Valentina tried to free her hand, but the old woman held it tight, as if in a vise.
— Ma’am, what are you doing? Please let go!
— When your husband asks for the keys to the safe — don’t give them to him! — the old woman’s blind eyes looked past her, but it seemed as if she could see right through Valentina. — Do you hear me? When he asks for the keys, say you lost them. Don’t give him the keys, my child! Or you will lose everything.
Valentina’s heart began to beat faster. How could this woman know about the safe? About the keys? She was a blind beggar, they had never met before. Valentina would surely have remembered such a face, such cloudy eyes.
— Where are you from? How did you know? — she managed to say, feeling her mouth go dry.
— Don’t give him the keys, — the old woman repeated, and her fingers released their grip as suddenly as they had tightened a moment ago. — Remember my words, my child! The Lord protects you!
Valentina recoiled, rubbing her wrist. Red marks from the strong fingers remained on her skin. The banknote had fallen from her hand right into the cup, but the old woman was no longer paying attention to it, sitting again with her head bowed, as if this strange conversation had never happened.
— Ma’am, wait, please explain! — Valentina bent down again, but the old woman remained silent, unresponsive, as if she had gone deaf. — What keys? Why shouldn’t I give them to him?
An elderly woman with an icon in her hands walked past, giving Valentina a sideways glance, shook her head, and moved on. Valentina straightened up and looked around: no one else was paying attention to the scene. A normal morning at the church, a normal beggar, normal parishioners. She took a few steps away, stopped by an old chestnut tree, and leaned against its rough trunk.
Her hands were trembling, and the bag of groceries nearly slipped from her fingers. What was that? A coincidence? But what kind of coincidence could it be when a strange woman talks about her safe, her keys, her husband? Valentina closed her eyes, trying to calm down.
The safe. Yes, she had a small home safe, built into the bedroom wall behind a painting. Gennady had installed it about five years ago when they started keeping important documents and some money at home. And two months ago, a substantial sum appeared in that safe — 3.5 million. The money from the sale of her parents’ apartment. Her mother had passed away three years ago, and the apartment had been vacant for a long time; Valentina couldn’t bring herself to sell it. Too many memories of childhood, youth, her mother’s things, her scent that still lingered in the rooms. But eventually, she had to admit that keeping an empty apartment made no sense. Irina lived her own life, with her own apartment from her husband, and Valentina and Gennady didn’t need this property either.
It sold quickly, buyers were found right away: a good neighborhood, near the metro. Three and a half million net after all the registration costs. Valentina put the money in the safe, deciding it would be her safety net for old age. Gennady received a good pension, a former military man, and she also had a teacher’s pension, small but there. And this money was a reserve. For medical treatment, if needed. For her grandson when he grew up, to help with his education. For funerals, in the end, so as not to burden the children.
The key to the safe was always with her, on the same ring as her other keys. The second key, the spare, was in a small box on the dresser, and Gennady knew where it was. Although her husband had never shown much interest in this money, he just nodded when she told him about selling the apartment, saying, “Good job, you did the right thing.”
Why did that old woman talk about the keys? The safe? Her husband?
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