The Secret History of Moscow Page 24

  He heard Galina's voice calling out, “Masha, Masha!"

  "Excuse me,” he said to the woman. “Let me see what's going on there."

  She nodded, already looking after the people heading down the path. “Don't worry about me. The subway must be open already, so I better go. Beat the rush hour.” She smiled. “Thanks for stopping to talk to me."

  "My pleasure,” he said, and turned to see Galina, panicked now, running from one cluster of people to the next. She looked anxiously into women's faces, grabbed sleeves. Yakov followed behind her.

  Fyodor caught up to them. “What's going on?"

  Galina mopped her sleeve at her tear-filled eyes. “Masha…” she whispered, all fire gone out of her. “My sister. She isn't here."

  19: Masha

  The silent park came alive with the chirping of birds as the sun's first rays filtered through the naked black tree branches that stood against the watercolor-pale sky. Galina listened to the sounds absentmindedly-these were small ordinary birds, tits and nuthatches and wrens. She heard the cawing of crows off in the distance, but no Masha. She snuggled into the snow, finally exhausted, and hugged her knees to her chest. Everything had been useless. The transformation of birds back, hundreds that went home to their families-just now, before her very eyes-did not matter. Masha was not here, and everything was pointless. She couldn't fathom returning home, and she thought with indifference that she could freeze to death, die here in the snow, and it would be as fitting an end as any.

  Yakov sat down next to her. Her heart fluttered for a moment when she saw a bird in his hand, and slowed down just as quickly-the bird was an ordinary crow, who cawed at Yakov demandingly.

  "Imagine that,” he said by the way of explanation. “This crow was the only real one in the whole bunch-my Carl."

  "Your pet,” she remembered.

  He didn't argue. “I'm so sorry,” he said. “Elena said they would search underground once more."

  "What's the use?” she said. “The charm is gone, and Alkonost has no more feathers to give."

  "Koschey…” Yakov started.

  "Can't do anything without the feathers,” she concluded, determined to wallow in her misery with as much abandon as she could muster in this low-spirited moment. “And how do you know she wasn't on this side, somewhere?"

  Yakov remained silent, his fingers caressing the crow's shining black head absentmindedly. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I know how it feels-but really, you shouldn't sit in the snow, you'll freeze."

  "That'd be just fine,” Galina said darkly, but couldn't help but feel ridiculous and small, and her eyes grew hot again with unbidden tears.

  "Come on,” Yakov said and nudged her to get up. “It's warmer in the cabin."

  Galina sighed and followed him inside.

  Elena smiled at her, but stopped once she noticed Galina's face. Elena gave her a quick warm hug. “I so wish I had some tea here,” she said.

  Galina nodded. “Tea would be nice."

  Oksana, Yakov, Fyodor and Koschey stared at them, and Elena wrapped her arm around Galina's shoulders and turned her to face the window, their backs to the others. “Don't pay attention to them,” she whispered. “They mean well, but they don't know what to say. Frankly, neither do I."

  "Where's Zemun?” Galina said. “And Timur-Bey?"

  Elena waved her hand. “Underground. You can come back with me, if you want. It's not so bad there, and you can forget things you want to forget. If it's especially bad, you can always give it to the boatman."

  "I know,” Galina said. “Yakov met him; he didn't seem too happy."

  Elena shrugged. “It's funny how it goes. But the boatman, he can help you, really. And it is-quiet. It'll be quieter still with Likho and Zlyden gone. We can drink tea and talk all day."

  Galina nodded. “It sounds nice.” Better than the alternative, she thought. She remembered the story of Sirin, of the power of her voice to lull people into quiet contentment that was worse than death-at least, so the stories went, but they never explained why it was so bad. The heroes were meant to struggle and persevere, to fight, to not give in. But after the fight was done and one still lost, why not let the contentment take over? There was nothing for her on the surface.

  She heard Yakov and Fyodor murmuring behind them, and turned to see what was going on. She had decided to abandon hope because hope would only hurt more, but she couldn't help it.

  Fyodor was showing Yakov and Koschey a jackdaw, and Sergey, still in the body of the white rook, looked on skeptically. Galina's heart squeezed in a painful spasm.

