Juliet Butler - The Less You Know the Sounder You Sleep

‘You’ll be seeing your Slavochka soon, and Olessinka, and Lyudinka,’ says Aunty Nadya, stroking my head. She’s still stroking me when I fall asleep.

When we land, we let everyone off first because there’s an ambulance coming to meet us, to drive us from Rostov-on-Don to Novocherkassk. The two women paramedics get on, to help us off, but when they see us walking down the aisle, holding the seats for support, they just back away. Further and further away, ’til they’re almost falling out of the plane door.

‘Come along, comrades, here are the girls,’ says Aunty Nadya crossly.

‘We’re not taking that,’ says one of them.

‘Whatever do you mean? Help them off immediately.’

‘ Nyetooshki .’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Why can you not take them?’

The two of them look at each other, then one says, ‘Well… for a start, it can walk, can’t it? Ambulances are for people who need to be stretchered. This is a waste of State time and money, that’s what it is.’ They’re getting angry themselves now. I’ve noticed when people are afraid, they do that. ‘If it can run down the aisle it can run to the bus station.’ And then they almost tumble backwards down the steps in their hurry to get away from us and back to the ambulance.

Aunty Nadya stamps her foot angrily, but there’s nothing she can do, so we walk out through the airport to the bus stop and she sits us on our suitcase on the pavement.

‘Oh, for goodness sake, comrades, get away from them, just get away! You’re like flies round a dustbin!’ She bats at all the usual crowds of stupid, gawping people who are pointing and calling us the same old names. Masha doesn’t say anything. What’s the point? We both cover our faces with our hands to keep off the flies. I wish it wasn’t so hot. I wish there was some shade.

We sit there, for what seems like all day but Aunty Nadya says it’s only been two hours, when our bus comes.

‘Here it is at last, girls, here’s the bus. Up you get. Hey, comrades! Comrades! Let us through, I have post-operational amputees, please show some common kindness. Comrades!’ But it’s no good; they’ve all pushed past us with their bags. By the time we get on, there’s only one seat left. We stand looking at this one little seat, and then around at the fat, sweaty, stinky passengers, who are staring at us but not getting up. They all want their seats.

After a bit, Aunty Nadya sits down with a puff, and pulls us on to her lap facing her. The man next to us is chain-smoking papirosas and has a cage of hens on his lap. We rest our heads on her shoulders and hold her through the bumpy, two-hour ride. It’s so hot I think I’m going to melt into a puddle. Masha’s sick into a plastic bag.

‘Right, girls, well done. Well done. Off we get.’ She helps us off and sits us on our suitcase again while she looks for a car to flag down.

There aren’t any at all on the streets. ‘Don’t worry,’ she says, wiping the sweat off her face. ‘Every car moonlights as a gypsy taxi, so we’ll be home in no time.’ She sounds cheerful, but she’s looking tired. ‘No time at all.’

Finally a red Zhiguli comes round the corner, and she stops it and bends down to talk to the driver. ‘I have post-operational amputees here,’ she says. He doesn’t even look at the two of us. Some people do and some people don’t. ‘We need to get to the School for Invalids on Red Decembrist Street.’

He spits on the ground. ‘Ten roubles.’

‘Ten! That’s ridiculous, it’s five minutes from here. That’s a day’s wages.’

‘I’m the one with the car.’ He spits again.

‘I only have five roubles left, comrade. Please take us for five. They’re very weak, and just learning to walk on crutches. It’s hot and we have luggage. Please, comrade. Please.’

He shrugs. ‘There’s a shortage of petrol. No one will take you for five. Let them walk.’ And he drives off.

‘Very well, girls. Very well,’ she says, straightening up. ‘Walking it is then. Pick up your crutches. Off we go. It won’t take long. Not long at all.’

The back streets are all uneven, with cobbles and potholes, and we haven’t gone twenty metres before the crowds come out of nowhere. She’s right, they’re like flies lured by the stench of rotting food. Aunty Nadya’s struggling along with our suitcases, and there are dozens of men behind us, and no one offers to take her bags, and we’re trying to balance with the crutches so as not to fall flat on our faces in front of them all. And it’s still so hot. I keep thinking of Olessya and how I’ve got to be extraordinary and telling myself that I’m walking to Slava. Back to Slava. I won’t cry, I won’t. Some of the kids start throwing stones at us.

‘Remember your dignity, girls,’ hisses Aunty Nadya. I think she’s afraid Masha’s going to start throwing stones back, but she’s too tired to do anything. ‘Remember your dignity.’

‘Right, you, no stuttering. They’ll think we’re gibbering idiots if you stutter. Got it?’

I nod. Me and Masha are waiting in the anteroom to the Room of Relaxation, where the panel of the Medical Commission is sitting. Masha keeps fiddling with the button on her trousers.

‘But can’t you answer their questions, Mash? Just this time? In case I do stutter?’

‘In c-case you st-stutter? You’re doing it now! Listen to yourself!’ She slaps me on the cheek. ‘No, I can’t fucking well answer all their questions, you’re supposed to be the clever one. They’ll ask us algebra and history, and all sorts of trick questions too.’ I nod again. I wasn’t stuttering. She’s lying. I only stutter when I’m with someone. ‘And about what we want to do, and stuff like that, so you’d better say you want to be a doctor or something.’ I nod again. ‘And don’t stutter!’

The door opens and we’re invited in. We get up and tuck our crutches under one arm each. The three of them are sitting behind a long wooden table right at the end of the room, so we have to walk right up to them. They watch us approaching, then they look down at their papers and start writing.

‘G-good m-morning,’ I say after a bit, thinking I should be polite.

‘You may go,’ says the one in the middle, still writing. Go? I don’t understand. Neither does Masha. Go where? The woman looks up then. ‘I said you may go. Do you not understand plain Russian?’

We turn around then and walk right on out.

‘How come you all got asked questions and we didn’t? How come?’ Masha’s staring at Olessya and Little Lyuda, like they’re in some sort of conspiracy against us. We’re all sitting on our bed that evening. After the Commission.

‘I don’t know, Mashinka,’ says Little Lyuda. ‘They asked Sunny Nina questions too and Big Boris, and all the boys. I don’t know, I really don’t. But maybe it’s a good thing. Right?’

I don’t think it’s a good thing at all, but I don’t say anything.

‘Anyway,’ says Olessya slowly. She looks a bit sad. ‘Anyway, I’ve got an exam tomorrow. I’ve got to get top marks, so I’d better do some studying.’

‘We’ve got an exam in algebra tomorrow too,’ says Masha. ‘Can you help me, Lyudochka? Help explain to your little Mashinka the rules of algebra again? My scarecrow here doesn’t explain it like you do. Pleeeeze?’

‘Yes, of course I can,’ she says, smiling. ‘We can do it now if you like. All together.’ Little Lyuda is so healthy. And Slava hasn’t even been talking to Anyootka. He’s been with me all the time. He touches me, just a little touch, whenever he can. And he looks at me with his deep dark eyes. Everything’s going to be all right.