Andrea Bennett - Two Cousins of Azov

Fire! The word shivered down Gor’s spine and he backed away, removing himself from the noise and tumult. He found a corner, and before he knew what he was doing, he bent to a squat, hands clasped over his ears.

It was the way the fizz and crackle of the flames had been on the edge of his consciousness, almost there, almost tangible, as if they were just out of sight, just up the road, on the edge of the village, on the edge of the forest… but he could hear them, felt their heat, and saw their glow in the winter sky. The smoke was rising, the smell of it was in his nostrils.

‘Fire!’

He shook himself, blinked his huge, sad eyes and looked around into the darkness. This was no good. He needed order, and he needed the light on. He would have to take charge. He stumbled up from his safe place, and as he rose, collided with a lamp, the frill of the shade feathering his face like soft, flapping wings. He cried out and batted it away, his hand slapping a face. A hand lashed out in return, grabbing a clump of his hair. There was a scream and he felt something sharp digging into his forehead.

When Sveta turned the light on, a matter of seconds later, Gor discovered he had been wrestling Valya. At this close range, and with her orange hair disguised by the shadows, he saw, finally, that he knew her. Many years before, and as a brunette, she had been one of his most reliable and accurate bank clerks. How strange life was, and oddly comforting at times. ‘My dear Valentina Yegorovna!’ he said, voice shaking as he sat back on his knees. ‘Forgive me, if you are injured?’

He felt a pang of guilt as she remained heaped on the floor, crying and laughing at herself. She had broken a nail on his forehead, which was bleeding.

‘Be calm, everyone! There is no fire here!’ Sveta’s voice rang out from the doorway, where she panted. She steadied herself, and took in the situation, looking for the helpers, and the ones who needed help. ‘Vlad, Polly, please right the table – carefully, beware of Madame Zoya’s toes, I think she is still in a trance. Alla, please assist Madame Zoya, we must ensure the spirits have left her and that she is unhurt. Nastya, please help Gor and Valya to their feet, and apply a cold compress if necessary. Breathe, Valya, breathe, that’s it! She looks a little… Oh, really now, please stop crying! Anybody would think you were afraid. There is no need to be upset. We’ve just made a little mess here, that’s all. There’s no harm done. All will be well.’ Her tone warmed, as if she had been talking to Albina, and her tight smile was replaced by one that held genuine warmth. ‘I have to say, it was a very… energetic spirit—’

‘Energetic? It was evil!’ Polly’s words rang out loud as she stood at the head of the table, hands on hips.

‘—but I’m sure its intentions were good!’ Sveta countered. ‘There is nothing to fear!’

‘Nothing to fear? I’d say plenty to fear!’

Sveta’s brow furrowed. ‘Come now, everyone… help your neighbour, and take your seats quickly! Hush now!’

Polly and Vlad righted the remaining chairs as the other sitters collected themselves up and shook themselves off, some having a glass of water, and some wishing for something stronger. The broken candles were scooped up and put away, and the ruined tablecloth bundled into the bin. Valya squared her shoulders and wiped her nose, laughing a little at her own nervousness as Gor apologised to her again for their coming together. She nodded and smiled, looking down into the yellow spotted handkerchief he offered her. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad.

Zoya alone did not move, still seated in her place, staring at the opposite wall. Her chair had been knocked backwards and now rested, two legs on the floor and two legs in the air, against the rococo chest of drawers behind her. She reclined with a far-away look in her eyes, murmuring something, fingernails gently scratching at the purple material covering her thighs. Polly pushed Alla aside and flicked the chair back upright, catching Madame with her forearm as she slumped forward. Leaning over, she peered into her irises and tapped at her cheek with sharp, insistent strokes. ‘She’ll be with us shortly.’

‘You’re such a professional, Polly,’ muttered Alla.

‘Here, Madame, have a little sniff of smelling salts… that’s the way.’ Polly smiled.

The circle reconvened, the glassy-eyed sitters taking their seats, and a cold quiet descended over their heads. Down in the street a cat screeched. All eyes were on the table, and Gor shivered.

Etched into the shiny black wood in a large, childish scrawl, there was one word:

‘What else can I get for you, eh?’

‘Nothing, really. I am quite all right.’

Sveta poked her head into every recess in the kitchen, turning up a cheese rind, the end of Friday’s now exceedingly hard loaf of bread, and two gherkins. Gor ignored her and stood in the hallway, pressing the buttons on the telephone, once more trying the now-familiar number. The line clicked through with thumps and bumps, the telephone at the other end eventually buzzing, on and on. But still his cousin did not pick up. Where could he be? Out drawing, no doubt. But for three days running?

‘Gor, people who are quite all right don’t hide away in their apartments all weekend. You’ve nothing in the fridge! We can’t have you fading away. We’ve got magic to make, and rehearsals to hold and…’ She employed her sweetest cajoling tone, but Gor simply shuffled past her and folded himself into his armchair, immoveable as the war memorial glowering over Azov from the hilltop. Sveta persisted: she needed him to show some life, to react with some warmth. It would make her feel better. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair as if drilling holes.

‘Thank you for your concern, but all is well. I appreciate you… dropping by, but it’s not necessary.’

‘Well, Albina’s at karate club, so I just thought—’

‘And you don’t need to call me every morning either—’

‘But it’s no trouble at all!’ she cut in. ‘And I do feel responsible, for the fright you had—’

‘I did not have a fright.’

‘You did!’

‘I was alarmed by the other people, and the noise, and that stupid woman grabbing my head—’

‘Yes, Valya left you battered: what nails she has! I can still see the marks.’ She plunged forward to fuss over the scabs at Gor’s temple as he drew further back into his chair. ‘It wasn’t deliberate, I’m sure.’

‘Yes! No! Of course not! But that’s not the point!’

‘So, you’re not hiding away because—’

‘I’m not hiding!’

‘So, you’re not staying in, because you were scared?’

‘No! I needed time… to think!’

Sveta returned to the kitchen. ‘You must have some ham around the place?’

‘The séance was a trick, of course: nothing but a sham. Knocks and candles! Spirit writing! What rot!’

She poked her head around the door. ‘But you saw it yourself? No one could have forged the writing – there was no opportunity. And what about the smoking candles – supernatural, you must admit?’

Gor shook his head. ‘Sveta, you think that because it excites you: you lack logic!’

‘And you want to explain away everything, when sometimes it’s just not possible!’

‘Think about it!’ He pushed himself from his chair and began to pace the room. ‘The table was under a cloth – the writing was already there. It could have been done at any time. And the candles – that was some sort of powder, added before they were lit. I’ve been smelling smoke around here for days…’