Liza Alexandrova-Zorina - The Little Man

In the afternoon, she took a random route across town to the forest and, turning to watch her go, the townspeople exchanged animated whispers.

«Where's she off to? She's going like crazy!»

«Maybe they've found Savage?»

The final houses parted before her and the forest swallowed her up, its trees closing behind her. Sobbing aloud, the woman simply ran around calling with all her strength:

«Savely! Savage! They've taken our daughter! They're going to kill her!»

Only now did she realize how much her husband's surname, the one she used to make fun of, actually suited him!

«Savely! Damn you!»

Falling in the damp moss she howled like a factory siren, clawing at her face in her grief, and when she came to and looked round, she realized she was lost in the forest and didn't know which way to go. The trees crowded round, aiming their branches like guns, and she gazed around in fear. Damp rose from the swamps. She was frozen through and had begun to shake with the cold, standing there in just one shoe, unable to remember where she'd lost the other one. She was holding the keys to her flat, which seemed like useless bits of metal now, and her mud-spattered coat was in shreds. She was scared of having to spend days, weeks, months wandering around out here and rushed off blindly, calling for help. Suddenly, she imagined coming across Savage and each picture of their unlooked-for encounter was more terrifying than the last.

A dog barked in the trees and the hunters, returning from the taiga, appeared. They gave the hysterical woman a swig of alcohol from a flask then wrapped her feet in coarse cloth, bound with string, and took her into town, telling her they'd been searching for the notorious murderer Savely Savage who had vanished into thin air.

«He won't last long in the forest,» said the hunters, shaking their heads. «It will be so cold at the end of August that he'll either drop dead or hand himself in.»

Taking their leave of the woman by the garages, they turned off to the dog runs, never knowing whose wife they'd rescued in the forest that day.

Mrs Savage plodded home, trying to conceal her torn dress and passers-by gaped at the sight of her scratched legs and the rags on her feet. Leaves and fir twigs were sticking out of her hair like feathers from a torn pillow and her face was like an overripe apple.

Not far from home, a gangster with a sloping forehead approached and led her without a word to a car parked on the pavement. Flopping down on the back seat, Mrs Savage burst into tears: there in the car was Vasilisa. The girl was rubbing her wrists where the rope had eaten into them and her face was puffy from lack of sleep.

«No hysterics, okay?» said Saam, leaning towards them from the front seat. He ran a damp handkerchief over his forehead and screwed up his eyes in fatigue. «You didn't find him then?»

Mrs Savage shook her head, snivelling into her fist. That same fair-headed boy she'd seen outside the gang's house was in the driver's seat and she was certain she'd met him before but she couldn't remember where.

«Take yourself home. Sort yourself out,» said Saam, leaning across the seat to open the door. «And don't bear a grudge,» he said with a wink, taking Mrs Savage's hand and kissing her on the wrist.

She clambered out of the car and Vasilisa looked around in alarm, clinging to her mother.

«That's a present for good behaviour,» said the driver, putting a plump bag on the roof of the car.

The boy wore a malicious, mocking expression as he rolled a sweet around in his mouth and cracked his knuckles as he flexed his muscles.

«What's your name?» the woman asked, taking the bag.

«Lenya,» the driver said with a sneer.

But the name meant nothing to her. When she opened the bag, Mrs Savage saw clothes, trinkets and two bundles of banknotes tied with a ribbon.

«Is Dad going to come back?» Vasilisa asked when the gangsters had vanished around the corner, honking their horns in farewell.

«I hope not.»

«Will he go to prison?»

Mrs Savage didn't answer and tried to think where she could have seen the fair-headed boy before.

Lapin was keeping a look out for them at the house entrance. He quickly looked Mrs Savage up and down. She looked like a beggar with the rags wound round her feet but she was behaving as though nothing had happened, even as she put a hand over a breast that was showing through the holes in her dress. Lapin sniffed cautiously. Mrs Savage burst out laughing.

«I don't drink in the middle of the day, son,» she said, winking at Lapin, adjusting her hair flirtatiously and pouting playfully as she removed a dry twig.

Vasilisa hid behind her mother, hands behind her back, her dirty hair hanging over her face like icicles. She looked as though she hadn't been home for several days.

«I have to talk to you about that night,» said Lapin, confused. «Are you prepared to repeat your statement?»

«I want to tell you what really happened,» the girl blurted out, hiding her face.

They went into the flat and Lapin pictured Savely Savage going through that door year after year. Now he was wanted by the whole town and there wasn't a single flat that wasn't talking about a man whose neighbours couldn't even remember what he looked like.

Mrs Savage disappeared into the bedroom with an apology while Vasilisa put cups on the table, embarrassed by the investigator's stare. She pulled down her sleeves to hide the rope burns on her arms and Lapin could smell her stale odour like that of the little kids who spent their nights in basements.

Mrs Savage came out wearing a short red housecoat that matched her crimson cheeks. She'd hurriedly tidied herself up, washed her face and combed her hair, and Lapin, flustered, couldn't take his eyes off her scratched legs.

«Well, please, take a seat,» said Mrs Savage with a strained smile.

The shaking of her hands conveyed itself to the cup which rattled so much in its saucer that she stopped talking and went to get the kettle from the kitchen where she opened a bottle of vodka and had a swig as a tranquilliser.

«I'll tell you everything that happened,» she gabbled as if reading a script when she came back, carrying a tray. «Savely was on his way home that evening. As usual, he went through the square. That's the sort of person he is, always in the wrong place at the wrong time.»

Lapin broke in and spoke to Vasilisa: «You said your father…»

«They frightened her!» said Mrs Savage, not letting him finish and adjusting the housecoat. «They threatened the poor girl, promised to disfigure her, cripple her… And where can you find any protection from them? You know yourself, no-one will help!» Her voice sounded so false that Lapin winced. «She even kept it from me and I'm sure my husband…» She fell silent as if her tongue couldn't repeat the accusation against her husband. «Although actually, I think it's funny. You need to know Savely to understand that it's ridiculous.» She burst into hysterical laughter by way of confirmation.

«But why are you saying this now? Why have you kept quiet for so long?» Lapin asked, knocking over his cup with a clumsy movement and soaking the tablecloth.

«We were intimidated,» Mrs Savage stubbornly maintained, her lips thin as a thread.

«And now you're brave all of a sudden?» said Lapin, teasing her as he wiped the wet table down with napkins. «What's happened to make all of you so brave all of a sudden? All of you.» Lapin said again with a helpless gesture as if he was asking the walls for an answer.

Mrs Savage opened a jar of gooseberry jam and licked her fingers.

«Who shot Coffin?» asked Lapin helplessly.

«Karimov,» whispered Vasilisa.

«I'll tell you how it happened,» said Mrs Savage, sinking into her chair, her legs crossed.