THE WIND IN MY FACE AND THE SLOW, STEADY RHYTHM OF RIDING PAKU WAS THE PERFECT ANTIDOTE TO THE FEAR AND ANGER I FELT AFTER hearing Rina’s story. I tried my hardest to feel compassion for Katia, thinking of her making drawing after drawing of Mr. Buttons, a dog she clearly loved and missed. But mostly I felt like I wanted Katia to move far away, to Moscow maybe, or Siberia would be even better, where she would never again think about, talk about, or be anywhere near Zasha.
It wasn’t easy shaking Katia out of my thoughts and refocusing on what I needed to do in town. Poor Paku had to work a little harder than usual, because I made him trot part of the time. The twenty-mile round-trip would take too much time if we walked the entire way, and I was eager to get back home to help Nikolai with Zasha’s hiding place.
In our village there were still hitching posts along the sides of the streets. I tied Paku to one of them and went into the hardware store, where everything from knives to coffeepots was sold. I filled a scoop with nails; Nikolai had said to get a pound. There were only two types of hinges. I chose the one that could be hidden on the inside of the trapdoor.
As I left the store, I felt drawn toward the newspaper office of the Vasily Reporter just two doors down. Something told me this might be my only chance to talk to Irina alone and find out what she knew. If Katia was with her, well, I wasn’t sure what I would do.
The noise hit me like a wave as soon as I walked in. People talking, arguing, shouting into telephones, competing with the rumble that came from somewhere in the back where the paper was actually printed.
No one seemed to be in charge; everyone was busy at their desks as if in their own worlds. It took me a minute to locate Irina because her back was to me. When she turned around, I walked over to her quickly.
“Miss Irina, I’m Mikhail —”
“Of course!” she said, interrupting me. “I’ve been thinking about you, in fact. I need to talk to you.”
“You do?” I said nervously. “Why?”
“Come outside,” she said, steering me toward the front door. “Oh, the noise!” She shook her head as she closed the front door behind us, then breathed deeply. “Everyone’s in an uproar about the German soldier who was found in Tikhvin.”
“A soldier? This far north?”
“Hiding in a barn, half starved. He was happy to see the police after the beating the villagers gave him!” She laughed.
I don’t think she would have laughed if she could have seen inside my heart and understood how frightened this news made me for Zasha’s sake. Did wars ever truly end? I wondered.
“What did you come to see me about?” she asked.
After hearing about the soldier, I didn’t want to talk to her about Petr. Thinking fast, I said, “Dimitri Moravsky told me you paid him a visit.”
She seemed startled, and I thought I caught the flash of a blush in her cheeks. “Really? What else did he say?”
“Not much. He talked about his plans….”
“For the superdog?” She laughed again.
“You don’t think it’s possible?”
“Possible, yes, but not with that bunch of strays and rejects he’s got.” Her words seemed harsh, but she said them almost tenderly, as if she was deeply touched by his plans.
“I think he can. He’ll just have to be patient, and have some luck.”
“Luck?” She looked at me skeptically.
“Luck that other dogs will come his way.”
“Hmmm, I suppose so.”
“What do you know about him?”
It seemed for a moment that she was deciding whether to answer me or not. “He’s what we might call complicated.”
“What does that mean?”
She looked ahead, out past the town as she spoke. “He spent part of the war in jail.”
“Why?” I couldn’t imagine him as a criminal.
“He attacked an officer who was whipping a horse. It took three men to pull him away, is what I was told.” She glanced at me, and we shared a look that showed our unspoken respect for his action.
“What else?”
“An orphan since he was fifteen. Lied about his age to join the army. He was a sharpshooter. They sent him into the most dangerous places, alone, with only a rifle.”
I pictured everything she told me clearly, as if I were seeing it at the cinema. “Amazing. Did they still let him be a sharpshooter after he attacked the officer?”
“No. That’s why he’s here with his crazy collection of dogs. That’s his new assignment — far away from the officers! But the man who told me all this, who used to be in his unit, says Dimitri likes animals better than people anyway.”
