Voroshilovgrad (40 page)

“You, who arose from nothing,” she began, “and who came from nowhere, sweet like light and invisible like the night . . . Everything that has transpired around you—all the air you breathed through your mother's pores, all the clouds that coasted by above you, and all the rocks resting beneath the ground—it all fits inside your dreamland. Everything that you're now seeing in your sleep, everything you will engender when you wake, will serve you on this night; everything is circling overhead like stars spinning in emptiness. Incredible warmth rose off the rivers so that you wouldn't freeze during your voyage. Grass sprouted out of the earth so you could tread across it, heading west. Animals followed your breath, warming the black womb of the night with the heat of their flanks, and spirits flew up above like swallows, seeking out a place of respite.

Your head was created from the starry sky. Your right eye was created from rays of moonlight and your left eye was created from the yellow sun. Your teeth were created from comets and fallen stars. Your skin was molded from the October fog. Rain formed your lungs and your joyful heart beats on through the drought. Your arms grow out of the stems of bitter plants and juicy cornstalks shape your calves. When you open your eyes the moon
waxes, when you close them fishermen's boats sink. When you sigh, women touch the hair of solemnity and regret, and when you see the skies in your sleep, cows' udders fill up with milk.

Everyone who came to welcome you into this world, everyone who will follow you up and down mountain trails, now sings for you alone. They all have swallows hibernating below the roofs of their mouths, for we all have to persevere together, forging through the snow together, leading our animals across frozen rivers, shepherding endless throngs of animals, guiding them through the mountains, through deep winter nights, through cities buried under feet of snow, and across railroad tracks. Keep sleeping until the birds resting on weary men's shoulders wake you. Keep sleeping until the hearts of those who love you stop beating. When you awake, the morning air will quicken and flow westward, taking with it all our desires and all the secret words we have spoken to you. When you awake, you'll show us the way out of this barren land, you'll draw us a long, narrow line that will lead us to all those from whom we once were parted.”

When she finished, everyone got the message and started leaving the tent. Their excited friends and families awaited them outside. The woman who had spoken over the newborn was the last one out, and the group made room for her; she stood before all the other nomads, her attentive gaze enveloping each of them in turn. They were all anxious for her to say something.

“She has golden eyes and swarthy skin,” the woman pronounced.
“Since we've already reached this distant land, since we've already stopped over in this field, let her name be Moka.”

A gust of hot wind rushed by after her announcement, rustling the women's hair and knocking the men's hats off. Then the women lifted their hands to the heavens and started shouting ecstatically, and the men threw their clenched fists into the black, October air, thanking the local spirits for their benevolence and forbearance and praising their newborn princess, Moka, their guardian, their ticket to Europe, the queen of the Mongols, the bearer of the FC Shakhtar Donetsk silver rings, the gold-eyed sleeping beauty who gave them all hope and faith.

And amid all of these joyful cries, all this commotion, Karolina took my hand and tied a thin, red band around it.

“Here's a little something for you to remember this night by,” she said.

Then she shoved me forward, right into the happy, bustling crowd, which immediately spun me around and carried me along, out into the night, past the glimmering firelight. They were all celebrating, embracing each other, hopping on each other's backs, and running into the thick, low-hanging blanket of smoke that was settling around them. I looked back, but Karolina had vanished. In her place there was only the wind, fluttering the EU flags, kicking up dust, and clearing the way for happy men with copper voices who circled around me and sang incomprehensible songs with incredible energy. Children raced by us, slipping through the men's legs and dodging the women's embraces, screeching and laughing. They plunged down into the dark void, churning the fog, knocking stars out of the sky with their long, bony fingers,
and the stars, spilled down, thudding onto the tents' canvas roofs, falling into the fires like chestnuts, where they produced spark after spark, gliding into pockets and falling on men's hats, where each one burst with a splash of cold, bright juice. The herd, distracted by the racket, moved lazily through the camp and down into the valley, with its serenity and water barrels. Lethargic cows ducked away from the women trying to tie ribbons and shawls around their horns and lowed as they descended those insane hills. Sheep and goats trotted along after them, and the children, true nomads that they were, rode on their backs, barely visible, like ghosts, a unit of devilish cavalry that would forge on through the rainy season and the long drought alike, into the most fertile valleys and farmlands. The women danced gracefully by the campfires in their robes and raincoats, slipping into a trance drawn together by as they shared movements that imitated the birds of the air and the beasts of the land.

