of them causing the floor’s tiles to creak. They were both about the same height and, in the doorframe, they seemed at first like two kolkhozniks from long ago, dressed for the fall, with long brown wool skirts and, under their half-buttoned vests, high-necked blouses embroidered with patterns of birds and flowers on one, and spirals of forget-me-nots and daisies on the other. Neither of them wore jewelry. Kronauer immediately noticed their beauty, but he was so weak that his thoughts were hazy, distant, and wholly disconnected from any erotic sentiment.
They were without a question taller than their little sister, and also more feminine. Next to them, Samiya Schmidt would have looked childish. Although they all had Solovyei as a father, since their mothers were completely different and unknown, they barely resembled each other. They still shared something owing to their father’s attraction to Siberian women, whether from central Asia or the Far East. Their mothers had given them their own grace, cheekbones, beautiful curling eyebrows, and the eyelids they had lowered the night and the moment Solovyei had seduced or raped them. Samiya Schmidt had the physiognomy of a sweet but withdrawn Chinese girl, a light complexion, fairly typical Han traits, but the fact remained that Kronauer had met her on an unfavorable day, in poor lighting, in the forest’s shadows, such that he’d mistaken her for a corpse at first. The second daughter, Myriam Umarik, had deeply Altaic features, fleshy cheekbones, narrow eyes, a mouth with thick lips, a large and deliciously oval face. Her skin had a leathery complexion like a Native American, nearly orange in the room’s white light. Her physiological proximity to Samiya Schmidt was practically nil, and certainly nobody would have mistaken her for someone Chinese. Just as Samiya Schmidt seemed mistrustful, timid, even inhibited, so Myriam Umarik seemed resplendent, with long flowing chestnut hair that came down to her chest, and even if she kept her back straight while walking, she had a sensual way of moving her legs, her hips. Her eyes shone. She knew that her movements could bother men, especially Kronauer, but she wasn’t embarrassed at all.
As for Hannko Vogulian, the oldest daughter, she bore characteristics that, without being physical flaws, caused people to step back at a first glance. Her eyes had no white at all and were very dissimilar. The left one had the same red-blooded, rapacious color as her father Solovyei’s irises; the right one was a large piece of obsidian in the middle of which no pupil could be seen. This gave her the appearance of a strange mutant. That aside, the rest of her body had a great Asiatic perfection. Her face was lighter than Myriam Umarik’s, with smaller eyelids, a narrower mouth, eyes that were slightly angled toward the top of her temples. She had an elegant posture and the olive skin of a Yakut princess, and she was clearly proud and reticent, but perhaps that was because she knew the impression her strange pupils would have on Kronauer, and because she preferred to make it clear immediately that she didn’t care about his opinions. In short, if Myriam Umarik didn’t care about looking alluring, Hannko Vogulian didn’t care about looking like a fantastical creature. She had pulled her long black hair behind her shoulders and separated it to make a thin braid that went around her head like an iron diadem.
• The two women walked toward Kronauer. He was still leaning against the wall by the window. He struggled not to completely fall apart as he wondered whether these two splendid countrywomen were jailers or not. Have they come to free me or what? he wondered. It was only to express his shame that he finally spoke.
—Don’t come closer, he said wretchedly. I’m dirty and I don’t smell good. I’ve been traveling for weeks without washing.
They stopped four or five steps away from him.
—Oh, you didn’t have to bother telling us, Myriam Umarik said. We’re the ones who picked you up and dragged you over here yesterday afternoon.
She seemed to be swaying. Under her dress, her breasts shifted. She smiled wryly.
If Kronauer hadn’t been so weak, he would have blushed. The blood tried to fill his cheeks.
—I’d really like to take a shower or wash myself somewhere, he said.
—We’ll show you how to get to the shower room, Myriam Umarik said.
—Good, Kronauer said. Because I really don’t smell good.
—Don’t worry, soldier, Hannko Vogulian said. We’re not delicate. We’re in a kolkhoz here. The smells of cows don’t scare us. When we have to take care of animals, we just deal with it.
She still had an expressionless gaze and she looked at Kronauer with her two different eyes that had no white, the one gold and the other black. Kronauer looked away. He wasn’t used to her gaze and he couldn’t decide if it was attractive, magnificent, or monstrous.
—That’s right, yes, we’re not delicate, Myriam Umarik repeated.
—They told me that after nuclear accidents the cows couldn’t reproduce anymore. So they disappeared fast. But you, you still have animals?
—Well, we don’t have as many herds as before, Hannko Vogulian said. But when we have to take care of a cow or a sheep, we just do.
—Or a pig, Myriam Umarik added, swaying her buttocks.
—Don’t worry, solider, Hannko Vogulian said.
Neither of them seemed to feel pity for him. Without giving him any time to ponder the consequences of radioactivity on the ovine, bovine, equine, porcine, avian, or human, or generally surviving populations of the area, they invited Kronauer to go wash up. As he wavered and was not able to let go of the wall he was leaning against, Myriam Umarik went over to him, grabbed him by the sleeve, and pushed him ahead of her. She didn’t help him to walk, she didn’t hold his arms or his shoulders to help him balance, but she guided him. In any case, even if she stepped aside to get out of his way when he staggered, she didn’t evince any great disgust at his smell.
—Go on, soldier, she said a couple of times. It’s at the end of the hallway. You’re not sick. It’s nothing but a little exhaustion.
Sometimes Kronauer held out his arms to lean against the hallway wall. His knees were weak. Hannko Vogulian was two steps ahead of him, he felt like she was too close and if he stumbled and staggered forward, he would drag her down as he fell.
They brought him to the washroom, which was behind an iron door. They opened it and stepped aside to let him through. From where they were standing, still in the hallway, they pointed out a basket with a thick terry-cloth towel and clothes for him to change into. There was also a huge zinc basin where they told him he could wash his rags later. Finally they told him that after the shower he could sit down for a snack, a light meal, Hannko Vogulian said, nothing to give him a stomachache, Myriam Umarik clarified, so you can recuperate physically before you start eating properly.
Kronauer could feel their unwelcoming eyes on him. He avoided looking up at them. He was afraid more than anything of fainting again, he didn’t want them to have to lean over his inert and smelly body once more. The scenery drifted around him, the iron door that resembled a boiler-room door, black and heavy, the high tiled walls, the cement floor, the strong lights all turned on. He was now by a small table and a wood bench that had a bar of soap, a brush, and the basket with perfectly folded clothes.
He walked past the zinc basin, then took off his coat and set it on the ground. The room seemed overwhelming and large. Along the bottom, the wall was covered with green porcelain, which was the only decoration here; the rest of the room was completely white. Large mold stains covered the ceiling. Eight shower heads came out of the wall on the left, with drains painted red below. They were spaced widely enough to allow each user to wash without bothering either neighbor, but there was no divider between any of them.
Myriam Umarik watched Kronauer’s curious eyes.