“Who can blame him?” I said with a laugh, thinking of Zasha. “Animals are not our equals; they’re our superiors!”
“Maybe.” She smiled a faraway smile. “An intriguing man.”
“Is he … all right?”
“What do you mean?”
“He seems a little nervous, and I saw lots of scars on his body.”
“How did you see his scars?”
“He had his shirt off.”
“He did?” I had the feeling she wished she would have been there with us. “I’ve just met him once. He seemed like he had his wits about him. But maybe nervous, as you say. The war did terrible things to people. A lot of the men who’ve returned aren’t the same as they were when they left.” We walked quietly for a few moments. “Did you lose anyone in the war?”
“Four of the fathers of my friends at school died. Many more, if you count uncles and brothers.”
“But no one in your family?”
“My father has not yet returned.”
She stole a look at me. “Communications are very bad all over the country.” I nodded, hoping she’d drop the subject. She must have read it in my face, because she said, “I have some news!”
“What’s that?” Almost anything seemed preferable to talking about my father.
“I found Petr’s wife!” My heart felt like it stopped.
“How?”
“He’d sewn his personal information into the hem of his coat.”
“Did the police find it?”
“No,” she said proudly. “I found it. They checked his pockets and shoes, but I know that people sew money and valuables into their clothes. I felt around his garments until I heard the crinkle of paper, and there it was: Petr Gribovich. He lived forty miles away; I wrote to his family. His wife is coming here tomorrow to collect his remains.” Oh, Zasha, I thought, trying not to let myself feel what it would be like to say good-bye to her.
I nodded and stared at the ground as we walked. “That’s why you wanted to talk to me? To tell me his wife had been found?”
“Yes, but I wanted to talk to you alone, to see if there were any more details you could remember.” She stopped walking as we came to the end of the paved sidewalk, where it turned back into a well-worn path of hard-packed dirt.
I gazed up at her and, with all the innocence I could muster, said, “No. It was very simple, and very quick. I don’t think he spoke at all. He was really sick. My mother wrote it all down for the police.”
She watched me as I spoke, pushing her hands deep into the pockets of her sweater. “It’s just … something is not right. I have a feeling about it that I can’t define.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s what makes us reporters,” she said with a little shrug. “We follow our noses rather than our heads sometimes.”
“Are you thinking he may have been murdered?” I asked, thinking maybe I was the one who was missing something.
“I don’t know. His wound was not a murder wound, and yet he died from it. I think he was probably the victim of an attempted robbery.”
“Or maybe a successful one.”
“Yes! Very possibly. I want the whole story. I’m hoping to get more pieces of the puzzle from Mrs. Gribovich.”
We turned around and walked back toward the newspaper office.
“Does Katia know about this?”
She gave a sigh of frustration before she caught herself. “I’m sorry; I know she’s your friend.”
“I know her, but I wouldn’t say we’re friends.”
She seemed relieved. “I don’t know how her father gets away with giving her details about our stories and forcing us to take her with us.”
“Can’t you say no?”
“Not if I want to keep my job.”
“Does she know that you found Petr’s wife?”
“No,” she said with a look of glee, “and you mustn’t tell her. Unless she’s going through my personal papers, she won’t know until after the meeting is over. Are you sure there’s nothing else?” she asked again.
“We’ve told you everything.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. She wants to meet you.”
“Mrs. Gribovich? Why?” I said, fear seeping into my bones.
“Because you’re the one who found him and last saw him alive.” Surely she would ask about Zasha. My heart felt heavier than the bag of nails I carried.
“What time?”
“At noon at the police station. You can bring your mother if you like.”
I nodded and forced myself to smile. “Certainly. I would be happy to be there.” I don’t think there was a sadder boy in all of Russia at that moment.
“What’s wrong?” Nikolai asked as soon as he saw me when I finally returned home.
“Petr’s wife is coming to the police station tomorrow at noon. She wants to talk to me.”
Nikolai closed his eyes and sat down wearily next to the pile of flooring we’d spent hours tearing up. “What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to lie.”