“I was hoping that I wouldn’t find you here, that you had enough brains to understand what’s going on, and that you’d boarded up your silly doll’s house and run away,” he said, cutting off half the fried egg with his fork and holding it up in the air. “But, since I know your unthinking carelessness of old, I decided to check if I was right and, unfortunately, I was.”
We were silent – there was nothing to say. Boris looked regretfully at the fried egg shaking on his fork, put it back on the plate and moved the plate away. It was obvious that he was looking for words and part of me already knew what he wanted to say, and to delay this moment I moved to get up and clear the table, but Boris made a motion with his hand to stop me and said:
“Wait, Anya, it won’t take long. The city was closed two weeks ago,” he sat with his hands folded in front of him and his head bent, “And it’s been just over two months since the first people got infected, if, of course, they’re not lying to us. I don’t know how many people needed to die before they decided to close the city, but given that they turned the phones off, everything’s happening faster than they were expecting.” He lifted his head and looked at us. “Come on, kids, look more intelligent, have you never heard of the mathematical modelling of epidemic disease?”
“Yes, I remember, Dad,” said Sergey suddenly.
“What’s modelling of epidemic disease?” Mishka asked. His eyes were wide with surprise.
“It’s an old technique, Mishka,” Boris said, looking at me, “It was in use even in the seventies, when I worked at the research institute. I know I’m out of practice now, but I should think the general principles are still the same; I still remember it – it’s like riding a bike, once you learn, you don’t forget it. Briefly, it depends on the disease – the way it spreads, how infectious it is, how long its incubation period is, and what the death rate is. What also counts is what the government does to fight the disease. Back then we made calculations for seventeen infections – from plague to common flu. I’m not a doctor, I’m a mathematician, and I don’t know much about this new virus and I’m not going to bore you with differential equations but judging by how quickly the situation is progressing, the quarantine hasn’t really helped. Instead of getting better, people are dying, and dying fast – maybe the authorities are not using the right medicine, maybe they don’t have anything to treat it with, or maybe they’re still looking for the way to treat it – whatever that is. I don’t think the city has died yet, but it’ll die soon. And before the chaos begins, I’d try to get away as far as possible if I were you.”
“What chaos?” I asked, and then Sergey spoke:
“They’ll try to get out of the city, Anya, – those who’re not ill yet, together with those who’re already infected, but don’t know it, and they’ll also bring those who are already ill, because they can’t leave them behind. They will go past our house, they will knock on our door and ask for water or food, or to let them stay overnight, and as soon as you agree to do any of that, you’ll get infected.”
“And if you don’t agree, Anya,” said Boris. “They might get very upset with you. So the situation as it stands at the moment doesn’t sound very promising.”
“How much time do you think we have, Dad?” Sergey asked.
“Not much. I think a week max, if it’s not too late already. I know I had a go at you, guys, but I’m no better. You’re just a couple of brainless yuppies, but what was I thinking? I should have come to you straight away, as soon as they announced the quarantine, instead of binge drinking in my village. I’ve brought some stuff with me – not everything that’s needed, of course, I didn’t have much cash on me, and I was in a hurry, so we’ll have to scramble to get away as soon as possible. Sergey, open the gate; I need to bring my car in. I’m afraid the old banger won’t make it if I drive her again. For the last few kilometres I was seriously worried that I’d have to walk for the rest of the way.”
And while he was getting up and rummaging through his pockets for the keys, I looked at him and thought that this clumsy, noisy man, who we’d forgotten about and hadn’t called once since the epidemic had started to ask if he was all right, this man left his safe village, loaded the car with his simple possessions and was prepared to dump it in the middle of nowhere if the twenty-year old Niva died, and walk in the freezing cold, just to make sure we’re still here, and to make us do what he thinks will save our lives. I looked at Sergey and saw that he was thinking the same. I thought he was going to say something, but he simply took the keys from Boris and went out.
When the door closed behind him, the three of us stayed in the kitchen. Boris sat down, looked at me, unsmiling, and said:
“You don’t look great, Anya. And your mum?”
I felt my face crumpling and quickly shook my head. He took my hand and blundered on:
“Have you heard from Ira and Anton?”
I felt my tears drying up before I’d even started crying, because I had forgotten, completely forgotten, about Sergey’s first wife and their five-year old, Anton. I pressed my hand to my mouth and shook my head, horrified. He frowned and asked:
“Do you think he’ll agree to leave without them?” and answered his own question, “Although, first we need to know exactly where we’re going.”
We didn’t talk any more that night: when Sergey came back into the house, bent under the weight of the huge canvas rucksack, Boris jumped to his feet to help, quickly giving me a warning glance, and the conversation stopped. For the next half hour, both of them – stamping hard on the mat outside to shake the snow off their boots every time they came back – brought in Boris’s luggage from the Niva, now parked outside the house, as well as some bags, sacks and canisters. Sergey suggested leaving some of the stuff in the car – ‘we don’t need it right now, Dad’ – but Boris was adamant, and soon the whole of his motley belongings were piled in the study, where he insisted he wanted to sleep, and refused the bed linen I offered him.
“No need to make up a bed, Anya,” he said, “I’ll be fine on the sofa. We don’t have much time left for sleep anyway. Lock the doors and go to bed, we’ll talk again in the morning.” Then, still in his felt boots, he trotted into the study, leaving a wet trail behind him, and shut the door.
His orders to call it a day were just what was needed. First, without saying a word, Mishka went off to bed and I heard his door shut upstairs. Sergey locked the front door and left for bed, too. I went through every room downstairs, turning off the lights – ever since we moved here, this had become one of my favourite routines. After guests left, or after our usual, peaceful family evening together, I would wait until Sergey and Mishka had gone to bed, and then empty the ashtrays, remove the dishes from the table, adjust the cushions on the sofa, have a last cigarette in a quiet, warm kitchen, and retreat up the stairs, leaving behind the cosy, sleepy darkness. Then I’d stand outside Mishka’s door for a while, and finally enter our airy dark bedroom, take off my clothes, slip under the blanket and cuddle up to Sergey’s warm back.
3
FIRST BLOOD