Morning Visitor
The rain fell in one continuous drum-beat drone against the walls of Blok 63CB2, affectionately known as Fiddlefern to its few inhabitants. The walls between apartments were thick concrete, cast at the end of the first period of the Rising Tide, no sound could be heard save for the rain and the faint shuddering of the kettle upon the stove.
“Mirna, the house is a mess again.”
Mirna rolled over, head pounding from smog-fever, words stumbling up her throat, failing halfway. The voice did not sound again, but footsteps padded away into the next room.
Mirna looked up at the ceiling, patterned with her roommates designs and murals. Ferns, hares, deer, foxes and the like all stretched out in a grand tangle of blue, red and green. In her feverish soma, splayed out like a patient anesthetized, the carnival of life above her moved and swirled – foxes ate rabbits and doormice, deer pranced about the bracken and even the trees themselves seemed to sway.
This was the low day, the rest week, when the local governing body decided to let everyone recover from fume sickness, or tend to those members of their household who were unfortunate enough to suffer from whiteshake. Mirna was glad of it, her respirator was broken and the prospect of going to work further wracked with smog and toxins didn’t appeal to her in the slightest. Instead she merely had to wait, allow herself to sink into blissful oblivion until she could vomit out all the sickness.
So she did, allowing her tiny grasp on consciousness to fade, withering out like a candle in the breeze, with only the wisps of smoke hanging about her as dreams.
Meanwhile, Zhenya set about grumbling in the kitchen, pouring themselves some tea from the kettle and beginning the laborious process of washing a week’s worth of dishes – punctuated by the mechanical whirr of the air ducts bringing purified air into the kitchen every 20 minutes or so, stirring up the smell of woodash dish-soap and tea. It was quiet work, kept the body warm in the otherwise tepid apartment. Zhenya’s head bounced around with ideas, paintings yet to be consummated into canvas, fragments of a novel they wanted to work on. A slow frustration built in their chest.
“Damnable dishes, of all the days she had to come down with fever, of course it’s the one in ten I want to paint.” Zhenya muttered to themselves, tucking a stray strand of hair behind their ear.
An hour went by, the kettle starting to rattle a little louder as the water escaped. Zhenya plucked it from the stove with a teatowel and set it off the flame, pouring the last dregs of strong tea.
“Coffee. What we need is coffee.” Zhenya mused only to themselves. “And cigarettes, like those in Orsia, bastards pretending to be philosophers in their coffee houses. Don’t know how good they have it. And cake, how is anyone supposed to work seriously without these things?”
Mirna stirred faintly in the other room so Zhenya went silent. There were no cigarettes to be had, but still some assorted leaves and herbs that the two used when work got too much, or moods got too low in winter.
A Tattite tourist had traded them to Zhenya in exchange for their national service medal, which Mirna had found hilarious. Zhenya used Mirna’s pestle and mortar to crush some of the assorted herbs into small pieces, scraping it into a leaf of scritta paper before rolling it.
There were no windows that opened in this part of the block, being beneath the smog settle layer, so Zhenya simply stood on top of the toilet in the bathroom and blew the smoke into the ventilation ducts.
A knock sounded at the door, booming down the hall.
“Fucking moron. Gonna wake Mirna up.” Zhenya’s face crumpled, like biting into a lemon.
Leaf cigarette still in hand, Zhenya opened the door a crack, just enough to see who was outside. An unmistakable shock of blonde hair and purple irises met their gaze, freckles adorning the smiling and absolutely drenched figure outside.
“Well? Not going to let a poor starving artist in Zhenya?” Teya grinned, one small gap in her smile where a policeman had knocked out her tooth.
“Just be quiet, Mirna’s got the fume flu.”
The door was unceremoniously unbolted, Teya stepping gleefully across the boundary.
“Oooh, I don’t suppose-” Teya started before Zhenya cut her off, offering the leaf cigarette wordlessly, with no small hint of irritation.
“Oh Zhenya, you’re the best.”
“Yeah yeah, save it. Just be quiet and lets go to the bathroom, Mirna’s sleeping in the living room.”
Mirna and Zhenya’s apartment was a little above modest; it had a small entryway, a corridor that lead to the kitchen, living room and toilet respectively – then an upstairs with two separate bedrooms. All in all, it was a nice apartment for being below smog settle layer.
Zhenya and Teya crept quietly into the bathroom, passing the cigarette between them once inside.
“You know, I hear in Orsia they call these joints.” Teya mused.
“What a stupid name.” Zhenya replied, tersely.
“Hm, I think it’s kinda cute! Like you’re joined in friendship when sharing them!”
“Teya, I will take every prophets name in vain if you don’t shut the hell up.”
At this Teya laughed, like wind chimes or warning dial tones at the line operator office.
“You always know how to cheer me up Zhenka. I brought you something also, because I thought you might need cheering up too.” Teya’s smile took on a slightly conspiratorial look, which always worried Zhenya when they saw it.
A small wooden box emerged from one of Teya’s inside pockets, placed on the edge of the bathtub. Zhenya took a long drag before passing the cigarette back and opening it.
The lid lifted with a tiny creak, revealing a small radio unit and a carton of foreign cigarettes.
“Think of it as a favour and a gift.”
“I take back everything I said Teya, may the prophets sing your name for eternity.”
Teya let out a weak giggle, but her face fell quickly.
“Listen, um, I need you to decode what that radio frequency is transmitting. The cigarettes are more um, my way of buying a favour.”
Zhenya waved their hand. “I’ll do whatever, the cigarettes are more than ample payment for anything.”
Teya wrang her hands a little bit.
“No, Zhenya, this uh, it’s somewhat outside the law. If this comes to light….” Teya trailed off.
Zhenya looked up slowly, the radio and the cigarettes suddenly felt heavy as lead.
“Teya. Wh- what are you up to?”
“Nothing! I mean, well, it’s difficult to say.”
“Is it smuggling?”
Teya shook her head.
“Selling secrets then, treason?”
“It’s worse Zhenka. Revolution. The more you know the worse, for you, for Mirna.”
Silence held over the two of them, smoke slowly filtered up into the air duct.
“I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.”
"Just go put the kettle on."