Short Story: Irena

We argued again last night. You don’t get over a fight like that. Well, I don’t anyway. Eric forgets all about it and tells me I need to learn more about forgiveness. Pain just stays with me longer.

I work in the Film Industry as a digital effects artist. It’s not all that glamorous. It’s ten-hour days six days a week in front of a computer designing explosions for super hero movies. It’s a lot of smoke and fire but I really want to do water. I love the way it shimmers and shines.

My escape from the grind is my house. It’s old, drafty and the wooden floors creak everywhere but there’s a tiny garage out back with a window I prop open with a stick. I set up a drawing table for a mini studio. On Sundays I try to work on my art. When Eric moved in we made space for his tools. His tools have taken over like some uncontrollable weed. Lately, that’s been the main focus of our arguments.

The only time I relax is on the train. It’s a long ride from the edges of the suburbs to downtown. Sometimes when I stare out the window it looks like a computer screen.

I was on the train when I first saw her.

She looked out of place in a pleated skirt and matching jacket that she must have gotten at a thrift store. Her bag, shoes and gloves all matched and she wore nylons. I wondered if anybody still wore nylons. Then I noticed she was studying the classifieds. Job-hunting, I shuddered and slouched down in my seat.

The next time I saw her she sat beside me.

“My name is Irena, Irena Romanov.”

I muttered my name was Natasha.

“Oh, you are Russian, too.” She was young with brown eyes and blond hair. Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, my boss is very angry with me. I showed him mistakes in the accounts. Money was routed to the wrong bank. He locked down my files and said I was misreading numbers.” She leaned in and whispered, “He told me he would investigate. His face was so red.”

I asked where she worked. She said Blue Bay Sports Entertainment. I shrugged. I don’t pay attention to sports. Eric and his friends frequent a local bar and watch whatever sport is on television and argue. I keep clear as some of Eric’s friends get a little carried away. They have been kicked out of the bar a few times for rough housing.

Irena told me about the different parts of the project and how skillful the men were at their jobs. “The stadium is almost finished.” She dried her eyes and blew her nose. “It looks wonderful. The opening ceremonies will be on national television.” She looked up, “Oh, my stop.” She got off and disappeared into the crowded platform. She moved fast for a girl in high heels and nylons.

The next few days I didn’t see her and wondered how she was getting along with her boss. Eric and I were barely speaking. He rearranged the tool shed and ran a cable to add a television set out there so he and his friends could watch the games and drink as much beer as they wanted. I screamed how dare he move things without asking me. He shoved me into the kitchen cabinets saying I’m always at work, when I do have a Sunday off I spend most of the day in bed sleeping.

I don’t blame him. I’m an alien in this house even the walls are hostile. I’ve forgotten why Eric and I are together.

The train was packed when I caught a glimpse of Irena again. Her eyes were red and puffy. She put on a brave face and waved a gloved hand. I noticed the palms of her gloves were dirty as if she fell. Instinctively, I felt the bruises on my thighs. When I searched through the crowd she was gone.

Pressures at work intensified with only two weeks to delivery so naturally a nasty cold circulated in the office. I caught it but as I was supervising a sequence I had to be there for my team. I got on the train late that morning.

She sat next to me and said hello. I tried to croak an answer.

“Oh you have a cold.” She said, “My Grandmother has a remedy guaranteed to kill all germs over night. One cup of hot water, one tablespoon lemon juice, one tablespoon of raspberry jam and,” she leaned in, “two shots of vodka.”

We laughed. People on the train looked our way but that just made us put our heads together and giggle like schoolgirls.

She said her Grandmother taught her how to read palms and asked if she could read mine. I figured why not and held out my hand.

“Oh no.” She said, “Place your hands palms up on your lap and close your eyes.” In a Russian accent she said, “You vill meet tall dark stranger.”

We laughed again. More people stared. Then, I realized they were only looking at me.

She said, “Eric no longer holds you in his heart.”

The pain in my chest was unbearable. Bitter tears stung my eyes. All I could do was nod because I already knew, but like a fool I hoped if I ignored it things would get better. Eric would change, or I would.

She whispered, “Soon you will meet a good man with a rake.”

The next time I saw her it was evening. I was on my way home after a long day. She chatted about how much better things were at work. She said her boss was proud of her diligence. He found the trouble in the accounts and wanted to speak with her tonight after his son’s baseball game. She pointed out the window to a rusty fence behind several tall trees.

I asked if she was going alone.

“His son will be there.” She got off and waved a pristine gloved hand.

I didn’t see her for a week and worried about my young companion with her night meeting.

After a month, I finally called the police and asked about Irena Romanov. When I didn’t hear back I called several times. Sometime I called late at night when I wasn’t exactly sober which annoyed Eric.

Finally, a detective named Wilson contacted me. He asked me how I knew Irena. I told him about the train, the discrepancy in the accounts, how her boss reacted and meeting him after his son’s baseball game.

He listened.

After I hung up, Eric said I should stop bothering the police because I sounded like a crazy lady. I yelled back if I was so crazy maybe he’d better move out, crazy might be catching.

That was the hardest he ever beat me. I stayed home to heal.

A few weeks later, Detective Wilson came to my work. He looked as gentle as he sounded. He said Irena Romanov was reported missing five years ago.

When Irena’s boss was an interviewed, he said he caught her stealing over $20,000.00 from the accounts. He confronted her and told her he wouldn’t take any action against her if she returned the money. She promised she would but he never saw her again.

Det. Wilson pulled out an old photograph. It was Irena. I circled her face with my finger.

Det. Wilson said he wondered about that old field and took a cadaver dog team there. They found human remains. The dental records matched Irena’s. “We’ve reopened the case as a murder.”

I asked if he used a rake to find her.

“How did you know?”

I had no words.

End