Chapter 20
Conflicting View
It was overwhelming.
His first thought.
Ludwig had never cared to see the house from the outside before. Didn't want to know what it looked like, because it had been a prison.
It was unavoidable this time, as the car left the street and paused at a huge gate, and as Toris left the car to stick a key in the lock on the gate and pull it open, Ludwig could only stare at the long drive ahead, as low-hanging trees stood behind the gate and around the path. Bare with the cold. Toris leapt back in, and drove through, and then leapt out again, to close it and lock it.
Didn't see the point of the damn gate, since it didn't even seem to go all the way around the property. Just for show, probably, because Ivan seemed like that kind of man.
They were driving again, and as the long path finally rounded a corner, he could see the house, for the first time. He found himself leaning forward against the front seat, his face down next to Toris', as he looked up through the windshield towards the sky.
Toris glanced at him, and gave a snort as Ludwig gawked up at the house.
It stood tall, not as tall as the great hotel, but still intimidating in its presence, three stories. White-washed rock, white shingles on the roof, odd, arched windows that held frosted glass, columns, and all around there were short trees, no taller than the second level of the house, bare branches swaying in the wind. The roof was arched in the center, and upon the top stood two great chimneys, and one rounded portion that looked almost some kind of royal tower from one of those stories that Gilbert used to tell him when he was a child. Dead hedges on either side of the path, and he realized just how high the steps to the door were, and he could have crouched and walked underneath the bottom of the house quite comfortably had there not been smoothed concrete around it. The colors outside were as pale and bland as the colors inside, and everything was white and cold and fragile.
It was overwhelming. A castle of ice.
So alone. There were no other houses even in sight. Only snow-covered pines, a frozen river gleamed far out in the distance, and it struck him that this was really the definition of Siberia; a frozen wilderness, vast and inescapable, wild and dangerous.
But how strange, because he had yet to see another house like this anywhere so far in the Eastern Bloc. Every building in the Soviet Union was concrete, functional and ugly, and the houses here in Siberia were made of wood. This looked so Western, fantastical and very stylized, and Ludwig didn't know why it was here or how. Not Soviet, for sure.
He wondered, momentarily, how Ivan had ever found this spot to begin with. How he had ever known it existed, this town.
As it turned out, he didn't even have to ask, because Ivan, seeing him staring upwards as they finally exited the vehicle, seemed more than happy to elaborate.
"Do you like it? It's pretty, isn't it?" Ivan took his hand, and tugged him up towards the stairs, and he could only gawk up at the skyline. "It was designed for a millionaire from Athens. A diamond trader that liked to play politics, too, you see, and he built this all the way out here so that he would have control over all the diamonds that came out of here. Wanted to buy the whole town. He was an acquaintance of mine, actually, back when I lived in Moscow. He was a fun man, but he never really did seem to understand how communism really works." Ivan then turned coy eyes to him, and his voice was low and husky as he added, "Coincidentally, he died the same year that I decided to move out here, too. After he left me the house in his will. Another happy coincidence."
Coincidence.
Ludwig shivered and nearly scoffed, because Ivan's sly voice indicated that there was no such thing as a coincidence where he was concerned, and the warm thrill that ran through Ludwig's veins reminded him of Ivan's quiet danger. It was wrong, but it was somewhat exhilarating to know that Ivan was so perilous to everyone—but not to him. He was immune to Ivan's treacherous 'coincidences'. Ivan had promised him, hadn't he? That he would never hurt him.
He was immune. Ivan had done nothing so far but save Ludwig's ass from disaster.
That was a little empowering.
...did Ivan understand how communism worked? Ludwig was fairly certain that that 'will' would have been crushed and everything given to the state, because everyone was supposed to be equal, after all. Ivan had declared a love for capitalism, and although that should have gotten him shot, Ivan was able to turn it around and get what he wanted. Money did truly run the world, in the end, and men like Ivan wouldn't stand to be 'equal'. Communists could be bought off, too.
The walked up to the house, to escape the wintry hell, and Ivan lidded his eyes and glanced at Ludwig, looking him up and down.
"He never had a chance to furnish it, and I'm not a very good decorator. I never have anyone over. I'm embarrassed. It's so empty. I can have Toris drive you down to Yakutsk one of these days, and you can find things that look nice. They have many shops there. You probably know more about that kind of stuff than I do."
