“Now, what about the Hanzaki?” I inquire, sitting and facing her from a safe distance.

“Ah, the giant pepper fish!” she exclaims. “They are humongous salamanders, only native to the islands of Japan. They are not seen anywhere else.”

It’s been a couple of days since I first had the last woman on Earth here. I would go out first thing in the morning on my guard duty, lock her inside, and then come back when the sun set. She no longer either flat-out refuses to speak to me, apologizes for even daring to breathe loudly, or squirms like an earthworm every time I accidentally raise my voice. I don’t know what she does when I’m out, and whatever she’s up to really isn’t my business. I have a small bookshelf behind a desk, and if she doesn’t like any of the books, she can try to dig up whatever is in the pile of scrap. Not my problem.

The more important thing is that we have actually found a topic where she can hold a conversation—mythical creatures. Whenever I ask about something related to such matters, whether it be folklore, fictional creatures, or supernatural occurrences, she answers them all, or at least discloses what she knows. Her eyes light up and dance with joy whenever we touch on these topics, and I am reduced to the role of a listener. I have to admit, she has many more tales to tell than I do.

She also asks lots of things that makes me scratch my head. One time, she tells me she ‘cannot fathom’ how I think women are mythical creatures, given the Russian language has three different genders, with one group being female. I told her those aren’t genders; they’re simply three grammatical groups made up to be convoluted for no reason, but she insisted she was taught otherwise. Wherever Vyraj is, the people there must’ve fed her bullshit propaganda too.

I’ve asked her how she knows so much. She told me that she learned from books when she was young. As if it were a matter of fact. I found that confusing. It took me years to even get my hands on a few of these stories—it was like digging for gold in the desert. But when I pressed her on it, she gave the non-committal reply that they were on her bookshelf. And how ‘young’ was she when she read those books? They keep asexually produced soldiers inside glass cages until those soldiers turn ten, so obviously they wouldn’t be anywhere near the books until at least then.

“Why are they kept inside glass cages?” she asks me.

Now, that’s another long, long story.

“Just salamanders? I thought Hanzaki are supposed to be monsters of some sort?” I want to ask what the hell Japan is, too, but I feel like I might make a fool out of myself in front of her if I do. I can’t risk looking dumb in front of another person.

“Yes, but ultimately it is the creature’s size that decides its name. It is like a tiger would be a tiger, but a giant tiger would be a Zouyu according to the Chinese, you see. There might be a few salamanders bigger than anything anyone had ever seen, they would show up and cause havoc, and the tales of them would spread.”

“For example?”

“Um.” She places her index finger on her lower lip. “Would you be willing to wait for a moment? I could not remember from the top of my head.” The way she words her response makes it sound extremely stilted. Couple it with her accent and her knowledge about Asia, I’m inclined to believe she didn’t learn Russian from either the Moskvich, Tatars, or Northern Caucasus.

“Sure,” I reply.

She takes a shitload of time, as with everything else she does. She acts slowly, she reacts slowly, and she thinks slowly. If given enough time, she might do a marvelous job in whatever she excels at, but I’m not going to give her two hours to do a ten-minute task. Efficiency is king, not talent.

Wherever she comes from, the world probably operates at a different pace.

“Ah, yes! There was one living under a very deep pool. It would consume all the villagers and, and—”

“Let’s save that for later.” I rise from my seat.

“But you must hear this! It is the most entertaining of stories.” Disappointment is written all over her face.

“No time. You took too long, now I’ve got to head out or they’ll give me a piece of their minds.” I’ve ran over the gist of the Izhevsk situation to her. I’m not sure how much of it she understood, but she knows it’s an entire different beast out there. When she asked me what the worst punishment for being late was, I said ‘you die’, and she hasn’t asked any further since.

“Ah, yes. I apologize. Let us continue as soon as you are back.”

I groan. “You’ve gotta give me time to rest, too. I’m not a voice recorder.”

“Yes, yes. I am sorry.”

“It’s all right. Don’t go anywhere and don’t even think about making any noise. If anyone barges in, I won’t be here to protect you.” I retrieve my rifle near the door and shoulder the sling.

“Okay.”

“I mean it. Don’t go anywhere. There are some books on the shelf if you need something to do. And if you do read, don’t make any noise.”

