Читать книгу The Code of Male Honor - Алексей Ворм - Страница 6

The wind prowled the deserted streets of the sleeping district, howling in the ventilation grates. I was walking home, feeling fatigue in every muscle after a twelve-hour shift at the factory. In my pocket, my fingers were warm against the walls of the old lighter with the engraving—”A Word is Priceless.” A gift from my father. The only thing that remained.

The stairwell smelled of old plaster and cumin from the neighbors’ meatballs. On the landing, by my door, stood Anzhelika. She was not the kind of woman who should be waiting here. A silk dress, high heels, perfume so potent it overpowered even the cabbage soup smell ingrained in the walls. We hadn’t seen each other in five years. Not since she left for Moscow with that architect.

«Semyon,» her voice trembled. «I need to talk.»

The key was already in the lock. I nodded, opened the door. In the hallway hung my grandfather’s old greatcoat; on the console table lay keys and fishing line. Nothing superfluous.

She sat on the edge of a chair in the kitchen, not removing her coat. Hands with a perfect manicure fidgeted with her purse.

«He left me, Semyon. Left me without a penny. And I… I’m in debt. Big debt.»

I silently put the kettle on the stove. Waited to see where this was going.

«I need money. A lot of money. You can… get it. I know you’re alone now, saving for a garage. It’s just metal and concrete. And I’m facing real trouble.»

She laid it all out. Her ex, and my old childhood “friend,” Viktor, was tangled up in shady dealings. He took out loans in her name, forged documents. Now, some very unpleasant people were after her. The sum was astronomical.

«I knew nothing, I swear!» Real tears welled in her eyes. Fear—it has a particular smell, you can’t confuse it with feigned hysterics.

The kettle whistled. I poured the boiling water into glasses, added the tea leaves. My movements were slow, measured. Giving myself time to think.

«And what do you want from me, Anzhelika?»

«Viktor has compromising material on a man. A very influential man. If we can get those documents, he’ll pay any amount to buy them back. They’re in a safe at his dacha. You… you know how to open such things. Back in the day, we…»

I looked up at her. She fell silent.

Yes, back in the day. In my youth, when my head was light and principles seemed flexible, I dabbled in not entirely legal activities. Cracked safes to help my mother with her debts. Anzhelika was my friend back then. She knew. And now she had come for that. For the man I was. Not for the man I had become.

«Are you suggesting I rob Viktor?» I asked evenly.

«It’s not robbery! It’s justice! He destroyed my life! He must answer for it. And that money… it will save me. And you’ll get your share. Half. We could start over.»

She looked at me the way she had twenty years ago, when the two of us fled from a yardkeeper after sneaking into someone else’s garden for apples. Her gaze held hope and a hint of our shared past.

I took a sip of the hot tea. Burned my tongue but didn’t flinch.

«No.»

«Why?!» Her voice rose to a shout. «Because of your pride? Your stupid male pride? That’s nonsense! The world doesn’t work that way! You need to be flexible, Semyon!»

I looked at my grandfather’s greatcoat in the hallway. He didn’t return from the war. But his letter did, containing just three words: «Guard your honor, son.»

«No,» I repeated. «Not because of pride.»

I stood up, walked to the console table, and took my savings book. It contained the sum I’d saved for three years. For a new garage, so I wouldn’t have to fix cars on the street.

«This is everything I have. Take it. Give it to them. Pay off the biggest debt. It won’t solve all your problems, but it will buy you time.»

She stared at the green booklet as if she didn’t understand what it was.

«I can’t take your money… this is all you have…»

«You came to me for help. I’m helping. This is the right way. This is the honest way.»

«Honor?» she smirked bitterly. «What honor is there in giving away your last?»

«That’s precisely what it is,» I answered. «Not taking what isn’t yours, even when you desperately need it. Not stabbing someone in the back, even if they betrayed you. Not becoming a thief, even when you’re begged to. To remain yourself. To say ‘no’ when it’s easier to say ‘yes.’»

She took the savings book. Her hand trembled.

«I won’t be able to pay you back.»

«You don’t have to. If you can—you will. If not—then that’s how it must be.»

I saw her out to a taxi. She was silent. When the car pulled away, she didn’t look out the window.

I returned to the empty apartment. Put the empty glass in the sink. Tomorrow, I would have to go to work. Again. Start saving from zero. It was bitter and hard. But, looking at myself in the worn-out mirror in the hallway, I could hold my own gaze. And in that gaze was not me, young and foolish, stealing apples, but my grandfather, and my father, and all those who understood one simple thing.

Honor isn’t about grand gestures or lofty words. It’s about the quiet, firm choice you make in an empty apartment when there’s no one behind your back. And that choice is the only thing that truly remains a man’s own.