Why in god's name would he know about decorating? Was Ivan trying to tell him, in not so many words, that he was intending to turn Ludwig into his sort of housewife? He had a few qualms about that. ...just would never say so.
They scaled the steps, Ivan's words running through his ears like white noise, and then he was inside, where it wasn't so unbearably cold. Home, he could say perhaps. He was home. They stood there for a moment, as Ivan stared blankly ahead with a furrowed brow, as though wondering what kind of new adventure he could drag Ludwig off onto.
Who could know what went on Ivan's mind? Ludwig certainly didn't.
Ivan only tilted his head after a minute, and said, "It's still early. Irina is probably making lunch."
Immediately, Ludwig said, maybe too eagerly, "I'll help her," because it seemed like a good idea, and he needed a break from Ivan's intense air.
A thoughtful silence, and Ivan finally nodded his head, and placed his chin in his palm.
"...alright. That's fine. I've got work to do now, anyway. Just stay with Toris."
Sure. Whatever. Toris always ended up ditching him, but whatever. Great.
With that, Ivan was gone, and Ludwig breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The first merciful moment of relaxation.
Or not.
Footsteps behind him, and when he looked over his shoulder, Toris was suddenly walking up to him, looking absolutely exhausted. Toris waited until Ivan's footsteps were no longer audible in the tiled hall, and then he looked over at Ludwig, and for a moment, when he twitched, Ludwig thought that he was going to reach up and hug him.
He slapped the back of Ludwig's head instead, and not gently.
"You're a fuckin' idiot!"
Wincing and rubbing his head to smooth his hair, Ludwig could only send Toris an irritated glare, and bark, "What?"
Toris reached up with his good hand and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and shook him, angrily, hissing, "I can't believe you! What were you thinking? You're so lucky—ah, you're so lucky, you stupid jerk! How could you even think to say that to him? Don't you know what could have happened? Do you see my arm or what? Huh? You would have had it a lot worse if you'd been alone with him, and if he hadn't come out of it! Are you stupid?" One last shake, and Toris summed up with a final, incredulous, "What were you thinking? Stupid."
Ludwig knew what Toris was referring to, and he had seen that horrible look in Ivan's eyes when he had blurted out so idiotically what he had heard about Ivan's father.
But still.
Pulling away from Toris' fist, Ludwig glowered down and spat back, as he shoved at Toris' chest, "I wasn't thinking! If you didn't notice, I nearly died last night! Did you forget that, or what? You're the jerk! All you had to do was get out of bed and drive! I barely made it out of there, no thanks to you!" He shoved Toris again, and Toris pulled back his hand and slapped Ludwig across the face.
Ah—hadn't missed that.
They glared at each other, irritably, silent and brooding, but it was Toris, for the first time, who broke and suddenly lowered his eyes. His shoulders slumped, his combative air turned into one of moroseness, and for a moment, just a moment, Ludwig regretted shouting at him. Because Toris was just...
Looking more defeated than Ludwig had ever seen him, Toris finally muttered, "Sorry I let you go alone."
Reaching up and scratching at his collar, Ludwig finally relented too, and managed, lowly, "Yeah. So am I."
An awkward silence, as they averted their eyes and shifted their weight, and then Toris finally sighed, and said, "Come on."
Ludwig followed behind, and with every step his annoyance faded.
...Toris was just like him. Somewhere he shouldn't be. Overpowered and overwhelmed. Hopeless. Toris just had a better handle on it than he did. It was easy to forget sometimes that Toris wasn't from around here. Played it all so well, was so hard and cold and mean, but wasn't really one of them.
So why did Toris really stay? Toris had all the freedom in the world, it seemed. Could come and go as he pleased. Why did he stay?
Power.
Toris led him through twisting hallways, endless doors, and then they finally found the kitchen. When they pushed through the door, suddenly everything was a lot better, because Irina was bustling about, that boy following behind her like a dog, carrying bowls, and the air was warm and pleasant, and he could smell coffee. Comforting, after that awful trip.
Irina turned and saw them standing there, and she looked somewhat anxious as she met Ludwig's eyes and cried, "Oh! You're back! I'm so glad! Did you...have a good time?"
Her hands were wringing a bit, and the boy at her side stared up at Ludwig in awe, gawking at his uniform.
For a moment, Ludwig only stood there, feeling almost guilty as she waited for him to answer, and then he dropped his shoulders and said, "Yeah. Yeah, it was...good. Everything's good."
