— Look after Alexandra. Take her to the bathroom, let her clean up. Find her something clean to wear, feed her. Wait for me to get back; I’ll sort everything out this evening. If anything happens, call me immediately.
He was already buttoning his coat on the move, his gaze lingering on the ragged girl for a second before he rushed out of the house. Shura was left standing in the middle of a stranger’s home.
— Well, what are you standing there for, you poor thing? — the housekeeper said kindly. — Let’s go, while Lizonka is asleep. We need to get you cleaned up. Look at you, trembling all over!
The guest was taken to a cozy bathroom on the first floor and given a towel. The place seemed like paradise to the girl. She sat in a real bathtub, full of thick, fragrant foam. The hot water gradually washed away the ingrained dirt and the sticky fear that constantly haunted her. She looked at her red, calloused hands and couldn’t believe this was happening to her.
Half an hour later, changed into clean, soft clothes, Shura was sitting in the kitchen. Galina Vasilyevna placed a bowl of hot soup and a mug of tea with honey in front of her.
— So skinny! Eat up! You did such a great thing today… Kirill Borisovich, he’s not a bad man, just broken by grief. Ever since he lost his wife, he lives and breathes for that little one. And that caregiver… — she waved her hand dismissively. — I wish I’d never laid eyes on her: came with diplomas, but not an ounce of heart or sense.
Shura ate quickly and mostly in silence. The owner’s words about the cameras spun in her head. She had noticed them here and there in the corners near the ceiling and felt a little uncomfortable, knowing she might be watched.
— What’s wrong with Liza? — Shura asked, finishing her soup.
— A heart defect, the poor dear gets tired quickly. She’s not allowed to run, jump, or get too stressed, it makes her breathless and pale, — Galina Vasilyevna sighed.
Shura spent the rest of the day in Liza’s room after she woke up. They chatted about things, Shura marveled at the abundance of toys, and the girl, in turn, wanted more stories.
— Tell me something about real life, not from a book, — the girl pleaded.
Shura sighed, stroking the impossibly fluffy blanket.
— There was this little dog at our market, nicknamed Telogreika, meaning ‘Quilted Jacket.’ She was small, reddish, with one torn ear. Just a little scrap on thin legs. She joined the local pack that hung around the meat stalls.
Liza held her breath, and Shura continued, staring at a single point as if looking through the wall:
— She was scared there, the pack was mean and strong. When they threw bones, Rusty didn’t even dare to approach. The big ones would immediately chase her away, or even grab her by the leg or scruff to teach her her place. And she knew it. She always sat off to the side in the wind, watching the others eat, whimpering quietly. Part of the pack, but always all alone. No one to stand up for her, no one to keep her warm.
— Poor thing… Where’s her mommy? — Liza whispered softly.
— I don’t know, her mommy disappeared, — Shura shrugged.
— I don’t have a mommy anymore either, — Liza sighed bitterly.
Shura looked at the wealthy girl more intently, in a different way, and continued:
— When I saw her, my heart ached. I started feeding her secretly. My grandma is strict, she’d slap your hands for an extra piece of bread so hard they’d ache for a week. But I brought her food anyway. I remember I’d give a soft whistle, and Rusty would be there in a flash, wagging her tail, looking into my eyes. We understood each other without words, two lost souls.
— And what happened to her? — Liza squeezed the girl’s hand…
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