by Yana Vagner
‘What’s all the shouting? What’s happened?’ That was Andrey.
‘Pack your things, we can’t stay here.’ Ira again.
‘But our stuff’s there, in that room!’ Natasha.
They kept talking over each other, and the words they were saying slowly blurred into even, constant noise.
When I was little I used to shut my eyes tight and hold my breath and then put my head underwater in the bath, with my toes against its slippery sides, while my mum walked down the corridor from the kitchen to check on me – ten steps – I’m holding my breath now and counting one, two, three, four – I can hear her footsteps better underwater – nine, ten – she’s here now – ‘Anya, you’re diving again, come on, it’s time to wash your hair’ – Mum’s voice is muffled, it’s calm and warm underwater but I’m running out of air in my lungs, I need to come up. I need to come up.
I presumably fell asleep. Not for long, for a few minutes, or maybe for half an hour, but when I opened my eyes again it was quiet behind the door. Something had changed. At first I didn’t understand what it was, and then I realised the room was flooded with bright dazzling light. Somebody had taken the boards off the window, and I was surprised to see how big it was. I was still sitting on the floor and slowly looking around at every detail of the room I was in: I could clearly see every crack in the wooden floorboards, the piles of rubbish in the corners, leftover tape on the windows and dead flies on the windowsill from the previous summer, woodchips and ash in front of the small stove, a faded striped mattress on the bed. The door was securely locked and I wasn’t afraid any more. I thought almost indifferently that it would be here, in this tiny, strange room with its funny tear-off calendar on the wall showing that time had stopped on 19 September, that I’d die.
Not once during these last, terrible weeks since the city had been shut down and I learned that my mum wasn’t there any more, since we’d watched the news with footage of deserted, dying cities, and later, when we drove past them and saw the people pulling sledges carrying their dead relatives along the snowy streets to the rhythmical, resounding metallic sound of a bell ringing; and even afterwards, when we met those grim people in dirty sheepskins on an empty woodland track, not once during that whole time had it occurred to me that I – I, Anya – might die. It was as if the epidemic, and our rushed escape from home, and the exhausting journey full of dangers, even what happened to Lenny, were like a computer game. Realistic and scary, but still a game where you could go back and cancel your last several wrong moves. What did I do wrong? When did I make a mistake? Was it the time I took off my mask to speak to the kind security guard, or yesterday, in the woods, when I jumped right into the arms of the smiley stranger in the fox-fur hat?
Dizzy, my ears ringing, I struggled to my feet and went to the window, pressing my forehead to the cold glass and breathing on it to look outside. The window overlooked the inner yard: I could see the sauna with its door slightly open and the path of footprints in the deep snow leading from the sauna to the house. There wasn’t a soul outside, and it was just as quiet in the house; I thought for a second that while I was asleep, the others had quickly packed, thrown their things into the car and gone, leaving me behind. It couldn’t be true, but I needed to occupy my mind with something, anything, to avoid falling into the soporific, deadening drowsiness that was beginning to envelop me again. I desperately wanted to lie down, to cover myself with a sleeping bag, close my eyes and fall asleep, but the door was locked, I couldn’t hear anyone talking outside and I somehow knew that if I fell asleep, I’d miss the moment Sergey would break through that door, and I wouldn’t have time to stop him.
Don’t sleep, I kept telling myself, feel scared, come on, you’re dying, you’ll live for three, maybe four more days, and then you’ll die, just like she said – delirium, convulsions, foam. Come on, feel scared! Only these words didn’t have any effect on me. I caught myself sitting on the windowsill with my eyes shut, and to stay awake, I made myself think that they’d gone. If I opened the window and poked my head out, I thought, I’d still be able to see their cars, slowly moving away through the falling snow. I’d be able to see them drive to the end of the street, and then they’d disappear round the corner, and to my last breath I wouldn’t see another human face. For some time, I’d be able to throw more kindling into the stove, but then there would be a time when I wouldn’t be able to get up and would lie in bed, in the cooling house, and would probably freeze before the virus had a chance to kill me.