Toris didn't say a damn word.
She smiled, brightly, and Ludwig tried to smile too.
"I'm glad! I was worried about you."
Sometimes it was better to lie. Gilbert had taught him that. She didn't need to know.
She dragged Ludwig over and shoved him down into a chair, and refused to allow him to help as he had intended. As he sat there, chin resting upon a clenched fist, he stared at Toris from across the table, and he wondered if this insane gathering of people could ever possibly function as a family. Irina's cheerfulness seemed determined to make it happen, or maybe she was just as crazy as Ivan, and when she pushed a plate of food and a cup of coffee in front of him, he could only say a polite 'thank you' and continue his staring contest with Toris.
Toris stared him down in turn with alarming efficiency.
Maybe he and Toris had just gotten off on the wrong foot. Clashed too soon. They were both too stubborn and irritable. Needed to befriend Toris to survive out here. Ivan may have been the ruler of this universe, but Toris was gravity, and without him Ludwig was doomed to drift.
Irina came around from behind and threw a wool scarf around Ludwig's neck suddenly, and he only sat there, and let her do as she pleased, staring yet at Toris. It seemed, lately, that he was just letting everyone do as they pleased. It was easier that way.
Then they were all sitting, and he took up his fork, and tried to act normal.
Normal. Hardly.
Ludwig ate in silence, as the others spoke and laughed together in Russian, and by the time the coffee was gone and the plates were empty, Toris seemed to be in a much better mood. Which was preferable, since he was obliged to stay in Toris' presence for as long as moody Toris could put up with him. The day passed, the white sun of noon became golden as the evening set in, and he spent the time walking at Toris' side through the halls. Toris started showing him around the house, and a quick tour was alright, too, because if he was going to be living here...
Oh.
A scaling of stairs. Toris pointed out a particularly large painting.
Living here. That was right. This wasn't just Ivan's house. It was his house, too, now wasn't it? Toris' house. Irina's house.
His house.
They passed through the second floor, and every so often, Toris would look over at him, as though wanting to speak, and then would just shake his head and fall silent.
Well, that was alright. He didn't mind making an awkward situation even more awkward.
"Where are you from, Toris?"
Moody, bitchy Toris was just gonna haveta deal with it.
There was another staircase before them, and for a second they stood still, and Toris seemed to be debating on whether to go up or down. Ludwig would have assumed up, since he had not been shown the highest level, but then Toris lifted his chin and suddenly took the stairs down.
As they descended, Toris finally grumbled, "Lithuania."
"A city?"
"A small town. Nothing you'd be familiar with."
Ugh. Toris sure was being difficult.
Ludwig furrowed a brow and stared at the steps as he walked, and for a second he thought it would be better just to shut his mouth, but he was supposed to be making friends, wasn't he? Needed Toris. Didn't like him much, didn't want him anymore than he wanted Ludwig, but needed him. Determined, Ludwig turned his eyes back to Toris and pressed, "A town, huh? That sounds nice. I've never really been out of the city. What did you do there?"
Toris glanced over at him, and that time Ludwig could swear, for a moment, that he smiled. Just for a second.
"My family had a farm," Toris said, and then he snorted, and there was almost a laugh as he added, "I used to watch the sheep, if you can believe that."
Ludwig balked. Toris, this merciless faux Red soldier, one of the scariest men Ludwig had ever met aside from Ivan, one of the hardest, one of the moodiest, one of the most dangerous. Toris, herding sheep. Had he herded them with his fuckin' pistol? Did he slap them, too?
Shock.
Toris' mood was ever improving, and he did smile that time when he saw the expression on Ludwig's face.
"What? Didn't think I was a farmer? You'd be surprised. I remember, sometimes, going out to the market with my parents to sell wool. And even though we didn't need anymore, I'd always come back with a new animal. I don't know that much about it anymore, not really, but I'd thought about looking around here, you know... For land. Irina likes that kind of work, too, and it would be something good for me to do. A hobby."
Their gazes met, and Ludwig, eyes wide and still stunned, asked, dubiously, "You wanted to start a farm...in Siberia?"
Toris saw how astounded Ludwig really was and laughed, really laughed. The sound of it was strange, unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. It wasn't terrifying like Ivan's laugh. Low and deep, in contrast to Ivan's higher pitch. A nice laugh, and to hear it from Toris of all people was stunning.