  "No,” Fyodor said quickly. “It's not your sister, sorry. It's that guy, Vladimir-or rather his soul, see? It was in another one of those glass spheres, Oksana's rat stole it from Slava-so we jammed it into the jackdaw. Koschey said that he might be able to bring Sergey back, so I thought maybe he'd help Vladimir."

  Vladimir the jackdaw gave a strained squawk. “Are you really Koschey the Deathless?” he asked Koschey.

  "Really,” Koschey said. “And yes, I might be able to help you, only I would need a suitable body."

  Yakov and Fyodor exchanged looks.

  "What?” Koschey said. “I can't make something out of nothing. Soul-trading is one thing, but making bodies out of thin air is an entirely too metaphysical a proposition."

  "But those birds…” Yakov started.

  "Those people were turned into birds by a magic I don't have,” Koschey said. “I reversed it. But how do you suppose I could make a human body out of a glass sphere, or a stupid jackdaw? Haven't you idiots ever heard of conservation of mass?"

  Yakov and Fyodor nodded, silent like guilty children.

  "Let's take a look at what you've wrought with this jackdaw here then,” said Koschey, and took the jackdaw from Fyodor's hands. “Uh-huh-wait… what is this?"

  "What is what?” Oksana said. “Did we do something wrong?"

  "You mean, besides ramming a glass sphere down an unsuspecting bird's beak?” Koschey scoffed. “Yes, actually you did. This bird-this is one of those cursed ones."

  "Why didn't it turn back to human then?” Yakov said.

  "Because you stuck another soul into it,” Koschey said. “Fucking amateurs.” He studied the jackdaw for some time, and finally turned to Galina. When he spoke, his voice was careful, calculated. “Darling,” he said. “I have good news and bad news for you."

  Galina swallowed with a dry throat, the sound of blood in her ears deafening. Through its roar, she barely discerned Koschey's words.

  "The good news,” he said, “is that I think we've found your little sister."

  * * * *

  Galina remembered the time Masha had run away from home. Unlike most children who come back around dinner time, Masha had kept walking; the police apprehended her ten miles away from their home, well beyond the circular highway that surrounded the city like a snake swallowing its own tail and gagging on its own noxious exhalations of gasoline and tar heated by the sun. When the policeman brought Masha home, her dress-pink roses on pale-yellow background-smelled of gas and exhaust, and she could not provide a cogent answer to the grownups’ questions-why? What were you trying to do?-and just stared past the worried faces of their mother and grandmother. And only when they left her alone and Galina asked her the same thing, she shrugged. “I don't know. I just wanted to be away."

  "Aren't you happy here, with us?"

  "I am.” Masha smiled, her usual sunny disposition returning. “I just wanted to see where else could I be happy."

  Where else indeed. Even her rebellion was good-natured, not a denial but an attempt to affirm more, to embrace more of the world. Galina envied that capacity for love-when she had run away as a child, she had come home before dinner, after wandering through the neighborhood streets and indulging in the fantasy of her mother's grief and remorse until she grew tired and hungry; past that point, her sullen indignation could not sustain her. Masha taught her that love and curiosity was a more enduring force.<
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  She looked at the jackdaw sitting in Koschey's palm. “What's going to happen?” the jackdaw said. “To me, I mean-Vladimir."

  "We'll have to find you another vessel,” Koschey answered. “I fear that we only have some rats available."

  Vladimir did not look thrilled. “A rat?"

  "Don't worry,” Fyodor said. “I'm sure we'll find you something more suitable underground. Maybe a rook, like Sergey."

  "I don't want to go underground,” Vladimir said.

  "Neither do I,” Sergey confirmed.

  "Well, it doesn't look like you have a choice now, does it?” Elena said. “Unless you want to stay here-but you know what they say about white crows. Besides, underground there are no cats, except Bayun."

  Galina heaved a sigh. “What about my sister?” she said. “Does it mean she will stay a bird forever?"

  Koschey shrugged. “That's my bad news, dear. I can't turn her back, but I can transfer her soul into another woman's body-if you can find one, that is."

