“Kill them if you have to,” a voice bellowed. Someone older. “Take the food.” Vanya swung for the man’s nose. He ducked, and Vanya missed. Before he could strike again, Stanislavovich roared from behind and brought the sword down on the man. Blood fell like rain on Vanya’s face. The man toppled. In the gap that opened once he was down, Vanya saw Dima fighting another man. He didn’t have the bottle anymore. He was using his fists. The sound of flesh on flesh made Vanya want to retch.
“Yuri,” Vanya yelled. “Help us.” Coward.
Another man approached Vanya. He was the same height. Twice as broad, but while there was a heft to his bones, his eyes were hollow. The man was hungry, which meant he’d tire quickly. Vanya would win just by running. And the man was after whatever was in the train, not Vanya. So Vanya scurried into the forest, kneeled behind a tree, and just as he’d expected, the man didn’t follow. Instead he went back to the train.
Now the roar of blood in Vanya’s ears was gone, replaced by an awareness he’d never felt. He was sure he could hear every leaf tear and ant crawl. Vanya knew he should run back to help, but he froze. And just for a second, a split second, he wondered if it would be easier if he didn’t make it back. He didn’t have his equations to finish relativity. Couldn’t seem to get it right. What if he hid in the woods—let the others think he was lost? Then they could give up this madness, the danger they were all taking on for him. Just as quickly as the thought came, he banished it. He couldn’t do that. Not to Miri and Baba. He touched the pouch sewn into his belt, the one with his grandmother’s rubies, and he thought about the eclipse, Russell Clay. No, he couldn’t let fear get to him. He stood. Then he heard a mechanical sputter. And smelled coal. Someone had started the engine. Without another thought, Vanya took off as fast as he could toward the train.
“Wait,” he yelled, so out of breath it came out as a whisper. The engine was roaring by then. In silhouette he saw Dima shoveling coal.
“Vanya,” Yuri yelled across the field. The wheels strained to start. Vanya tripped. Something cut his knee but he ignored it. Scrambled back up. Ran past a man on the ground.
“Wait,” he yelled again. Louder this time. The train was gaining speed.
Yuri was perched on Stanislavovich’s ledge. “Run,” he yelled. “Vanya, run.”
Vanya was sore, but his legs flew. He had to make that train. For Miri. For Baba. Yuri held out his hand and Vanya grabbed for it—once, twice, their fingers slipped apart from the sweat and grime—until finally, Yuri grabbed Vanya by the arm and heaved him inside. Vanya slid into the crates across from the roaring coal pit and gasped for air. “I’m safe. Safe,” he muttered. But he had to get a hold of himself. He concentrated on his breathing, on calming down. He was only safe for now. Slowly, his heart rate fell and he began to realize how much his ribs hurt, that his hands and knees were scraped raw. “Yuri,” Vanya said. He coughed to clear his throat. The act brought pain and relief. “Brother, why didn’t you move earlier? Why didn’t you fight?”
“I can’t say. I froze.” Yuri took a deep breath. “I remembered something.”
“What?”
“Don’t waste your time,” Dima snarled from the other end of the car.
They fell into a dark silence and the engine worked to pull them around a curve that seemed to bend for hours. The trees over the train were tight and branches snapped as they made their way through, the sound sudden and loud like gunshots. “That won’t be the end of it,” Dima said when the train finally straightened. “They must have been deserters. Starving men. If we stop again at night, we’ll be attacked again. Next time we might not be so lucky. Should we turn around?”
“No. We don’t stop,” Vanya said. “Not unless we have to. Not at night.”
“This eclipse, it can’t be worth this kind of danger,” Dima said.
“It is.” It had to be.
“Why? What holds you? A captain knows when it’s time to abandon his ship to save his men. You know how dangerous it is to ride at night when we can’t see the rails are clear?”
“You know there was a time when it was accepted the world was flat?” Vanya asked.
“Yes. Sailors were afraid they’d sail off the earth,” Dima said.