Ludwig decided then, after having been on the fence for quite some time, that he kinda liked Toris. A little. No matter how shifty his moods and how useless his advice. How Toris could lash out at him. How Toris ditched him when he needed him the most.
Somehow, someway, he liked Toris.
If Toris could still laugh, even now...
Maybe the horizon was not so dark.
"Well," Ludwig finally said, good-humouredly, "I don't know anything about farming, but if you ever find land, I think I'd like to come out and work for you, if you don't mind."
A silence, and then Toris said, drolly, "I think you'd be good for milking cows, but that's all."
The seriousness with which he said it made Ludwig laugh too, another sensation that he had long been without.
He liked Toris. Go figure.
The first floor was back, more endless halls, and Ludwig tucked his hands in his pockets as they roamed around aimlessly, speaking about anything they could think of, and every so often Toris would reach out and open a door, and show him the room inside. None of them were painted, or furnished, and Toris would say, 'Well, this is eventually going to be a library,' or, 'This was going to be a piano room,' or, 'We'll turn this one into art gallery.'
A library? Piano room? Art gallery?
Well, if Toris had his sights set on it, then Ludwig would keel over dead before he dashed even that simple hope. But he did accept one thing as an indisputable fact : Ivan knew nothing about decorating. Some of the rooms had rolls of carpet set up in the corner, abandoned before they had even been set down. Some of the rare furniture that he did see looked like it had been plucked out of the dark ages.
God help him, suddenly playing house with Ivan didn't seem so bad, and if Ludwig could at least get his hands on some of that war chest money that Ivan had mentioned, then he could at least buy some decent wallpaper.
For now, he would just suppress his cringe and let Toris dream.
"Do you play the piano, Ludwig?"
A pang.
Roderich's fingers, drifting over the keys as Ludwig had stood behind, watching in awe.
"...no. Do you?"
"No. There's one upstairs. I mess around with it sometimes when I get bored, but I don't really know how. I thought about going down to Lensk one day and taking lessons from the orchestra."
"Why don't you?"
Toris only shrugged a shoulder, smiling as he walked straight ahead, and it all was going very well, until Ludwig opened his mouth again. Goddamn him and goddamn mouth. Couldn't help it.
Wanted to feel like someone here understood him.
"How'd you get here, Toris? How did he get you?"
There was a terrible, suffocating silence, in which Toris' smile fell and his eyes darkened, and then he pursed his lips and sped his pace, hissing, irritably, "That's none of your business!"
The good mood was gone and there was no getting it back, and Ludwig only walked behind the agitated Toris, brow low and staring at the floor again.
Tactless. Why couldn't he assess a situation before he said dumb things?
The more he thought about it, as the clock ticked by, the stupider it seemed, because if someone he barely knew had come up to him, in Lensk for example, and had asked Ludwig that same question, he probably would have told them to shut up and fuck off. Which was exactly what Toris had said, come to think, only in politer words.
Actually, he might have punched them in the face.
And, come to think again, Toris kinda looked like he wanted to clock Ludwig one in the nose. He didn't, luckily, and Ludwig hung his head. If Ivan asked him again what he wanted for Christmas, now only four days away, he would ask, perhaps, for a book on how to overcome being a socially illiterate idiot.
...Ivan would probably buy him a Russian version.
Suddenly, Ludwig blurted aloud, without thinking, "Will you try to teach me Russian?"
A pause, and then Toris snipped, with a look of disgust, "No," and said nothing more.
Shit.
The halls passed, and his mood was foundering too, but then suddenly there were two more voices in the hallway. They didn't sound much happier. Toris froze in his tracks, but Ludwig, his curiosity too great, rounded the corner right off. His curiosity would probably prove fatal one of these days. Toris was beside him, then, but he almost didn't notice. In the hall before him, standing before each other in a surprisingly electric atmosphere, stood Irina and Ivan.
They were hissing at each other. Well, Ivan was hissing, and Irina was shouting, and every few seconds she would raise her finger and poke it into Ivan's chest, and he would step back from her and then forward again, and even from where he stood Ludwig could see the storm brewing in his eyes.
He feared, suddenly, for Irina. What was she thinking? Antagonizing Ivan like that. That dangerous man.
Toris seemed supremely unconcerned, however, and only stood there, leaning against the wall and listening with a high brow and a sneer.
Ludwig looked over, and asked, anxiously, "What are they arguing about?"
