Her voice was unemotional, her eyes dry. She was still holding the child’s snowsuit and his hat in her hands, and after she finished talking, she stuffed them into the sleeve of the snowsuit and, finally, looking up at us, asked:
“Where can I hang these?”
Sergey took the clothes and I said:
“Ira, come with me, I can offer you something to eat.”
“There’s no need to stand on ceremony,” she said. “Feed Anton, if that’s OK. I know it sounds strange, but I’m not hungry at all.”
“Come with me then,” I said to the boy, and offered him my hand. He looked at me but didn’t move, and then Ira lightly nudged him forward and said:
“Come on then, she’ll give you something to eat,” and then he made a move and stepped towards me. He didn’t take my hand but just followed me into the kitchen. I opened the fridge and looked inside:
“Would you like an omelette? Or shall I make some porridge? I’ve also got milk and some biscuits.” The boy didn’t answer. “How about I make you a big sandwich, and while you’re eating it, I’ll make you some porridge as well?”
I cut off a large piece of bread, put a slice of salami on it and turned around – he was still standing on the threshold and I came up to him, crouched in front of him and gave him the sandwich. The boy looked at me without a smile, his eyes wide-set like his mum’s, and asked:
“Is this my dad’s house?” I nodded, and he nodded, too – not to me, but rather to himself, and then said quietly: “That means it’s my house as well. And who are you?”
“My name is Anya,” I said and smiled at him. “And you must be Anton?”
“My mum doesn’t let me talk to strangers,” the boy said, then took the sandwich from my hand, and taking care to go round me, walked out of the kitchen. I stayed squatting for some time, feeling silly, as grownups often do when they think it’s easy to talk to kids, then got up, brushed the crumbs off my hands and followed him.
All the adults were standing near the window in the lounge; the boy went up to his mum, took her by the hand and only then bit into the sandwich. He didn’t look at me; none of them did – they were all looking intensely at something outside the window. I asked, ‘what are you looking at?’ but nobody answered, and then I came closer and also saw it. Behind the thin strip of trees, which looked very dark against the sky, there was a big, black cloud of smoke.
“It’s that luxury development,” I said to nobody in particular – well, after all, nobody had asked me. “It’s completely new, not very big, about ten or twelve houses. They’ve only recently finished it; I don’t even know if anybody lives there.”
“That’s a lot of smoke,” Sergey said without looking at me, “looks as if a house’s on fire.”
“Shall we go and see?” Mishka said. “It’s only about a kilometre and a half,” and before I had time to object, Sergey said:
“There’s nothing to see there, Mishka. We saw several of these fires on the way here and will see more of them, no doubt.” He looked at Boris. “Everything’s happening too fast, Dad, looks like we’re being left behind.”
“We’ve got almost everything,” I said. “We’ve no reason to wait, let’s just load our stuff in the car and go.”
“I’ve got an empty tank, Anya,” Sergey said,“we didn’t have time to top up, nor did we last night. You get the stuff ready and I’ll go and find petrol – maybe some stations are still open.”
“I’ll come with you,” Boris said, “it’s best not to go alone. Lenny should stay with the girls – I’ll go and tell him.”
And suddenly everyone disappeared. Boris was looking through coats in the corridor trying to find his hunting jacket under the others hanging on the wall. The boy suddenly cried out: ‘Mum, I need a pee!’, and Mishka took them away. Sergey and I were left alone in the lounge, and I could finally come up to him, put my arms around his neck, and press my cheek against his woollen jumper.
“I don’t want you to go,” I said to the jumper, without looking up.
“Baby—,” Sergey said, but I interrupted him.
“I know. I just don’t want you to go.”
We stood like this, without saying a word. Water was running somewhere, doors were slamming, I could hear people’s voices, and I stood there with my arms around him and thought that Boris would come back and bring Lenny to guard us, and before that – in a second or two – Ira and the boy would turn up and I’d have to unclasp my arms and let him go. The front door slammed shut – it was Boris and Lenny. Sergey moved, as if trying to break free, and for a second I tightened my grip on him, and then felt awkward. I let go and we walked to the hallway. Boris was standing on the threshold – alone, without Lenny, – and he looked at me and said:
“Anya, chin up, we’re not taking him away from you after all. Lenny is a right hoarder – he’s got a power generator in the basement, and we’ve just checked – there’s about a hundred litres of diesel. Come on, Sergey, let’s open the gate. Let him go, Anya, he won’t go further than the fence – it’s time to load the car, we must leave before dusk.”
Sergey grabbed the keys, and he and Boris left. I draped a jacket over my shoulders, came out onto the veranda and watched them, as if I wanted to make sure they were really telling the truth and that Sergey wasn’t going anywhere. The gate opened and Lenny’s enormous Land Cruiser drove in. In order for it to fit into the driveway they had to move Boris’s old Niva, which looked rather miserable next to this black shiny monster. I watched the Niva’s front wheels crushing the tiny cedar trees I had planted last year. When he got out of the car, Boris glanced up at me. Lenny shouted something from the gate, but Boris waved him off and walked towards me. With one hand on the veranda railing, he looked up at me and said quietly:
“Anya, pull yourself together,” he sounded strict, “I know a lot has happened, but now isn’t the time, do you understand? We’ll pack, load up the cars and leave, and everything will be fine, but in the next village – can you see the smoke? – there’s chaos, and we can’t waste time comforting you because of such a small matter as your crushed trees. We’ve still got to extract the petrol from my Niva – and I don’t want to do it on the road, attracting attention. Do you hear me, Anya? Look at me.” I looked up at him. “I hope you’re not going to cry. We’ve got a difficult couple of days ahead, the road is long, and anything can happen – we need you calm and collected; go and make sure we’ve packed everything we need, and when we reach our destination, we can sit down and have a good cry together about everything, OK?”
“OK,” I said and was surprised how high my voice sounded, like a child’s. He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a pack of his terrible Yava, and passed it to me:
“Have a fag, calm down and go back to the house. There are two women with kids who need organising; tell them to feed the kids, dress them warmly, and take a look around – men aren’t good at packing, we’ve almost certainly left something behind.” He turned and started walking towards the gates, shouting to Lenny: “Open the boot, Lenny, let’s see what you’ve got there.” I winced, swallowed the sharp, strong smell of the cigarette and watched the smooth gliding of the Land Cruiser’s hatch as it opened and the three men – all our lives depended on them – peering inside, examining its contents. When I finished the cigarette I threw the butt into the snow, and went back into the house.