The Stones of Years Ch. 02

He reached up into the light of day, wiped his eyes, fought to focus on the words before him. They came to him now as he read, as if they were a prayer:

Oft do I dream this strange and penetrating dream: 
An unknown woman, whom I love, who loves me well, 
Who does not every time quite change, nor yet quite dwell 
The same, — and loves me well, and knows me as I am. 

For she knows me! My heart, clear as a crystal beam 
To her alone, ceases to be inscrutable 
To her alone, and she alone knows to dispel 
My grief, cooling my brow with her tears' gentle stream. 

Is she of favor dark or fair? — I do not know. 
Her name? All I remember is that it doth flow 
Softly, as do the names of those we loved and lost. 

Her eyes are like the statues', — mild and grave and wide; 
And for her voice she has as if it were the ghost 
Of other voices, — well-loved voices that have died.

The words clawed at his eyes, tore at his soul, and he was leaning over Madam Soloff, holding her on the snow-covered ground, rocking gently back and forth, trying to comfort her – keep the darkness from consuming them all. He saw her glazed, unseeing eyes, saw her lips move, heard the whisper of her final thoughts and he leaned close to take them into his heart.

"You cannot mourn my passing, Lev; there is not time," he felt her voice again, struggling to be heard through the looming darkness. "She is here, waiting."

"Madam, what? Who? Who is there?"

"Chains, Lev. The woman in chains. She is… you must listen… learn…"

And all had grown still, as if even the stars had finally gone quiet.

He closed his eyes again and the tears came. He brought his knees to his face and put his arms around his legs as he cried, then he began to rock slowly back and forth. He could see her now, see her coppery life spilling out onto the white snow, gliding down to the rocks below where it might glide free once again, free of all our earthly hopes and fears.

"Oh, God!" he cried. "Why? Why?"

"I wonder why people always blame God," he heard her voice say, and he pulled his hands away from his face.

She was standing there.

The girl. The girl from the trucks he'd watched earlier while he ate his soup.

He wiped his eyes and slammed the book shut in one fluid movement, slipped the book onto the shelf and stood up. He turned away and wiped his eyes, then turned and looked at the girl.

"What did you say?" he managed – before his voice cracked.

"I'm sure it was unimportant. Are you alright?"

Lev started to move away but she blocked his way, held him captive in his dark corner; he thought of pushing his way by but something in her eyes held him. He took a deep breath and looked at her anew.

She was older than he was, or perhaps not – he could not tell. Her eyes were gray-green and speckled with copper flecks, her hair deep brown – with just a hint of auburn, but it was her pale skin that caught him and held him in that moment. Brilliant white, yet soft, but her flush cheeks stood out like fresh wounds on snow and he turned away as echoes of distant pain ebbed through the space between them.

"I saw you this morning, when we got here," she said. "You didn't turn away."

And all of a sudden he was aware she was speaking French.

"Excuse me?" he replied in kind.

"The commandant. You didn't turn away from him, or look down. Why not?"

"As you said, I'm sure it was not important. Why are you speaking French?"

"The book. Verlaine." She was looking deeply into his eyes now. "Have me met before?"

"What?"

"Have we… but no, of course we haven't. But you seem so familiar."

"I've lived here most of my life, since I was six."

"My God! No…"

"Don't tell me you're going to blame God now…" he said almost playfully.

And she laughed. The sound thrilled him, yet it haunted him as well, wrapped him in a luminous tapestry of dread that seemed to deny the existence of time.

"No. It's just that, well, the people I've seen so far look as though they've lived here for decades."

"Yes." 

"Yes? What do you mean?"

"There are. People who've lived her since, well, since before the war."

She swallowed hard, looked down though her hands into the depths of the unknown.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"My parents," he said, and she nodded.

"Ah."

So many tortured expectations dwelled in that syllable.

"And they are still here, I take it?"

"No," he said quickly as he looked away. "The man you met this morning, Comrade Kushnirenko, he shot my father. We had lived here about a year, I think, when that happened."

"I'm sorry. I did not mean…"

"Don't be. I would recommend that you learn to stop feeling as soon as you can. If you fail to do that you will find that life becomes unbearable."

