Men of Winter

Chapter XI

Repelled, the child turned toward the nurse's bosom, wailing in terror. — Iliad 6

The days began to pass one like another. I did not go out, saying to myself the snow was too deep. When I was in my room, I stared at the blank leaf of paper. I had managed to doodle all kinds of designs around the Roman numeral – first geometric shapes, circles and triangles and even a rhombus, then birds and clouds, with a crescent-moon shape in one corner and a sun radiating from another. As a consequence, I did not spend a lot of time in my room. The parlor had become the heart of the pension, and the guests congregated there throughout the day and evening. Talking, playing games, reading – a trunk in the corner of the parlor turned out to contain all sorts of old books: romances, biographies, histories, folktales. The Strubels were the landlord and lady, but clearly felt as we all did that Helena was our queen. Not that we pampered her but she was the center of our world. We spun around her like moons in erratic orbits, sometimes bumping into one another in our efforts to be near her.

She did not act queenly. She seemed to see her role as more maternal. She had shown Mirska and Mrs. Strubel how to braid their hair. Theirs were not as elaborate as Helena's star-pattern braids (nor as fetching) but they were much pleased with them. And their corresponding hairstyles helped create a kinship between the three women. They chattered and laughed, and were even beginning to finish each other's sentences – like cousins who had grown up together. Helena and Mirska pitched in on the housework, so that they could spend more time with Mrs. Strubel, and so that she could spend less time working. I had the sense that life had never been like this for the landlady – that a childhood of drudgery had led seamlessly to an adulthood of the same.

Mr. Strubel did not seem to mind his wife's new friendships. He still had his chores out of doors, but the landlord found more time to sit with the men, talking about the weather and telling tales. The money I had paid for Helena's stay must have run out but Mr. Strubel did not bring up the issue. Then it occurred to me perhaps some of the others were subsidizing her stay with us. Or maybe it was because Helena had been helping Mrs. Strubel with housework.

For that matter, my own resources were diminishing. While I did not go out, I contributed to the fund that kept us supplied with vodka and wine. Mr. Strubel or Polozkov had ventured out and procured our refreshments. Mostly we drank the vodka straight but sometimes we would mix it with tea. The wine was for supper and our game playing afterward. We played late into the night: chess and cards, of course, but we had also added backgammon and charades to our repertoire. Helena was especially accomplished at charades. Her eyes were so expressive, it was almost as if she communicated her message through some extrasensory medium. By the same token, she could discern someone else's phrase with the slightest of clues. I got the impression that the only reason anyone else ever won at charades was because Helena let them.

Helena said she had come north looking for someone ... but she would not find him at the pension. Indeed, she was as slothful in her pursuit as I was in mine. The difference, of course, was that I would eventually go home. Whereas Helena's quest was indefinite. I wondered what she would do when I had to leave – but I did not wonder very often. I still had a few days remaining and I refused to spend them in worry.

It was on our fourth or fifth halcyon day that we heard the shrieks from the kitchen. It was midmorning, and Polozkov and I were enjoying a drink and a game of backgammon in the parlor. As in chess, we were fairly evenly matched – though Polozkov had won a few more backgammon games than I. The three women were in the kitchen, doing whatever it was they did in there throughout most of the day, and Mr. Strubel was out somewhere. Polozkov and I heard the screams, and we rushed from the parlor, my knee clumsily upsetting the backgammon board that lay on the sofa between us. Polozkov threw open the kitchen door and the three women were hugging each other and crying ... and laughing. Apparently the shrieks had been ones of joy.