Toris scoffed, and crossed his arms, shaking his head as he muttered, "You! What else?"
Him?
Ludwig felt the nervous squirm in his stomach, and wished that Toris would be a little more sympathetic to his plight, just once. Maybe his helpless stare gave away his thoughts, because Toris shifted his weight, and added, with a beleaguered sigh, "Irina wants to take you out around town. Ivan doesn't want you to go."
"Why?"
Toris rolled his eyes. "Irina has a habit of...getting into trouble, even if she doesn't mean to. He doesn't like for her to wander around outside. And he doesn't want you trying to play hero and doing something that will be an annoyance for him later."
Well. He didn't understand what all of that meant, necessarily, but it didn't matter anymore, because at that moment, Ivan must have said something exceedingly rude or disrespectful, for Irina drew back her hand and slapped him straight across the face. For a moment, Ivan almost staggered at the force she used. Damn—she had some muscle on her.
Ludwig froze in shock.
The sound echoed in the hall.
Everything was still.
The first emotion that successfully broke through Ludwig's shock was complete disbelief; Irina had slapped Ivan. Wait. Slapped him? No one hit Ivan. No one would dare!
And the next emotion was horror, because he knew that Ivan's retaliation would be swift and merciless, and Irina was just a woman, no match for Ivan's ruthless brutality, and she was so sweet and too clumsy to escape. He would have made short work of her.
Ivan straightened up, the look of his face absolutely terrifying.
Toris only watched, looking somehow amused. Made no twitch at all, no step forward. Toris certainly wasn't going to run to Irina's rescue. Dammit, Toris! Putting Ludwig yet again into another bad situation with his immobility.
Ivan inhaled, sharply, and his foot lifted.
Goddammit—no choice. Toris wouldn't move, and so Ludwig had to. Had to. Before Ivan could strike, Ludwig bolted forward out from the shadows, jumping in front of Irina and pressing his back against her, standing straight and ready and completely willing to accept any blow that Ivan would throw. Irina meant as little to Ludwig as Toris did in the end, but she was still a woman.
Hitting a woman was something far beyond reprehensible. Roderich had taught him that much. Couldn't stand the thought of it. There still had to be some etiquette out here. Ivan's world was ruthless, but it was hard to let go of his own world where people had dignity and rules.
For a moment no one moved, as Ludwig stood there with braced legs and shoulders, Irina tucked behind him, and then Ludwig realized, with a lurch of apprehension, that Toris was laughing. He glanced quickly over, to see Toris leaning back against the wall, snickering away and shaking his head to himself, smile breathless and so amused. Ludwig turned his head again, and looked at Ivan.
Ivan just stood there, cheek red from where Irina had slapped him, brow low and lips pursed. Didn't move, wasn't lunging, and hadn't yet punched Ludwig in the nose.
...damn. All of a sudden, Ludwig felt more like a fool than a hero, and more so when Toris was struggling to catch his breath because he was laughing so hard. Only stopped laughing, come to think, when Ivan turned that terrifying expression over to him, and then Toris shut up quickly enough.
Then Irina reached up from behind and pinched Ludwig's cheek gently, crooning, "Oh, Ludwig! You're so sweet! Look at you! You're a real gentleman, you know!"
She didn't sound grateful, not really, not as if Ludwig had saved her. Sounded more like she was talking to a little kid. His cheeks were blazing red all of a sudden, and Ludwig's tense posture slumped completely. Felt so stupid.
Irina lowered her voice to a whisper, and said, in Ludwig's ear, "Don't worry, he would never hit me." Raising her voice, she looked over, meeting Ivan's furious eyes, and added, slyly, "I used to spank him when he was little!"
Ivan's other cheek turned as red as the one Irina had slapped, and his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. Ludwig was too distracted by his own embarrassment to focus much on Ivan's.
At last, Ivan spoke up, and his voice was not soothing that time. That cold, firm, stern voice he used when he was angry. Funny how that pretty voice turned into an actual razor when Ivan needed it to. Cut, alright.
"Irina, he's not going with you. Just leave. Now."
She must not have felt the cut, for she was undaunted, pushing Ludwig aside to once more face Ivan.
"What! With you in such a bad mood now? You can be so rude, sometimes, Ivan."
"You test my patience. Leave."
"Let him go with me, just today! Nothing bad will happen. He can handle himself. He can't stay in here forever!"
