The Museum of Abandoned Secrets

that now.”
    Adrian doesn’t say anything. He keeps his eyes on the road.
    “You don’t see it yet, do you?” she says softly.
    “Don’t see what?”
    “Remember the tape of my interview with Vlada? The one in the Passage, the one you dreamed later, only starring Gela?”
    “Not very clearly. Why?”
    “In that interview, Vlada promised to give me one of her paintings as a present. From this very cycle—
Secrets
. You’ll just come over and choose one you like, she said.”
    “And then she died. And you didn’t have a chance to go and choose one. Lolly, I understand how much you regret not having a single tangible memento of her. Pictures or video—that’s totally different, it’s not the same as the things a person leaves behind that she made with her own hands. I understand this very well.... ”
    “You don’t understand anything. I did have a chance to choose.”
    He blinks at her again. This woman will never cease to amaze him.
    “It was this very work, Aidy. This one, the one we took back from them.”
    “Can’t be.”
    “This very one. Only intact, not cutoff, of course.”
    “Are you certain? Are you sure it’s not just something you think now, in retrospect?”
    “No, there’s no mistake. I recognized the painting right away, the moment I saw it. It’s her present. Vlada’s. She’s the one who brought me there. To the place where her
Secret
was buried. Except for the two of us, no one knew about the painting she’d given me.”
    “God almighty.”
    “Nah, it’s simple, really. She was a very neat girl. You know, one of those people who always picks up after herself and hates to have unpaid debts. I think she is closing her earthly accounts. She is fulfilling all the obligations she took on. Apparently, she cannot leave until she’s done. I mean, leave for good. You see?”
    “Uhu. Looks like she’s not the only one either.”
    “Yeah, I can’t get these 1933 dead out of my mind...”
    “A road over a mass grave, how about that?”
    “Well, almost every village this side of Zbruch had a pit like that, but not every one of those has cars driving over it, thank God.”
    “Horrible story with that skull.”
    “You know what occurred to me as she was telling that story? The place of the skull—that’s Calvary in Latin!”
    “Lolly. My Lolly.”
    “What?”
    “Nothing. Hey, you know what—come be my secretary?”
    “And we’ll go around together buying up trophy mantel clocks from the descendants of the ‘liberation army’ and selling them to the new breed of pillagers?”
    “Nope, wrong answer. Try again.”
    “Sorry. Don’t get me wrong, Aidy, but that’s what it looks like to me...”
    “You know what I would really like to have?” Adrian says. “What kind of a shop?” he is not looking at Daryna; his eyes are fixed on the road. “Not a boutique—boutique is a bad word, too glam, something for the new little Russians—a shop. One that would carry things that are no longer made. Good, necessarythings—from a Singer sewing machine to a hand press for rolling your own cigarettes. Clever everyday things that one could use today. Things that were meant to serve a long time but have been made redundant by industrial production. You would agree with me, wouldn’t you, that tons of women out there would be thrilled to make clothes for themselves and their kids instead of wearing something made in China. And how many people would smoke honest tobacco instead of this trademarked trash!” He nods at the pack of Davidoffs next to the gearshift. “And so on...that sort of thing. And next door to this shop, right behind the wall—I’d have a few repair shops. Like the ones on Khreshchatyk, you know, in the courtyard next to the McDonalds, where we went to have the clasp on your necklace fixed last autumn. Good, honest repair shops. Staffed with serious men who’d spend their time giving new life to all these things. So that people would buy them not just to show off, but because they want them. And would go on using them.”
    “A store called Utopia, no?”
    “Let it be a utopia. Let it be a dream. Call it what you want.”
    “And put up a handloom in there, would you please? That’s for me, personally. I’ve always wanted a real homespun dress.”
    “No problem. I’m ordering it as we speak.”
    “I like this game.”
    “It’s not a game. You said it yourself—it’s a utopia. That’s better.”
    “Actually, I think you’d pretty quickly