To the Lake

by Yana Vagner

  ‘Don’t look, Anya,’ said Boris. ‘It’ll be over soon, we’re almost out of this place.’ Our car turned once more, and I saw a panorama of the snow-covered city to our right, with its low houses in the pinkish-blue haze, the churches and deserted streets, all of which soon vanished into the distance; we didn’t want to turn our heads to see it any more. Soon after the crossed-out Ustyuzhna sign we saw Sergey’s car parked on the side of the road, its back window frosty and a small streak of fumes coming from the exhaust. When we caught up with it, its engine rattled, and the car moved back out onto the road, bringing up the rear behind the Land Cruiser and the silver hatchback.

  People who lived here obviously didn’t mind the snow, as they had other more important things to worry about. There wasn’t much of it, about twenty centimetres, but it was uneven, lumpy rather than smooth, as if it had melted and then frozen again; our car, now leading the caravan again, was crawling slowly, clumsily jumping over the bumpy road. We drove for a hundred metres or so when Boris, swearing, reached over to pick up the radio again.

  ‘Hey you, in the hatchback, why don’t you come in front of us, you’re a bit heavier.’

  ‘Sure,’ Andrey responded immediately, sounding cheerful, and the hatchback, its trailer clattering, easily overtook us and headed the column, leaving behind a strip of firm, flat snow which was much easier to drive on. I looked at Boris, surprised, while he carried on talking on the radio.

  ‘What’s your navigator saying, Andrey? Is the turning going to be soon?’

  ‘In about fifteen kilometres,’ Andrey replied, ‘then it’s about one hundred kilometres of fairly good road. All the villages are quite far inland and we can take a detour around Cherepovets, but afterwards it’ll be a bit harder. I’d like to get more fuel if that’s possible, so we don’t have to stop again later. What do you think?’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Boris approvingly. ‘Let’s do it before Cherepovets. It’s a big city – who knows what we might come up against in the outskirts.’

  They had certainly grown closer while both Sergey and I were asleep; staying in touch by radio, these two men had somehow managed to fix their relationship, and there was clearly no more tension. Catching my eye, Boris smiled briefly.

  ‘He’s a good lad, glad we met him. And smart, too – he’s got a rubber boat, fishing gear, a net – he’s better prepared than me.’ Then he looked at me and added: ‘How are you then? Have you had a good rest? If you need to make a stop, just let me know, we’ll find a place.’

  I looked through the window. The snow-capped fir wood, flooded by the sunset light, started thinning and gradually disappeared out of sight and was replaced by a wide, white and blue expanse of snow, empty and thick, like a down-filled duvet, with a few bushes sticking out which looked like snow balloons. It wasn’t the best place for a stopover; the mismatched roofs of the nearby village glistened through the trees, smoke rising up from their chimneys – a peaceful, ordinary sight. The road split at this point, and its narrower fork, flanked with trees, turned to the right, towards the village with roofs and chimneys. Across the road, completely blocking the way and occupying all the space between the trees, in the middle of a wide, black, snowless spot we saw the wrecks of two burnt-out cars, which looked completely alien in the middle of this white stillness.

  The cars had burnt out some time earlier, at least several days ago; there was no sign of smoke. It was impossible to tell what their original colour had been – they were two identical grey and black carcasses without windows, covered in what could be either ash or frost. The only difference was that one of them had the bonnet open, revealing its charred insides, and the other, for some reason, had both front headlights intact. If it had been only one car, it would be easy to believe there had been an accident, but the fact that they had been placed facing each other didn’t leave any doubt – somebody from this village must have brought them here on purpose, poured petrol over them and burnt them. I could vividly imagine people standing around, the light from the fire reflecting in their faces, stepping back from the blaze and shuddering when the windows burst. Perhaps some time ago both these cars had been parked in front of somebody’s house, carefully cleared of snow, with little icons and soft toys dangling from mirrors. But somebody had decided their fate and they were burnt. A burnt offering, a last chance for their owners to save themselves from the coming danger.

  ‘That’s a barricade and a half,’ said Boris, when we had gone past. ‘It won’t help much, of course, but if you’re desperate we can stop in one of the fields.’

  ‘You know what,’ I said, ‘I’ll hang on a bit longer. I don’t want to stop in a place like this.’

