Just Right (Part 28)
Ivan: Wolf at the Door
I watch the men with torches. Like fireflies, they flit in the dark. A crack from an old Kalashnikov shatters the night. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand tall.
Angelina’s whimpers play a somber melody. She wears the yellow dress father gave her in spring. She won’t take it off no matter the holes, she says. Petyr’s voice is already a deep growl, like father’s, his words playing in harmony, soft, soothing tones to ease her fears. He’s not yet twelve, but he shows courage. His face is square and pock-marked. He will be a giant someday.
I stoke the fire, but my eyes are fixed on the window, where the fireflies play.
A wolf’s howl echoes across the steppe. Another takes up the call in the distance. My eyes dart to Father’s Kalash. He’s taken the Mosin he brags about when he’s drinking vodka. He uses it to bring down the moose and bring meat to our family, our neighbors. Last time, they drug the beast for three days through the black woods. Cut it into portions and meted out the bounty.
