After a deep sigh, Shukshin remembered to breathe again. Dusha stared at him, her head cocked.
“Sorry, girl. Sorry.”
A dull slam of the UAZ’s door sounded out in the mounting blizzard and Belskiy threw his arms in the air, approaching Shukshin. His maddened voice grew louder and more distinct as he grew closer. Shukshin opened the door and jumped down from the truck.
“Are you fucking stupid?”
“Sorry, sorry.”
“Watch where you’re going or we’ll both end up dead, gods be damned! If I die out here, it’ll be because of the cold, not because you wanted to hug me with your fat truck and your dense head.”
“Sorry. Sorry.”
Belskiy huffed and put his hands on his hips, leaning slightly forward against the wind. The two bearded, stocky men stared at each other for a moment. Frost and snow fell on them, melting against their pink skin and refreezing. They stood like warm statues, only their exhaled breath indicating vitality.
“Why did you stop?”
Belskiy continued to stare at Shukshin, silent for several long seconds. “Reindeer.”
Shukshin used his hand to shield his eyes, but no reindeer could be seen between the dense trees. No tracks were visible, either, but then again, he hardly expected to see evidence of hooves in the accumulating drifts and the white haze caused by the blizzard.
Without uttering any other explanation or issuing another command, Belskiy returned to his smaller truck. Shukshin followed suit. Dusha licked at his hands and face when he came back into the cabin, greeting him as if he had been on a month’s journey.
They drove on into the whiteout. Shukshin debated telling Belskiy that they should stop and wait out the storm. He toyed with the radio handset next to him, pressing in the button to talk to Belskiy, but decided against it. Dusha whined as Shukshin turned the windshield wipers to a faster speed. The wipers whipped back and forth, but the snow piled on harder. Didn’t ships lower their sails in a strong gale?
As the clouds grew more ominous and gray and the hours dragged on, the day appeared more like night. Still, Belskiy drove on and Shukshin’s clumsy transport rumbled after. Red brake lights glared at Shukshin from Belskiy’s bumper and Shukshin slammed on the brakes once more. Dusha slammed into the hard glove box in front of her and yelped.
“Sorry, girl. Sorry.” Shukshin reached for her, but she cocked her head at him again. “I didn’t want to hit him, girl. Please, forgive me.”
Dusha stretched her neck out and rubbed the top of her head against Shukshin’s palm. As she pressed her head into his hand, a wave of relief spread through him.
Shukshin picked up his handset to radio Belskiy. “What is it this time?”
Belskiy’s voice crackled through Shukshin’s radio. “Food.”
Then, Shukshin spotted the orange lights burning like lighthouse lanterns through the gray mists of snow and silhouettes of unwavering tree trunks. The last café they would see for miles appeared to him as he trudged through the snow. His feet sank up to his knees. Dusha jumped and fell, jumped and fell, following in his footsteps.
Warm air blasted into Shukshin’s face when he followed Belskiy through the door. No other vehicles had been parked outside and the empty tables and chairs only confirmed Shukshin’s suspicions about the severity of the weather. A wooden door swung open at the back of the room and a woman, eyes framed with heavy dark circles, nodded at them and told them to sit wherever they liked. The woman straightened up when she recognized Belskiy and Shukshin through the layers of snow, hair, and clothes that covered their bodies and faces.
“Hello, Irina,” Shukshin said.
Belskiy offered a slight nod and rough grunt as his greeting.
Dusha whined and wagged her tail, rubbing her body against Irina’s legs, and Irina scratched the dog’s shoulder blades, making Dusha wave her tail even more madly.
“Did you have to pull off the highway because of the storm?”
“We pulled off for food,” Belskiy said, sitting down, his lips puckered and his brow furrowed.
Shukshin nodded at the woman, scratching at his beard. “Has anyone else come up this way?” He took a seat across from Belskiy and Dusha lay down by his feet.
“No one. You men are the first. Brave or stupid, I’m not sure.”
Belskiy shrugged. “What’ve you got for us today?”
“The usual special,” Irina said. “Onion soup, potatoes, and sausage. All six months fresh.”
Belskiy harrumphed and Shukshin offered a desultory smile.
“I knew you would be pleased,” Irina said, with a laugh that sounded more like a smoker’s cough. She meandered back to the kitchen. The pungent smell of cut onions wafted into the small dining room.
Belskiy picked at a blackened fingernail and refused to meet Shukshin’s gaze. They sat in silence, accompanied by a stuffed boar’s head and a dusty elk head adorning the otherwise bare, ashen walls. The place smelled of soot and smoke, a souvenir of the poor circulation and dry heat from the wood stove that prevented the building’s inhabitants from freezing to death.
The door to the kitchen opened, but instead of Irina coming out with plates of steaming food, her husband Kolchak sauntered out, his face beaming and his wife yelling.
“Come back and finish this yourself, you oaf,” Irina said.
But, her verbal accosting had no effect on the toothy grin plastered across Kolchak’s face, stained pink with rosacea.
“You boys back again?” Kolchak’s breath smelled of alcohol and onions. He spun a chair around, sitting in it backwards and leaned against Belskiy and Shukshin’s table. Dusha growled at him when Kolchak leaned the chair back and pinched her tail.
“Watch out for Dusha,” Shukshin said.
“I shouldn’t even allow the bitch into this eating establishment,” Kolchack said.
Shukshin frowned at him. “Is that what you call this dirt hovel?”
Belskiy let out a guttural laugh and leaned across the table. “Dusha is probably the finest woman that has crossed the threshold into this shithole.”
“You’re forgetting about my dear wife,” Kolchak said.
“We’re not,” Shukshin said.
“Bastards. Leave now.”
Belskiy laughed and patted Kolchak on the back. “Oh, you old fat fool. Always a pleasure to see you.”
“I am not joking,” Kolchak said. His face turned a brighter red, blood filling his cheeks with a mad heat. “I will not let you liken my wife to your bitch.” He kicked Dusha in the ribs and the dog yelped.
Shukshin stood up from his chair and pushed Kolchak over in the imbalanced chair. He followed the move with a swift kick to Kolchak’s ribs. “Do you like that?”
Shukshin stomped out of the café, Kolchak groaning, and Dusha followed. For a moment, he stood in the falling snow and let the chilling wind calm his hot nerves. Belskiy slammed the door behind him.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Me?” Shukshin said. “There’s something wrong with that man. He’s a crazy drunk.”
“I don’t care whether he is crazy or not,” Belskiy said, “but my stomach is demanding to be fed. What the hell are we going to do?”
“Make it to Boguchany tonight. We can eat where someone appreciates our service.”
“Are you blind? Do you really think we can make it through this?”
Shukshin cocked an eyebrow. “You seemed sure enough earlier.”
“Fine,” Belskiy said. “Fine, fine, fine. If you get us both killed, though, I will haunt you for eternity.”
“If we are both killed, how will you haunt me if I’m dead, too?”
“Fuck you, Shukshin.”
Belskiy returned to the UAZ and Shukshin went back to his gurgling behemoth. Dusha jumped into the passenger seat, her eyes already intent on the road ahead. The snow whirled around the truck in a dizzying screen of white fog and torrential ice.