I didnt know what to do. I was choking. I thought my lungs would bake. I coughed and retched as the smoke bit my throat and tried to call out to Baba, but my words came out a scream. I screeched like a pig being killed.
I cried. I didnt want to die with the sound of my screeching in my ears. A roof timber came crashing down in the middle of the house, again I was knocked onto my back. Lying there, I opened my eyes to see my last, and there was the night sky above me, cool and distant like the forest. I wondered about Stalin and heaven and all the stars that must be the souls of good children. I prayed for Stalins help, the way we did it crossed my fingers, shut my eyes, breathed to speak the words and gulped in clean, fresh air. The smoke was flying through the roof. Maybe I could live!
Adrenalin flowed through me then, drowning the terror. I leapt up. The front door was blocked where the roof had caved in, but the stove the brave stove stood like a rock in the back, propping up the roof, protecting me, giving me an escape route. There was a back way, you see a little side door where Baba got the pigs in, before they were taken away. I scrambled for the stove, to save myself.
But then I thought of Baba. I looked back to her bed, and I saw arms in the shadows: arms, Vlad, reaching out to me, fingers moving, scratching the air. Fingers. The old man looked down at his hands, the fingers twitching with claw-like movements. I couldnt scuttle away. I went to save her. I did! I jumped through the flames and thrust myself forward. But it started raining fire. I looked up and
Anatoly Borisovich looked up, a mess of tears trickling from his luminous, childlike eyes. I looked up and flames fell into my eyes. They stuck to my cheeks. I heard a scream, but it was just me, scrabbling in the muck and soot to get away. I was pain, not a human being. I had no control!
When I came to myself, I was rolling around on the frost in the yard, rubbing dirt into my face. People were coming, running from their houses up the track: I heard them, knew their shouting and swearing. Comrade Goloshov, he came first, then my cousin, and my uncle. I was on the yard floor as they knelt above me, their faces glowing with the fire. They were all crying, my cousin was screaming I saw the horror in his face: the horror of looking at me. The whole roof collapsed, and the flames leapt to the clouds. No one could save my baba. Im not sure they even tried. They just all stood around shouting and scratching their arses.
I was wrapped in a blanket: it took all my skin off. And they carried me away. They carried me away and I dont remember what happened. There was a fever. They thought I would die. I didnt.
Vlad picked up the plastic water jug and emptied it into Anatoly Borisovichs glass. The old man took it, and sipped.
Thats how I got these scars. The old man rubbed a hand over his cheeks and smiled, chuckling to himself as his eyes remained stark. I was going to save Baba, but I couldnt help myself. I couldnt do my duty. I scuttled away. He drew a shaky breath.
Im sorry, Anatoly Borisovich. Thats a a sad tale indeed. But look how much youve remembered! Vlad placed a large, warm hand on the old mans forearm. And do you recall what happened next?
What happened? the old man grunted softly. They sifted through the wreckage, to gather up the bones before the animals got them. Thats what happened next.
And To you, I mean?
Me? Little Tolya? They buried my baba next to my mama in the cemetery on the lane going out of town. There was no priest, no service. I was too sick to go, and Papa couldnt attend: he was on a quota. In fact, I dont think I saw Papa again. It was just the way it was. My uncle and aunt and cousin all went, paid their respects along with Goloshov ha! I saw the wooden marker, a few months later, there in the soil crooked!
I went to live with my cousins family, and we moved to Krasny Bor, a few kilometres away. It wasnt the same. I wasnt like them. My cousin spent weeks crying like a baby every time he looked at me, and then, well, he avoided me. In school, and in our shared room. Our mothers were sisters but, you know, my mother had already gone, and his mother was a funny kind of woman. She chose to marry an Armenian. Not a bad thing in itself but theyre secretive people, you know? Look after their own. I felt apart.
Thats really very interesting! said Vlad, scribbling into his notepad.
Im not saying they mistreated me, but Anatoly Borisovich sniffed, and ran a finger around the bottom of his right eye. I was sent away to military school. Imagine me in a military school! Ha! Wrenched from the forest and sent away to barracks, where they tried to teach me to follow orders and put together a gun. Me, an artist. I was there a long time, but they gave up in the end. He smiled and sat silently for a while, eyes fixed on the air, on nothing. When I came back, my cousin had taken over the entire room. There was no space for me.
So, do you have living family, Anatoly Borisovich? Ive found no family record in your file. This cousin
Yes. Cousin Gor. Hes still living around here, somewhere.
