— Sir, that’s enough, — he said. — We have transfers, voice messages, witnesses, and an attempt to manipulate an inspection. You are being detained on suspicion of extortion and forgery.
Rogov froze.
— Detained? — he muttered, looking at the inspectors for help. — You know…
The inspectors looked down. No one saved him.
The police officer stepped forward, and then a poetic justice was seen. The man who had lived by intimidating others was now truly afraid himself. Rogov shouted, struggled, asked to speak to someone “upstairs.” But no one from “upstairs” came, because his power only existed as long as it wasn’t called out.
Zinaida Petrovna watched him being taken away and felt no joy. She felt relief. Relief for all the years.
The prosecutor’s officer approached Zinaida Petrovna.
— Your stall is under protection while the investigation is ongoing. No one will shut you down for this. And if you wish, you can file a complaint for the extortion.
Zinaida Petrovna nodded with a broken voice.
— Yes, — she said. — I’m done living in fear.
Matvey took her hand. His well-manicured hand on her rough one. A contrast that caused a sweet pain.
— You won’t live in fear anymore, — he said.
The people around began to applaud. Timidly at first, then louder. Not because of the Lamborghinis, but because they saw a bully finally fall. And then, when the noise died down, Matvey leaned toward her, as if he were a child again.
— Grandma, — he said. — We’re back.
Zinaida Petrovna looked at him, as if her heart had finally decided.
— Matvey? — she whispered.
Matvey smiled through his tears.
— Yes.
— Gleb? — she looked at the second one.
Gleb nodded.
— Yes, Zinaida Petrovna.
— Denis?
Denis swallowed. Tough on the outside, broken on the inside.
— Yes, Grandma.
Zinaida Petrovna closed her eyes for a second and let out what she had been holding for years.
— Thank you. Oh Lord, thank you.
The three hugged her gently, not squeezing, as if afraid to break her. She inhaled the expensive perfume, and beneath it, like an echo, she smelled the clean soap from that memory. And there, in the middle of the street, a wound closed. But there was still one more—the last wound of Stepan, Zinaida Petrovna’s son.
Matvey looked at her seriously.
— Zinaida Petrovna, — he said. — There’s something else. Something you deserve to know.
Zinaida Petrovna tensed up.
— What?
Gleb took a deep breath.
— Many years ago, when we were being moved from place to place, a man at the bus station helped us. He gave us bread. He told us to look for a woman with a stall and said your name. Zinaida Petrovna.
Zinaida Petrovna’s breath caught.
— Who was this man? — she whispered.
Denis lowered his voice respectfully.
— His name was Stepan…
Comments are closed.