Eva leaned over the bowl. She tried to remember Vera. She hadn't seen her in a long time. The steam from the chamomile tea clung to her face.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The air ran out. She removed the towel from her head.
Every Monday, on a weekly routine, Eva steamed her face with chamomile tea in the kitchen.
They had thrown Vera on the treatment table like a piece of trash, legs spread. The doctors were sent out.
Only the secret service agents remained.
"Tell us who did it!"
"We'll let you bleed out if you don't confess!"
Vera didn't confess. She had nothing to confess. She fainted from blood loss. They interrogated her until she lost consciousness.
Eva knew the procedure.
Now people are whispering about her aunt making angels.
She thoroughly wiped and washed off the chamomile steam from her face. She applied moisturizing cream.
They made it at the pharmacy. She used to gift some to Olga, to Roza.
She forgot to check the mailbox.
She hadn't brought up the newspapers.
She tucked her hair behind her ear.
In her tracksuit and warm house robe, she pressed the elevator button.
Perhaps the whispering will die down.
The postman made a mistake. Today The Voice of Truth was missing from the mailbox.
Márk worked at the editorial office of that newspaper. Today the postman had put two copies of Daily Facts in the mailbox.
Banality. She didn't comment on it.
She would shop at the grocery store later.
The elevator stopped on the fifth floor.
Eva pressed the handle down. If she went as far as the mailbox, she never locked the door.
It's a good neighborhood.
She placed the newspapers on the round table in the living room. On the wall hung the cuckoo clock, the bug inside it.
Eva glanced at her wristwatch. The cuckoo clock was eleven minutes slow, even though it had been set yesterday. The bug inside burdened the clock mechanism.
The clock was late.
Eva didn't reset it.
She sat down at the table, flipping through the newspaper.
Somewhere far away, it was an unknown person's job to listen to all this.
There was nothing to hear.
Eva turned on the radio. She fiddled with the dial for a while, trying to find the frequency exactly.
She jumped at the sound of the doorbell. No expected visitor. Mark wouldn't be home until tomorrow.
She tiptoed carefully to the door.
Through the peephole, she saw an unknown man standing in front of it.
Perhaps he had just mistaken the apartment.
She had to put the nameplate back.
She opened the door a crack, but didn't disengage the safety chain.
"Who are you looking for, comrade?"
"Comrade Eva X."
He showed his ID.
"This isn't an official interrogation," the man said as Eva led him into the living room.
Perhaps they're interrogating her because of her aunt after all. She can't say anything. She hasn't seen her in months.
"What do you know about Comrade Olga Y?"
Eva was shocked. Olga hadn't been at work today. Lucas hadn't mentioned anything.
No one had seen Eva since yesterday evening. She hadn't mentioned to the plainclothes officer that Olga had acted as if she was saying goodbye after the swimming pool yesterday.
"Take care of yourself, Eva."
She didn't mention the fabric she'd received as a gift. They would examine the packaging too. One phone number was written on it. The fabric wasn't important. She didn't want to get Olga into trouble.
She wouldn't mention the package until she knew what Olga had done.
After the plainclothes officer left, Eva opened her telephone book and began looking for the number on the wrapping paper.
She didn't need to check again. She remembered it.
365-***
Unknown to Eva, but a local phone number.
An impossible task.
She would call the number from a phone booth tomorrow. Not from home. She'd have to request a line connection from the switchboard.
She must say the number aloud.
The bug is here.
Tomorrow?
She still has to go to the grocery store today.
There's a phone booth nearby.
She'll call the number today.