"It's too cold."
"Ah—! It's always cold!"
Ludwig only frowned, and wondered if either of them would ask him, at any point, where exactly he wanted to go.
They never did.
Finally, seeing that he was getting nowhere, Ivan sighed, relenting under Irina's loud determination, and reached up, scratching irritably at his collar and grumbling, "Well! Well... Take him, then, if you want. You have an hour. And don't get into trouble."
Wait, wait, he hadn't agreed to any of this—
Eagerly, Irina began to pull Ludwig away to god only knew where, but before they were out of reach, Ivan's hand was suddenly around Ludwig's arm, and he was pulled back so forcefully that he nearly stumbled. When he looked over, Ivan met his eyes with that awful intensity, and he added, softly, "You keep track of time. She gets distracted. One hour. From this minute. Don't make me come looking for you. Either of you."
For a horrible second, Ludwig found himself caught under Ivan's silent warning, as he had been caught under Natalia's earlier, but then Irina came back and waved her hand in Ivan's face, fussing, "You're scaring him! Go away! I'll bring him back when I feel like it!"
A final squeeze on his arm, as Ivan grunted something in Russian, and then he turned on his heel and stalked off, and Ludwig could only stare after him as Irina took his hand.
Suddenly, he didn't want to go with Irina anymore (had he ever?) because Ivan was in a bad mood, and if Ivan sat alone and brooded, there was no telling what he would come back home to. Ludwig wanted to stay exactly where he was and follow behind Ivan, and go into damage control. Before he wound up like Toris.
Inevitable.
"Come on," Irina goaded, pulling him along, "Walk with me! Do you want to see the town?"
No.
He didn't, and it was too goddamn cold. She started dragging him, awaiting no answer, and Ludwig looked desperately over at Toris, hoping for help. But, as always, Toris just stood there, looking once more foul and irritated. A wave of Toris' hand in the air, as Toris threw him into the winds, and then he was gone.
The bastard.
A whirlwind, as Irina dragged Ludwig to the front door, opened the closet, and Ludwig stood there obediently as Irina dressed him up as heavily as Toris had the morning prior. Weighed down by layer after layer. Suffocated. Stifled.
Did no one here really care that Ludwig had almost died last night? Could he catch a goddamn breather? Could he just lay down for a minute and rest? Did no one notice how exhausted and spent he was?
No one cared.
When only Ludwig's eyes were visible, Irina dressed a bit less heavily and her entire face exposed, it was time to go. The door burst open, and he was dragged out. Her grip was surprisingly firm. Strong. Ludwig just realized, with fear, that he didn't have a watch. How was he supposed to keep track of time?
The air was just as mercilessly cold as he had expected it to be, and he hated that maybe he was becoming used to it, as she held his hand and tugged him along enthusiastically.
This frozen little town. What could she show him here?
They walked down the path, and he could barely keep up with her fast pace. Extremely intent on getting him into town, it seemed, and she kept looking over and smiling at him as their lashes froze over, and even though he was irritated at being dragged out here, he couldn't really seem to stay angry with her.
In the back of his mind, all he could think of...
Ivan was brooding.
The driveway was long, and at the end stood the great gate, the low-hanging trees, and then they were on a quiet street, and the buildings were so sparse and tiny that he felt like he had walked into the jungle and had discovered some remote new tribe of humans. So small.
"That's the post office," she said, pointing here, "and that's the doctor's house," she pointed there, "and that's the KGB office," she pointed ahead. "See? It's so small here. Everyone knows everyone."
He didn't doubt it. What? Maybe a hundred people, in the entire town? Less?
When they passed the KGB office, the door burst open and two men stood in the frame, and they leered across the street, cheeks red from the cold and breath visible, the guns at their waists gleaming in the pale sun as they watched them go by. Irina smiled at them, but only briefly and rather sneeringly. Her grip on his hand tightened, all the same.
One of the men leaned forward and crooned something smoothly in Russian, their shameless eyes firmly upon her chest, despite the heavy coat, and Ludwig couldn't help but furrow his brow in irritation as Irina's cheeks flushed a deep red, and she sped her pace. The men stepped out of the doorway as though meaning to follow her, still catcalling, and Ludwig, agitated, looked over his shoulder and sent them a withering glare.
Was glad he couldn't understand what they were shouting.
