Free Ascension by Steven Galloway Page B

László Nagy drooped into the apartment, shedding his heavy coat and scarf and hat and gloves into a frozen lump on the floor. It was only a ten-minute walk to the glass factory where he worked, but that was long enough for his moustache to have frozen stiff, with two icy rivers extending from his nostrils.
    He nodded to Salvo and Leo and crossed through the front room into the kitchen, where he stood by the stove and let its warmth seep into him. Esa kissed him on the cheek and brought him a cup of hot tea. It was too hot to drink, so he set it on the sill of the window to cool. “I’ll burn my mouth if I drink that,” he said.
    “Sorry.” Esa took the cup from the window and poured it out. She set another one to steep, wary of its temperature.
    László Nagy watched his wife as she tended to whatever was on the stove. When he had first met her, he had thought her the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It had not mattered to him that she was Roma; after all, no one can help what they are born into. He had offered her a better life, and she had accepted with little hesitation. She had known as well as he had that if she married him she would be disowned by her family, something he had thought to be a not altogether bad thing.
    Since then, though, for some reason he found Esa less compelling than when he had first laid eyes on her. She certainly had not changed that much. No more than he had. To be sure, she was still beautiful. But there was something about her now, something he thought she saw in him that he did not like and for which he felt great guilt. He often wondered what it was she saw. A part ofhim knew that there were things inside him that were worth being ashamed of.
    Like his feelings towards Leo. He knew that it was foolish of him, almost stupid, but for some reason he could not look at his son without seeing his deformed foot. And because of this failing, he knew that some of him did not love his own son. Not as much as Esa did, anyway.
    Then there was his job. Although by most standards it was good work, and many men would love to have a job such as his, László felt deep inside that he was capable of better, that he held the promise of something more. And he hated himself for ignoring this potential. But there were mouths to feed, so he had no choice. And because it was easier, he blamed the source of these necessities instead of himself. He resented Esa. He resented Leo. Lately, though, he mainly resented Salvo.
    That his wife had taken in an orphan of the relatives who had shunned her was admirable. True. But he always remembered that it was easy for her to do so because she was not the one who had to go to a glass factory every day to support him. Not to mention the fact that the boy, Salvo, made the hair on his spine stand on end any time they were alone in a room. There was something about him that made László very, very nervous.
    Esa saw that he was staring at her. “Sausages,” she said.
    “What?”
    “For supper. Sausages.”
    “Oh.” She handed him the new cup of tea, temperature just right, and László resolved to find a way to love his wife again. He could do such a thing, he told himself. It would be no trouble at all.
    In the front room, Salvo and Leo had abandoned the game of bandits. Now Leo sat on the floor, and Salvo entertained him with acrobatics. Quiet ones, as they had to be careful not to raise the ireof László. Salvo took a wooden chair with a high back and placed it in the centre of the room. He stood on the seat of the chair, put his hands on the back, and as smoothly as if he were rolling over in his bed, he did a handstand on the back of the chair. Leo beamed. If it were not for the noise it made, he would have clapped his hands together and cried out. Salvo decided to take the trick a little further. Still holding his handstand, he leaned the chair back until the front two legs came off the ground. He remained upside down for ten seconds, and despite his best