XXXIII

Vanya felt nothing but pain and terror like he’d never imagined. He knew he was on the ground but he couldn’t get up. He must have lost consciousness. A crowd of villagers, the army’s rejects, huddled around him in a tight circle with clenched fists. It was loud. Someone heaved him up to his feet. He faced Vadim and Stepan. “Your American killed our cows,” Vadim said. His eyes were narrow and fierce. He pointed to Clay, who was on the other side of the circle, leaning against a wagon. Blood from Clay’s mouth pooled on his shirt. His spectacles were gone and one eye was swollen shut. It looked as though he’d lost a few teeth. Had Yuri and Dima escaped?

“The American unleashed the eclipse,” a woman in the crowd yelled. She was the villager who sold them butter.

Vanya looked around. “Yuri,” he yelled. “Yuri!” Stepan punched Vanya in the gut again, hard. Lights exploded behind his eyes. He slumped to the ground. He heard a woman yelling; she seemed far away. When he could breathe again, he focused on the woman still yelling.

“My child is blind,” she screamed. “It was the devil that did it.”

“The devil in the form of the eclipse.”

“It’s the American and his split tongue.” Each accusation was louder than the last.

“Blood requires blood,” yelled Vadim. “My cows died, all at once. They broke out of the barn. While I was hiding I heard them splashing in the pond. The sun came back and they were…”

Did Vanya get his photographs? Where were his glass plates? His head throbbed. With every breath he felt as if he was being stabbed. They’d broken his rib. He lumbered up to his feet. The enormous effort was excruciating, but he was better off standing; it seemed to relieve the pressure on his chest. “The eclipse didn’t kill your cows,” Vanya gasped.

“Shut your mouth. Traitor.” Vadim was so fierce it was clear he wouldn’t hesitate to strike—to kill. “Your American, he brought the devil to Brovary. Admit it. Admit it.”

“How could a man control the moon?”

“Not a man. Lucifer.”

Stepan heaved Clay up into a wagon. Clay screamed something. Stepan cracked a whip on his mule, and the old animal heaved. The wagon wheels lurched but slid into a rut. Stuck. Vanya began clawing his way to the wagon. The mud and stones scratched his hands but he had to find a way to stop this.

“Vadim. Listen to me!” Vanya shouted as loud as he could manage. Vadim looked back at Vanya, his face lined with fury. “It was not the eclipse. You heard splashing.” Vanya gasped for air. “It must have been algae.”

“What’s he saying?” The crowd pressed in, angry and loud.

“Algae. A poison. Can grow in ponds,” Vanya said, again. “Vadim, please. Let the American go.” Did Vadim hesitate or did Vanya imagine that?

Either way his eyes went dark. “Traitor,” he said. “Why defend the devil?” Stepan climbed down to push the wagon. He angled his shoulder under the back to give it a shove.

Clay lay in the back of the wagon, whimpering. He rolled his head to the side and his one eye, the one not puckered and already black, caught Vanya’s gaze. He held him there, for a moment. Then Clay tilted his chin toward Vanya, took a deep, deep breath, and yelled one unmistakable word: “Jew.”

Stepan and Vadim stopped. Vanya froze, feeling the label and its meaning trickle through the crowd. It cut as deep as ever. Their anger would boil now. They weren’t going to kill a man—they were going to kill a Jew. Of course a Jew had slaughtered their cows.

“A Jew?” Vadim turned to Vanya.

The crowd began jeering and hissing. Stepan said something. Then came Dima’s voice. “Don’t listen to the American devil,” he called as he pushed his way through the crowd. Dima! But where was Yuri? The crowd paused. Just then a flash of lightning split the sky.

“A sign, a terrible omen,” someone screamed, and at that, the crowd surged. Vanya had never seen so much hate. They dragged him down into the mud with enough force he was sure they’d crush him. There were too many blows to count or distinguish. The pain was so excruciating he couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. No mob would ever spare a Jew. Surely, Clay had known. All Vanya could think about was death. And he prayed it would come faster.