body.

A mixture of emotions coursed through him. Shock. Relief. Sadness.

He had been out of touch with his feelings for so long. Feelings were luxuries. He had tamped them down and just got on with the business of staying alive. Now they came flooding back as he looked at this lovely girl smiling across the table from him.

“I want to tell you a story,” he said.

Aina looked at him quizzically.

“It’s not about Mademoiselle. It’s about something much more important.”

Aina leaned closer. Arsy was glad she hadn’t glanced at her watch. This was going to be a very long story.

* * *

Snow had started to fall. Bunches of big weightless flakes slowly slipped from the sky, smoothing a fresh white eiderdown over the city. The first snow of winter was always a magical surprise.

Arsy and Aina left the café and started to walk along Raina Boulevard. A hush had descended. They were alone in the world. Just the two of them.

Dream images drifted in and out of Arsy’s imagination. The two of them snug as could be before a roaring fireplace, drinking tea and sherry, with a dog at their feet. There were more fantasies: the two of them in a flowering meadow with the sun shining on Aina, bathing her in golden radiance.

Real life interrupted.

“It’s late, Arsy. My grandfather’s driver always picks me up at five o’clock. I must go back to the Academy.”

Back to the Academy! Arsy certainly didn’t want to go back there. Ivo’s buddies could be hanging around. And Ivo himself could be alive and well after a dizzy spell. If indeed it had been Ivo. Arsy started to doubt himself. He had spilled his guts to Aina. He trusted her. But there could still be danger for them both.

“Call the driver, Aina. Tell him to pick you up right here in front of the café. I think it’s better. Let’s walk back and I’ll wait with you.”

Aina agreed and, some fifteen minutes later, was chauffeured back home.

* * *

After saying goodbye to Aina (with promises to meet again) Arsy decided to stop at a grocery store on his way home to buy pastries and a bottle of wine for Madame Zenunda. He didn’t forget Minka who also deserved a treat—a can of smoked lamprey.

Then he took the bus back to Maskava’s Street and his studio. Staring out at the snow still falling over the quiet city his mind started to flow with memories from his childhood. He was indeed an orphan. All alone in the world. His mother had died when he was ten years old; he never knew his father. His maternal grandparents had brought him up. Now they were both deceased.

His fascination with art had always comforted him. In the world of art anything was possible. Each painting he saw in the art galleries of Riga pointed to another reality—a more beautiful reality—a portrait of what life should be like. And could be like. If he worked hard.

While working as a waiter and at menial jobs (mainly in renovation projects), he taught himself to draw. His sketchbook had been his constant companion and, when he had saved a bit of money, he purchased oil paint and canvas.

Arsy had met Juris Lapins at one of the Jugendstyl building sites on Elizabetes Street. Juris had walked in as if he owned the place—and he probably did. At the time, Arsy was having a short lunch break and was working on a drawing. Juris had walked up behind him silently and Arsy had not even noticed. Juris had watched for who knows how long before he startled Arsy by saying, “Not bad for someone who never went to the Arts Academy.”

That meeting had been Arsy’s entrée into the world of crime. He had refused to do anything violent. He figured that working at art forgery was still working at art so that was okay. Of course he had no idea at the time that it was Juris Lapins, in his  KGB officer days, who had sent Arsy’s father to Siberia.

Nearing his bus stop, Arsy stopped daydreaming. He was pulled out of his reverie by loud sirens. His heart stopped beating. Firefighters didn’t turn up for no good reason. Clutching his shopping bags, Arsy raced towards his house.