“Come on, Katyush, don’t be so stubborn. You look terribly pale, honestly.” Zhanna’s voice was as enveloping as warm, sticky syrup.
Her friend insistently pressed a dewy water bottle into Katya’s cold palm.
— This isn’t just water; I added that vitamin powder that a doctor, an acquaintance of Igor’s, recommended. Drink up, you need it more right now.
Ekaterina Soboleva, a senior manager who usually kept a department of twenty people in line, now stood meekly in the wind, wrapping herself in a thin coat. The autumn wind chilled her to the bone, and she was dropping from exhaustion.
— Zhanna, thank you, really, — she tried to smile. — I just can’t take it anymore. Igor called three times again today, saying he’s losing feeling in his legs, and I can’t even afford a taxi, can you imagine? It’s embarrassing to say, but there are three days until payday, and I only have enough money for bread. Everything went to these new medications.
Zhanna shook her head sympathetically:
— My poor dear. Listen, how long can this go on? These doctors don’t understand anything, they say it’s autoimmune… And even that’s just a guess.
— Don’t say that, — Katya asked quietly, — he’s my husband.
— That’s true, but… Look at the dark circles under your eyes. — Zhanna lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. — I’m worried about you. Katya, you’re like a sister to me. Here, drink the water right now, before the bus comes. You need your strength.
Katya obediently brought the bottle to her lips, but just then, a yellow taxi pulled up to the stop with screeching brakes.
— Oh, my chariot! — exclaimed Zhanna. — Katyush, sorry, I can’t give you a ride, I’m going the other way, need to stop by my mom’s. Say hi to Igor for me.
— You’re an angel, — Katya breathed. — What would I do without you?
— You’d be lost, Soboleva, that’s for sure, — Zhanna smiled and slipped into the warm car.
Katya was left alone at the emptying bus stop, clutching the cool bottle in her hand. A minute later, the bus appeared out of the darkness. The people at the stop began to grumble. She was lucky; she was one of the first to get on. She sat down in a vacant seat by the window and pressed the bottle to her chest like a precious jewel.
Across from her sat a woman in an old tweed coat and a downy shawl pulled low over her eyes. Katya knew her by sight; it was Galina. Some considered her the town eccentric, while others feared her, calling her a seer and a fortune-teller.
Katya twisted the cap off the bottle. She was thirsty; her mouth was dry from nervous tension.
— Don’t drink the water from your friend’s hand, pour it on a flower instead, — the fortune-teller’s voice was so unexpected that Katerina flinched and nearly dropped the bottle.
She looked up. Galina was staring intently at her.
— Excuse me? — she asked, looking around. The other passengers were dozing or staring at their phones; no one was paying them any attention.
— Don’t drink it, — Galina repeated. The old woman suddenly leaned forward and gripped her wrist tightly. — It’s dead water, you took it from the hands of a snake, you’ll be bitten by a snake.
— Let me go, — Katya squeaked in fear, trying to pull her hand away. — What snake? My friend gave it to me, she’s helping me.
— A friend… — Galina chuckled bitterly. — A friend who dresses in silks while sewing you a shroud. I saw how she looked at you: those weren’t eyes, but black slits. Don’t drink it, pour it out.
— You’re mistaken, — Katya pulled her hand free. — Please leave me alone, it’s been a hard day.
— It will get much harder if you drink that water, — the fortune-teller whispered.
She wanted to say something sharp, to put this crazy woman in her place, but the words seemed to vanish. A sticky, irrational fear settled inside her. Katerina looked at the clear liquid in the bottle. Water was water. Zhanna herself had said—vitamins. Her friend who brought her coffee, listened to her whining, helped her with money. How could she wish her harm?
\”This is just nonsense,\” Katya convinced herself.
— Next stop—Stroiteley Street, — the speaker announced.
Katya jumped up and, still clutching the bottle, ran off the bus as soon as the doors opened. The fresh air cleared her head a little.
The apartment was quiet and stuffy. It smelled of medicine—that specific scent of illness that had seeped into the curtains and wallpaper over the past month.
— Katya, is that you? — Igor’s voice came from the living room.
She roused herself and, trying to perk up, entered the room. Igor was lying on the sofa, propped up with pillows. Once a stately, self-confident realtor, he now seemed like a shrunken version of himself. His face was pale, with dark shadows under his eyes.
— I’m home, honey. — Katya went over and kissed his cold forehead. — How are you feeling?…
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