Baba Tonya had officially gone mad by the time we took our next trip to the market a few weeks later; and without school to keep me occupied, I wasn’t faring much better. Mama, who was basically back on her feet by then, insisted we take her out with us. Though we were in the middle of a gorgeous, almost life-affirming summer, Baba hadn’t left the apartment since her rubies were taken and spoke of little else. Polya was docile but functional. She continued wandering to the balcony in the middle of the night from time to time, and nobody stopped her.
My sister and I linked elbows with Baba, and the Orlov brothers dutifully walked two paces behind us, like bodyguards, though I did not know what we could possibly be protected from anymore. I kept a firm grip on my grandmother and looked out for obstacles. Aunt Yulia and Madame Renata had already wandered off with linked arms, having satisfied themselves that their product store was faring far better than the threadbare market, and good riddance.
We faced the usual bustle. Onion Man Oleg handed me an onion the size of my fist for nothing, and the rest of the vendors, mostly women, peddled their sad, green-hued potatoes, cloves of black-spotted garlic, and wilted lettuce, as if they were doling out rare gold. The empty train tracks stood stolidly behind us, a gash among the dirt and trees. My grandmother looked far off, a slow smile sliding on her face. “I suppose one dance won’t kill me!” she said to an imagined suitor, tossing back her tangled hair. “But take it slow. Already I feel a bit dizzy….” Then she sucked in her breath and took my hand. She had not held it a single time before.
No one else made note of this fantastic gesture. Bogdan and my sister were already searching for the least green of the potatoes, their heads leaning together like the beams of a steeple, while Misha inspected the onions. When I looked up at my grandmother, the grimace that had settled over her face since she lost her necklace had been wiped away, replaced by a steely calm.
“Here it comes,” said my grandmother, loosening her grip on my hand. “My train.”
“What train?” I said, peering into the distance. “There’s no train.”
She smiled and nodded. “You just don’t see it yet, little one. It’s coming, I promise. Coming to take me away. I should have taken it long ago.”
There was still no evidence of a train, but my grandmother was convinced. She moved closer to the tracks, until her toes were touching the platform, her black boa billowing about her like the feathers of a deranged raven.
“Larachka,” she said sternly, “I need you to let go of my hand.”
I could not explain it. Though holding her hand was giving me the chills, I could not bring myself to let it go. I took a step forward and joined her at the edge of the platform. Down below, not terribly far, a colony of ants swarmed over the body of a dead bird.
Baba was right. I felt the ground vibrating first, then looked out to see the train approaching in the distance, its bright lights piercing through the morning fog. I should have thrown my tiny body in front of my grandmother’s, I should have pulled her away or asked for help, but I just stood there, not knowing what to do, feeling like I was watching something that had already happened play out.
Not all of the trains stopped to deposit passengers. In fact, it had been months since the latest shipment had been sent to the village. Uncle Konstantin’s optimistic opinion was that this was yet another sign that the war was reaching its conclusion and we would not be dragging it out in the mountains all that much longer. His wife’s more pessimistic view was that there were simply no more men to send. Whatever the reason may be, this train would not be slowing down.
My grandmother had finally wrestled her hand out of mine and lifted her boa arms in the air, a bird ready to take flight. The burst of air from the oncoming train made her stole flap in the wind. In one swift motion, it got caught in the gears of the train and pulled Baba underneath it and a deadly rumble rang through the market as the train plowed on. I should have screamed, I should have jumped down into the tracks once the train took off, but I could not move, my feet were rooted in the ground while I heard the commotion, the rush of footsteps storming the tracks.
“What happened?”
“My God, where did she go?”
“How did it happen? Did she jump?”
“Who is it?”
“It’s her, it’s her—the old woman with the boa!”
The villagers were peering down to where my crushed grandmother was collapsed in a bloody heap of feathers and gristle. Before I could jump down there, Misha draped an arm around me and folded me into his chest, as his brother had once done on the train. I pretended to hide into his chest like a good girl should do, while I peeked and saw the state my fallen grandmother was in. The wild gashes along her middle, the bloody patches of hair sticking to her forehead, while her face was nearly untouched except for a gash along her lip. Her eyes were wide open, staring at the heavens. Having gotten her bloody peace at last.
“What happened, Larissa?” Misha said quietly.
“She just—got caught up,” I said. “Her boa…”
He nodded and asked no further questions.
A shrill cry told me that Polya had stopped flirting with Bogdan and had noticed the commotion. She screamed and started clawing toward Baba, while Bogdan ran toward the edge of the tracks with her and took her hand. But he did not shield her as Misha had shielded me; perhaps he was beyond shielding anyone, having learned that it did no good. He let her stare down into the bloody gristle while I continued to look out while Misha thought my eyes were closed, having wrapped both arms around me like the gentleman that he was. Misha tried to pull me away, to get me to go home, but I released myself from his arms and moved toward my sister, though I knew I could offer her no comfort. She met my gaze with soft eyes.
“All of that over a necklace,” she said, and I flinched at the steeliness of her voice.
Her whole body was shaking, but her jaw was firm, and something was happening inside her then, as she held Bogdan’s hand and then hopped down and fell over my grandmother’s body. Bogdan locked eyes with me only for a second before returning to my sister, putting an arm around her as she wept silently. I shook Misha off and continued to stand at the edge of the platform. Misha gave up on trying to shield me, and he, Onion Man Oleg, and one of the potato vendors jumped down and dragged Baba’s body out and up onto the platform, or rather, they dredged up a bloody and mangled mess that must have been my grandmother’s body, black feathers flying up in its wake. I looked at her up close, the white exposed meat of her neck and belly, and did not look at her again. I stood alone, hugging myself.
What happened next? Ivan ran up and fashioned a gurney from a blanket and a vegetable-stand base with the onion man and radish brothers and I followed the procession as Baba was carried back to the apartment and left outside our door. She was immediately buried in the local cemetery, and only Polya and Aunt Tamara lost their composure that day. I nearly lost mine, too, but it wasn’t from the horror I witnessed so much as the fact that, somewhere between the market and home, Polya and Bogdan had become completely intertwined.