Andrea Bennett: Two Cousins of Azov

The flat was cosy, redecorated in reds and greens to remind Tolya of forests, berries and sunsets. New carpet tiles creaked on the floor and the comforting smell of old clothes and cooking fat now included a top note of fresh varnish and virgin plastic. Gor’s gift – a small tinsel New Year tree like his own, stood on the shelf in the corner, glinting merrily.

‘And how is it here, Tolya?’ Gor’s eyes swept the room, ‘All peaceful?’ He took in the papers on the easel, the open books scattered like giant butterflies across the shelves, seats and floor.

‘Calm, Gor. So calm. I have been drawing. You see? And reading. So much to do.’ He rustled through soft pages stacked on a corner of the desk, picking out a few pastels for Gor’s perusal. Swirling patterns in greys, greens and blues were studded with silver-gold stars.

‘I can almost feel the breeze.’ Gor smiled. ‘And smell the pine cones.’

‘They are my joy.’ Tolya nodded. His green eyes looked sharply into Gor’s pale face. ‘Something is wrong, cousin? You look… frayed. Be careful you don’t snap! Let me fetch cocoa. Maybe cocoa will bring some colour to those cheeks? And you can tell me all.’

‘I’ll do it, Tolya. You rest. And when was the last time you saw colour in my cheeks, eh? All is well, don’t fret.’

Gor slid open the door to the tiny kitchen and busied himself with milk, a pan, the gas.

‘There is some cake, if you are willing? That lovely lady – the orange one with the bulldog’s face—’

‘Valya?’

‘Yes, Valya bakes me one every other day. Vlad brings them himself. Last time it was fruit cake. Today – walnut. They have both been very kind.’

‘Ah, good doctor Vlad!’ Gor squeaked the hatch open and bent to stick his face through. ‘You know, the police have pressed no charges against him? In fact, he is now almost a local celebrity, it seems. Modelling for Madame Zoya.’

‘Ah, I know. It’s lovely; he should feed his artistic side.’

‘It doesn’t anger you? It angers me!’

‘He is young, but he’s not bad. It takes time, sometimes, for the goodness in people to get the upper hand, don’t you think? I enjoy talking to him. And he listens to me.’

‘If you say so. Here! Na zdarovie! ’ Gor sat beside him on the sofa and carefully handed him the cocoa and a slice of cake.

‘We’ve been discussing his case study…’ Tolya stopped, a sad smile stilling his lips.

‘And?’

‘It has been revised. He had a long talk with Dr Spatchkin and… it appears… well, they think I may have… dementia.’ Questioning green eyes turned to Gor. He scowled in response and slammed his piece of cake onto the table.

‘What rot! Absolute rot!’ He ran a hand over his goatee. ‘You’re just a little confused, cousin. It happens to all of us as we get older!’

Tolya examined his slice of cake.

‘Maybe you’re right. We are all confused, to a greater or lesser degree. But it doesn’t worry me, you know.’

Gor shot him a sideways look. ‘Good!’

Tolya raised the plate to his chin and sprinkled chopped walnuts onto his extended tongue. ‘Mmm, that is delicious.’ He chewed. ‘If only I had learnt to make cakes!’

‘You wouldn’t fit through the door, dear cousin, if baking were a skill of yours.’ Gor’s eyes glinted as Tolya snuffled with laughter. He stared into his cocoa. ‘But Tolya, you know… whatever happens…’ He looked up. ‘I will take care of you. This dementia, if that’s what it is; it changes nothing. We will be strong – together.’

Tolya nodded and wiggled his toes in time with Rachmaninov seeping from the radio on the wall.

As they sat, arm in arm, a large brown moth drew circles around the light fitting, fluttering a shadow onto the new brown carpet tiles below. It reminded Gor of childhood, of Albina, and of duty. He took a deep breath.

‘I have something… there is something I must tell you, Tolya. It’s been bothering me, and now is the time. It’s been in the back of my mind forever, but… until recently, I thought it was a dream. I thought it wasn’t real.’ Gor hesitated and Tolya looked up, still happily chewing. ‘But it was. When I thought… when I thought I’d lost you, it came to me forcefully, with clarity. And then when Albina…’ Tolya issued a quiet burp. Gor plunged on. ‘I finally saw it for what it was. I don’t want to upset you, but it must be told.’

‘My dear Gor!’ Tolya smiled broadly, eyes sparkling, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘Speak, speak and get it out! Don’t suffer!’

Gor licked his lips.

‘I know you have remembered that night… at your baba’s? And it is good, in a way, that you can… face it. But, I wondered, have you remembered… how you woke?’

‘Yes Gor. It came back when I was ill.’

‘On your birthday?’ Gor’s face was drawn.

‘Stop feeling it, Gor. I have. You explained what happened. We each have our own worries…’ He squeezed his cousin’s hand. ‘It was a jumble. Telling the story… it’s always the story, isn’t it? Life is full of stories. Family is a story. Friends are a story. It was all in the story… and telling it to Vlad got it straight. I remember…’

‘Yes?’

‘Waking in my bed, in the dead of night. The smell, the taste of the smoke… fire everywhere, eating up the cottage.’ He thrust more cake into his mouth.

Gor frowned. ‘No, Tolya. Don’t you remember… tapping on the windows? Being afraid?’

‘Tapping?’ The old man’s face hung empty. ‘No. There was no tapping.’

‘You must have been frightened, by the tapping—’

‘No, Gor! You are mistaken. No tapping woke me. I woke because of the roar, the smoke. The fire woke me.’

Gor’s face remained stern. His gaze fell to the floor.

‘You are not remembering correctly. I must go on. That night, Tolya, I visited your cottage. For a dare.’ Gor’s voice cracked.

Tolya’s eyebrows rose a fraction, his tongue stilled, but his round face remained calm.

‘Why?’

‘To prove myself… to the boys at school: you remember, the big boys? They teased us, used to follow us home from school.’

Tolya nodded.

‘They told me… they said if I went at midnight, and tapped on your window, they would let me be one of their gang. So I did it. I tapped on your window in the middle of the night! It was me who scared you!’

‘No, no cousin.’

‘I made you drop the lamp! It was… it was me who killed Baba!’

The great black eyes filled with unshed tears. Tolya shook his head and leant forward, his hand on Gor’s. They sat nose to nose.

‘You have it wrong, cousin, you have it wrong. Did you see me, when you came?’

‘It makes no odds—’

‘But did you see me?’ The green eyes shone.

‘No! All was dark. I tapped, and tapped again, and ran away back home like a scared dog. I ran back home and bundled into bed, shaking with it; shame and pride and fear. I was just dropping into sleep, dreaming about school, when… when the alarm came. It was me!’

‘Ah, cousin. You still don’t understand. Don’t cry!’ Tolya stroked his bowed head. ‘There’s no need. It wasn’t you. Really.’ Gor raised his eyes. ‘And it wasn’t me.’

‘But—’

‘It was Yuri, the moth boy, my poor, poor friend. It was an accident! He always loved the lamp. But he wasn’t careful – he just wanted the flame. He dropped it. Baba let him stay, it was so cold. But she fell asleep with the lamp still lit. She fell asleep…’

Gor took his cousin’s head in his hands and looked deep into his eyes. ‘Tolya, you don’t understand. That is your imagination. This Yuri was not real; moth boy was not real! We told you about him! We made you believe the story, but he wasn’t there! You imagined those memories: you blamed him, but you must blame me!’