The first frost hit Brovary like an unexpected bullet—hard and too soon. Vanya knew it was a bad sign. The winter to come would be brutal. “Yuri, we can’t stay here,” Vanya said. He pulled back the sheets and edged himself to the side of the bed, prepared to stand on his own for the first time since the eclipse. “We can’t wait out the winter. We don’t have enough food. Or wood. And the villagers, they’ll see me soon enough. And they’ll come for me.”
“Where will we go? You’re not well enough to travel.”
“I have to be. We’ll start the journey to Saint Petersburg.”
“In your condition, we can’t.”
Vanya slipped off the side of the mattress, eased his feet onto the worn floorboards. Now standing, for the first time, he took a closer look at the room around him. Bare walls. A dresser. A hearth and a single chair facing the only window. Webs of ice on the glass were melting in the sun, pooling on the sill. Vanya walked toward the chair. It was only five paces, but to Vanya it felt farther. He slid into the cushions, winded. “Was it algae that killed the cows?”
“Yes. Purple algae. A deadly strain,” Yuri said. “I have to tell you something.”
Vanya tried to wave him off. “I know. I heard you. Clay’s gone. He took my notebook and the plates.”
Yuri shook his head. “Dima, he betrayed us, too. He’s gone. Ach. Why does it still have to come down to that—to being Jewish?” He pushed his hair back, his nails scraping his scalp. “I’ll kill them both if I ever find them.”
“No,” Vanya said. “Not again.”
“You remember what I told you?” Vanya nodded and Yuri looked surprised, but he nodded back. “They’re both louts. Clay and Dima.”
“No. Not Dima. He’s different.” He’d become a friend, hadn’t he?
“You’re wrong. He sold your notebooks to Ilya. He’s been in contact with him this whole time. Working for Kir.”
“What?” Vanya said. He leaned to the edge of the chair. The sudden movement caused pain that sent him back into the beaten cushions, left him breathless again.
“Yes, Ilya.” Yuri waited while the news sank in. “I wouldn’t have believed it, either, if I hadn’t seen it myself. Dima sold your notebook. When I confronted him he said it was a fake, that the one Clay stole was a fake, too, but that’s impossible. Isn’t it? I don’t know. All I know for certain is that Dima sold your notebook to Ilya.”
“But—but then who’s watching Miri and Baba?”
“Did you hear me? Kir has your notebooks.”
“There are no answers in there,” Vanya said, his voice quiet now. Of course it hurt to lose the work, but it wasn’t what mattered. “If Ilya left Baba and Miri…where are they now, my sister and grandmother? Did he say?”
Yuri hesitated. Vanya could tell he was struggling to find words. “We need to focus. Make new plans,” Yuri said finally. “We’ll run out of food soon. And we can’t just sit here. Waiting. I have an idea. You remember the rabbi, the one I told you about, the one who invited me to join his orchestra?” Vanya nodded. “He lives in Podil, or he did. A day’s ride from here. If you’re well enough to go that far, he might take us in. In exchange I can work in his clinic while you recover, if he still has one. Did Miri tell you that’s how I met him? He wanted me to work as a doctor, but he took me for the music. If he’ll still have me, I can earn money so we can eat and travel.”
“Can you go back to him? After what you told me? What would you say?”
“I have no idea what I’ll say, but it’s time. Isn’t it?” Yuri balled a fist into his opposite palm. “Ever since I heard that manager in the hotel in Riga say Brovary, since I knew we were headed here, I’ve thought about the rabbi. When I left, after the concert, I told him I’d be back. He must think I was murdered.” Yuri looked out the window. “Every day we’ve spent at this dacha, I’ve thought about finding him.”
“Yuri, you can’t just start where you left off.”
“I know.” He turned back to Vanya. “But I can’t stop thinking we’re here in Brovary, where so many paths cross at once, for a reason. You can’t travel yet. I’ll go and look for him on my own. And while I’m there, I can check on the trains. See if I can find a way for us to Peter.” Vanya wasn’t convinced it was a good idea, but he understood what is was to feel compelled, to have a path you must follow. And he knew Yuri was right, he couldn’t travel that far—not yet. Yuri continued, “I’ll leave food for you. And kindling. If I can work, I will, so I can bring back more food. Give me four days. If I’m not back by then, you should run.”
“What about Miri and my grandmother? Didn’t Ilya say anything?”
“Nothing,” Yuri said but Vanya knew from the look on Yuri’s face it was a lie.