Chapter 12
The entryway is a tangle of shoes and dust jackets as Vadim kneels in front of me and sifts through the pile of odd shoes. He pulls out a pair of battered gray furry things that look like a cross between a Christmas stocking and a ski boot without a sole.
He hands them to me, and I finger the strange texture. “What are these? Fairy tale boots made of reindeer hair?”
“Nope, valenki. Russian snow boots.”
“But they’re not waterproof, are they? Are they made of wool?” I turn them upside down. The bottom is made of hair too.
“Nope, they’re something better. They’re cold-proof. Put them on. If your feet get wet with the snow, they will hold in the heat.” He crouches beneath me, slipping my feet—which are already wrapped in two pairs of his giant socks—into the shoes. It’s another tender gesture from a man who keeps telling me I shouldn’t believe in his goodness.
A lock of hair slides over his eyes. I want to brush it away, but he stands and wipes his hands on his trousers before I pluck up the courage to touch him. He pulls me to my feet and holds up an old black jacket. It’s huge and I’m awash in fabric, but it’s warm. I pull it closed and jam an old beanie on my head.
“You said women don’t come here, but these shoes look too small for you or your friend.” I can’t help my curiosity.
“Women don’t. No one’s been here with us since Sasha’s sister, Polina.” He opens the door and walks into the snow, head down and shoulders hunched.
The light is fading now, and the trees stand like sentinels. The energy between us ebbs again as he withdraws into himself, marching into the woods without me.
I trail behind him. My feet crunch in the snow, leaving small indentations that walk alongside his giant footprints as he strides through the trees. “Did Polina grow out of snowball fights and fun in the woods?”
“She died,” he says without turning around.
He continues deeper into the woods, the eerie white light reflecting off the birch branches around him. I watch his back as he moves through the trees. There’s something he’s not telling me, but I don’t have the courage to ask. If we’re only together for now, I don’t have the right.
The snow is deep and it’s hard to keep pace with his long strides as I start after him. “Wait for me. I don’t want to get lost,” I call as he disappears between the trunks.
The woods are a silent etching in monochrome, the image stark against the fading afternoon sunlight. Even the trees are black-and-white.
He turns and stands under a spindly birch tree, watching me with a shuttered face. I catch up and reach out to touch him, but I drop my arm in mid-air. The snow wraps us in silence. Even the animals are hiding, and the cold has silenced the birds. There’s no sound but our awkward breathing.
Vadim reaches for my hand, which hangs limply at my side. “I’m sorry. Let’s catch the last of the light. I’ll take you to the river, and then I’ve lit the banya so we can warm up.”
“The banya?”
“Another new Russian word. It’s a sauna.” He points back at a small pine shed nestling against the eaves of the house. It’s the first time I’ve seen the house in daylight. The wooden slats are painted a pale green, and the eaves are edged in scalloped white boards. It looks like a place Hansel and Gretel or Snow White might have lived in—a fairy tale cottage in the woods.
“Where did you learn such good English?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
“Disney movies.”
“Really?” I breathe in disbelief.
“Nope, not really. Summers in Brighton Beach.” He takes my hand and leads me into the trees, the snow crunching underneath our feet. He drops it again as he shoves his hands into his pockets.
I want him to put his arm around me like he did last night, but I’ve touched a nerve by asking the wrong question, so I keep my eyes on the snowy ground and trail after him.
“Brighton Beach. Isn’t that near Manhattan?”
“Coney Island, yeah. Had a...mentor, I guess you could call him, who moved there, and I spent a few teenage summers with him. Guelman. You met him last night. I was a useful pair of hands in his...business in Little Odessa. It’s in the US, but it feels like Russia.”
“That guy is seriously creepy.”
“Well, they don’t call him the Night Governor for nothing.”
Vadim stops as the trees open onto a winding river, its waters frozen hard and covered with snow. The wide banks slope down to the water, and animal tracks dot their edges. Further down, smoke curls from a cluster of houses beyond the next stand of trees.
“The Night Governor? That sounds like something from a video game or Lord of the Rings.”
“He doesn’t play games,” Vadim says, striding ahead of me and not inviting further questions.
As the dwindling light reflects off the snow, I wonder what questions are safe. I saw the way people looked at him last night, and it feels like my words are full of unexploded ordnance. I want him to want me again, so I don’t ask any more difficult questions.