“The Greeks were the first to posit it was round. They came up with equations to back their claims but somehow, they were lost. There are always doubters. People need to see, to touch, to believe. They needed a man to prove the earth was round by circumnavigating the globe.” Vanya paused. “You’ve heard of Ferdinand Magellan. It wasn’t until Magellan sailed around the world that the theory was accepted. That people believed the world was round again. Then, everything changed. Trade. Exploration. Math. The globe expanded exponentially.”
Dima laughed. “You think you’re Magellan?”
“I think my equations, paired with photographs from this eclipse, will make others believe, will inspire others to go out and explore even further.”
Dima ran a hand over his cheek. Not the rough swipe he usually made, but a soft pass showing he, too, was sore. “This could be the death of us all.” And then, “Tell me more about America. What excites you about that country?”
Vanya told Dima about his relatives in Philadelphia, that they felt safe for the first time in their lives in that city. “Yes, there’s crime. Violence. But not like what we have in Russia. There’s no Okhrana. They elect their president. It’s the land of the free,” Vanya said, smiling. He went into detail about the vast farms and the crowded cities, about the paupers who rose up out of nothing. “You don’t have to be born into wealth or greatness there to achieve it—or to achieve anything.”
“At least they want you to believe that,” Dima replied. Vanya could tell Dima was trying to look nonplussed but that in truth his eyes were wide and his words came quickly—he was just as excited as Vanya by the idea of going to America, to Philadelphia. Still, Dima shook his head. “Your science is truly this important?”
“Without a doubt,” Vanya said. And then he added, “If not now, when? If not me, who? This theory of relativity, it will change the world.” Dima didn’t reply. The rails carried them even deeper into the woods, where they were enveloped in a night as dark as dark can be.
X
You don’t think you look suspicious with that coat on in this weather?” Miri asked Sasha as they walked into the center of the town.
“The soldiers at the platform must believe I’m Grekov.”
“Why would there be soldiers stationed out here in the first place? If anyone’s there, they’ll be civilians and they won’t know about medals or rank.”
“No, they’ll be soldiers. The czar has men posted at every depot and station. He needs his trains to run his supplies for war.”
“And if these soldiers know the real Grekov?”
“They won’t. These men will be the lowest of the low. They’ll have no idea.”
When they found the depot, it was a half-built skeleton. Bins of coal sat out in the open, covered by a tarp. The wooden frame of the building stood flat and low. It smelled like pine tar. A wagon loaded with lumber sat in front, and a short soldier basked in the sun and smoked while his horse chewed on a square of hay. “Pavel!” a man yelled from around the other side of the building.
Pavel took a puff on his cigarette and quashed it. Then he pulled out a board from the pile in the wagon and hoisted it to his shoulder, began walking away from them toward his companion.
“Halt, soldier!” Sasha called. He and Miri were close but Pavel didn’t seem to hear. Sasha spoke louder. “Halt! We need to be on the next train to Daugavpils. When’s it due?”
“Save your breath. It won’t stop here,” Pavel said, not bothering to turn his head. In a heartbeat, Sasha was behind Pavel, shoving the board to the ground with enough force that Pavel yelped and turned around with his fists up, ready to fight. Sasha flung him into the dirt before Pavel even had a chance to take a swing. He landed like a heap of rags in the dust. A vein in Sasha�
��s neck throbbed, the only sign he’d exerted himself. A cow nearby swished its tail, unfazed.
“I’m so sorry. Sir, I’m so sorry,” Pavel said. He threw his hands over his head as if expecting another blow. “I didn’t realize you were an officer.”
“Call me Captain.”
“C-Captain.” Pavel’s chest heaved. “Th-that train to Daugavpils is due in an hour but it only passes through.”
“You will make that train stop for us,” Sasha said.
“Pavel?” the man called from around the corner again. “I need that wood.”
“Yes, but it isn’t supposed to stop,” Pavel continued.
“I don’t care what it’s supposed to do. You have your orders,” Sasha said.
The soldier who’d been calling for Pavel stepped out from the side of the building. He had blond hair and skin rough like burlap. He gasped and saluted. “Captain,” he said. “Captain.”