They observed his hand entangled with hers, and then they giggled, and threw their hands in the air in mock surrender, shouting coarse words that were probably innuendos, maybe congratulations, although Irina was old enough to be Ludwig's mother. He understood now why Ivan was so uneasy about Irina coming out. Why he had been concerned about Ludwig getting into trouble on Irina's behalf.
He was right to be concerned, and Ludwig just wanted to go back.
Ludwig had already started one fight with a Red soldier, and in the right circumstance would have started another one with a KGB officer, unwise though it was.
His head hurt all the time. Couldn't think straight. His agitation was mingled with a nervous lurch that he couldn't place.
Ivan was brooding.
They kept walking, passing through the streets until all of the houses were gone, and then there was another path, lined with small trees and unpaved. The frozen dirt glittered with ice crystals and mica, she never once released his hand, and he wondered now where they were going.
Ludwig was well beyond frozen by then, stiff and numb and his lashes weighed down. Her exposed face must have been entirely numb, but she didn't seem so bothered by it.
The path twisted this way and that, and then, suddenly, gaping up from the ground, there was a massive crater. Absolutely massive, and it cut into the earth as though a great comet had fallen there. All around it there were heavy iron bars, a fence to prevent one from falling in, and the layers of dirt that were cut down into it twisted in the mist. He couldn't see the bottom from where he stood. For the mist, he could not see the other side. He had never seen anything like it. Hadn't ever seen anything that big.
The most instantly awe-inspiring thing he had ever seen.
"What is that?" he asked, and now it was he who was leading Irina as he trotted forward, wanting to get a good look at this—this thing, whatever it was, and she only smiled as he dragged her along. When they reached the railing, he gripped the bars in his hands and leaned far over, gaping down into the void, and feeling very much astonished.
Felt like a kid there for a second, seeing a mountain for the first time. Awe. Wonder.
Only this mountain was inside out. Down, way down, there were men working on the makeshift roads that they had cut into the earth, even in such cold they worked, and at the very bottom there was a pit of frozen, blue-green water. Ancient, sulfuric, volcanic water, stagnant with years of chemicals and natural sediment.
Irina let him look this way and that in awe, and then she leaned against the railing too, grabbing his arm firmly as though she was frightened that he would topple over the edge.
Damn! The most fascinating thing he had ever seen. For the first time since it all began, Ludwig forgot all of his worry and fear and pain and regret, everything, because there was only wonder. Forgot everything, and it was beautiful. Enough to take his mind from the world around him. Enough to bring out that old feeling of normalcy, in that sudden desire he had to learn about something new. Human nature, really, wanting to learn.
Just wanted to stop thinking.
"It's the diamond mine," Irina finally said, and Ludwig could only stare down at it. Could have come out here every day and looked at this thing. Irina smiled over at him, at his gawking, and seemed a little brighter. "They keep making it bigger and bigger. Sometimes you can find little ones, around here on the ground, if you look really hard. Ivan's got so many at home! He always has some cut, for Christmas, or my birthday. Special occasions. He's sweet, you know, he really is. Just wait, I bet he'll give you some, too. I don't like wearing them too much, I'm afraid I'll lose them. You can have them, if you want. Save them for something. Ivan really is sweet."
Sweet? Hardly the word that Ludwig would have thought of when it came to Ivan.
Well, then; this would explain how they all lived so comfortably, and how Ivan managed to go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. How he could hold such grand balls. How he seemed to own the country. This house. This town.
Hardly better than blood diamonds.
Ivan was a general in the Red Army with access to endless diamonds. He truly did own the world. Ludwig realized it completely then. And he understood at the same time why Toris stayed. To have that world under his feet.
...it was appealing, certainly. To some people.
"It will dry up soon, I'm sure," Irina suddenly said, wistfully, and Ludwig only stared into the void.
They fell silent, and Irina was shifting her weight back and forth, suddenly anxious, or maybe she was jittery. Wanted to talk, but wasn't sure how to start.
"Did I tell you that Ivan is my little brother?"
"No," he replied, immediately, and yet somehow he was not surprised.
They had the same color hair, and both she and Natalia had hinted at it. Similar eyes.
"Well, he is!" she said, a bit nervously, and Ludwig suddenly had the urge to retreat. "My little brother. He's so tall now, so big, you wouldn't believe he was ever so tiny when he was young. He's... Look, I know how scared you must have been out there. It can be frightening, at first. But I don't think that Ivan will ever mean for anything bad to happen to you. Sometimes, he can be a little hard to understand. Even to me."