“So how did you learn English if everyone around you spoke Russian?” I puff out as I catch up with him. Cold air stings my lungs with each breath.
“I wanted to. If you want something enough, you can make it happen. Just depends on how much you’re willing to sacrifice for it.” His breath forms a cloud between us as he looks down at me.
Catching hold of his elbow, I tug on it for leverage, and he crooks his arm so I can thread mine through it and walk at the same pace. We pick our way along the frozen river. The land is flat and the sky wide and white. The sun slants in wide, pale beams through the gray clouds. His manner is thawing, but there’s still a chill between us. I chatter to fill the silence.
“That’s something I understand. I always wanted to sing, so I put everything into it. Playing at clubs, finding people to gig with, hanging out in sleeping bags in the back of a rusting old van.”
“So what do you want now?” Vadim looks down at me.
“To free myself from my management. I don’t want to be tied to Jimmy forever, but I’ve got a three-album deal, so I’ll have to record what he wants and survive the experience. I’m only one album in.” I lift my shoulders in resignation. There’s no point hoping that anyone else will get me out of this mess. “I sold my soul to the devil when I started working with the label.”
“Selling your soul to the devil? Now that’s something I understand. But if you’ve got two more albums, it’s not for eternity.”
We stop at a copse of trees where someone has carved a bench out of wood. It’s piled with a foot of snow, so Vadim bends to brush it away before sitting down and patting his leg.
“Sit here or you’ll get wet and cold.” He grasps my waist and pulls me down.
I gingerly lower myself to perch on his thigh. As soon as I do, he wraps an arm around my waist and lets me rest against his chest, but I’m prepared to spring up if he changes his mind.
“So, who did you sell your soul to?” I soak up his warmth and listen to the thud of his heart.
“You met him. I didn’t know I had anything to sell when I traded my life. It’s too late for me now.”
I force a weak smile and another change of subject. “So what do you want?”
“To get out of Russia. The place is failing and there are easier pickings in America. I want opportunity, and the States is where the money is for people like us. Plenty of crime in Moscow, but the people who run the country have a stranglehold on the proceeds. If you want to make money as a person like me, you need to go to a society where people have grown complacent and forgotten how to fight. You barely have to work to steal from people in the US. You’ve made it so easy that we just have to reach out and take it.”
I laugh nervously. “So we’re all idiots, then?”
“Not exactly.” His blue eyes scan my face. “But you’re softer. It’s what I like about you.” He grips my hand through thick gloves and sighs.
I squeeze his hand back and nudge him until he slings an arm around my shoulder, circling my body, and we watch the sun sink lower on the horizon. The smell of wood smoke comforts me. I can’t hear voices, but we aren’t totally alone.
Vadim points toward the rooftops as the snow turns blue and gray in the fading light. Pinks and yellows streak the blank canvas where the sun dapples through the trees.
“Didn’t bring skates, which is a shame. It’s fun if you walk a bit further down, past the bend in the river.” His eyes lighten as he changes the subject. “They usually clear the ice near the river. I wish I could take you.”
“I don’t know how to skate.” I watch the line of red where the sun hits the horizon, relishing this closeness.
“I’d hold you up so you didn’t fall.” His voice rumbles in my ear, and I can’t resist the temptation to press a kiss against his jaw. He sighs and stands, setting me on my feet. “Come on. Let’s head back while it’s still light. The banya should be hot by now. I lit it before you woke up, and it’ll make us both feel better. Nothing like getting naked and rolling in the snow.”
“Naked?”
He throws his head back and laughs. “That’s the bit you get stuck on? Not rolling in the snow? Yes, naked. You can’t enjoy a banya with your clothes on. You’re lucky I haven’t started cutting birch twigs to beat you with. Then again...”
He pulls a knife from his pocket and walks to a nearby tree, cutting a few branches off with a long, curved blade.
“What are those for?” My eyes widen.
“Stimulating your circulation. What else?” He grasps my hand, our arms swinging as he leads me back through the trees, the birch twigs trailing on the ground. I fixate on the movement of the branches through the snow.
“Are you really going to beat me with those?” I look up at him, and he grins wolfishly.
“Only if you want me to.”