  Andrey was right – the next hundred kilometres were easy to drive: silent fields, snuggled under their snow covers, punctuated by thickets of hushed and motionless fir trees. There were hardly any villages; we saw one or two in the distance, but they were all far from the road. We didn’t meet anyone, not a soul, not a car. There was an even, untouched coat of snow on the road, and in spite of this we all knew that this wasn’t a sign of peace: it was the calm before the storm, as if the land itself was lying low, waiting in suspense for something to happen. There was simply no place we’d want to stop, and we kept putting it off until we absolutely had to.

  We were approaching Cherepovets. It was beginning to get dark, we needed to top up our fuel, have a snack and stretch our legs: it was becoming unbearable to sit without moving.

  ‘If the satnav’s right, the road is going to be livelier soon – there’ll be more villages and traffic,’ Andrey said. ‘Let’s stop here, there won’t be a better place.’

  The road was framed by the woods, but there was also a barely visible lay-by where people left their cars when they went mushroom-picking so as not to leave them at the roadside. If we were near Moscow there would be an old billboard with flaking paint saying LOOK AFTER YOUR FOREST or something, but there was nothing in its place here.

  ‘It’ll be good to get off the road,’ Boris said. He climbed out of the car and winced, stretching his aching back. ‘We’ll be here a while, and in half an hour it’ll be dark. We should get at least a metre further into the woods. I don’t want us to be on display near the side of the road.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said Lenny, slamming the Land Cruiser’s door. ‘Look how deep it is. What if we get stuck, who’ll pull us out? We can’t run to the nearby village for a tractor,’ he guffawed. He was about to walk towards the woods when Boris stopped him.

  ‘Wait! Somebody must stay near the cars. Hey you, age before beauty. You can wait. I’ll come and swap with you soon. And get the rifle, OK?’

  As soon as I stepped off the road and into what appeared to be firm snow, I fell through to my knees and was glad we hadn’t risked driving further in. I was desperate to be with Sergey, to talk to him, but our long drive had forced us to scatter across the woods. Never mind, I thought, we’ll top up the fuel, and then have a snack and I’ll have at least half an hour with him while he eats, and then we’ll get into a car, because it’s our turn, and when everyone falls asleep we’ll be able to talk again.

  ‘Boys, can’t you go a bit further away?’ I heard Natasha’s irritated voice somewhere near, but even in these clear, leafless woods I couldn’t see her easily. The branches were rustling somewhere nearby, and Ira was saying to Anton, ‘Wait, I’ll undo your coat, turn around.’ Looking back, I saw the road, the four big vehicles with their lights off and Lenny’s lone figure rummaging in the Land Cruiser’s open boot. I walked a bit further into the woods and all the sounds disappeared at once. Everything went quiet: Natasha’s grumbling, Ira’s gentle persuasions, the men’s voices. It was just me and the trees, motionless, touching their heads somewhere way up high, soft snow on the ground and dead silence. I suddenly felt I wanted to stay there a bit longer; I needed some time on my own. It was very cold. I pressed my cheek against the rough, frosty trunk of a tree and stood like this for a few minutes, without any thoughts,
watching my breath melting the ice on the hard bark of the tree.

  Then it was time to go back. I panicked for a second as I wasn’t sure which way to go, but looking down, I saw my own footprints and followed them back to the cars. First I saw Natasha’s red jacket, flashing in between the trees. She had also come out of the woods and was standing near Lenny, about ten steps away from the Land Cruiser. The boot was still open, and I saw two full plastic canisters which Lenny had unloaded and put onto the firm snow. But they weren’t alone: blocking their way to the car, right near the open boot, there were three men. One was in a dirty grey quilted jacket and the other two were in oversized sheepskins, and all three were wearing felt winter boots. I didn’t see a car anywhere nearby that might be theirs; they had presumably come on foot or walked out of the woods by the same lay-by that had made us decide to stop here.

  I stepped on a branch. It cracked, and they all turned to me. I had just had the thought that if I stepped back into the woods, they wouldn’t be able to see me in the twilight, but then I heard a voice somewhere on my right, saying amicably: ‘Greetings.’ I turned my head and saw a fourth man, wearing a huge fox-fur hat with long, fluffy ear flaps tied up at the top and a light brown open sheepskin coat with a yellowish collar. He had probably been standing near the trailer when I came out of the woods, and that’s why I hadn’t noticed him straight away. The newcomer came a bit closer and lifted his hat in a playful gesture. He smiled.

