Babayaga

strands of his hair pulled from a hairbrush and then opened a tea bag and sprinkled the dry leaves on a pair of old family photos she found in the desk. After letting them soak up the image, she collected the leaves and steeped them in hot water with mustard seeds and drank it down. Afterward she opened the kitchen window and stood over the sink, burning three fifty-franc notes. She heavily doused the ashes with black pepper and sang the old backward songs as she washed it all down the sink. Squatting, she urinated in the doorway to the bedroom, then sprinkled white flour across it. It left an ochre paste that she scrubbed into the floorboards while she sang some more. She wrote out a pair of small, crooked blessings—the first she wrapped between the tines of a dinner fork and hid it in the recesses of Will’s sock drawer, and the other she slipped into the inner band of a gray fedora that hung by the door. She pricked her finger with a pin and squeezed a drop of blood out, which she meticulously dabbed above the bathroom mirror. Sitting at his desk, she sketched a primitive drawing of Will surrounded by abstract oval shapes and, folding it up, tucked it into the back of a picture frame. She placed a complete suit of his clothes out on the bed and, lying naked on top of them, brought herself to another sexual climax. Then she hung the clothes up again, chanting softly as she set them neatly back into his closet. After that, she napped, exhausted from her exercises, rising a little over an hour later to shower and dress.
    She was combing her hair when she heard the key in the lock. She didn’t know if Will would be happy or upset to find her still in his home, but she knew much of their new relationship would be defined by whatever expression he wore when he found her there. It was the moment of first return, a critical test in any union. She tried to fix a simple look on her face, nothing too intense, no needs or expectations embossed on her gaze, only the sort of simple, friendly expression you’d like to see as you walk through your door, a smile that only says, “I am yours.”
    What she saw was Oliver.
    “Oh, hullo,” the tall man said, briefly pausing for a double take. Will came in behind him, taking the key out of the door.
    “Hello, Oliver. Hello, Will,” she said with a small but friendly smile.
    Clearly embarrassed, Will looked beet red. She could tell Oliver had invited himself over and that Will was awkward and uncomfortable. But then Will made a gesture that surprised her. Striding over in a couple of steps, he gave her a warm hug and kissed her forehead. It was only a moment, but like every embrace, it told a story, and this was a most surprising one. It said he was glad to have her there, he had missed her, and he was sincere and even devoted. She had not expected him to be that strong, or even that clear. Perhaps he was not such a lost rabbit after all.
    Then he stepped back and blushed again, grinning. She watched Oliver observe it all, a slightly bemused smile crossing his own lips as his head cocked slightly to the side. He understood. It was decided. Theirs was not the bourgeois romantic triangle that the modern cinephiles might expect. It was a much simpler thing: she had been with Oliver and now she was with Will. The small wordless gestures, Will’s touch, holding one another, had made it all apparent to the three of them in the room within seconds.
    “Well, then,” said Oliver, raising an eyebrow as he glanced around the apartment, “where is your telephone hiding? Oh yes, I remember. Excuse me for a moment.” He strode over to the desk phone and dialed a number. “Salut, je suis bien à l’Arc? Je suis à la recherche d’un homme noir qui porte un costume bleu et est assis dans votre hall. Oui, pouvez vous me le passer … Hullo, Red, it’s Oliver. I picked up Will. We’re headed over now … I understand. Thanks. How is she? Any better?… Oh dear. Well, maybe see if you can coax anything coherent out of her. Very curious what she has to say … Yes, I’m sure you’re doing all you can. All right, then, we’ll be at the hotel in ten or fifteen minutes. Thank you.” Then he hung up. “We should get there soon, but first I need a moment,” he said, leaving Will and Zoya alone.
    Will shook his head, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, he wanted to make a phone call and I thought you might be gone.”
    She kissed his cheek. “It’s fine, he doesn’t care. Oliver is one