I was already tired out from all the festivities, so I cut through yet another drove of children and headed back to the Karolina's tent. I crossed the threshold. The television was still pumping the nighttime air full of its soft, weightless glow. Karolina was lying on a sleeping bag, passionately kissing some muscular blonde woman in orange overalls. She had already taken off Karolina's sweater and was now kissing her dark, heavy breasts, while Karolina was ruffling her short hair and unbuttoning her overalls. I pretended I was watching the TV, but Karolina noticed me at once and
became even more passionate. I tried slipping out of the tent as unobtrusively as possible.

“Herman,” Karolina called, sounding amused. “Where are you going?”

“Don't mind me,” I answered. “Keep doing your thing.”

“Don't be scared,” Karolina said. “Come over here.”

“I don't want to disturb you.”

The blonde swiveled her head and started looking at me too.

“You're not disturbing us.”

“You're really getting us going,” Karolina added and started laughing again. “All right, just go to bed.”

They just lay there entwined, waiting for my next move, intrigued. I figured it wouldn't be right to just get up and leave. “Everyone celebrates in their own way,” I thought. I found my sleeping bag, slid inside it, and closed my eyes, turning indignantly to face the wall. I could still hear them kissing when I fell asleep.

5

“. . . she said that you'd be still be here, that you decided to stay.”

“Decided to stay?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn't she wake me up?”

“She said she couldn't bring herself to do it, you were sleeping like a baby.”

“Like a baby? What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, that you were sound asleep.”

“At least she didn't take my passport.”

“. . .”

“That EU commission . . . they're just a bunch of frauds.”

“. . .”

“Why did they leave me here?”

“Herman,” Tamara said wearily, “what do you want me to do about it?”

“Nothing,” I answered, dissatisfied with the whole situation.

Recalling the past and piecing it all together isn't a pleasant task. Up above, the sun's bronze torso coasted by like an airship, drifting through warm currents of air. I'd woken up around noon and now I thought back to yesterday and last night, the night that lasted for an eternity. I thought back to the songs, names, and faces, imbibing all the while the scents of the dwelling in which I found myself, taking in a silence so profound as to be incredible. The silence scared me. “Are they all still sleeping?” I asked myself. “Maybe they celebrated all night and now they're resting up for the long, arduous trek to come.” I slipped out of my sleeping bag and saw that neither Karolina nor her blonde girlfriend were in the tent. In fact, there was nothing there, no sleeping bags, no clothes, no ancient black and white TVs, no books, bags, maps, or socks. It had all just disappeared. Expecting the worst, I went outside.

There was nothing left of the camp except ruins and piles of ashes. Black, skinny strands of smoke stretched toward the sky like hungry cobras. The well-worn paths the nomads had tramped into the ground during their stay formed an odd, incomprehensible
pattern now that pilots and birds could use to reconstruct the route taken by wild eastern tribes heading who knows where and who knows why. I couldn't tell when they'd managed to pack up and move out, how they could possibly have gotten away without my noticing. The only things left were two big tents, inflated by the afternoon air, and those poles with the EU flags flapping on them in the middle of the field—while off in the distance, down in the valley, I could see a few soldiers circling around the blue portable toilets, about to load them onto an army flatbed truck. Next to the truck, where the barrels of water had been, I saw the shimmering, white, church-issued Volga. I went on over.