  "You mean for her to live someone will have to die?” she said. The idea did not seem monstrous to her-after all, just a few minutes ago she contemplated freezing to death. Petulance was not enough to compel her. But love…?

  "No,” Koschey said. “Not die, exactly. Just trade places with her, become a bird."

  "Like these two?” Galina pointed at Sergey and Vladimir.

  "Not quite,” Koschey said. “They act human because their souls are separated from birds’ bodies, wrapped into glass. They are like hands inside puppets-they animate them, but they are not the same. Without the protection of glass, the human soul will become a bird's soul."

  Galina nodded. “I'll trade with her,” she said. “Gladly."

  Elena shot her a worried look. “Galina-do you think this is really a good idea?"

  Galina smiled. “This is the best idea I ever had. Just let me tell her something, while I can still talk."

  Koschey grasped the bird and extracted the glass marble with Vladimir's soul from the bird's crop. Galina cringed at the unceremonious manhandling of her sister, and looked away. She only looked when the green glass sphere lay secure in Koschey's narrow palm, ridges of bone running parallel along it like barrel staves.

  Galina cradled the jackdaw in her palms, carefully as if it were a fragile Christmas ornament. The jackdaw looked at her sideways, its head tilted, its expression roguish. Galina stepped outside.

  "Listen,” she said to the jackdaw, “when you remember all this-and you must, you must-please don't feel bad. Sure, this body is older than your own, but this is the best I can do. Remember-you have a baby, and mom is your responsibility now. Don't tell her what happened. Just be yourself."

  She looked at the naked trees, delicate and yet stark against the sky like a painting. She searched for words to explain to the carefully listening bird. “She won't like you at first, but soon enough she'll realize that you aren't me. Just do what you always do. I wish I could make it easier, I wish you could come back to things like they used to be. You'll be a spinster aunt to your child, but it is better than not being there at all. And your husband will come back from the army and grieve for you, and you won't be able to tell him the truth, no matter how much it rips you up-just like that story, remember? No signs, no telling about the curse, or they'll lock you up and you won't like it. I leave you with my liabilities.

  "But also, my advantages. You have a job-you'll just have to brush up on your English, and Velikanov will forgive you for missing work, and he'll cut you every break. Maybe you'll even like him.

  "But most of all, remember this: I will try and visit you sometime. I don't know what it's like, being a jackdaw, I don't know if I would even remember, but if I can hold onto anything, I will hold onto this. And one thing I'm asking of you: remember that you had a sister once, a sister who loved you more than forty thousand brothers."

  Galina swallowed and thought of something else to say. She wanted to talk about love and how strong it was, about how Masha ran away all these years ago and surely, if it was strong enough to take her away it was strong enough to bring her back. She wanted to tell her to be kind to their mother even though she wouldn't be kind in return-not at first at least, not while she still thought that the woman in Galina's body was Galina, the same damaged creature. But Masha knew all that already, and if anyone could win their mother over, it was her.

  Galina returned to the cabin, the jackdaw perched on her wrist. “We're ready,” she told Koschey. “Just let me say my goodbyes."

  Yakov nodded at her awkwardly.

  "What are you going to do?” Galina said.

  He made a face. “I'm not going back underground, that's for sure."

  "What about your grandfather?"

  "I'll send him a note, I guess,” Yakov said. “But my mother-she needs me more than he does. And there are things I need to take care of here."

  Normally, Galina wouldn't pry; but right now coyness seemed superfluous. “What things?” she asked.

  He jerked his shoulders, making the crow that perched there flap its wings and caw. “I want to talk to my ex-wife, for one. I need to know what happened-do you ever think that there are people you should've been kinder to?"

  Galina nodded.

  "Same with my ex,” he said. “There are things we need to talk about."

  "Good luck,” Galina said.

  "Same to you,” he said. “It's really nice, what you're doing for your sister."

  She was grateful that he didn't argue with her decision. “Thanks,” she said. “Good luck on the surface."

  "I'm staying underground,” Fyodor said. “It's much nicer there."

