“You must start working at the factory soon,” his grandfather had said over their midday meal of bread, fish, and soup. “To gain the workers’ respect, you must learn the business from the bottom up.”
Mikhail had kept his eyes on his carrot soup, hoping the conversation was over. But his grandfather was persistent. His old hand, with swollen finger joints and veins that crossed his skin like lines on a map, grabbed Mikhail’s wrist. Mikhail lifted his eyes and looked at his grandfather. In the background, he heard his grandmother washing pots noisily, as though reminding them that she was there.
“I’m not ready yet,” Mikhail began in a cautious tone. “I want to do some other things first.”
“Other things?” His grandfather stared into Mikhail’s eyes.
“I… I want to travel, maybe attend university—”
“Nonsense!” His grandfather let go of Mikhail’s hand and pounded his fist on the table. “How will you eat? How will you live?” His voice rose to a thundering boom. “This is nothing but a childish fairy tale. It is time to grow up!”
“I can find work,” Mikhail had said, determined to change his grandfather’s mind. “There is work in big cities like Petersburg.”
“Please stop,” his grandmother had cried, dropping her cloth into the basin. “I don’t like to hear you arguing.”
“But this is the only way to get some sense into this stupid boy,” his grandfather had replied with obvious scorn. “Do you hear what he is planning…to travel thousands of versts away when he has all he needs right here?”
“Maybe this isn’t what I need,” said Mikhail, his stomach knotted with frustration. “Maybe I’m different from you…”
“Different?” scoffed his grandfather. He leaned toward his grandson until Mikhail could smell the tobacco on his breath; tobacco his grandfather’s business had processed, tobacco his grandfather wanted him to process. “You are no different than I. No different than your father who worked with pride in the business.”
Mikhail groaned. His grandfather stoked his guilt by mentioning his father who, along with his mother, had been killed years ago in an accident.
“You must honor your father, do as he would have wished,” his grandfather continued, his blue eyes focused on Mikhail.
“How do you know what he would have wanted?” Mikhail swallowed and had tried to think of something else to say, but his mind was blank. He had no compelling reason to avoid working with his grandfather, other than the fact that he didn’t want to, which clearly was not good enough. Mikhail had left for the river without another word, but the wrath of his grandfather had been with him all afternoon, like a bad taste in his mouth.
Mikhail slowed down to catch his breath and give his burning thigh muscles a rest. He turned around and skated slowly, enjoying the view of the trees hugging the riverbank. The sun was low in the sky, yet still bright enough to make the untouched snow sparkle like sugar. His mouth watered as he thought about the sweet pastry his grandmother was making for supper. Then he thought about his grandfather and felt the anticipation drain from his body. Mikhail didn’t like his grandfather being angry with him; it made everything else seem unbalanced and wrong. As he rounded the bend, he felt the hairs on his neck rise and wondered if the temperature had fallen. In the dim light, he saw two people standing near the bench.
“Uncle?” he said, when he came closer and saw his Uncle Vasily and his cousin Philip. Vasily looked bulky with a sheepskin coat over his police uniform. His thick, dirty fingers held a half-finished cigarette. Philip stood close to his father with a blank expression on his pasty face.
Though Vasily and Philip were family, they were not welcome in his grandfather’s home. Something had happened before Mikhail was born, an argument that had never been resolved. Mikhail only saw his uncle and cousin in passing, usually from a distance. He’d never seen them skating.
“What are you doing here?” Mikhail skated closer and stopped when he saw his uncle’s dark eyes and bitter expression.
“We came to see you,” his uncle answered without smiling.
“Well… I’m just about to go home,” Mikhail said shakily. He skated toward the bench to remove his blades, but his uncle blocked his way.
“Looks like you won’t be going into the family business after all.” An ugly sneer spread over Vasily’s face.
Mikhail smelled alcohol on his uncle’s breath and looked at his cousin for help. But Philip stood, legs planted firmly, mocking him in silence.
“What… what do you mean?” Mikhail stammered.
Vasily slowly exhaled his cigarette smoke directly in Mikhail’s face. “I lost my position yesterday. Relieved of my duties. Poor conduct, whatever that means.” He threw his cigarette on the ground. “How am I going to put food on the table?”
Mikhail cringed. “I don’t know… perhaps Grandfather—”
“Ha!” Vasily spat on the ice. “He will give me nothing.” His voice rose with every word. “His own son, flesh and blood. Nothing! But you…you get everything.”
Mikhail started to back away but Philip thrust his leg behind his cousin’s knees. Mikhail stuck his arms out to keep his balance, but fell backwards. His skull sounded like a heavy rock as it hit the ice.
Flat on his back, Mikhail didn’t move for almost a minute. Then he felt his head thumping, as if it were being kicked from the inside. He opened his eyes and saw his uncle’s face spinning in front of him. Everything was swirling, the trees, the sky, his cousin’s eyes that seemed to come at him from every angle. Mikhail groaned and brought his hands to his head. “What…what do you want from me?” He pushed himself up with one hand so that he was sitting on the frozen river.
“I want what’s coming to me,” growled Vasily, planted over Mikhail like a massive tree trunk.
“I can talk to Grandfather,” Mikhail offered in a weak voice. “I’m sure he’ll help if you just tell him—”
“Tell him what?” Vasily’s voice grew louder. “That his own son has struggled for years on a policeman’s wage, and now I don’t even have that?” He stepped forward, closer to Mikhail. “Your grandfather doesn’t care about me or Philip. Only you. But if you’re gone, he has nobody else but me to take over the business.”
Mikhail turned his head to see if anyone else was nearby, but the world started spinning again. He thought he saw something red in the distance, but wasn’t sure. The river was disturbingly quiet and still.
“Let me talk to Grandfather,” pleaded Mikhail, still clutching his head with one hand. “I don’t even want to be a tobacco processor… he’ll listen to me…”
Vasily shook his head. He scowled and calmly pulled a large knife out of his coat pocket.
Unable to pry his eyes from the knife, Mikhail tried to stand on his skates, but the blood rushing from his head made him feel dizzy and weak. He collapsed forward, onto his chest.
“Please, Philip, for once in your life, stand up to your father. Don’t let him do this,” Mikhail cried, pushing himself away with his hands. “I’ll give you money…whatever you want.”
Philip stared at him with indifference and said nothing. Vasily crouched down beside Mikhail, holding the knife in front of him.
“No!” cried Mikhail. “Uncle, please don’t. Philip… help me!” He tried swiveling to his side, so he could kick his uncle with his skate blades, but Vasily was quick, despite his bulk. In one swift motion, he lifted Mikhail by his coat and stabbed him in the chest. Mikhail fell to the ground clutching his wound. His chest felt like it was on fire, burning with each breath he took.