Vita Nostra

Sasha let them pass and hurried out of the building. It had to be a quarter to four. She was going to be late.

Streetlights still burned on the empty street. Sasha ran—running down turned out to be easier than she thought—and she warmed up and stopped shivering. The dark sky was getting lighter. Sasha sprinted by the fence of the official town beach and reached her favorite secluded spot. The sharp white of plastic cups stood out in piles of trash. Five or six windows were lit in the hotel closest to the beach. A large clock in the front of the building showed three minutes to four.

Sasha took off her dress. Stumbling on the gravel, she walked into the high tide. Standing neck-deep in the water, she unhooked her top and crumpled it into a ball. She pulled off the bikini bottom. Holding her swimsuit in her balled fist, she swam out to the buoy.

In the mottled light of the sunrise, the buoy seemed gray, not red. Sasha slapped its iron side. The buoy responded with a dull echo. Sasha looked back at the shore—no one. It was utterly deserted.

She started back. The cold water caused her to shiver again. Barely managing to reach the rocks with her feet, she rose, balancing in the waves, and realized that the ties of her wet swimsuit were hopelessly tangled.

With a short sob, she threw the crumpled ball of faded fabric onto the shore, got on all fours, and half crawled, half ran toward her towel. She wrapped herself in it and looked around again.

No one. Not a single soul. The sea played with her discarded swimsuit, and the sky was becoming lighter with every minute. Nightingales crooned in the park.

Sasha picked up her bikini, sundress, and sandals. She staggered over to the blue changing cabin. She dried herself and suddenly felt well. She straightened her shoulders. Her skin glowed, becoming firm and radiant from the inside, like the skin of a ripe apple. Taking her time, Sasha got dressed, put on her sandals, and found the keys in her pocket. She squeezed water out of her swimsuit, walked out of the changing cabin … and almost immediately doubled over, retching.

She fell on her knees and vomited on the gravel. It was mostly seawater, but along with it, strange yellow disks splashed out of her. Sasha coughed and tried to calm her breathing. The retching disappeared as quickly as it came.

Three tarnished gold coins lay on the gravel.

At home, she locked herself in the bathroom and studied the coins. Three identical disks, an unfamiliar symbol consisting of rounded interconnecting lines on one side—a face, or a crown. Or, perhaps, a flower: the longer Sasha stared at it, the more three-dimensional the symbol appeared, as if it were slowly rising above the surface of the coin.

She rubbed her eyes. On the reverse side, a smooth oval resembled a zero or the letter O. Of course, there was no stamp of gold content, and Sasha was not exactly an expert on precious metals, but somehow she had no doubt that the coins were made of pure gold.

The first beachgoers appeared on the Street That Leads to the Sea. It was about six in the morning. Hearing them, Sasha stretched on her cot, covered her head with a blanket, and squeezed the coins in her fist, thinking hard.

Her throat felt sore, but the nausea had disappeared completely. Of course, one could assume that Sasha’s stomach couldn’t handle yesterday’s baklava, and that the coins were simply lying in the exact place on the gravel where she became sick. And that the man in the dark sunglasses was simply a pervert who used a very convoluted way of spying on naked girls on the beach. In the dark. In the wee hours of the morning.

She squeezed her irritated eyes shut.

No. One could not assume that.

Sasha felt removed, thrown out of the normal world into the unreal. If one believed what one read in books, it did happen to people, and happened quite frequently.

Or was it really a dream?

Surprisingly, she fell asleep. And when she woke up, it was a perfectly normal morning of July 25. Mom came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, and gave Sasha a worried look.

“Did you go somewhere?”

“I went for a swim.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Why?” Sasha croaked. “It was really cool. The sun was rising. There was no one in sight.”

“It’s dangerous,” Mom said. “There are no lifeguards or anything. What if something had happened to you? And why didn’t you say something to me?”

Sasha shrugged.

“We should go to the beach.” Mom looked at the clock. “It’s almost nine. Let’s hurry up.”

Sasha sucked in her breath.

“Mom … Do you mind? Can I just lie down for a while? I didn’t sleep well.”

“Are you sick?” Mom touched Sasha’s forehead in a familiar gesture of concern. “No, you don’t feel hot. You are asking for it with your night swimming. It’ll spoil the entire vacation.”

Sasha did not reply. She squeezed the coins so hard the edges bit into her palm.

“I boiled some eggs.” Mom seemed worried. “Mayonnaise is in the fridge. Those lovebirds, the neighbors, ate half of our mayonnaise already, but oh well. What can you do?”

She kept wiping her perfectly dry hands.

“I made plans to meet up with Valentin at the beach; it would be rude not to show up, you know … I promised we’d be there today.”

Sasha thought of yesterday. Valentin was the name of Mom’s new acquaintance, the light-skinned, fair-haired man who seemed so interested in the dolphins.

Sasha remembered how Mom had introduced her by her full name: “This is Alexandra.” Mom’s voice had a special note of importance, but Sasha did not pay any attention to it yesterday. This was before the dark man rose and left, leaving behind a task for Sasha to perform—and fear. Sasha had felt chilly in the middle of a warm stuffy evening. The flower beds smelled sweet; Valentin’s cologne was pleasantly woodsy and fresh. Sasha remembered the scent, but could not think of his face.

“Sure, go ahead.” Sasha pulled the blanket up to her face. “I’ll just stay in bed for a little, and then I’ll join you guys.”

“We’ll be in the same place,” Mom said quickly. “The eggs are on the table. I’m off.”

She grabbed her beach bag and hurried to the door. At the threshold, she stopped and looked back.

“Don’t forget your swimsuit when you leave. It’s on the balcony, drying off.”

She left.

The second time Sasha woke up, the metal clock showed half past eleven. At that time of the day, the sun was scorching, and the sea was boiling with the mass of swimming bodies, like matzo ball soup. It was too late to go to the beach, or maybe it was too early. It depended on one’s point of view. Maybe around four o’clock.

Sasha was shocked by her own mundane thought process. She stared at the coins in her hand. She’d never loosened her fist in her sleep—the moist skin kept the outline of the round coins. Sasha gingerly moved them from her right hand to her left.

What should she do with them? Throw them away?

The doorbell made her jump. One coin slid off her palm and rolled underneath the cot. Nervous, Sasha found it on the dusty rug, threw on Mom’s cotton housecoat, and stepped into the dark hallway.

“Who is it?”

Theoretically, it could be her mother, forgetting her keys. Or a postman. Or …

“It’s me. Open the door.”

Sasha staggered back.

The apartment was empty—the neighbors were at the beach. The door was locked. A flimsy door, made of pressed wood shavings, covered with cheap faux leather.

The coins stuck to her sweaty palm. Holding them in one hand, Sasha used the other hand to open the door—a difficult task that took a while.