Stephan Collishaw - Amber

Kolya stared down into the darkness, pale faced, hair plastered to his forehead with perspiration, trembling violently from the exertion.

‘The bastard deserved it,’ I said, laying my hand on Kolya’s sleeve. ‘If anyone ever deserved it that evil bastard did.’

Kolya nodded slowly, his eyes not leaving the coat as it slipped away into the darkness. Kneeling down, I took the bracelet from the metal box. I fingered the large amber sphere, took in the glorious inclusions. It was for this Zena died, I thought. For this she had been sold. I felt a huge wave of sorrow wash over me. Its waters encircled me, foaming around my ears. The heavy suck of its withdrawal pulled me with it. A dark clenched fist held my gut tightly in its grip.

The amber seemed to be unusually warm◦– my palm tingled, and when I ran it across the back of my hand the hairs rose. Vassily’s words came back to me with startling clarity. I pictured him before me, sloped forwards in the armchair, the pained, weary expression on his face. You will not hate me, when you hear the story, tovarich◦– comrade, you will forgive your friend? I looked down at the bracelet.

I must be holding a fortune in my hand, I thought then. My mind spun dizzily for a few moments. The inclusions were beautiful. I had never seen such good examples. The amber was large and clear, shining even in the light of the street lamps with brilliant warmth. The metal was heavy, ornate, gold lace. Sometimes , Vassily had said once, and I tried to remember when, sometimes great beauty is a terrible thing .

As my fingers tightened around the bracelet, I felt my thoughts twisting, spiralling away from me. I glanced up at Kolya, who had turned from the railing and was looking at the jewel in my hand. There was a hungry look in his eyes. He moved towards me, his thin hand reaching out. I stepped back.

‘Wait,’ I said.

A look of surprise crinkled Kolya’s forehead, followed swiftly by annoyance.

‘What?’ he said.

My mind tried to struggle towards some sort of revelation which I felt shivering in the darkness, just eluding me.

‘Did Vassily ever tell you the story about Freyja?’ I asked. ‘About the Amir Timor?’

Kolya held out his hand. He shuffled forwards, grasping for the bracelet. I took another step back and found my spine pressed up against the railings. The sky had begun, barely perceptibly, to lighten. The thick darkness was dissolving and the flowing water was faintly visible. I held out my hand, suspended the bracelet over the drop.

‘No!’ Kolya called frantically.

I opened my fingers and released the bracelet. It clung to my flesh, a sharp sliver of gold ornamentation snagging on my skin. Kolya jolted against me as he tried to grab it. The sudden jerk released the bracelet and it fell smoothly through the blue air, breaking the surface of the river with barely a splash, disappearing immediately, swallowed up in the darkness.

A thin howl escaped Kolya’s pale lips. He hung over the edge of the railings, eyes desperately searching the water, vainly hoping it might reappear.

‘It’s over, Kolya,’ I said.

I felt a weight lifting from me. Kolya turned, a look of absolute fury twisting his features. He hurried away, breaking into a shambling run. Dropping from the end of the bridge, he slithered down the muddy river bank to the water’s edge. I stood watching him as he rushed up and down the bank, wading knee deep in the fast-flowing water, his arms reaching out to its depths, his low moan carried up to me through the cool air of the gathering dawn.

Passing the glittering domes of the Russian Orthodox church under a dawn-flushed sky, I crossed Zverynas Bridge on to Gedimino. An elderly man swept the wide cobbled street, working his way slowly and steadily into the centre of the Old Town. A flock of pigeons broke from the square by the parliament buildings as I passed, rising up into the sharp, clear air, bursting into flame as the first rays of sun touched them.

That was what it was all about , Kirov had said, that was what he sold her for .

I shook my head, ran a hand through my hair. I pictured Vassily as I had last seen him, the night before he died, frail and thin, his beard hanging limply on the blanket.

When they explained how he could pay for the bracelet, he agreed straight off.

His chest had risen and fallen in a steady, slow rhythm. His hands, punctured by drips, lay by his side on the sheet. I had taken his fingers between my own, felt the hard calloused flesh, the faint, warm pulse.

You should have seen his eyes, you would perhaps have understood then. There was madness in them. He had to have the bracelet.

Before I left, I had bent to kiss him, and smelt then the stench of approaching death above the smothering scent of disinfectant. Had it been for nothing, then, those years of friendship, that companionship which had kept me alive? Had it all been a deception? He had been my brother, my friend. He had taught me to live again.

You have a right to know , Kirov had said.

The street cleaner looked up as I passed, resting on his broom. He watched me, unabashed. A truck stopped outside a bar. The driver jumped from the cab, whistling. He rolled up the canvas sides, revealing barrels of Danish beer.

You have a right to know.

My mind skittered over the years, skipping like a stone across water, touching and moving on. Zena. The kishlak . Ghazis. Vassily patiently showing me how to clip the amber on to the lathe. ‘There is something you need to know,’ Vassily had said, ‘something I should have told you many years ago, but didn’t. Should have, but couldn’t.’

Lukiskiu Square was quiet. The rising sun lit up the spire of the church behind it. Far down Gedimino, the cathedral sparkled brilliantly. A police car was drawn up at the side of the road. Inside a policeman was sleeping, his green cap pulled low over his forehead, his window half open. An elderly woman opened a window in one of the apartment blocks on February 16th and shook out a sheet.

You must not hate me.

An aching sense of loss gripped me◦– scraped the flesh from my heart with its fingernails. I paused on the pavement, gazed up into the sky, dizzy, as if I were standing on the edge of a precipice. The loss of his friendship. The loss of his love. The loss of his presence in my life. The loss of our lives, which he had bound together by the strength of his presence, of all that we had enjoyed, Daiva, Tanya, Vassily and myself. That life was gone now and would never be again.

I found myself crying, then, for the loss of him, as I stood at the edge of the pavement unable to cross the street. Tears slipped down my cheek. My chest rose as I gulped for breath.

‘Antanas!’ Tanya cried, as she opened the door of her apartment. She was sleep-ruffled, wearing one of Vassily’s large old shirts, her hair tied back with a ribbon. ‘Where have you been?’ she demanded, taking my arm and leading me into the apartment.

‘It’s a long story.’ I sighed, feeling suddenly very weary.

‘Come and sit down,’ she said. I followed her through to the sitting room and collapsed on the sofa.

‘You look terrible,’ she said, kneeling beside me.

‘Kolya shot Kirov,’ I told her.

Her eyes widened and her hand went up to her lips. I shook my head. Already the events of the previous few hours had begun to recede and an air of unreality clung to them, as if I were waking slowly from a nightmare.

‘And Kolya?’ Tanya said. ‘What happened? Did Kolya tell you what Vassily wanted you to know? What was it all about?’

I paused before I answered. As I looked at her, it struck me with renewed force how much she resembled Zena. The short dark hair. The colour of her eyes. The animated passion in her movements. I nodded slowly.