“I need the next train to Daugavpils stopped,” Sasha said. “I’ll board with my cousin.”
“Stopped?” the man repeated.
“Are you two the only ones assigned to this construction project?”
“Yes, Captain. The last station burned. We’re rebuilding.”
“Fine. Go. Get us food, drink. And then stop the train. Go!” Sasha yelled. Pavel and the other soldier scrambled, tripped over one another trying to fill their new orders.
“Just like that?” Miri whispered. Sasha smiled. He gestured toward a log in a shady patch of grass where they could wait, and Miri took a seat.
The soldiers came back with apples, cheese, and milk. Pavel, out of breath, presented a pile of cigarettes. They were smudged black with dirt from his fingers, and the tobacco was rolled too quickly so it bulged out of either end. Sasha thanked them, and without another word they were off, scurrying down the tracks to set the signals to stop the train. Sasha reached for a bucket Pavel had brought with fresh water. He offered a ladle to Miri. It was sweet and still cold. Sasha drank after her and then smoked one cigarette after another. Pacing. He moved as if barely aware of what he was doing, his mind working through a problem. When he looked at her, Miri smiled. “What?” he asked.
“You remind me of Vanya. He’s always pacing, calculating. What are you thinking?”
“What will we do in Kiev? How will we find them?” A child skipped past. He didn’t notice them hidden in the shade. “He’ll stand out. If we ask in the right places, someone will know the American. We can look for your brother by looking for the American.”
“Yes, but where will we ask? We can’t go to the university. We’d draw attention. And we can’t afford that,” Miri said. “What about a school? A prominent teacher? Jewish teachers?”
“It could work,” Sasha agreed. “Tell me, why do you flinch when I say the city’s name?”
“Do I?” She hadn’t realized.
“Kiev means something to you?”
“My parents went there once. My mother told me all about it. The beauty. The music. The city is famous for its musicians. Or at least that’s what she said.” And then, “Tell me about your family. You’ve barely said anything about them.” She reached into the basket Pavel had brought and broke off a chunk of bread. She handed half to Sasha. He took it and sat next to her.
“It was five years ago. The last time I saw them,” he said. “And by then, we were ruined. We had to leave Saint Petersburg years earlier, run for our lives.”
“Why?”
Sasha shook his head. His voice started shaking. “We ran into the countryside. It was so cold we almost froze, but a farmer took us in. He hid us for a long time before a starving neighbor reported us for the reward.” Sasha looked back at the half-built station. “When the police came, they took me first. They threw me into a wagon, said I was joining the army.”
“And your parents?”
“The farmer, he still writes to me. He sends letters to a pub in Peter. I pick them up when I’m there. Did I tell you my father was the one who taught him to read and write? With me?”
“You didn’t.”
Sasha closed his eyes. A tear leaked down through his stubble. “They were killed after I was dragged away. The farmer watched the police shoot them, and then he was forced to bury them. He said he thought he was digging his own grave. But they spared him. For some reason, they spared him.”
“I’m sorry,” Miri said. She pushed tears off her own cheeks. She knew Sasha was waiting for her to say something, but she didn’t have any words. When her parents died, people said they were watching over her or that their deaths were part of God’s plan. She didn’t believe any of them. And the pain she felt, the loss, was indescribable. There were no words. No way to help. “Try not to think about it,” she said. “It hurts too much to dwell on something you can’t change.”
“At least you have your baba,” he said.
“Sasha.” Miri started to reach for his hand but pulled back before she touched him. “Is that why you stayed with us? Baba, she has a way. She makes everyone feel like she’s theirs.”
“Yes, she does, but it’s not why I stayed.” He wiped his eyes. “Your baba’s right about America. There, at least people die of old age. Or so I understand. It’ll be a better life.”
“She’d like to hear that.”
“I’ll tell her then.” He leaned toward Miri. “When we make it back to her.”
