As soon as they arrived back at their apartment, Maria began to check her ingredients with Elina, while Ivan wandered through the apartment, picking up books, listening to the dial tone of the telephone and playing with the handle of the phonograph.
Strachan went over to show him how the machine worked. It was another of Elina’s modern additions to the apartment.
Maria looked up from her cooking, ‘It’s Ivan’s first home. He feels lost, more used to the forest.’
A wave of guilt washed over Danilov. It had been all his fault that his son, daughter and wife had spent the last six years separated from him.
Never again. They would remain together for ever. Tears began to form in his eyes. His family was together, at last.
Together.
Ivan went over to a box lying next to the new couch. ‘What’s this, Father?’
Danilov shook his head.
Elina looked up. ‘That came from Dr Fang last night. It’s notes or something.’
‘Strange. Dr Fang never sends anything to my home. I’m surprised he even knows my address.’
‘Shall I open it, Father.’ Without waiting for an answer, Ivan began to tear at the brown paper wrapping the box.
The sound of ripping paper took Danilov back to earlier that evening, when he stood on the platform with a rope around his neck, not knowing whether he was going to live or die. What was it Allen had said?
Ivan had the paper off and was using his strength to tear apart the top cover of the box.
Hadn’t they talked about his daughter? Danilov struggled to remember the conversation. He had asked Allen to spare Elina if he killed himself. What had Allen replied? She would be taken care of.That was it. What did he mean?
Ivan was reaching into the box know, pulling out something round and heavy.
It wasn’t a file
It wasn’t from Dr Fang.
Danilov jumped forward, shouting, ‘Ivan, don’t…’
As he did, the room vanished in a flash of white light. All the air was sucked in and then blown out. Danilov was thrown backwards against the far wall, crashing into the telephone and its small table.
He saw his wife and daughter thrown back against the wall of the kitchen, pots and pans flying everywhere.
A wave of noise blasted over him. His ears begin to ring. His head felt like it was crushed. Everything went black.
He opened his eyes.
He didn’t know how long he lay there, his body shunted into the corner. Dust everywhere, slowly settling.
He slowly scrambled to his feet, using a leg from a broken chair as support. The air was still full of dust and dirt and smoke. To his left, he could see Strachan on his knees, blood pouring from a cut over his eye, retching on to the floor. Next to him, Elina had her arm around her mother, shouting something again and again.
Danilov shook his head, his ears still ringing from the blast. Elina’s voice became louder. His wife was answering now in broken Russian, blood dripping from her ear.
Where was Ivan?
He took one step forward. Through the falling dust and debris, he saw the body of his son lying on the floor next to the sofa.
He wasn’t moving.
Danilov ran to his son, cradling his inert body in his arms. The head fell backwards, and the eyes opened. But they saw nothing.
He released a howl of anguish, pulling the body of his dead son into his own, and rocking back and forth as the dirt and dust settled on the floor of his apartment.
Ivan, what have I done to you?