  "Yes,” Oksana added. “I only came to the surface to help, but I can't wait to get back-Sovin will be so mad at me that I got one of his rats killed."

  "It could've been more than one,” Galina said. “You did well. Thanks for helping."

  Oksana shrugged. “I suppose."

  Timur-Bey didn't say much and just shook her hand.

  "I'll be seeing you around the underground then,” she said, and turned to Elena. “And you too."

  Elena pouted a bit. “That's not what I meant. But you're welcome to stop by any time-even though jackdaws are poor conversationalists."

  Galina was flattered by the disappointment so evident in Elena's voice. “I'm glad to have met you,” she said. “I really would've liked to be friends with you."

  After that, there wasn't much else to say and she looked to Koschey. “I'm ready, I guess."

  "I haven't done this one in a while,” he said. “It's not at all like putting one's death into a needle."

  Galina wanted to ask what was the difference between a soul and a death and how did he learn to do these things, and what was his relationship to Baba Yaga. But there were too many questions-she would never ask them all, and now was her last chance. It seemed better to descend into silence without asking them. Let Masha figure out these things.

  "Here we go,” Koschey said.

  He ordered Galina to stand still while looking into the eyes of the bird perched on her wrist. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Koschey plucking thin translucent threads of magic from the air, weaving them together. She felt a nudge form within, a momentary vertigo, as if she were falling into a well. The jackdaw's eye became black and huge in front of her face, like a black moon, like a starless sky, like the bottom of a well.

  The giant eye shrunk into a pupil, and was now surrounded with a hazel iris, crosshatched with golden and brown streaks. As she pulled away, her field of vision widened to the view of a pale face with blue smudges of shadow under tired, heavy-lidded eyes and a bloodless, tormented mouth. It took her a while to realize that the face she was looking into was hers.

  The woman's eyes focused, and her mouth opened in the expression of childlike surprise and wonder. “Galka?” she whispered.

  "Yes, Masha, it is me,” she wanted to answer, but her mouth-her beak, made of hard bone and horn-opened
in a loud, jubilant squawk.

  It is me, the jackdaw Galina cried, and this is you, and oh God, I'm so happy to have found you. I'm sorry it is not as perfect as I wanted it to be. Go now, go, hold your child, tell Mom that it'll be all right, visit grandma in the hospital. Just go, just go.

  She felt restless itching in her arms (wings), and she spread them wide. She circled the cabin, faces of people around her barely registering, until she found the open door and flew outside. There were other birds there, but there would be time for them later, and she circled over the cabin, rising higher and higher into the air.

  She saw a woman and a man, both looking familiar-the woman tall and hunched and pale, the man squat and blocky-exit the cabin and walk down the path. As she rose higher into the sky, they became two black dots slowly traversing the great powdery whiteness below, the black tree branches weaving a delicate net above them. The river, still free of ice, snaked in its wintry desolate blackness between its white banks, and a white church stood almost invisible on a white snow-covered slope, only its onion roof golden with captured sunshine.

  She spiraled downward, to take another look at the small wooden cabin tucked away in the very heart of the park, and watched a tall, skeletal man exit the cabin and crane his neck, shielding his eyes from the sun. A woman in a black velvet dress holding a shotgun stood next to him, watching Galina like he did.

  She also saw a small gypsy girl, surrounded by an army of rats, make her way to the river; a tall lanky guy followed her, not quite with her, not quite separate. They sat on the bank, the rats spread around them like a living blanket, and watched the smooth river surface.

  Deep inside the jackdaw knew that sometime soon she would find those people again, follow them by flying through an imaginary window or a reflection of a doorway in a rain puddle; a part of her had an inkling of other birds underground, and a fond memory of a white cow glowing with warm bluish light and spilling stars like milk. But not yet-she had things to attend to here, on the surface, first.

  She rose high enough to see the streets beyond the park, animated with a slow churning of crowds and smells of fire and exhaust; she saw the squat tomb of the subway station and its slow disgorging and consumption of the dark throngs. There was ringing of trams and heavy sighs of the kneeling buses that carried tourists and honking of automobile horns; there were smells of fresh bread and beer and ash.