Andrea Bennett - Two Cousins of Azov

Gor shook his head. ‘I’ve found nothing. Only this – a funny smell. Can you identify it?’ He raised the cloth with an outstretched hand. She took a doubtful sniff, frowned, and pressed it closer to her nose.

‘That’s Zelenka. What of it?’

‘Of course! That’s it!’ He clicked his fingers, and shook his head. ‘I don’t have it in the house.’ Their eyes met. ‘And I’ve smelled that smell just recently. I can’t put my finger on it—’

‘Well, think Gor!’ Sveta’s eyes bulged. ‘It might be important!’

‘I’m trying!’ He screwed up his face in concentration. ‘It was a vague smell… akh, maybe if I sit. My mind is so fuddled, I hardly know what day it is.’

He sat heavily on a stool, the cloth still clutched in his hands, sad eyes dim. ‘Where can she be? She promised… promised to be good. She wouldn’t go anywhere, when she knew you were coming home.’

‘She would not. She’s a good girl.’

‘Yes. She is a good girl.’

‘Someone was here…’

‘Yes.’

‘A friend?’

‘Sveta, you know me better than that.’ He frowned.

‘I don’t like it.’

‘Me neither.’

‘What shall we do?’

‘I don’t know.’

The telephone bleeped from the hall. He opened an eye and observed it from where he sat.

‘Answer it, man!’

‘But what if—’

‘You’re not scared, are you?’ Sveta’s eyes glowed as still he sat.

‘No. I’m not scared. I will answer.’ He pushed himself up from the stool and hastened for the receiver.

‘Papasyan!’ he barked.

‘You’re back! I’m so glad!’

‘Albina! Thank God!’

His legs buckled beneath him and he sat down with a thump. Albina’s voice was loud, lisping, full of life, and only a little wobbly. He waved his arm wildly to Sveta, beckoning her to the phone. Their heads bent together as they listened. ‘Where are you, child?’

‘I’m in a flat, it’s smelly, and I think it’s in Rostov. That’s what she said, anyway. And I’ve got some Danish yoghurt! Raspberry flavour—’

‘Wait—’

‘Mama’s here, malysh !’ Sveta’s voice broke over Gor.

‘Oh Mama! I’m glad to hear you!’

‘Who is this “she”, baby-kins? Who are you with?’

‘Oh, it’s such good news! Gor, are you listening? You’ll never guess: it’s Olga! Yes, your long-lost Olga!’

‘Olga?’ Gor cried. ‘My Olga? But that’s not possible! I don’t understand!’

‘She came to the flat while you were out! I guessed it was her – I just knew! She is tall and dark, just like you! I made her a cup of tea and scalded my hand and everything, but then she said we had to leave for a family reunion. We’re here now, and you’re not. Why aren’t you here?’

‘Where is here, malysh ?’ Sveta’s face was white, but at least she could form words. Gor sat with the kitchen cloth still pressed to his lips, eyes haunted.

‘I told you: Rostov. She told me to phone you. I miss you. Why aren’t you here?’

‘Let me speak to this Olga!’ said Sveta heartily. ‘What does she think she’s playing at—’

‘Oh, no, Mama, she doesn’t want to speak to you. She only wants to speak to Gor—’

There was a clunk as the receiver was grabbed, and they heard Albina being shooed away.

‘Papasyan?’ came a rasping, whispered voice at the other end.

‘It is I. To whom am I speaking?’

‘Don’t ask. Just listen. I have the girl. If you want her back, give me your gold.’

‘My what?’

‘Gold, miser! Your gold!’

‘Akh, what lunacy is this? I have no gold! You are no Olga!’

‘You lie! I don’t know where you’ve hidden it, but I know you have it! I need it! Time is running out, Papasyan!’

As Gor listened, he closed his eyes and buried his nose in the kitchen cloth still held in his hand. A face materialised in his mind’s eye, lashed with rain, a face with dark eyes, and a twist of ruthlessness. And he smelled a smell, medicinal and sharp, carried by the wind.

‘Oh no! It can’t be! Why would she…?’ He dropped the cloth as his hand flew to his mouth. ‘I thought she was… a good girl.’

‘Gor?’ Sveta’s cheeks wobbled. He put his hand over the receiver.

‘I… you won’t believe this… The smell, yesterday – the Zelenka – it was Polly!’

‘What? Vlad’s girl?’

‘Papasyan!’ the voice in the telephone crackled. ‘Are you listening?’

Sveta’s blue eyes shivered with recognition. ‘It could be!’

Gor did not hold back. ‘Is that you, Polly?’

There was a roar of sound, animal and wild.

‘It is, isn’t it? I am… I am astounded! Why have you taken Albina? What is the meaning of this?’

The line crackled with static, but no words.

‘Polly?’ Sveta broke in. ‘How could you? You’ve taken Albina… for what? Gor has nothing, you wicked, wicked child!’

‘Shut up!’ shrieked the voice.

‘What’s going on?’ Gor growled. ‘What are you playing at? Is someone… is someone controlling you? Is that it? Is it Vlad?’

‘That idiot?’ The voice cracked with indignation. ‘I did this all myself! And it’s very simple – give me your gold, and you get the girl!’

‘But I have no gold!’ rattled Gor into the mouthpiece. ‘I’m no better off than you!’

‘Oh, of course not! That’s why the whole town knows about you! You moved it to spite me, didn’t you? You hate me, just like the rest! But I won’t be beaten! You better go and dig it up. Bag it up: everything you’ve got!’ Her voice dropped to a snarl. ‘If you won’t pay for her, I won’t wait: I’ll find someone who will.’

‘Oh!’ cried Sveta and bit on her knuckle.

‘Get the gold. I’ll phone at six with instructions. And don’t even think about the police: I’ll know – I have connections!’

There was a click and a hum as the line went dead. Sveta and Gor stared at each other.

‘The girl is… quite mad!’ said Sveta.

‘I thought… I thought she was a good girl.’ He hunched forward and pulled on his beard. ‘I saw her yesterday, at the Vim…’

‘A good girl?’ Sveta raised an eyebrow. ‘We know nothing about her, Gor.’

‘She was visiting a relative.’

‘What rot! Visiting Vlad more like!’

Gor staggered back to the kitchen and folded himself onto a stool. ‘She reminded me of Olga.’ He rubbed a shaking hand over his eyes. ‘Oh, this is all too much. I can’t take it in.’

Sveta placed a mug on the table before him. ‘Drink the sweet tea, Gor, drink it quickly. It will revive you. I need you revived.’ She began to pace. ‘We need to think. Where do we start?’

He looked away, towards the window and the pale sunlight brushing the tree tops in the courtyard. He remembered the hateful note at the Palace of Youth, left crumpled on his chair. He remembered walking in the market, feeling watched, and being shoved. He took the mug and slurped at the tea. The recollections bloomed like mushrooms in his brain, gaining form and clarity. On both those occasions, he realised, Polly had been present. That was why she was familiar. He shut his eyes. Going back further, back to August, maybe early September… he remembered a visit to Pharmacy No. 2, to collect something to help him sleep. The girl had been very helpful, asked questions about daily routine, support at home, friends and neighbours. He scratched the back of his head. ‘Maybe that was it, Sveta – all along?’

‘What was it?’

‘You know, the occurrences… the letters, the rabbit, the calls. The tapping. Maybe it was… her?’ He stood suddenly.

‘Be calm, Gor.’ Sveta took his hands and held them firmly. ‘Tell me more.’