The Invisible Life of Ivan Isaenko Read Online Free PDF Page A

point of blood and thought about dead puppies in order to suppress the laughter. When she turned to me, I simply looked back with the remnants of a dirty smile. Then I fell into a coma.
    On that day, I basically adopted Max. At least in my own head, where I don’t need papers or legal documentation. And after the diaper incident, I did my best to play the part. I would sneak into his room after lights-out with a stolen book or two. Some were age appropriate, like Special Clothing and the Electrician. Others weren’t, like Lolita and Notes from the Underground . Probably not a word makes it into Max’s head, and even if it did, the look on his face tells me he has worse things to worry about than Russian literature. But then there is a part of me that believes that he is being groomed to be a scholar. So when Nurse Katya asks me what the hell I’m doing reading Nabokov to a frozen toddler, as she often does, I respond with one simple word: otvyazhis . *
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    Currently the clock reads 4:57 in the A.M.
    I’ve been writing for five hours.
    It is the third day of December.
    The year is 2005.
    According to the clock, I slept for twenty-two minutes. I don’t remember my dreams, but I do know the vodka wore off, which means that I now can remember the green file folder with my name on it, which is currently hiding under my bed and overpopulating my (now) sober brain with irritating thoughts. I can’t bring myself to ask her. I would either choke on the words or choke her to death.
    She hasn’t appeared since the last time she poured vodka down my throat, which is unfortunate, since I’m in need of more Stoli. I decided that a reasonable remedy would be to take the standard-issue metal bedpan they keep next to my bed for emergencies and beat the similarly metaled frame of my bed. So I whacked away incessantly, until Nurse Lyudmila opened the door.
    â€œIvan, what in the hell do you want?” she asked.
    Now that Polina was dead, Nurse Lyudmila was back on nights.
    â€œNatalya,” I said.
    â€œHer week is over.”
    Which was true. There are four nurses at the hospital, and four weeks in a month. Each one of them gets to work a week of nights every month.
    â€œShe said she would stay for me,” I said, but that was a lie.
    â€œTell me what you need, or I leave.”
    â€œI need Natalya.”
    â€œNot happening,” she said, and she initiated the process of turning toward the door. So I started beating at the frame of my bed some more. In response, Nurse Lyudmila turned back, ripped the bedpan out of my hand, and threw it in the corner of the room. By the time the bedpan stopped ringing, a tired and haggard Nurse Natalya, with her nurse’s belt noticeably off center, her hair swollen, showed up at the door with a face that condemned the both of us.
    â€œI can take care of this, Lyudmila,” she said.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” Nurse Lyudmila asked, fairly flummoxed, but Nurse Natalya ignored the question. Instead, she took a few seconds to seethe at me, during which I stared back resolutely, at which point Nurse Lyudmila just stomped out of the room.
    â€œYou don’t have permission to be an asshole,” Nurse Natalya said.
    â€œLyudmila is an asshole,” I said.
    â€œYou’re both assholes.”
    â€œI need more.”
    â€œMore what?”
    â€œVodka.”
    â€œUh-uh, no, Ivan. I’m not letting this turn you into a drunk before your eighteenth birthday.”
    â€œYou and I both know I’m too stubborn to be a drunk.”
    â€œYes and no. You’re stubborn for certain, but I’ve met plenty of stubborn drunks.”
    â€œIt’s the only thing that helps, and I don’t want to stop writing.”
    My gamble was that sympathy would work. I lifted my notebook and fanned through the filled pages, several of which were wavy as a result of the salt water that had leaked onto them from my face. When she