On Rosh Chodesh Elul, Miri woke before sunrise and said a quiet l’chaim, imagining her brother toasting with her. Her heart ached at the thought that they hadn’t been together for the eclipse, and now all she could do was hope he’d succeeded. She and Sasha set out before the farmer and her daughter were out of bed and soon it was clear they were finally close to Kiev. They approached the city by taking the road along a river, huddling in ditches when they saw soldiers. When the way was clear, they trudged through mud that sucked on their soles and clung to Miri’s skirts and Sasha’s uniform. He still insisted on carrying the greatcoat no matter how much Miri fought him over it.
Away from the forest, the river was dark. It smelled of waste and moved so slowly that sticks oozed past like slugs. Wherever her brother and Yuri were, Miri had to find them—soon. She and Sasha would search in Podil among the factory workers, the poorest of the poor: tradesmen, fishermen, and Jews. This was the safest place to ask for an American, not because he’d be there but because someone might know something and no one in Podil would dare go to the Russian police, not even to turn them in.
It was after noon when Miri spotted Kiev’s smokestacks. Hulking marble buildings glittered as if they’d been kissed in gold, crowned with red and green tiled roofs. A church’s five spires reached up toward the sky like a lady’s fingers bedazzled with jewels. Miri had always imagined coming to this city would be magical, that she’d feel the spell her mother wove around it, but as they got closer, she felt only fear underscored by the smell of burnt sweets from the factories owned by Russia’s sugar beet barons. Miri and Sasha took the road that turned toward the outlying slum. Soon their feet crunched over fish carcasses, potato peels, and rocks. They wound through throngs of bone-thin children dressed in rags. The head teacher at the first school they stopped at knew nothing about an American. It was the same at the next. And the next.
“Someone must have heard about Russell Clay. Read something in a newspaper,” Sasha said. The only good news was this meant that Kir, or the Okhrana, might have just as much trouble finding Vanya as they did.
They stood outside a yeshiva. The walls were black with mold and shivered in the wind. “I have another idea,” Sasha said. He stopped a crippled boy missing a foot. “Where’s the hospital?” he asked.
“Two turns to the right,” the boy said.
“The Jewish hospital of Podil. Of course,” Miri said. The hospital was the only one in Russia more famous than Kovno’s and just as modern. Russia’s most renowned Jewish physician worked there, Dr. Tessler. Yuri devoured every article he published and talked about him endlessly. “I should have thought of it. If Yuri’s nearby, he will be there with Tessler. He won’t sit idle while Vanya is busy.” She paused. “But you weren’t thinking about Yuri, were you. You think they’ve been injured?”
“I think we need a way in that won’t be suspicious.”
“We could fake an illness. You could have stomach pains, appendicitis. Then you’d see a surgeon, maybe even Yuri.”
“Stomach pains won’t be enough,” he said. “It needs to be convincing.” He added something else, but Miri didn’t hear. There, in the middle of the hustle and crowds, she went still. Yuri could be there. In two turns to the right.
“Sasha,” she said. “Yuri will know what happened between us.”
“There’s nothing to know.”
“There’s everything to know. That’s what makes him a great doctor. He can look at patients and see everything.”
“See what?” Sasha asked. “A kiss?” A mule barreled down the street, trailing an empty wagon. A team of men ran after the animal, cursing. Sasha and Miri stepped out of the way just in time. “You could tell him the truth,” Sasha said, and she looked away. “Or do you want me to leave?”
Her lips moved but there was no sound. She was promised to Yuri and she loved him. That kiss had been the beginning and the end between her and Sasha. When she didn’t answer, Sasha tucked her arm into his, and together they slid into an alley so narrow they had to thread around one another to fit. He reached for his collar and popped one button out of its hole and then another until his wounded shoulder was exposed. He wiped a tear from Miri’s cheek, and she held his palm there, on her face. Then he was quick. Before she understood what he was doing, the knife gleamed and he plunged it into his shoulder where the skin had started to heal. Miri cried out. He covered her mouth with his good arm. “If we must go to the hospital, this is our way in. I need a surgeon. Don’t you understand? There’s no question now.” Blood oozed out over his skin and spread too fast. He’d gone deeper than necessary.
Miri grabbed his hand and began to run.