"But that's absurd. How can one simply stop feeling? It's not as though feelings are like a tap, that you can turn them off as easily as one turns off the water."

"Nevertheless. You would do well to try. This is your home now."

"But why? Surely people are released?"

"Are they? I haven't heard that one before. That's funny."

She seemed confused, decided to look for another way out of this maze.

"So, your mother is still here?"

"No."

"Oh, so she was released?"

"No. Kushnirenko beat her, raped her, and beat her some more. What was left of her? I don't know. They took her body into the woods. We never saw her again."

She swallowed hard again and looked away; saw brief contours of the life that lay ahead as she stumbled through the unfamiliar terrain of his words. But then she caught the inflection in his voice and looked at him anew. "We?" she said.

"My brother and I."

"And he is…"

"Yes, he is alive, but he is in the clinic. He is sick, I think."

"You think?"

"He was fine when they took him there. Now they say he's sick."

"But you think they are lying?"

"Yes. Something isn't right, I complained, and now I'm afraid they're looking for me. I was just there, you see. When the nurse found out my brother and I are twins she left to tell someone."

"Do you think…"

"Yes. I've heard they do experiments on people in there; at least they have in the past. I told you: in time you learn to stop hoping. You always expect the worst that can happen. If you do you'll never be disappointed, you'll never underestimate the capacity for savagery in people."

She shuddered again, looked at him silently for a moment, then she looked away. "Did you mean to say your mother is dead?"

"I assume she is. Perhaps in another life I would presume to hope she is alive. As it is, I would hope that she died rather than live with what they did to her."

"Dear God…"

"You see. You just can't leave Him out of it, can you?" He smiled benignly, spoke in a gentle tone; he understood the despair she felt, even felt sorry for her, but knew the best way to adjust was to confront the reality head-on.

"I don't see how you can be so… I don't know… so cavalier about all this…"

"It's simple, really, although I know nothing feels simple right now. But in the end you either choose to live or you give up. You do what you need to do to live, or you don't. You choose to accept the life you have been given, or you give in to the darkness."

"And you call that a simple choice?"

"Yes. Simple. You will see it as such, soon."

"You seem so certain of yourself…"

"Of myself?" he said through a tired smile. "No, not quite. But of Kushnirenko, well, that is another matter entirely. I have absolute faith in his inhumanity."

"You say that as if it is a good thing."

"Good or bad – it is irrelevant. His lack of humanity is a… a certain thing, a thing you can count on, like the sun rising in the morning. When you have a degree of certainty in your life you can adjust, you can cope. The mongoose can adjust to the cobra – the cobra can cope with the mongoose."

"But… but, you were crying just now…"

He looked down at the floor for a moment, then back into her eyes: "Misha, my brother, he can not understand this world. What he can not understand, he fears. What he fears? Well, he has never had much self-control; his fears take hold and run away with his soul. Sometimes he does stupid things. Other times? Well, I'm not so sure. Sometimes he does things to hurt himself, and he is careless of what the consequences are for others."

"What do you think has happened to him?"

"Many of the weaker students were taken to the clinic last week. They were taken a few days after some scientists flew in."

"There is an airport here?"

"An airport? No, but one of those stubby Antonovs can land in the field behind the school. Anyway, they came with boxes full of ice. I know because I helped unload them. They were full of medical stuff, and some of the people were from the Army."

"The Army? What has that got to do… Oh, I see. Experiments. Like the Germans."

"Like the Germans. Yes. So, what are …." He cocked his head to one side as if listening, and his eyes grew cautious. "Sh-h-h-h," and Lev motioned her down while he whispered. They knelt by the books and waited for a moment, then: "Someone is coming. Go sit in the room, pretend you think no one else is here. Here, take a book…" he said as he handed her the edition of Verlaine. She stood and walked away, had just taken a seat when the front door burst open.

Two guards thudded in, their heavy, mud-caked boots dumping loose clumps of long grass and thick, clingy mud on the floor as they came. They looked around, saw the girl and walked her way.

"You there! Who else is in here?"

"I… I don't know," she quailed, "I just got here… I have seen nobody…"

"Go see," the smaller of the two said. "You just arrived today, right?"

