Michael Bunker - WICK

“Dull, dull Vasily. Don’t be such an alarmist! We don’t need conspiracy theories when we have an enemy closer to hand. We’ll deal with them first, and then everything will get back to normal.” And one by one they had closed the door on him and gone back to bed until morning. As Volkhov had often said, “anything that one does not want to believe can easily be dismissed as a conspiracy theory.”

Vasily had become desperate. He’d decided within himself that he would not give up until he found at least one other person to come along with him. He had to do it. There was that conviction, that destiny, again. He had to do it if only to restore his faith in the power of reason. He was sensing that the world had gone mad, and he was growing angrier in response to that madness surrounding him. “How can they not see this?” he wondered. “How can they not understand that Mikail will kill them all before he is done?” And then, he thought, if Mikail does not do it, then time and the crushing weight of facts will finish them off in due time. This is the way it always is—one might choose to live in delusion, but reality is stubbornly persistent, and will assert itself at the most inopportune times.

After all of that, he now walked up the hill to Alyoshka’s house in the hopes that, at long last, he might find a reasonable man.

As he approached the house, he heard a voice behind him. “Why so grave, mate?” Vasily stopped in the street and turned around to find Kolya walking a few feet behind along the darkened path. “Don’t worry,” Kolya said, “it’s only me, your most holy digging friend. And, I might add, that it was very unfriendly of you to leave me to bury that old man by myself. When we returned to the site, everyone else had a partner but poor Kolya. He had to do all the work himself.”

Vasily hesitated, not knowing what to say. So he said what one always does in such cases. “I’m sorry, Kolya. I didn’t mean to. It was beyond my control.”

“That’s ok. I figured as much. When I saw that bulldog pull you to the side, I figured you would not have an easy time of it. In fact, I halfway expected we’d have to dig another hole when we returned from our little adventure with Vladimir.”

“Yes,” Vasily said, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “What was that about, anyway?”

“Oh, just some punk kids fighting over something the grandfathers of their grandfathers once said. Shockingly inconsiderate the ancestors of our ancestors were, leaving us with so much unfinished business. You may not have heard, but our little town is headed for a civil war.”

Vasily relaxed. Something in Kolya’s jovial indifference made him feel that he was safe talking to him. He laughed a little to himself. If the man were not indifferent, I wouldn’t trust him. In a land seething with dialectically opposed agendas, the safest man turns out to be the man without one.

“Yes, I’ve heard. In fact, I am trying to get people to opt out.”

“What do you mean? Not fight? But how can they avoid such a fight when the grandfathers of their grandfathers once said thus and so?” Kolya took off his glasses and winked at Vasily. “But, seriously. What do you mean?”

“I have a way out. I mean literally, an escape route. I am leaving today with a friend, and I’m trying to persuade people to follow… a thankless and fruitless task. Perhaps it’s the hour, or maybe I’m not as persuasive as I would like to be, but so far I have been thoroughly unconvincing.”

Kolya cocked his head to look at Vasily in that way one does to see if someone is pulling his leg. “You say ‘literally’ and, unhappily that word is often used today when ‘figuratively’ is actually intended. An escape route? Do you mean to say that you have a real live escape route, one that leads outside of these fences? Or… are you being metaphorical? I don’t see you as a politician, Vasily, or at least not as a very good one. I may be the only one in this town that likes you.”

Vasily smiled. “That is not only what I mean to say. It is what I am saying,” he replied, then watched as the young man straightened his head and carefully cleaned his glasses and then slowly put them back onto his face. He smiled through his rounded features, and Vasily suddenly became aware of him rubbing the blisters on his hands. He dropped his hand to his side.

The world spun on as sleepers slept in their beds, but in the street in front of Alyoshka’s house, there was suddenly an undeniable awareness by two men who in that singular moment were fully awake. Vasily had found his twin, his brother at arms. Kolya looked down and glanced at the earth still caked to his boots and shook it off, sending its tiny granules shushing across the lane’s hard-packed snow.

“Can I bring my sister?”

The spark of the match punctuated the still black night, and a flame shot up and along the stick and illuminated Pyotr’s fingers as he placed the tip of the flame against the wick of the candle. He opened the door and breathed a sigh of relief as he quickly ushered Vasily into the hallway and then closed the door and the curtains behind them.

“I had almost decided you were dead.”

“I might still be,” Vasily said. “But it seems that at the moment we’re free to go about our business.”

“Good, and what did you find out?”

“The town is in turmoil. It’s madness. We may have a civil war on our hands when we wake up to have our breakfast. People are choosing up sides.” Vasily exhaled deeply and shook his head at the waste and futility of it all.

“Four guards were executed and… your uncle… ” Vasily caught himself. There was no need to relay such news without compassion. “I’m sorry, Pyotr. He’s dead. It’s sure now. I just left off talking to the man who helped me dig his grave.”

“Wait, they had you digging graves?” Pyotr asked, narrowing his eyes and leaning his head to one side.

“Yes,” Vasily nodded, “Mikail is out of control, and Vladimir may even be worse. They’re now the little Lenin and Stalin of Warwick. They commandeered a group of us and made us bury the murdered men. They threatened my life several times. It’s just entirely unsafe to stay around here much longer.”

Vasily rubbed his hands together to warm them, and in doing so he recalled the weight of the shovel and the full night knocking on doors. “I’ve spent the last several hours trying to find someone, anyone, to come along with us,” he stopped, shaking his head. “The young man who lives on Gagarin Avenue named Kolya is the only one who agreed. He and his sister, Natasha, are going to come over at dawn and help us pack so we can leave.”

“Fine. Best to travel with a small group anyway, and we’ll have work to do before we can set out. Did anyone ask about me?”

“No, not yet. They did wonder about the backpack, and I’m certain they’ll eventually figure out where I’m staying since I didn’t sleep overnight in the gym. They know that you’re Lev’s nephew, or at least they should, and they just haven’t thought about it all yet. It’ll all come together for them at some point. I also visited enough houses since I left to fill a small phone book so, while I didn’t mention any specific names, it’s only a matter of time, as you said, before we’re found out.” Vasily exhaled deeply, looking at Pyotr to see how he was receiving the news. Pyotr looked back, calmly, and did not interrupt.

“Everyone I told was disinterested in our plans, Pyotr. They didn’t care to leave. They all prefer to join this senseless conflict that’s in the air…” Vasily dropped his hands, as if in defeat, “…rather than take a moment—just a moment—to face the bare facts of their unsustainable existence. Still, I talked to a lot of people on both sides, and once those people begin to talk to one another, our plan will become public knowledge.”