East Bound - Russia x Germany

What Can I Tell You About Sakhalin

The moment I heard that we got the plane in our grasp, I heard nothing else. I walked out of the hangar at a fast pace, towing Poland by his scruff down the street. It was now a little lighter, and some tricks rumbled by. It was warmer than last night, albeit still wintry cold.

What sort of dampened my mood was the fact that Poland was eyeing me very warily. Was he jealous of my nice mood? Or was he anxious or worried? In any case, he should be glad that I'm happy, no casting glances at me like I was his psychotic patient.

Meanwhile, Yakutia coaxed a flame from her dampened wood, making smoke billow upward in a slow uniform column. Inside, she was cutting up meat on a board while Germany was methodically slicing a starchy root. They both turned around when we entered.

"Well?" Yakutia asked, whisking Germany's roots and her meat into a bowl with one stroke of the knife. "Did you...."

"Yes, we got one," I said.

"How much did the man want?" She continued. "I'm sure it was a man, and he wanted a price."

"It was a man," Poland unzipped his coat and sat down. "But he wanted no price."

She looked surprised. "Oh." That was what came out.

"Are you making something?" I diverted the conversation.

"Oh, yes. I am. As soon as the smoke dissipates, I'll be able to roast the meat on the wood board with the roots." She turned away very quickly to face the fire and searched for a wood board. She took her time, placing the meat and roots on the board slowly, then fed it to the fire. When she turned back, there were faint watery lines on her cheeks that could only be noticed if you looked hard enough.

"When will you be leaving?"

"As soon as possible." I counted out. "Zaitsev is waiting for us, so I don't want to dawdle."

"You'll still eat, yes?"

"If you'd like us to stay."

She nodded. "I would." In ten minutes, the food was ready. We ate in silence, and I could see that Yakutia was swallowing her share as if it was stuck in her throat. Poland had his eyes closed and his foot tapped a rhythm from his head. Germany was looking at me, then back at Yakutia in confusion. We could potentially sit for longer, but I didn't have the patience to wait. What could have stretched out for an hour ended in under fifteen minutes? The last poles were strapped into the sled and we walked down to the frozen river. Yakutia kept dropping her things and going back and forth to retrieve them.

"Yakutia, get a grip!" I finally took the trunk and reins out of her hands and walked on. All she did was sniff sadly. We arrived at the hangar, where Zaitsev was leaning on a support beam, talking with a younger man. He smiled when I approached.

"Ah, took you long enough," he smirked. "Couldn't get your herd together?"

"They kept dropping things," I shot a glance at Yakutia, who looked as if she would plop down into the snow. "But we're ready now."

"Come on up then." He led the way to show a compact aeroplane, much like the cargo one at Sëyaha. Germany pressed his lips together tightly as we approached. Bad memories resurfaced about our thrilling adventure on one of these. "This is a mail-plane, headed for Uzhno-Sakhalinsk, the major city on Sakhalin Island. The pilot is here, Vovachka." He scooped up a wily youth with a red beanie hat.

"My name is Vladimir Kirillovich," he corrected. "Not Vovachka."

"Pride of my life," Zaitsev kept on. "My sonny." Vladimir averted his gaze upward at that. "We're lucky to have the family so close. Usually, sons and daughters get sent away if they're talented enough. They go to the capital and get spoiled. The Russian spirit dies! All they want to talk about is capital, money, and power. No more family. That's why everyone here is without their elder children." He sighed. "But that's a depressing topic. Go on now."