“I will not.”

“Good. There are some cigarettes on . . . no, wait.” I rub on my temple. “You won’t get my cigarettes. Don’t even think about it.”

“I do not smoke,” she says hesitantly.

“What do you mean, you don’t smoke? Were you raised by a yeti?”

“That is not how you talk to a friend, Alexei.”

I freeze, gripping the rifle. “Did you just call me a friend?”

She peers at me. “Are we not? Or am I only a friend when you want to listen to Japanese folklore in your free time?”

“You’re not a friend.”

“Why not?”

“Friends die—” I furrow my brows and rub my temple. “Never mind.” Fuck, Alexei. Be nice, be nice.

“Pray tell. Why do you not consider me a friend?”

“We’ve only known each other for two days, okay? I’m in no shape to make friends. Now give me my jacket and don’t ask any questions.”

“I—”

“Don’t.”

She frowns as she hands me the jacket. “It does not hurt being a bit nicer . . . ,” she mumbles in a volume clearly not meant for me to hear. Not that I care. I’m done caring. I get nothing back but nightmares.

I grab my jacket. “You’re gonna fight off the cold fine, like the soldier you should be. Are you a soldier?”

“Well, I—”

“Are you a soldier, soldier?” I glare at her.

“I—I . . . I am.”

“Then sack up and don’t ask silly questions. None of that friend thing.”

“I’m sorry if I have offended you in any way. I want us to be on friendly terms . . . .” Her eyes dart in all sorts of directions as if she’s a thief caught stealing some coins.

“What?”

“I was wondering—ah, never mind.”

“Spill it out.”

We make eye contact, and she quickly turns away, “About the other day . . .”

“What day? What about it?”

“Um . . .” Her expression turns disconcerted, much like on the first day I saw her. “When I first woke up, you were screaming. I was terrified. I thought you were looking to harm me.”

“Oh. That.”

“I, uh . . . I know it is bad manners to pry into another person’s life, but . . . did you perhaps, have something on your—”

“—Like you said, it’s none of your business.”

“Oh, but—”

“SHUT UP!” I bang my fist on the wall.

She shudders like a leaf in the wind.

“Shut the fuck up! I’m the one asking questions here! Don’t ever ask me anything again without permission!”

“N-no. I will not ask about it again! Please don’t be mad.”

Why am I acting tough now? I only yell at her because she isn’t a superior, and I won’t face consequences for showing power.

Be honest to yourself, Alexei. You weep for a dude you were only friends with for a few months.

I soften up like a flat tire as soon as this woman so much as sheds a tear. I can’t even give her a full-body check when she tries to weasel her way out of it. Any other guy would’ve beaten her to a pulp for talking back. But I didn’t. Worse, I think I find her attractive.

I sure hope what I’m feeling isn’t what I think it is. That would make me a fucking loser.

I have to be tougher. I have to take control.

I drop to the floor, hands in front of my face, rifle slumped to my side. When I speak up again, the voice I hear doesn’t sound like mine. “Sure is easier to make friends wherever you’re from, huh?”

“I’m sorry. My knowledge of friendship is limited to Vyraj. I did not know people have different expectations here. I apologize.” Her eyes dagger to the floor.

“Cut the crap. Why would you want to be helpful? You want me to do something in exchange?”

I’m met with silence. Bullseye.

“Spill it,” I grunt. “Spill it!”

I’m tough. I don’t want to play it rough with her, but it doesn’t mean I can’t. I’m tough. I have a choice to be tough.

She still stays silent.

I land a punch on the ground. “Say it!”

“If I ask you, I might anger you more.”

“Is it anything related to me?”

“No.”

“Then I give you permission.”

“M—maybe some other time. . .”

“I. Gave. You. Permission.”

She moves away from me, biting her lips. “Can I ask you for a favor? It is okay if you do not feel like it.”

“Depends on what it is—and what I get for doing it.”

“But no more punching the ground.” She shifts uncomfortably.

Not sure if you’re in a position to make demands, woman, but . . . “Sure,” I say.

“I will tell you how I got here.”

“I’m listening.” I stand, adjusting the rifle on my shoulder.

As I turn the doorknob, she says, “I . . . uh . . . I dropped something on the way here.”