Coward

They were eating takeout on the floor. It was Friday again.

Lena had put on music.

-I was thinking about Pilate, she said suddenly.

Stanley stopped chewing and looked at her.

-In The Master and Margarita, she continued. The way Bulgakov writes him.

-Sympathetic villains, Stanley said.

-Cowards, Lena corrected as she slurped the noodles.

-Cowardice is the most terrible of vices, she quoted. -Right?

-Sounds right.

She looked up at Stanley.

-Men are good at washing their hands, she said.

Stanley put his box down.

-Are we talking about the book, Lena? Or something else?

-We’re talking about cowardice, she said. About how easy it is to walk away from complications.

-Like Eva, Stanley said.

-Like anyone, she snapped.

She hugged her knees to her chest.

-Should I go wash my hands?, Stanley asked, looking at her.

-I’m not a Roman, she said quietly.

-Everyone is a Roman when the pressure is on.

He reached out. He laid his hand palm up on the rug between them.

-I’m still here, he said.

Lena stared at his hand. She looked at the door. Then back at his hand.

-For now.

-For now is all we get, Stanley said.

She picked up her chopsticks and started eating again.