This scenario seemed so unreal, so untrue. I wondered idly what would be better, to freeze in my sleep or to die in convulsions, with bloody foam coming from my throat. I breathed onto the window again and saw Mishka, standing still outside my window. As soon as I opened my eyes he jumped up, clinging to the window casing, and with a light banging of his feet on the wall pressed his face against the window from the other side so that I could see him through the little thawed spot. Only then did I finally become deeply afraid.
We could probably have talked – it was easy to hear each other through the thin glass – but neither of us uttered a word. He kept looking at me, tense and maybe even angry. For a few minutes I looked at his thin, concerned face and then began to stroke the glass, and he immediately frowned and blinked several times, so I quickly masked my sentimental gesture by pretending that I was clearing the frost on the window to see him better. ‘Mishka, where’s your hat again, how many times must I tell you?’ I said. ‘Come on, go back to the house and find your hat, your ears will fall off.’ And he jumped down and started walking on the firm footpath, walking around the corner of the house, looking back once, and I waved at him – Go, go! – although I wasn’t sure he could still see me. I started crying only after he disappeared round the corner.
Somebody pulled the door handle again.
‘Hey,’ Sergey called quietly. ‘Are you crying in there?’
‘I am,’ I admitted, and came closer to the door.
‘And you won’t open the door?’
‘No, I won’t.’
‘Well, it’s up to you,’ he said, ‘if that makes you feel better. But I’m not going anywhere, you know that, don’t you?’
‘Don’t go,’ I said, and started crying again, and repeated: ‘Don’t go.’ I sat down on the floor by the door to avoid missing any word he was going to say.
He said that both Ira and I were crazy alarmists, that it couldn’t be the virus because we’d been together the whole time and none of the few people we’d met had been ill. He said, ‘You were very tired and got cold during the night, it’s a simple head cold. We have honey and medicines, I found a jar of raspberry jam in the house, and I’ll start the sauna for you, and in a couple of days you’ll be well.’
‘I won’t let you in anyway,’ I said.
‘Well, you’re a fool,’ he said without a pause. ‘They’ve found one more house with a stove two houses down from this one, and they’re moving their stuff at the moment. And when it gets warm there, they’ll take Lenny there as well. They’re all going to move there, including Mishka, there won’t be anyone left in this house, just you and me, and even if you and Ira are both right – although you’re not right, I’m sure – but if you are right and you did catch the virus, then I’m infected too, think about it, and there’s no point in locking this wretched door.’
‘We don’t know for sure,’ I said. ‘We can’t know for sure.’
‘You’ll be cold soon,’ he said. ‘The stove has probably stopped already, and you don’t know how to start it. You’ll need water, and then you’ll need the toilet, so you’ll have to open it.’
‘Promise me, promise that you won’t break down the door, that you’ll put on a mask and stay there, and that if I need to come out you’ll be at a safe distance and won’t come close to me.’
‘That’s silly.’
‘If you can’t promise that, I won’t say another word.’
‘I promise,’ he said. ‘I promise, you stupid
fool, I won’t break the door and won’t come in, I’ll put a mask on, but let me rekindle the fire and give you some water.’
‘Later,’ I said. ‘I’m not cold any more and I’m not thirsty. More than anything else I want to sleep, I desperately need some sleep. Will you stay with me, while I’m asleep?’
‘Go to sleep. I’m here.’
And I slept all day until evening, until it became dark outside. I had a light, troubled sleep: first I was hot, then cold, then hot again, and in between I woke up and kicked the sleeping bag off, or pulled it up to my chin, but I knew he was near the whole time, behind the door, and sometimes I’d wake up and say, ‘Are you here?’ just to hear him say yes and then ask me, ‘Are you cold at last?’ and to tell him, ‘No, I’m fine, it’s still warm enough here, I’ll sleep some more, OK?’ Once or twice somebody knocked on the door from outside, maybe Boris or Mishka, and he went out onto the veranda – I heard the front door slam and forced myself to stay awake until he’d come back. When it got dark he came to the door and said that he’d brought me some tea with raspberry and honey and that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and that I must open the door to let him come in and restart the stove. ‘I’ve got a mask on,’ he said. ‘Open the door, you can come out of the room and wait on the veranda, I’ll call you.’ ‘Get away from the door,’ I said, and started to get out of bed. It was hard, I felt dizzy and my knees were shaking; I couldn’t find the wretched latch in the dark and was scared I wouldn’t be able to find the door until morning, but finally I found it and opened it. He stood in the furthest corner of the room, as he’d promised, the mask concealing his face, but his eyes told me he was frightened when he saw me.
