Maya looked forward to seeing Klyuchitsky with a sublime feeling of sorts. She carefully wiped the books, the fridge, the armrests of the armchair, the headboard of the sofa bed and all the surfaces which might gather dust; she moped every floor in the apartment and on the wide sunroom balcony, prepared the ingredients for the Russian salad, cold snacks and the pot-au-feu stew, which was her specialty. That done, Maya took a bottle of Georgian «Five Stars» cognac from the cupboard and put it on ice, then checked out the sweets brought from Moscow, and, satisfied with the results, set to work. Maya wanted to treat her guest to a delicacy, but after getting started, she suddenly lost her inspiration, so she only mixed the salad, deciding to cut the ham and cheese upon Klyuchitsky’s arrival. All the fuss with meat and potatoes she decided to keep for a later moment, hoping that the feast would take longer and she’d get in a proper mood.

Yet, things went not as Maya expected. Klyuchitsky dropped in with two huge heavy bags – they seemed to burst at the seams with all the groceries stuck there. First of all, he carefully arranged the liquors and put them into their designated places: he put cognacs in the pantry, the white wine bottles and the chilled champagne he stuffed into a large saucepan, then covered them with ice and placed on the bottom shelf of the fridge. He then put vodka and non-chilled champagne on the side shelves of the fridge and placed the beautiful bottles of golden Czech beer in the freezer, muttering that they should pick up the beer in an hour. Done with the bottles, and in the same scrupulous way, he arranged the cans of caviar, sprats, jellied tongues, pate and salmon on the fridge shelves. He even found a space for cervelat sausages, cheese and glass jars full of salads.

Closing the fridge, the guest opened a tin can with the red caviar with deft fingers and asked Maya to prepare sandwiches. Meanwhile, he went ahead with the roasting of butterflied grilled chicken. To do so, he took a couple wide pans from his bag, as well as tailor-made pressure weights with wooden lids adorned with practical handles. A cutting board carved from the dark wood with a bizarre pattern of growth rings came next – this thing not only could serve as a magnificent decoration of Maya’s kitchen but also as a precious exhibit in a museum of hand-carved souvenirs made by prisoners of the strict regime colony. Putting the dressed chicken on a board, Klyuchitsky easily squashed it with his heavy palm, rubbed it with salt, peppered, sprinkled with garlic juice, and then placed it on the pan with already melted fresh butter, covering it with pressure weight.

Soon the kitchen got filled with the scent of fried garlic chicken, fueling Maya’s appetite to the point of her hand reaching involuntarily for a pink sandwich. Klyuchitsky immediately seconded Maya’s initiative and poured champagne into glasses, gulping a good half of his drink with a toast: «To our union!» Maya took a couple of big sips – the wine pleasantly tickled the nostrils and burned the esophagus, as Maya began to eat the temptingly delicious sandwiches. They quickly emptied the wide blue plate, leaving only a few grains of caviar, sparkling like precious gems, and finished off the wine bottle. Klyuchitsky turned the stove with chickens on and suggested to sample the chicken salad he brought, while the poultry was being roasted. Maya put the soft meat, marinated in thick green sauce, on small plates, and Klyuchitsky uncorked a bottle of Georgian wine. The salad turned out to be spicy, with an ever so slight smell of garlic and some nice, and yet unknown to Maya, spices, that evoked voracious appetite and raging thirst. Taking a sip of wine, Maya marveled at its wonderful taste and bouquet while an involuntarily thought had crossed her mind – this must be how the divine nectar smells.

Then Klyuchitsky brought the freshly roasted chickens and served more wine. The chickens were a total success: of tender golden color, with an appetizing crust, savory, soft and juicy. Klyuchitsky smeared the meat with a thick garlic sauce, as Maya did the same. She started eating and it felt like she fell into a blissful trance of gluttony to the point of losing the sight of her guest. The girl woke up to reality when her glass got empty, and only the carefully picked bones remained on the plate.

Klyuchitsky ate with the same gusto and self-abandonment. Putting aside the plate with the bones, he quickly refilled the glasses, which were immediately drained, and filled them again. After finishing the wine, Maya felt a slight intoxication, but the nourishing did not end there. Klyuchitsky reached for the cognac, and Maya pushed the ham, aspic, and cheese closer. They effortlessly emptied a bottle of five-star cognac, then moved to a three-star Armenian one. Now the Russian salad, sprats, and liver pate came into play. They ate and drank slowly, obviously prolonging the pleasure.