  ‘Greetings,’ he said again. ‘We were, like, walking past, and saw your friend over there.’ He started approaching me, pushing me back from the woods. I glanced at the Land Cruiser. Lenny must have the rifle, I thought, I need to get to him so I won’t be left alone with the fox-fur hat man when the shoot-out starts, where are all the others, why aren’t they coming out? Walking past our car, I noticed Mishka in the back seat. He had presumably come back earlier and, crouching behind the pile of bags, was anxiously watching the scene through the window. Our eyes met for a split second and I shook my head as discreetly as I could: Don’t come out. It was vital that the man in the fox-fur hat didn’t notice him, so I turned to him and smiled too.

  ‘Do you live here?’ I asked. I could barely move my lips because of the cold; it was a good excuse, because otherwise he would notice that they were trembling.

  ‘Eh? Yeah, we’re, like, from over there,’ he answered, and waved somewhere behind his back. There was something unusual about the way he spoke, but I couldn’t work out what exactly. We had nearly reached the Land Cruiser; I almost ran the last few metres, sinking into the deep snow. He’s probably just waiting for me to stand by his side, I thought, and then he’ll force the uninvited guests to go. I looked Lenny in the eye, he smiled feebly at me, and I saw it was bad news – he didn’t have a rifle in his hands.

  The rifle was still in the boot, on top of the bags; you wouldn’t see it if you didn’t know it was there. I recognised the scuffed leather strap and the faint silhouette of the dark wooden butt. It was just about two metres away, on the left of the boot, but it was impossible to approach it – we would have to push aside the other visitors milling about between us and the car. Unlike the man in the fur hat, they weren’t smiling; they shifted from foot to foot, grim, silent. Sergey and Andrey will come out of the woods any time, I thought, and then there will be an equal amount of men on both sides. I need to say something, I told myself, I need to buy time.

  Lenny looked lost and concerned at the same time. I smiled at him as widely as I could, thinking, come on, you idiot, talk to them, shake their hands before they decide to do something stupid and we can’t carry on pretending this is just an accidental encounter. They don’t know how many of us are here and that’s why they’re waiting too. Come on, say something! And as if hearing my thoughts, Lenny turned to the fox-fur hat man, maybe because he was the only one talking, and asked cheerfully:

  ‘So you’ve walked here, guys? Is your village far away?’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ answered Smiley, hoisting his hat back onto his head again. He had a handsome, perfectly shaped face, cheerful blue eyes and the tanned brick colour of people who drink a lot of alcohol and spend most of the time outdoors. ‘Why would we go by car? We walked on our own feet, it’s good.’ That’s how he said it – on our own feet – and then I realised what I found unusual about the way he spoke: his accent. He was exaggerating, almost singing his vowels, as if he was an actor playing a fairy-tale character.

  Branches cracked behind my back and I heard footsteps. I turned around and saw Sergey, hurrying from behind the trees. He looked worried, but when he came closer I saw him smiling.

  ‘Hi, guys,’ he said happily, as if he’d just met old friends. ‘How’s tricks?’

  ‘Well,’ Smiley said. He was still the only one talking. ‘I mean, we were, like, looking at your little cars. They’re nice cars, good ones, like. I mean, this one, like.’ He walked over to the defenceless Land Cruiser, its doors wide open, and stood near it, eyeing it, his hands in his pockets. The other three stepped aside, letting him pass. ‘It’s bi-ii-g, you can load a lot of stuff inside. Must be a thirsty one, eh?’

  Seizing the moment, Lenny took a few quick steps towards his car. ‘It is,’ he said, his voice sounding tense. ‘Quite a drinker, this one. Thank God it’s diesel.’ He stood close to the open boot, only needing to reach for the rifle. Lenny turned his head and made a slight, barely noticeable move forward, and Smiley followed his gaze and saw the rifle – both the butt and the dangling belt. He took his hands out of his pockets, grabbed Lenny by the shoulder with one hand, lightly turned him towards himself and quickly hit him hard in the side with the other hand. Lenny groaned, his knees giving way, and, grabbing the metal arm propping up the boot, landed heavily on the snow. Natasha screamed. Smiley moved two steps back, a knife glistening in his right hand; turning back, I saw two of his silent companions get a strong grip on Sergey, twisting his arms behind his back. The third one froze near Natasha, holding his hand over her mouth. About twenty steps behind them, in the lay-by, which was hardly visible in the growing dusk, somebody was running towards us – either Boris or Andrey, I couldn’t tell.