XI
One hour of waiting turned into four. Every passing minute made Miri more tense. Whenever a horse brayed, Miri shivered. Any sound could mean another soldier was coming, a soldier who might know the real Grekov, and out here, there was no crowd to hide them. Even if they could get away, without the rails they’d never make it to Kiev by the eclipse.
When the train finally came, it was a mass of steel twice the size of the one Babushka had boarded for Saint Petersburg. The wheels lurched as if the weight was more than they could bear. Miri straightened her skirts, trying to hide the rip from the station in Kovno. In the distance, Pavel flapped signals, ordering the train to halt.
“It’s going too fast, it won’t stop,” Miri said.
“There’s still time.” Sasha took Miri’s hand and tucked it in his arm. The horse in front of the station whinnied, and a gust of air sent dust shooting across the tracks.
“It has to stop, please,” Miri whispered. She narrowed her eyes as if squinting could help her will the train to slow down. There was too much dust to know if it was working. Then the brakes screeched. Miri exhaled. Pavel dropped the signal and they waited, watched as the wheels came to a halt. An engineer stepped down from the first car. He was black with soot, and the fetid smell of coal that hung around him turned Miri’s stomach. “What’s happened?” he asked. “Have the Germans taken the tracks?”
“I’m Captain Grekov.” Sasha stepped forward. “I ordered the train to stop so that I might board with my cousin.”
“Have the Germans ambushed the line?” the engineer asked again.
“Of course not! I told you, I ordered the train to stop so I could board.”
“Why here?”
“Are you questioning my orders?”
“No, sir. It’s just, just… Third car, there’s one bank of seats left. You can sit there.”
Sasha helped Miri up the three stairs. His fingers trembled even as they held her tight. Relief? Jitters? She stepped inside with him right behind her and blinked. From the outside, it looked like the train they’d entered was an ordinary first-class dining car. The windows were covered with lace demi-curtains. Through the glass Miri had seen a glittering chandelier. But now that she was inside, the facade shattered. The banquettes had been torn out. The carpet was ripped. The pink silk on the walls was shredded. Wooden splinters dangled where tables had been secured. And in their place, large, roughhewn crates were stacked, row after row, each sealed with the czar’s crest.
“Ammunition,” Sasha whispered.
“Bullets?”
“Shells.”
�
��Greetings!” a bald man called to them from behind the crates. Miri jumped. She hadn’t seen him past the explosives. He was at the one remaining table. It looked elegant, with salt and pepper shakers nestled by the window in a silver holder as if set for lunch. The man was an officer in uniform. His eyes were dark with circles so deep and purple they looked like scars. The whiskers that made his mustache reminded Miri of a seal. The train shuddered and Sasha reached an arm around her waist to steady her. This man seemed to make Sasha as nervous as Miri.
“Why the hell did you stop my train?” the officer said with a smile. Teasing.
“So we could board,” Sasha said, and seemed to try to match the officer’s smile. Miri looked back at the door. It was open and the train didn’t have much speed. They could still jump.
“I’m feeling tired, cousin,” she said to Sasha, trying to pull him back toward the exit, but Sasha wouldn’t move, wouldn’t let go of her waist. He was telling her he wanted to stay.
“Then sit!” the man said. “Welcome to my train. Grekov, eh?” The man laughed for too long. “I’m Colonel Zubov. Welcome, welcome to my train.”
“Your train?” Sasha asked.
“Well, in a way. I’m escorting these shells to their destination. It’s my official duty to the czar,” Zubov said. “So, I feel I can take the liberty of calling it my train.” He pointed to the seat across from him at the banquette. “Join me.”
Sasha steered Miri forward. “I’m not feeling well,” she said, still leaning back.
“Trust me,” Sasha whispered. It was what Miri asked him to do after the first time they ran back in Kovno. She slid onto the leather bench, next to the window. Sasha took his place at her side, all while Zubov kept his dark eyes on them. Close now, Miri saw his nails were jagged, likely from biting. And his breath smelled like rotten cabbage. She tried not to think about the odor, tried to concentrate on being Grekov’s cousin.
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