Gor? Vlad stopped writing, mouth open. Er, thats an unusual name!
Goryoun Tigranovich Papasyan: a good Armenian name, my boy. As I recall we both moved to Rostov. He came first, and I followed. I still hoped to connect for family ties, for something.
Vlad had dropped his pen and was making a meal of picking it up.
Youre quite the butterfingers today, observed the old man, his eyes closing as a great sigh pushed its way out of his chest.
Ha! Yes! Vlad chewed a fingernail and frowned. Thats amazing but, no are you sure hes your cousin?
Anatoly Borisovich opened an eye. Is that really a question?
Vlad chewed a second nail. No. Im sorry. Its just oh, never mind. He scratched his head. Nothing you need to worry about. And Yuri? he said finally. What became of the moth boy? Did you ever see him again, after the fire?
The other eye opened and directed a bright gaze into Vlads expectant face. Yuri? he said with a puzzled smile. He was gone. No one saw him again. Hed started the fire, you see, and he fizzed in the flames. Hed fried, like moths do. Thats what happens, isnt it? He leant forward suddenly, hands gripping the bedsheets. They die, if they get too close to the light. What else could happen?
Vlad stared open-mouthed at the old man, and then leafed back through his notes. But how do you know? You didnt mention him being there, when you woke. Did you see him?
Anatoly Borisovichs eyes burnt silently into Vlads, his cheeks crinkling like weathered paint as he smiled.
I am confused: thats why Im here. I dont know what youre Youre trying to blame me? Of course! I knew you would! But it was him: Yuri moth boy! He started the fire. He killed my baba. He didnt mean to. But he was always trying to get to the light. You must believe me!
Anatoly Borisovich yanked the covers up over his stubbly, crumb-strewn chin.
I still hear him tapping, poor dead Yuri. Tapping on the windows, waiting to get in. He was tapping for days when I when I The old man broke off and wiped a hand across his eyes.
Tapping?
Vlad looked from the old man to the window and back again, and something in the grimness of the face sent a soft chill across his skin. He pulled the sleeves of his jumper down over his hands and chewed on the end of his pen.
He read over todays notes: vivid childhood imagination, coupled with possible early psychosis, led to hallucinations and projection of feelings and fears. Story of Yuri the moth boy an obvious fabrication / hallucination: the fictitious character an invisible friend. He added the words: blamed in retrospect by AB for the fire and death of grandmother, now those events have been recalled following long period of, whats it called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder? Need to look it up. So, could have been arson or accident? Murder, or just manslaughter? In conclusion, likely triggers for physical / mental collapse on or around 8th September 1994: hallucinations brought on by fever and bout of flu diagnosed on arrival, coupled with malnutrition and sudden, uncontrolled recollection of the traumatic childhood event, due to the above and He tapped his pen nib against the paper.
Was it the tapping that brought on your recollection and collapse, do you think? You heard it, just before you came in here? Was it the trigger? he asked eventually. We need a trigger.
Was it the tapping that brought on your recollection and collapse, do you think? You heard it, just before you came in here? Was it the trigger? he asked eventually. We need a trigger.
Ah Yes! Maybe? The old mans eyes lit up. Im not sure. Its such a blur. I remember a tree I couldnt sleep! Such tap-tap-tapping!
Vlad smiled to himself, jotting down: a trigger: the repeated tapping of a tree on the window, echoing the mythical moth boy tapping. The result: a frenzy of self-recognition, guilt and denial, resulting in a loss of all faculties and an inability to care for himself. Then he added an asterisk and the words, underlined: Amazing coincidence Papasyan is his cousin!!! Estranged, however. He sat up straight in his seat trying to hold down a triumphant grin. Superb, Anatoly Borisovich! Thats just what I needed to hear! Its all clear to me now!
He shook the old mans hand, pumping it up and down. Youll be relieved to hear we can end these visits now. You have told me what caused your collapse and now I can write it all up and er, sort it all out! That might take some time I have to consult my tutor and all that, but well done! Well done! Ill be back, at some point
He hummed as he slammed out of the room, still smiling, not looking back. He could hardly wait to get started on his case study. It all seemed straightforward now. And hed have to tell Polly about it. She was sure to be surprised. She might even be impressed! He looked at his watch, and thought of her peachy buttocks.
Alone in his room, Anatoly Borisovich covered his face in his hands.