Evka sat, completely at her ease. She didn’t pull her dress down over her knees. She arranged her feet prettily in their red, high-heeled shoes.
“Oh, and greetings, Eva, from Oster. From the family of Miron Shayevich Faida. Sima Zakharovna gave me lunch. We talked a lot about you, reminiscing.”
Eva brushed this off.
“Whatever could they tell you when they’re up to their ears in s**t themselves? Both Sima and Miron. I know them through and through and inside out.”
“They’re good people. Your mud won’t stick. And their son’s a good lad. Sunya.”
At this point, Eva retreated. The tiniest bit. Small as the drop on her ear. Just that much.
And I pressed my advantage:
“Yes, Sunya. A first rate lad. A student at the vocational college. To be fair, he did turn out to be light-fingered. Went i
