“Nu, chto?”
“Ma, ty … ty sovsem menia razliubila?” He hadn’t meant to ask that, but it had been the only question on his mind for days now. Could she have stopped loving him?
“What, have you gone mad?” She looked more alert now, eyebrows furrowing, that groove of hurt forming on her forehead. “How could I stop loving you?”
“I don’t know, you’re not saying anything, we haven’t talked … you’ve said nothing to me about, you know…” He couldn’t find the words in Russian again. It was hobbling him, tipping the already uneven playing field further against him.
“Oy, malysh, what can I say? I don’t understand it. I don’t know how to talk to you about it. I know nothing about this!”
“So ask me! Ask me questions, you must have questions, right?”
“Of course I do, but I can’t wrap my mind around