"Yes, this morning."

The other guard walked toward the shelves, quickly found Lev. "Here he is," the guard whispered. "He's curled up, asleep!"

"Pick him up! Let's go!" the smaller guard said while he looked at the girl. "So? You did not know he was here?"

"I – uh – no sir!"

"Where did you get that book from?"

"This? It was here on the table when I came in."

His eyes narrowed as he considered her, and what he might do to her. "Perhaps this is so, and perhaps not, but let me tell you again so that you understand clearly, do not fuck with me or you will regret it!" He looked up at the other guard and shouted: "Well, are you coming?"

Lev flew across the room and slammed into the wall; the big guard walked over and kicked him viciously in the gut. "Stand up, damn you, or I will put you to sleep for good!"

Lev stood as best he could, holding his side, gasping for breath, then the guard grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head and pushed him through the library toward the door.

The smaller guard remained for a moment, looked the girl over as if he was deciding on what to have at his next meal, then leaned close: "Don't fuck with me again, you little bitch."

"Yes, sir, but…"

"Shut up!" he yelled as he backhanded her. She flew from the chair and lay sprawled on the old wooden floor. She lay still, not knowing what to do, afraid of what she knew was about to come, but she heard the man's footsteps receding out the front door and she sat up, caught her breath and wiped mud and tears from her stinging cheek.

She waited a few minutes then walked back to the hut she now called home. She ran into her mother's arms and cried for a long time.

"What has happened? Tina? What is it?" She held on as gales swept through her daughter, the afternoon sun grew pale and dim.

"I don't even know his name," she finally whispered through her tears.

"What? Who?"

"Mama, I think it's him. The one from the dream." She felt her mother's body stiffen, then tremble as evening filled the room.

"Are you sure?" she heard her mother ask. She could feel the pain all around her now.

"Yes, Mama."

"Then we must be careful. Do not mention this to your father."

"But, Mama. Why…"

"No! He must not know of this! He will not understand…"

"But why?"

"Where is your sister?"

"I do not know."

"We must be careful, Tina. We must be very careful."

"I know, Mama, I know."

"Now, there are carrots and beets. Help me wash them…"

"Yes, Mama."

"I hope you are wrong, child."

"But we knew it would happen. Someday."

"Yes." She looked at the rough logs and shivered again. "It gets so cold here, and so quickly, doesn't it?"

"Yes, Mama, it does."

"I hope tomorrow you can find him."

"No Mama. We mustn't hope."

"What? Why do…"

"Because he told me so, Mama. He told me there was no hope in this world – in this place we have come to. And I believe him, Mama, I do. I have seen the truth of his words."

The two women, joined as they were by blood and time, looked at one another as if each was looking at other in a mirror. Everything felt otherworldly and just slightly discordant, as if the dream they had each known as children was nothing more than a reflection, and each hoped that the story they had seen unfold within their dream was not the only path that lay ahead.

______________________________

She was walking across the compound almost two months later when she saw him again. He was sitting on a gnarled log lying alongside the trail that led to the lake, and at first she didn't recognize him. She saw a gaunt pale figure of indeterminate age, dark circles under his eyes, staring at the lake – and it took her a moment to recognize who he was. She walked towards him in plain view, yet he never gave any sign that he saw her approach. She stood in front of him, looked at his unseeing eyes and knew the rumors they had heard were true.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

He blinked, winced as if her words hurt, and she noticed that most of his hair had fallen out. There were bruises inside his elbows and on the top of his hand, and his lips were dry and split – and she thought they looked as if they were healing from a massive outbreak sores.

"Are you alright?" she asked again.

He nodded, opened his mouth and cleared his throat. He tried to speak but apparently couldn't and deflated before her eyes, his defeat obvious and complete.

"May I sit by you?"

He nodded again and she sat next to him.

The afternoon had been warm but now, as the sun raced for the western horizon, the faint coolness of a September's breeze slipped the through grass around them as it settled over the meadow. Little groups of ripples formed and danced across the still lake. She looked at the distant stand of pine forest across the lake and shuddered as she watched it turn from gray-green to black. The odd white-skinned birch stood out in stark contrast to this within this transfiguration, and she looked at a pair of solitary trees that stood in isolation much closer to the lake. Their gold leaves were barely moving in the evening's gentle wind, much as her hair now barely moved.

