neither of them have a chiefly sexual relationship with her. All three of them knew that if a couple formed in their small group, things would only get worse.
And so this danger had gone away all by itself, quickly and easily considering their shared deterioration and exhaustion. They had ended up living like brothers and sisters, without fearing intimacy and touching, without fearing a whiff of incest or romance.
He reached for her hands and rubbed them, taking care not to hurt her. Her hand was dirty, clammy, and unusually hot.
—She needs water, Ilyushenko said.
—I don’t have any more, Kronauer said, tilting his head toward the bottle that had been his flask for the past few days.
—Me neither, said Ilyushenko. We drank it all when we got here.
—I thought we’d have found some in the sovkhoz, Kronauer said regretfully.
—We’ve been stupid, said Ilyushenko.
—Yes, we have, Kronauer confirmed.
• Silence.
Immense sky.
Plants. Immense expanse of plants and, along the horizon, to the east, the forest’s edge. Above the trees, its origin an unknown distance away, was thin gray smoke. It rose straight up and then dissolved into a cloud.
—We could go to them, Kronauer suggested.
—Who are you talking about? asked Ilyushenko.
—The men on the train, Kronauer said. They probably have water.
—They’re soldiers, said Ilyushenko.
—We could tell them there’s a wounded woman, maybe they’ll fill a bottle for us.
—We don’t even know which faction they belong to, Ilyushenko said. What do they care about a wounded woman? Instead of giving us water, they could shoot us.
—Doubt it, Kronauer said. They’re probably not enemies.
—Who knows. They’re probably counterrevolutionaries.
—Or crazies.
—That, too. Crazies. And besides, women, they probably haven’t seen any in a while. Better not tell them there’s one around here.
• Silence. Sky. It was nearly five in the afternoon. The clouds had thinned, but were no longer blinding. Behind them, the sun flung pale rays. It was already October. The day wouldn’t last much longer.
—The smoke over there, did you see it? Kronauer asked.
He pointed toward the faint trail above the trees.
Ilyushenko got up a little to see which way he was pointing.
—A village, he hazarded. Or a fire burning on its own.
—More likely a village, Kronauer said.
—It’s pretty far off, said Ilyushenko.
—I could make it to the forest before nightfall, Kronauer said.
—You’d have to walk fast, Ilyushenko remarked.
—Then, tomorrow morning, I’d go look for help in the village, Kronauer said.
Ilyushenko shrugged.
—Once you’re in the woods, you won’t have anything to point the way. You could get lost, he said.
—I’m not afraid of going into the forest, Kronauer lied. I’ll manage.
—That’s the beginning of the taiga, Ilyushenko countered. It might not be too thick for the first few kilometers, but then it stretches out in all directions. There’s only one chance in ten that you’ll get to a village.
—Have to take the risk, Kronauer said. There’s no other solution.
—We could wait for the convoy to start again, Ilyushenko suggested.
—Sure, and what happens if it doesn’t?
The dying woman let out a groan. She wanted to say something. Kronauer leaned over her, as if to place a kiss on her lips. He looked at her mouth carefully. Sounds came out. He didn’t understand anything.
He kissed her forehead, put out his hand to wipe the damp away once again. His nostrils took in the scent of her deterioration, under his palm he felt the unusual heat of her face.
—Vassia, he whispered. Don’t be afraid. The soldiers haven’t seen us. We’re safe in the plants. I’m going to find water. It’ll get better.
A gust of wind interrupted him. The plants bent, trembled. The wind passed over Vassilissa Marachvili, it calmed Vassilissa Marachvili a little, it caressed Vassilissa Marachvili, it helped her to breathe.
—There’s a village, Kronauer said. I’m going over there. I’ll come back with water.
Vassilissa Marachvili wasn’t trying to talk anymore. She seemed unconscious.
For a good fifteen minutes, Kronauer stayed on his knees by her. He held her hand, he watched her face, which was a beautiful and energetic young girl’s and now dying. Remnants of blood soiled her lips, and cracks had appeared on her cheeks.
It was hard for him to leave her. The three of them all considered themselves already dead, but he feared the worst for her.
• Ilyushenko had picked up the binoculars. He looked at the railroad tracks once again. He stayed half upright for a couple of minutes, his head hidden under a strong bunch of fausse-malmequaire.
—They’re settling down for the night, he finally said. All the cars are open. I can see about twenty of them. Soldiers, prisoners. There’s six or seven of them exploring the ruins of the Red Star. Probably looking for water or something to burn. They’re going to make a campfire.
—All right, well, I’ll go now, Kronauer said.
—Be careful, Ilyushenko said. They’ve positioned a watchman on one of the car roofs. Walk in the valley for now. That way, if he sees you, you’ll be too far away for him to gun you down.
—Why would they want to gun me down? Kronauer asked.
—They’re soldiers, Ilyushenko said. They have to obey the orders they’re given. They know that nobody normal will be in the area. They’ve likely been told to shoot at enemies and deserters.
—Have to admit that makes sense, Kronauer said. If we still had our guns, we’d do the same.
• After having crossed the valley, Kronauer kept a quick pace toward the forest and, although exhaustion was turning his legs to jelly, he didn’t relent. At this point the landscape behind him had changed. The unmoving convoy and the sovkhoz were no longer visible. Nor was the hill on which Ilyushenko and Vassilissa Marachvili were hiding. Aside from the distant black line marking the beginning of the forest,
