Two Cousins of Azov. Andrea Bennett

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      ‘Come closer, come here in the light – slowly, mind!’

      The figure flickered, taking form out of the green and grey, solidifying from apparition to …

      ‘You’re no spirit. There’s no magic at work here,’ she said to Tolya, and then more loudly. ‘You’re no moth, are you? Who are you?’

      The apparition moved closer, and in the soft light of the lantern, Tolya could see it was, in fact, just a boy. Older than him, taller, maybe sixteen or seventeen, but thin and strange. The boy stood still a while, then slowly raised his hands and flapped them in front of his face, in and out, in and out. Yellow-white teeth like standing stones split his mouth in a strange grin.

      ‘Hey!’ shouted Baba, and the flapping stopped. He shivered, round eyes standing out from skin as pale as milk, as pale as the moon. He reached out a hand, emaciated and ground with dirt, as if to touch the rays from the lantern in Baba’s hand. ‘Come closer!’ she said. ‘Come see! We won’t hurt you.’

      The boy shuffled through the long brown grass until he stood at the fence on the edge of the yard. Again the hand reached out to the lantern, and this time gently tap-tap-tapped on the glass.

      ‘Baba!’ whispered Tolya, eyes round.

      ‘Who are you?’ asked Baba.

      ‘Yuri,’ answered the boy, his voice coming slowly to his lips, stilted and hoarse, pushed out on a sigh.

      ‘Where are you from, Yuri?’

      The boy said nothing, and simply pointed over his shoulder in the direction of the forest.

      ‘Where are your people?’

      The boy shrugged and stared at the lamp.

      ‘Are you hungry?’

      He reached out slowly with the same emaciated hand, and nodded. His gaze hadn’t left the lamp, but Tolya saw his eyes were never still, flickering across-across-across as he looked into the light.

      ‘Is warm, your house?’ Yuri asked suddenly, smiling his strange toothy grin as his eyes oscillated in their sockets.

      Lev sniffed at the boy’s calves, jaws hanging open, but made no sound.

      ‘It’s warm. And you are welcome.’

      ‘No, Baba! He scares me!’ Tolya pulled on her arm, but she flicked him off with an angry glance.

      ‘Quiet, Tolya! Come, we’ll have some broth, and you can warm yourself by the stove, Yuri.’ Baba’s eyes were watchful, and she peered in every direction as she strode back towards the cottage. Over the yard a silver moon rose, bright as a frozen sun, bathing the boys in its cold, blue light – one flapping, and one creeping behind.

      The forest sighed, and wood smoke rose to meet the heavens.

      ‘Anatoly Borisovich!’

      A jolt thumped through his chest. Strong hands clamped his shoulders and his head snapped back and forth.

      ‘Wha—? Who— oh!’ The shaking stopped. Green eyes stared into grey.

      ‘Did I fall asleep?’ Wings were flapping in his mind, shifting memories like leaves in the wind.

      ‘Yes,’ said Vlad, releasing his grip and easing himself back into the visitor’s chair. ‘I thought maybe … Well, you gave me a fright. You stopped talking and made a choking sound, like you couldn’t breathe. Like you were …’

      ‘Sleep, Vlad. There’s nothing to fear in sleep. It brings relief. You’ll learn that, as you get older.’

      Vlad snorted and slowly smoothed the blankets across the old man’s bed.

      ‘Maybe so. But I’m glad it was just a … nap.’

      ‘I must sleep more. But I feel we made progress, don’t you?’

      ‘Well …’ Vlad pushed the chair onto its two back legs and regarded the old man with a small smile. ‘I can’t really see it, myself. Hearing about your childhood in Siberia is very interesting, and I can see that just talking, just reliving things, is making you feel better. There’s colour in those cheeks, Anatoly Borisovich!’ The old man returned his smile with a grin. ‘But I need to know about your breakdown in September, and I’m still interested in those scars, for my case study. I have to write a report on you – for my medical degree, and for your best interests.’ He leant close to the old man’s face, seeking his eyes. ‘And my report can’t really be about your babushka and Lev, and this moth boy, can it? Do you understand?’

      ‘Ah.’ Anatoly Borisovich’s hand floated up to his face and his fingers felt into the relief of his cheek, following the crevices and smooth patches: the map of his past. ‘But it’s all related … you need to understand … family …’

      As the old man spoke, the kindly orderly appeared in the doorway.

      ‘You’re wanted,’ she said to Vlad with a coquettish grin, ‘in the office. It’s your girl again, and I think she’s in a temper!’

      ‘Blin,’ said Vlad, looking at his watch. He lurched from the visitor’s chair, its feet squealing sharply across the floor. ‘I’m going to be late.’

      ‘Tsk! Even with your fancy imported watch?’ She shook her head with a laugh and walked away up the corridor.

      Anatoly Borisovich pulled a face as he closed his eyes. ‘Your girl is cross. That won’t do.’

      ‘I think it’s all the stress! I thought a date would be different, but she’s …’ Vlad sighed, grabbing up his pens and paper.

      ‘Anywhere nice?’

      ‘Palace of Youth.’

      The old man grunted. ‘You’d better go then!’ His shoulders shook momentarily with silent laughter. ‘But come back,’ he gurgled eventually, ‘as soon as you can, and I will tell you all: everything you want to hear! We will get your case study complete!’

      He sank back on the pillows, feeling as if he had been sweeping the yard all day, catching the leaves above his head and breaking the ice on the well with his knuckles; exhilarated, and exhausted.

      ‘Very well. But listen, please.’ Vlad’s voice was hurried. ‘I will bring more pryaniki next time, or a cake perhaps?’ Anatoly Borisovich opened an eye. ‘Cake? You like cake? OK, so next time there will be cake, and you will get to the point, and answer some questions, and we will both be happy.’ He turned for the door, and then looked back. ‘You’ve spent almost the entire session talking about leaves and trees today, Anatoly Borisovich, and it won’t do: they’re not what caused your breakdown, are they? I need to know about you. I’ll be back when I can.’ The door slammed.

      The blinds were still up. In the distance, Anatoly Borisovich could make out the lone tree beyond the fence shifting in the wind, its branches outstretched, shivering.

      A knock at the door accompanied the scrape of its opening.

      ‘Do СКАЧАТЬ