I turned away and walked as fast as I could to the front door. A few minutes later he called me. When I came back to the room the fire was burning in the stove, and another sleeping bag was on the bed, and on the floor there was a big, steaming mug of tea.
‘This is your sleeping bag, isn’t it?’ I asked, locking the door.
‘Don’t worry about it, he said. ‘I found more blankets, I’m fine, have your tea and go to bed. I’ve left you some wood on the floor, put some more into the stove when you wake up again, I’ll be here if you need me.’
‘How’s Lenny?’ I asked, starting to fall asleep.
‘You won’t believe it, he’s much better,’ he said. ‘He’s trying to get up, wants food, we’ve hardly managed to persuade him to lie still, looks like he’s been lucky, he asked to say hi to you, do you hear, he said, “Anya and I will be ill for a couple of days, but then we’ll be ready to go.”’
You’ll have to wait a few days until I die, I thought, but I didn’t say it. It’s good that Lenny can’t be moved yet, and that you’re all waiting here, in this godforsaken summer cottage, losing precious time not just for my sake. Then I fell asleep again.
It was dawn next time I woke, although it wasn’t properly dawn; the sky, which had been jet black, had turned dark blue and I could see the outlines of the objects in the room – the bed, the stove, the mug on the floor, the door. I had a terribly sore throat, and I took a few sips of the cold tea. Then I threw a log into the stove, which was mostly now embers, and placed the cup on top, to warm it up. The toilet was outside; I carefully opened the door, trying not to make any noise, and poked my head round the frame. The big stove had almost gone out: the coals were glistening with red. Their light revealed Sergey, sleeping on the bed we had given Ira and the children yesterday. His pose was visibly uncomfortable, the blanket crumpled. I covered my face with my sleeve and tiptoed to the front door.
The frost burned me straight away, on the veranda, before I even came out into the cold. Summer cottages are not the most comfortable places to die, I thought, and couldn’t help smiling at this thought: no heating, no outdoor toilet, it doesn’t matter how ill you are, you have to do everything outside; sooner or later I’ll have to ask him to bring me the bucket, because I won’t have the energy to come out, and then I’ll probably be unable to get out of bed – what will I do then? – but perhaps I won’t need the toilet by that stage, I hope I won’t, convulsions are presumably painful, Ira said some are unlucky and stay conscious the whole time, and what if I’m lucky, what if I have the fever, the delirium and those wretched convulsions, then I won’t be able to stop him, he’ll definitely break in, and a mask won’t protect him, damn it, even if I’m unlucky, who can guarantee I won’t chicken out when I feel really bad, that I won’t call him for help?
Maybe out of fear, or maybe out of weakness, I couldn’t take another step for some time and stood still on the veranda, holding onto the edge of the door. My heart was pounding in my throat, not letting me breathe in, and sweat started pouring from my whole body, freezing on my temples and down my spine within seconds. I need to come right out of the house, I thought, it would be ridiculous to freeze to death here, in the doorway.
I found a torch on the windowsill, pushed the door and went out. It was much darker outside than it had seemed from inside the house; I missed the path and immediately sank in the snow up to my knees. It’s so cold, I thought, I need to open my eyes. Don’t sleep, I told myself, it’d be even more ridiculous to freeze to death in the toilet, open your eyes, you need to go back to the house, don’t sleep, you mustn’t fall asleep now. My throat was so sore; it felt like I had bits of broken glass there. I felt dizzy. It’s so dark, I thought, and the damn torch only lights up a tiny bit of snow under my feet, the main thing is not to miss the path, and if I fall through the snow again I won’t have enough energy to climb out, I mustn’t fall, need to keep going forward, one step, another step, I have to stick to the path and it’ll bring me back to the house, don’t sleep, you mustn’t sleep, open your eyes.
