“Flea-bitten titmouse,” I muttered, and since no one but her could see me, I smiled.
With the sawmill closed, I spent the new few days at home to save on gas, built my fireplace, and enjoyed the peace and quiet. When I refused to visit Blagoveshchensk, it visited me. The crunch of tires on gravel warned me I had a visitor, as did Petra’s single bark.
“Stay,” I ordered in Romansh. The wolf turned her ears back at my edict, but she snatched her bone and dragged it to the corner before pinning it between her paws. Her defiance amused me, although her choice to head deeper into the cabin assured me she would do as told. Covered in mortar, I headed to the door, relieved I hadn’t bothered removing the troublesome talisman. Better yet, I’d wrapped the scarab cuff to protect it, which transformed it into an odd, homemade brace of sorts, so unless my guest opted to be rude, my jewelry would remain a secret.
A car marked as belonging to the politsiya parked beside my truck, and Timofey Matveevich Vasiljev stepped out.
As often was the case with the locals, I couldn’t tell if he scowled for a reason.
“Good afternoon, Timofey Matveevich Vasiljev,” I greeted, hoping my formality would appease the uchastkovyi, regretting I wasn’t aware of how I should address him.
“Good afternoon, Sergei Sokolov,” he replied, and if my lack of a patronymic bothered him, he didn’t show it—or he’d believed my story about how my name had been butchered in the United States. “I would have called, but you don’t have a phone.”
“It’s the price of living so far away from civilization. I’m sorry you’ve had to come all this way. How can I help you?”
“I have some questions.”
I took that as my cue to invite the man in and begin the odd dance the locals enjoyed when welcoming someone into their home. “Please come in.” The American in me demanded I add, “Pardon my mess. I was taking advantage of the time off to work on my fireplace.” I held up my mortar-covered hands. “My dog’s inside, and she’s not used to strangers, so give her space. She won’t bother you unless you bother her. She is trained.”
“I’ll be careful. Thank you.” The uchastkovyi paused at my door, the slight widening of his eyes betraying his surprise. At the threshold, he took off his jacket and shoes, which he put in their appropriate places as expected of a guest in someone’s home. From his jacket, he pulled out a small flask of vodka.
I thanked my lucky stars I’d already put soup on the stove for the day and that it was ready to serve. Tea wouldn’t take long to provide, either, although I would have been a better host if I offered Turkish coffee instead. We went through yet another ritual among the locals, attempting a refusal of the gift before accepting his second offering. I placed the flask on my small table and gestured to my rocking chair, my shameless creature comfort. At my invitation, he sat while I bustled around my kitchen, first washing my hands before bringing him a mug of soup.
I loved everything about the custom of feeding guests, especially when I surprised most with the quality of my cooking.
Good food put people at ease, and not even the uchastkovyi was immune to my culinary arts.
“Your solyanka is superb. Where did you get the recipe?”
“A butcher’s wife,” I replied, grateful I could tell that as a simple truth. “One of his machines broke when I was in his store, so I fixed it for him. He thanked me with everything needed to make supper that night, plus the recipe. It has become a favorite, although I embellished a little. I enjoy cooking.” On second thought, I would offer him the coffee or tea, which would fit better with my status as an outsider. “Would you like some tea or coffee? I have both, although my coffee tends to be quite strong. I make Turkish coffee.”
“You make Turkish coffee?” he asked, straightening with interest.
“I will make you some. How would you like it? How can I help you?” Turkish coffee would be a good reward for the hard work I’d done, and I’d found a little, albeit expensive shop in the heart of Blagoveshchensk with oddities from around the world, including everything I needed to make and serve Turkish coffee. As Turkish coffee used a much finer ground of coffee, I’d taken to getting whole beans whenever I could and grinding it myself.
It had taken me several months of living in the area to learn Turkish-styled coffee was the default for home brewed in Russia, but cappuccinos ruled the rare times they went to a café. Restaurants in the city also baffled me.
The locals preferred finer dining if they went out at all, and going to a restaurant meant a special occasion, something to be savored and enjoyed.
“Az seker. There has been another death.”
It intrigued me that the man used the proper Turkish way of indicating he wanted a hint of sugar in his. I sighed at the news of another death and made the loathed gesture of warding against evil. “Who has passed?”
“Stanislav Dmitrijevich Morozov.”
No wonder the uchastkovyi had come knocking at my door. The overseer’s death would cause trouble in spades as the sawmill workers vied for the right to take his place. Weary resignation took hold. “How? When?”
“The sumasshedshiy volk hunted him and his family to his home, killed them, and fled sometime last night.”
I wondered about that. Why would a mad, wild wolf kill so precisely? Why hunt specific people? Wouldn’t someone mad and beyond control kill indiscriminately? “That’s terrible.”
“We are concerned the sumasshedshiy volk will hunt all who work at the sawmill, including you despite you being new to our city and homeland. I saw you keep a talisman on your door.”
“I wasn’t sure where else to put it.”
The uchastkovyi waved his hand in a dismissal of my concern. “It’s well placed. Had Stanislav Dmitrijevich taken half as much care, he and his family might still be alive. Still, I must ask you. When did you last see him alive?”
“I last saw him with you at the sawmill. Afterwards, I went to the general store, the library to study, and to the butcher. I stayed there for a few hours, as he needed help to fix his truck. I then came home, and I’ve been here ever since. I try to avoid making unnecessary trips whenever possible, although I will head back to the city to resume my studies soon.” I shook my head and regarded my mortar-encrusted clothes. “I thought it would be the best use of the time preparing for winter.”
“You built all of this?”
“Most of it. I had fixed a car for a co-worker in exchange for the chair, which he made.” While I kept an eye on the coffee, I pointed to the hearth. “I installed that yesterday. I will add the heat shield tomorrow. I need to get a few extra parts from the city for that. I’ll finish the chimney and the mantle last, along with anything decorative around the fireplace.”
I already made plans for expanding the cabin, getting a better tub, and expanding the septic tank I had built myself. The crumbling state of the public works in Blagoveshchensk still stunned me, and I’d used every skill I’d scraped together over the years to build my home.
Some of my co-workers didn’t even have functioning toilets in their homes. I had it all, from a good well, my hot water tank, a nice bathroom, a septic tank large enough to last me years without worry, and the necessary permits needed to build them.