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ChapterThirty-Six
Fuck.
How did she find out? Will she tell the government? How much trouble would Art and I get into?
I picture Art deported. I picture lawyers. Jail.
Skunking skunk.
Black Swan is still staring daggers at me.
What do I do? What the fuck do I do?
Denial. Yes, that’s my best and only strategy.
I’m stuttering only slightly as I say, “I have no idea what you mean.”
Black Swan takes a menacing step toward me and sticks her hand into her purse.
Shit. Am I about to be stabbed with a shard of glass?
She pulls out a piece of paper.
Hmm. In China, there used to be a torture method called “death by a thousand cuts.” Does she want to do that to me with the edges of that sheet?
She thrusts the paper into my unsteady hands. “Here. This why you not his wife.”
With that, she executes a pirouette-like turn and prances away.
“You stink worse than Pepe LePew,” I shout at her back. Then, befuddled, I take a look at the paper.
It looks like some sort of a document, but all in Cyrillic. The only recognizable thing is a date, one that’s from a decade ago.
Still, for some reason, dread spreads through my insides.
That woman wouldn’t give me something nice to read, that’s for sure.
Another waifish woman comes toward me, one from Art’s guest list. A ballerina? Is she going to give me papers too?
“Hi,” I say, hiding my turmoil. “Do you speak Russian?”
She shakes her head. “No, sorry. I’m actually American.”
“Then may I borrow your phone while you’re in the bathroom?”
She looks hesitant, and why wouldn’t she?
“I’m the bride,” I say. “Art’s wife. Half the reason you’re here.”
That does the trick. She takes out a phone, unlocks it, and hands it to me. “Okay. Here you go.”
She disappears into the depths of the bathroom as I download my favorite translation app and hover it over the text.
The translated words stare at me from the screen, as confusing as they are impossible.
No. No, can’t be.
Regardless, a Siberia-like cold is spreading through my veins.
With unsteady fingers, I download another translation app and re-run the text.
Same result.
I locate a translation website and type in the words “marriage certificate,” then click “translate to Russian.”
The result is exactly the title of the document I’m holding.
There’s no doubt any longer.
In my hands is proof that one Artjoms Skulme was already married when we met.