But the path led me to the gate instead of the door. I only realised this when I bumped into it with my chest and dropped the torch, which was still glowing under the snow, looking like somebody was reading under a duvet. I bent down and plunged my hand into the snow; my fingers went numb and I had to put the torch under my arm to avoid dropping it again. It’s a small plot, I told myself, you can’t get lost here, if you walk ten steps back you’ll be back at the house, don’t worry, turn around and walk back. There was no latch on the gate, just a frozen loop of twisted wires attached to the pole. I realised that I was carefully undoing the wire with both hands while holding the torch under my arm, and I barely registered surprise – I couldn’t feel my fingers anyway – but the loop unexpectedly gave and the gate opened. I knew that there was no point taking hold of the torch, that I would drop it straight away, so I leant slightly forward to light the ground, still holding the torch under my arm, and saw the rut from our cars and started walking along it. If I stay in the rut, I thought, he won’t be able to find me; he’ll wake up much later and it won’t occur to him to start looking for me, he’ll think I’m asleep, so I have time, it’s simple, why didn’t I think about this before, no convulsions, no foam, they say it doesn’t hurt at all when you freeze – you just fall asleep and feel nothing. I think I should find a place somewhere outside; there are such huge snow banks around the corner, I’ll just sit down and close my eyes and wait for a bit, but why it is still so cold, so unbearably, terribly cold, how can you fall asleep when you’re so cold?
I opened my eyes again. The torch, which was still under my armpit, was directing its light diagonally upwards and wasn’t lighting my way. I should turn it off, I thought, or bury it in the snow, and then I’ll hide my hands inside my sleeves and try to fall asleep. Suddenly I felt somebody’s presence – it wasn’t a sound, it was more like a hint of a sound, a shadow of a sound. I lifted my head but saw nothing, and I had to take the torch from under my arm, squeeze it with both hands and direct the beam right in front of me.
He stood on the path a few steps away, a big yellow dog with long legs and straggly fur, and stared at me. The weak light of the torch reflected in his eyes for a second, making them flash green. The dog twitched, dazzled by the lig
ht, but didn’t run away.
‘You’re not going to eat me now, are you?’ I asked; my voice was husky and unrecognisable. The dog didn’t move.
‘You’ll have to wait until I freeze,’ I said. ‘Do you hear? And until I do, don’t even think of coming closer.’ He stood still and watched me without any interest or aggression, as if I were an object, perhaps a tree or a pile of snow.
‘Don’t come near me,’ I said again. It was silly of me to talk with my painful throat, let alone talk to a dog, but there was nobody here, just him and me, and I was really cold and really scared.
‘You know what?’ I said. ‘Don’t eat me at all. Even if I freeze to death. Agreed?’ The dog impatiently shifted from one foot to another. He had large paws with long, dark nails, like a wolf’s, only they were covered in light, curly fur.
‘They’ll be looking for me,’ I said, trying to catch his eye. ‘And if you… we don’t know which one of them will find me, you see?’ He took a step towards me and stopped.
‘Go away,’ I said to him. ‘Let me do what I need to do.’
If he’s going to stay here, I thought, I won’t be able to sleep, and I’ll feel just as cold, and I won’t be able to bear it for much longer, I must make him go away, shout or throw something at him.
‘Go away,’ I tried shouting, but only managed a whisper. I lifted my hand and waved the torch towards him; he narrowed his eyes but didn’t move.
‘Please go, it’s hard enough without you being here. If you only knew how cold I am… I won’t be able to stand it much longer and will have to run back, and I have to stay here, please go.’ I felt my tears, angry, helpless, hot tears, run down my cheeks, and then he came up close to me. He didn’t bite or lick me, just brought his muzzle, his large hairy head, and breathed hotly into my face.
‘Damn!’ I said. ‘Damn, damn, damn!’ and hit the snow helplessly. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t do even this!’ I closed my eyes to stop the tears streaming, then I got up and went towards the house, lighting my way with the torch.