  ‘Wait!’ I called loudly, because it was crucial to say something to delay them, distract them, stop them looking towards the woods, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say, not a single word, so I simply repeated, ‘Wait!’ and looked at them, trying to catch the eye of each of these four poorly dressed men, trying to see at least a glimpse of doubt on their faces, a weakness that would help me find the right words and somehow stop what was going to happen next. Smiley stepped towards Sergey. They won’t make it, I thought frantically. And even if they did, he’d still hit Sergey with the knife, God, please, help us. ‘Just wait,’ I repeated desperately, and the door of our car, which stood behind the Land Cruiser, opened silently, a shadow flashed behind the attackers and I saw Mishka, very pale, standing about ten steps away so everyone could see him. He said loudly:

  ‘Mum!’

  Mishka, run, I wanted to shout, but my voice failed me. He couldn’t hear me, I thought, he’s going to come up here. I must have moved, because Smiley reached over and stopped me with an open palm.

  ‘Hey you, in the hat, let her go!’ Mishka’s voice sounded scared, almost childlike. He took one step towards us, and we all saw the hunting rifle in his hands which Boris had nestled behind the back seat. He ineptly racked the slide on it, and then, trying hard to press it against his left shoulder, pointed the heavy barrel, swaying it from side to side, at Smiley and said: ‘Leave her alone, now!’

  The person approaching us from the woods wasn’t running any more; from the corner of my eye I saw him slow down, stepping quietly. He had about ten more steps to go, but I still couldn’t see who it was. The others stood side-on to the woods and couldn’t see him either – their eyes were glued to Mishka. Smiley took his hand away and turned his head.

  ‘You’re not going to shoot at us, boy, are you?’ he said quietly, almost lovin
gly. ‘It’s a bit dark, what if you shoot your mummy?’

  I dropped down, I didn’t even think, just collapsed onto the snow, badly hurting my tailbone, and shouted, ‘Shoot, Mishka!’ while Smiley kept advancing towards Mishka, stretching his arms out to him, and then Mishka shut his eyes, lifted the barrel and fired the gun somewhere above everyone’s heads. A short flash came out of the heavy barrel and we felt snow and twigs falling on our heads. The shot was deafening, my ears went numb, and more than anything else I wanted to close my eyes and not to look, and to bury my face in the snow, but instead I looked up. Smiley wasn’t advancing any more; he stood with his hands up, obstructing my view.

  ‘Take a step back, Mishka,’ Boris said from somewhere on the right. ‘Don’t lower the barrel, it’s OK, don’t rack the slide, the gun’s self-loading!’

  ‘Oh, come on, lads,’ Smiley said. ‘That’s enough, we was just joking,’ he added, and started walking backwards, still facing Mishka. I crawled aside so as not to be stood on; he stopped only when he bumped into the Pajero, and then I finally saw Mishka. He was biting his lip, his eyes were round, and his hands were visibly shaking, but he was standing absolutely still, pointing the gun right at the person who froze next to me.

  ‘Enough, you say? I couldn’t agree more,’ said Boris, still invisible. ‘Just tell your friends to let everyone go and leave, as fast as they can. The lad’s only young and can get a bit twitchy, so mind he doesn’t pull the trigger by mistake and make a hole in you.’ He came out of the dark and stood next to Mishka; it looked as if he was going to put his arm around his shoulder. I was worried he’d do that and startle Mishka, who would jump and fire the gun. I guess Smiley thought the same, because I heard him noisily draw the air through his teeth and say in a choked voice:

  ‘OK, OK, we’re going, right?’ He started backing away, sliding on the muddy bumper of the Pajero, and the other three followed him. Letting Sergey go and without saying a word, they took a few steps back, turned around and ran towards the woods, sinking into the snow.