Maya could drink a lot. Having reached a certain state of inebriation, when her body became light, the head became lucid, and her thoughts and actions bold, she ceased to get progressively drunk. When this happened, only a glass of strong alcohol tossed off in one draught or a whole bottle of strong wine could knock her down. To knock her down, but not to shut down her consciousness. For this talent, Maya once paid with her virginity…

After the second bottle, Klyuchitsky suggested to boil the water for some coffee and come out to the balcony to get some fresh air. They stood side by side on the warm cement floor, leaning against the concrete grate and raising their heads to the sky – the enormous stars shone above them, and it was possible to make out the Milky Way. After a few moments of silence, Klyuchitsky surprised Maya by uttering not quite what Maya expected to hear:

«Let’s enclose the balcony with glass! And here,» – he pointed to the middle of the loggia, – «we’ll put up a table and some wicker chairs. We will install a rotating frame, and turn this corner into a real solarium, and you’ll be able to sunbathe here even in winter.

– I cannot make heads or tails of what you do for me already…

– Maya, come on! I can build you a palace… Look at me, do I look like some kind of shallow talker or philanderer? I’m just a man who has more money than you! The things around us need to be improved, and our life needs more comfort, as simple as that.

– Well, in this case, let’s set up our nest.

– Let’s drink some coffee. I’ll send you some professionals the day after tomorrow.

– Here’s the coffee, – Maya passed Klyuchitsky a can of instant coffee.

– We’ll need this later. Bring the cups!

Klyuchitsky rummaged in his bottomless bag, took out a small glass jar and unscrewed the lid – the room got filled with the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. Spooning coffee grounds into the cups, Klyuchitsky filled them with boiling water so that a soft foam coating formed on the surface of the intense brown liquid. He then passed one cup to Maya and began to sip the burning drink from the other one, taking one small sip at a time. When he had finished his cup, he filled the glasses with liquor, cut a lemon into thin slices, sprinkled each slice with sugar and spiked them with a little bit of instant coffee. After appraising his work, he smacked his tongue and, raising his cup, offered: «Let’s chase the liquor with «nikolashka.»

Maya had already drunk enough for it to show in her behavior: she became bolder and more relaxed, she felt the sudden wish to be naughty – she wanted to do something, so that her self-assured, rich guest, who did not perceive a woman in her (or as she thought), would feel embarassed.

Leo proposed to return to the balcony, and Maya readily agreed. He took a bottle in one hand, a glass into another, nodded in the direction of the snacks and, stepping over the low threshold, sat comfortably on the balcony floor. When Maya sat down next to him, Klyuchitsky, once more, started by saying something completely unexpected:

– Maya, my dear, I want to offer you an extra work at the feldsher’s station located in the old town.

– I did not even know that there’s a station there.

– Actually, it’s not even a station, just an empty room. But why should you care? You will get your two or three hundred a month, and work for an hour a day.

– Do the deportees live there?

– Yes, and they rarely need medical help.

– Why can’t they come to our infirmary?

– They can or they can’t, for all I care. Let’s make a deal: you work without getting officially registered, and if you like it – you stay, if you don’t – you leave.

– And are these killers no longer dangerous?

– It all depends on how you behave. If you try to pry into their lives, then anything could happen. If you just work with them, then no harm should be done. They are like any other average person. Of course, they are still all psychopaths, make no mistake about it, and even their appearance bears the stamp of years spent in camp isolation. Just don’t focus on that, or, better, do not notice anything at all.

– Will I be allowed to work part-time, then?

– Let me sort it out. But, for a start, you will work regularly. Deal?

– Deal. Excuse me, I’ll be right back.

Maya slipped back into the room, and Klyuchitsky looked up at the sky. He looked at some marvelous constellation and could not remember its name. He thought that it looked like a steel farm, the Milky Way resting on its corner. Time passed. Suddenly Klyuchitsky felt someone’s presence next to him. He turned his head and saw a sight more amazing than the stars: nude Maya was standing in front of him.

Klyuchitsky was not one of those men who centered all their life around women, but at the sight of a really beautiful form he immediately recovered from his sudden oblivion and even scrambled onto his feet, as if the warm cement under him suddenly turned into the red-hot iron, and, then he snapped to attention all at once, as if upon receiving a command. When he came to his senses, he came closer to this smiling naughty woman, bent down, took her in his arms and carried her into his room with deft, confident movements…

From that moment, Klyuchitsky took over their amorous foreplay, leaving no chance for his partner to take the initiative and almost never picking up on her hints and signs. Maya was flattered by an unusual attitude toward her body at the hands of this huge, strong man and was thrilled by the endless kisses that scattered over the skin like burning stars until she made out certain purposefulness in Klyuchitsky’s actions, clearly aimed at exploring her female assets. The more attentively she listened and looked, the more she became convinced that Leo explored her while caressing: he measured her, weighed and scrutinized as if she was a beautiful heirloom. Maya felt offended and upset.