She felt him shudder and looked at him; he was visibly cold and beginning to shiver.

"You need to go in now," she said, beginning to stand.

"No," he just managed to say. "No, not yet," and she sat down again and, following an impulse as manifestly strong and unknowable as instinct, put her arms around the boy and rubbed her arms up and down, trying to warm him. She was not prepared for the feelings that swept over her next: he slowly lowered his head to her shoulder and began to cry.

She held him tightly now, held his head next to her own and after a while she began to rock him gently, run her fingers through his hair. She was lost within her own feelings now, lost in that place far beyond the reach of mere empathy, for she had not yet abandoned hope.

The sun disappeared behind the forest, the clear blue sky turned violet, then black, and still she held on to the boy. He was quiet now, his body still, but she was content – could have remained on this log forever – yet she knew on one level that they had to get back to the camp soon or face dreadful consequences. As awareness of the hour came to her she stood, helped the boy to his feet and put his arm over her shoulder and walked with him to her own cabin; they staggered in and her parents helped them take a seat.

"Who is this?" her father asked.

"He is one of the boys… the boys they have had in the clinic."

Without saying a word the man knelt beside the boy and took his wrist in hand and felt for a pulse, then he forced open the boy's mouth open and looked at the sores still there.

"Shit!" he said. "The fucking bastards!"

"Papa! What is it? What have they done?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing; get your mother, would you? She is next door."

Valentina Lenova left the room, passed her sister on the way out.

"Sara? Would you get me some water, please?"

The other girl came in, dipped the ladle and poured a cup full and handed it to her father.

"Try to drink some, boy," he said. "If you can hold some down we'll try to get some soup in you…"

Valentina and her mother returned a few minutes later; he asked her to warm some soup while he talked to her.

"Are you sure?" he asked her again. "Sure he was in the clinic."

"I was there when they took him. Yes Papa, I'm sure. What have they done to him?"

"I would say anthrax and botulism, by the looks of it. They have found a way to combine the two. You say his twin brother is, or was in there too?"

"I heard him say that, yes."

"I wonder if his brother is still alive. That would explain much."

"Why?"

"We've seen the bodies leave, some in the cemetery, some even flown out. So they have a lethal weapon, but here are two boys with immunity. Why? The have been testing. Look at the bruising on his hands and arms… from too many punctures. Either that, or they are trying to develop an antiserum." He turned to his wife. "We must contact Sasha. We have to get word of this out while we can."

His wife put the soup down in front of the boy and he jerked awake, tried to stand.

"Easy…easy boy…"

"Madam… Madam Soloff?" he said while staring at the woman.

"No, boy. My name is Sophie…"

"Madam… Soloff?"

"Does he have a fever?" Mrs Lenova asked her husband.

He shook his head. I don't think so, and that's the point, Sophie. They were trying to kill him and they couldn't."

"I wonder if they gave up, or if he escaped?" she said.

"Gave up, I suspect, or they are done with him. He's wearing his own clothes, not a gown, you see."

"They will be looking for him soon," she stated. "What will we do?"

"If they come we will tell them he just stumbled in, that we were feeding him, and just getting ready to send someone for someone."

"Alright. Girls? Did you hear that?"

Both nodded their understanding.

"Does anyone know which cabin is his?" he asked.

"No, Papa," both said at once.

"Alright, Sophie, see what you can learn. And see about Sasha."

She nodded and left the cabin again, then he turned to his girls. "You two. Make yourself useful and feed the boy."

Both scrambled and knelt at his feet.

_________________________

"Are you a doctor?" Lev asked the man later that night.

"Yes. Well, I was; but that was a long time ago."

"Why are you here? At this camp, I mean."

"Sophie – my wife – she is a cellist. Well, I suppose that's why."

"I play the piano."

"I see. About your brother; is he alright?"

"He was this morning, though he has lost more weight than I have. But he can eat now."