Andrea Bennett: Two Cousins of Azov

Her eyes, flat and black as a shark’s, were on the mannequin, silent and lifeless, still wearing its peasant shirt, splinters massed where its head had been. Her gaze slithered to him.

‘Idiot,’ she mouthed.

Sveta opened the windows and watched the smoke trickle away towards the stars.

‘There now!’ huffed Anatoly Borisovich in joyful tones, pleased to have guests on his homecoming. ‘We must have tea!’ He began to pick his way over broken pieces of serving hatch, heading for the kitchen. Gor took his arm and gently diverted him towards the sofa.

‘Let us sit, cousin. Have a little rest. It’s a long while since I have been here. It’s a long time since I saw you. I see you still have the sheepskin.’

‘Oh yes. My lovely things.’

‘And the easel.’

‘Yes, yes. And my treasure box.’

They sat side-by-side on lumpy cushions, arms entwined. Tolya leant his head on Gor’s shoulder as Sveta tidied up around them, unobtrusively sweeping yoghurt pots and broken glass from the floor.

‘The police and ambulance are on their way,’ she said in an undertone to Gor.

‘Cousin, cousin,’ murmured Tolya. ‘I’d given up hope! I thought you were dead! But here we are, and I am home.’

Gor patted his hand. ‘I’m sorry you had to wait so long. And I’m sorry I didn’t come before… on your birthday. I will explain everything, and I will make it up to you. I… I was confused. But things are clearer now.’

‘I know about confused, cousin. I know about confused. But I am so glad you are here, and little Olga too!’

Albina rolled her eyes and removed the shaman’s headdress, placing it on a dusty shelf.

‘Cousin, we must talk.’ Tolya pressed Gor’s arm with firm fingers.

‘Yes, we must, dear cousin, but maybe not now? There is no hurry. You must get those wounds looked at. Have a little rest. We will talk when you are mended.’

‘Mended? Ha! I just walked half the way from Azov! You think I’m infirm? I’m a tiger!’ Again the shaggy head lifted and Tolya grinned into his cousin’s face.

‘Of course! But I am not.’

‘No, you’re more of the night-time? Something winged?’

‘What do you mean?’ Gor frowned.

‘An owl, maybe?’

A smile warmed his eyes. ‘I see. But Tolya, even tigers and owls needs rest. These few weeks, for you and I… have taken a toll, I fear. Get your wounds looked at. Have a rest. We can talk any time.’

‘I wanted to call you, you know. I wanted to see you. I remembered, you see: Vlad helped me. But you never came, and he never came, and then I thought I’d better just get on, and come home.’

Gor’s eyes met Sveta’s over his cousin’s head.

‘Remembered?’ he asked, rumbling deep in his chest.

‘Everything!’

‘Everything?’ Gor’s eyes shone.

‘Everything!’ Tolya giggled. ‘We were nothing but boys: you, me and moth boy.’ Tolya nodded his head energetically. Gor’s right eye twitched. A siren wailed in the courtyard.

There were voices in the doorway, and Vlad stepped through, swallowing uncomfortably and looking around. He stood before the two old men on the sofa, one hand feeling the scabs forming on his nose, the other held out to Anatoly Borisovich. The old man clasped it.

‘You got home then, Anatoly Borisovich?’

‘I did! I did! And here we are. It’s so good to see you, Vlad. But, forgive me, why are you…?’

‘Polly.’

‘Polly?’

‘The dark-haired girl. Out there. The girl who—’

‘Ah! The scary girl? That was… your great love? Apart from BMW?’

Vlad’s cheeks burnt a dull red. ‘I think I got it wrong, about that.’

‘Oh? We live and learn, eh? Even doctors?’ Tolya winked, and then winced.

‘I hope so.’ Vlad nodded.

‘But listen Vlad, I must correct you!’

The young man narrowed his eyes. ‘About what?’

‘It’s been bothering me so! But you never came back, so I couldn’t tell you!’

‘I’m sorry. But—’

‘The case study, Vlad!’

‘What about it?’

The old man’s eyes grew wide. ‘The trigger – for everything coming back – my memories of the fire. Remember you wanted a trigger?’

Vlad nodded slowly.

‘I was wrong!’ Anatoly Borisovich grinned. ‘It wasn’t the tapping. It was never the tapping, you see?’

‘So – what was it?’

‘It was my dear cousin here. Or rather, his absence. He didn’t come, on my birthday. I waited and waited and, in the end, I decided he must be dead. It made me so afraid, so lost and afraid, and then… it all came back, in my fever here, ragged patches, like leaves in the wind!’

Vlad squeezed the hands that held his. ‘Don’t worry about it now, Anatoly Borisovich. I’ll come and see you next week, and we’ll get it all straightened out.’ Grey eyes met green. ‘And I’ll try to make it up to you.’

The old man patted his hand.

Vlad turned his head. ‘I want to apologise to you too, Mister Papasyan.’

‘Just go away.’ Gor folded his lips and looked towards the window.

The police arrived ten minutes later, scratching their heads over the scene of domestic chaos. Furniture lay broken and overturned on carpet tiles that were scorched and blackened, curling like dry scabs on the floor. Witnesses chattered incessantly, or silently stared into the depths of the yellow-brown ceiling as if star-gazing. The alleged criminal, who had at some point been handcuffed with knotted sheets by one of the witnesses, sat head-down in the corridor, black eyes burning, refusing to speak. She was guarded by a square orange woman eating vanilla sponge and drinking tea.

‘One more time, so I can get this straight,’ said the police officer. ‘You were all here because you believed the girl had been kidnapped?’

They nodded.

‘But not one of you called the police?’

They looked at their feet.

They shuffled into the hallway, heads bowed, to wish the police officers and paramedics a goodnight.

‘Of course, she was unbalanced,’ said Vlad, as he watched Polly being escorted along the corridor, hands cuffed behind her back. ‘I can see that now. Only interested in herself – no sense of shame, no conscience. She would make an interesting case study. I wonder if I should ask—?’

‘Just forget it!’ Valya snorted. ‘Get on with your life. Study hard. And get some cake down you!’

‘She’s always been the same! And to think, I used to take her into my confidence. All the intimate details I told her. I have medical conditions, you know. There was the time—’

‘Goodnight, cousin Tolya. Sleep well,’ said Gor. ‘We’ll be back in the morning, to start putting things right. No more pryaniki now, just sleep. Quiet, velvety sleep!’

Tolya nodded his goodnights, kissed his cousin’s cheek and shut the door.

Gor, Sveta and Albina took the little car home, back through the rolling fields and the stark little villages, the breeze-block shanties and the mud flats of the estuary. In silence, they drove through the outskirts of Azov, the car picked out by the fuzzy orange street lights, twinkling as it crossed the town, oblivious to the late-night drinkers and fussily dressed party-goers. They crossed the bridge spanning the deep blackness of the River Don, and rounded the block, heading back to the squat concrete building that Gor called home.

They closed the curtains and switched on the lamps. Gor sat before the piano, regarding it lovingly for a moment as he cracked his knuckles. He began to play, and he played as if his life depended on it, choosing music to enrich the soul, and music to soothe. Rachmaninov, Rimsky-Korsakov, Mussorgsky. He closed his eyes. Albina sat in his armchair, blanket around her shoulders and four fluffy white kittens in her lap. Her mama curled on the sofa, feet resting on Dasha. Pericles sat atop a pile of books balanced at the end of the baby-grand, and slowly-slowly blinked his sapphire eyes.