Klyuchitsky only fell asleep as morning came in, but Maya lay awake for quite some time, staring into the darkness, and listening to the snores of this weird man. She tried to understand him, but, alas, unsuccessfully. One thing Maya knew for sure, though: there was no trace of love today. Why Klyuchitsky, such a charming and passionate man, who clearly felt drawn to her as a woman, and who was so amusingly confused at her sudden nakedness, behaved so unambitiously between the sheets? Maybe the wise classic was right, saying: «With womankind, the less we love them, the easier they become to charm…?»

She tried to remember the rest of the stanza, and succeeded: «The tighter we can stretch above them, enticing nets to do them harm.» But Klyuchitsky was not a philanderer! Maya had neither patience nor wisdom for a deeper insight into the last line, especially since she was not sure of the word-for-word accuracy, so she decided to write it off as her wounded female pride. After all, she had rushed into the arms of this man who turned out to be both kind of decent in bed, but at the same time frighteningly non-standard. Nevertheless, she invited Klyuchitsky to her place not only as a token of gratitude, or after the latter’s hint at the restaurant, but, above all, following her own, selfish motives. But what’s next? They could not just eat and drink all night long. Maya remembered another quote she had read in a wise book: «When left alone, a man and a woman would hardly indulge in reading paternoster.»

For all intents and purposes, deep down inside, Maya was plagued by not feeling the flush of love, which she, Cleopatra, wanted so badly from her admirer. She felt both passion and contentment, but no inner satisfaction, no comfort. It was like winning the battle, but losing the war. Deep down inside her, Maya did not get closer to Klyuchitsky in the slightest, although she all but threw herself into his arms, like a hypnotized rabbit would get into a snake’s jaws.

This comparison made Maya feel uneasy and creepy…

«Maybe it’s better to keep it simple?» – She thought. – «Maybe Klyuchitsky is a real man, who is not into sentimentality, but, on the plus side, he will help me to put my plans in place. The trick is not to follow any momentary moods! He offered me an extra work, which means extra money. Isn’t this what I need right now? But for what price? Better not to think about it. Everything is fine! My faithful vassal and lover is by my side. The bottom line is not to pry into his heart, just like one would do with a deportee, and to leave all sorts of questions behind. But still, why am I still awake at this late hour then?»

And once again, Maya remembered the lines from the Egyptian Nights:

 
…And only on a bed of gold
The proud empress is not sleeping.
She listens carelessly to distant noises,
And looks onwards with a cloudy brow
At spouse of hers, who’s laying on the couch.
Ah, only yesterday she poured
the passion into veins of his
with all the lustiness of her female frisson
All for her lord. – Alas!
He settled, fell asleep, and still is sleeping.
The queen looks gloomily
At dreams so dispassionately calm
And in her breast, a sultry alarm sets in.
 

Finally, she calmed down, put her head on Klyuchitsky’s broad, muscular chest and fell asleep…

* * *

Prison compound, fenced with a barbed wire, was both a gold mine and a honey pot for Klyuchitsky. His talent of addressing the urgent needs of prisoners brought him no less profit than his fairly good salary – along with all bonuses, benefits and dodgy additions. Over the years of working in this compound, Klyuchitsky fit in perfectly, or you could even say, grew into it and learned to easily maneuver between the cons, the security, and the authorities both inside the prison fence and outside of it. With the skill of a fakir, he moved from the ordinary world to the world behind the barbed wire and back, carrying with him the things that filled the voids of both of these worlds and added to the earnings of Klyuchitsky himself. He began his business with the honourable Samaritan aid for the builder’s tea addicts – the chifirists, who, in his opinion, suffered most, were hardworking, humble and undemanding people. All it took to cater to their needs was ordinary black tea, which was freely sold in all the food stores of the city. After downing a brown, thick, tar-like fluid, a chifirist works frantically, without eating and drinking, without scandals, riots, and fights. He would never rat out those who gave him his pack of tea, for betrayal can deprive him of his venerable medicine forever, and he will do everything possible and impossible for the sake of his benefactor.

But chifirists are not the only ones who need tea in the compound. A tea-pot full of green tea is worth no less than a pack of black one in this exhausting heat. For the patients, green tea is both food and the balm for the soul. For the weak, it is a source of cheerfulness and for strong people it brings confidence. The tea unites people of different beliefs; it pulls together the like-minded, loosening the tongues of taciturn people, softening cruelty, sharpening the hearing, clarifying the thoughts and invigorating the body. Those who have the tea, are confident in their future, believe that their sentence can be commuted, that they will not get killed here and that they will get out soon…