“I think you have a fan,” said Ignatius in English.
The tour guide chuckled. Leonid translated for Nadya.
“At least this one didn’t propose to me,” Nadya replied.
Ignatius translated for the guide, who laughed again, a fine and honest laugh, Leonid thought. He liked this gentleman, and thought maybe of inviting him for a drink at the hotel bar. Leonid had endured nothing but formal interactions for the whole of the tour, and the thought of casual conversation with a friendly stranger seemed supremely appealing. His thoughts were interrupted by Ignatius’s hand on his shoulder.
“You two should get some rest before dinner,” said Ignatius.
“What about you?” asked Leonid.
“I still have energy left to burn.” She hooked her arm through the crook of the guide’s elbow and led him into the hotel. The bellhops closed the great doors behind them.
“Her energy is admirable,” said Nadya.
“Do you think she’d care that I had a drink at the hotel bar?”
“I think she’d forbid it. Fortunately, she’ll be otherwise occupied for at least the duration of a drink.”
“Will you join me?”
“I’ve never drunk, and I don’t plan to start today. I need to lie down for a while, anyway. You’re right, it takes too much energy to play the part of hero.”
She hooked her arm through his, and they entered the hotel. Inside, they parted. Leonid found the bar while Nadya took the elevator all the way to the top.
Bohdan, Ukraine—1950
A short way up the north rise of the valley, the forest cleared in a near-perfect circle. The ground there, sere and pebbly, tolerated only the shortest weeds, a sparse spattering of green. Trees rimmed the perimeter like a fortification. Wind gusted in from the south, carrying unfamiliar scents from beyond the mountains. At night, the clearing was the best place to view the stars.
The children of the village played a game of Dragon, forming a line, hands on the shoulders of the child in front of them, running. The line’s leader circled around and tried to catch up with the child at the back, the head of the dragon chasing its tail. There was not much to the game besides that. It mainly served to kick up the dry dirt, which glommed to the children’s sweaty skin and clogged the weave of their homespun clothes. Kasha sat in the shade near the edge of the clearing, barking from time to time as if to offer encouragement. Whenever the line neared her, she would leap up and join the chase for a lap or two, her limp tail flopping behind her.
The older Leonid was at the front of the line. He quickly circled back around and tagged Mykola, a boy with shocks of wiry hair and a round face. Mykola muttered a curse as he took over his place as head of the dragon. He was too young to be cursing. Had his mother been around, she surely would have struck him. But cursing had become a common occurrence. The Leonids heard the adults of the village using words aloud that before had been relegated only to whispers.
The younger Leonid was now the dragon’s tail, and Mykola could not catch him. Every time Mykola got close, Leonid would dodge. When Mykola began to anticipate the dodges, Leonid would simply feint, dodging in the opposite direction as if he could read the older boy’s mind. Usually a round of Dragon lasted a minute at most, but this one went on for many minutes and seemed no closer to completion. All the children panted. One of them in the middle stumbled, fell, and dragged the rest of the line down with her. At the last moment, Mykola dove after Leonid, the tail, and out of the shoulder grip of the older Leonid behind him. The dive broke the twin rules of Dragon: hold on and remain held. Even cheating, Mykola had not come close.
The older Leonid slipped free of the grasp of the child behind him, avoiding falling with the rest of the line. The Leonids were the only two left standing, the only two with clothes not streaked with a fine grit of gray dust. Mykola cursed again, pushing himself to his knees. He dropped back into a seated position.
He said to the Leonids, “If your grandmother didn’t eat all the food, then maybe the rest of us wouldn’t be too hungry to run.”
“What did you say?” asked the younger Leonid. He stepped forward.
“Easy,” said the older Leonid.
Grandmother had kept her roundness even through the lean times. The Leonids knew, though, that she had thinned just like everyone else in the village. She simply had more girth to begin with.
“Maybe you two hoard food, too,” said Mykola. “But I don’t think you’d be able to get even a scrap away from that fat b—”
The younger Leonid lunged at Mykola, knocking him onto his back. They grappled and threw errant punches and disturbed the dust into a cloud around them. The older Leonid rushed over and groped for his brother to pull him away. One of the older girls, Oksana, did the same from the other side. As they pulled the fighters apart, Mykola flung one last wild punch, finally connecting with Leonid’s face, but not the Leonid he had intended. The older twin palmed his cheekbone and stumbled back. Everyone else stood stock-still. The only motion was Kasha, circling the scene of the fight, whimpering.
Mykola looked shocked. He muttered a curse.
The younger Leonid trembled, deep rouge rising on his cheeks.
“You upizdysh,” he said, and formed his fists into clubs. He started forward.
“Stop,” yelled the older Leonid.
All was still again. The younger Leonid spat.
“Go fuck your mother,” he said to Mykola.
The older Leonid leapt forward and slapped the younger across the cheek. Several of the other children gasped.
Mykola stood and stalked away. “I’d say the same to you, but you’d have to dig her up first.”
“Mykola,” said the older Leonid.
Mykola stopped but did not turn around.
“If you ever mention my mother again,” continued Leonid, “I won’t be stopping my brother, but helping him.”
Mykola entered the shadow of the trees that rimmed the clearing. Kasha trailed at his heels. The younger Leonid rubbed his cheek where he had been slapped. The older placed his hand on top of his brother’s.
“Forgive me,” said the older Leonid.
“That really stung,” said the younger. He smiled.
The brothers laughed, and then the other children joined in. They re-formed the line to continue the game of Dragon, the Leonids adjacent in the middle. Eventually, one of the twins would be forced to chase the other.
GRANDMOTHER HADN’T EVEN looked at them before she asked what happened. The twins stood inside the doorway, smeared with gray-black mud. This type of filth was not unusual, so she could have only been referring to the older Leonid’s eye, already swollen half shut and turned a putrid shade of purple.
“Mykola,” said the older Leonid.
Grandmother turned from the stove, her face set in a grimace. Her dress hung loose. Everyone’s clothes hung loose.
She said, “That boy’s an ass.”
“Grandmother!” said the younger Leonid.
“Get yourself cleaned up,” she said. “We’ll eat shortly.”
A pot on the stove steamed, and that’s what it smelled like: steam. The stews they ate had been gradually lightening in color, now just water with a few frail vegetables tossed in.