A serious understatement.
How awkward.
They stood against the railing, and Irina was leaning farther into his side, for warmth and maybe comfort, and Ludwig could see just from her expression that she had brought him out here for something very specific.
And it didn't take long to find out what.
"You know," she began, as she pressed more firmly into his side, "I still remember when Ivan was very small. He was so happy! He was such a sweet child, he really was. He used to follow me all the time. He wanted to go everywhere that I went. I didn't always let him. I usually made him stay at home. He hated being alone, he never wanted to be alone for even a minute. He loved our mother so much. She adored Ivan. He was her favorite. I was daddy's."
Oh, god. He had a feeling about where this was going.
Ivan's father had gone crazy.
"I should have let him come with me more, when I think about it. He was only eight then, you know, and so smart. He was so smart, you wouldn't believe! Me, so much older, and sometimes he helped me with my math homework. But I never really spent time with him. He got on my nerves. I wanted him to leave me alone most of the time. Well. I went out with friends that night. I used to have lots of friends, back in Moscow. I was in my last year of school. I was so happy, that I had almost graduated. I went out to the theatre. I left Ivan with our parents. Mother had been so sad lately, I don't know why, and I thought it would be good for both of them."
Ludwig shifted his weight. He wasn't sure that he wanted to hear this, but didn't have much of a choice.
Irina's voice was low.
"I don't know what happened. I didn't even know that daddy felt so bad. He never said anything about it, so how would I know? To tell the truth, I still don't know what happened. Ivan just won't talk about it. I asked him, over and over, what happened, but he won't tell me. All I know is what the police told me. While I was out, daddy got his gun, and then he came downstairs, and he shot my mother in the head, right in front of Ivan. And then... He shot Ivan, in the chest—" her hands raised up and fell atop her chest, as though she were reliving her brother's ordeal "—and then he shot himself. Our neighbor heard the shots, and called the police, and they waited there at the house until I got home, and they took me to the hospital so that I could be with Ivan. They thought he would die, but he didn't. He was too strong. But he just laid there after. He wouldn't talk to me about it. I stayed there with him, every day. But when they let him go... That boy that came out of the hospital wasn't my little brother. He didn't follow me around anymore. He wasn't the same."
Ludwig was silent.
"It was hard, after. We were alone. I tried to work, for Ivan, you know, but I wasn't really very good at anything. He had to start working so young, and he went into the army as soon as they would let him join. But, everything worked out in the end, I guess. He just didn't care about anyone anymore. He wasn't afraid of anything! He still isn't. All of that hard work, and now look at him. He has everything. He never stopped smiling, you know, even when it was hard."
He shifted again, restlessly.
That smile may have been constant, but it wasn't exactly sound.
Ludwig, honestly, didn't want to know this. Why did she have to tell him this? So much better when he didn't know.
Turning back to him, Irina reached out, and took his hands, and the look on her face was something that Ludwig hadn't ever seen. A horrible mix of regret and determination and sadness.
"It's all my fault, you see, because I wasn't there to protect him, like I should have been. I always let him down." She met his eyes, and tried to smile. "You know how much your big brother protected you when you were little? That's what I tried to do for him. But I was no good. I let him down. I messed up. It's my fault that Ivan is the way he is."
Better when he didn't know, because he hated that he understood her. That he sympathized with Ivan. Because Gilbert had let him down, too. Hated having a reason to empathize with that man.
He broke her gaze and turned his eyes out onto the vast, shimmering diamond pit, and the churning in his stomach was uncomfortable and his nose was numb. Wanted to run away, quite suddenly.
Finally, he managed to asked, "Why are you telling me this?"
She looked out, too, and gripped his hands. "Because," she began, and Ludwig could hear the earnestness in her voice, "So that you'll see that he's... He's not really a bad person! It's my fault, that he turned out like he did. I couldn't protect him. But he's still my little brother, and he's not so bad, really he isn't. If you could just see... He's not a bad person. Do you see, how he smiles when you're around? He cares for you, I know he does! If you could just see. He's not a bad person. He can't help it. It's not his fault."
Who was she trying so hard to convince? Him? Or herself?
Sounded so familiar, so damn familiar, and that was because Ludwig had been telling himself that for years and years. That it wasn't Gilbert's fault that he was crazy, that he couldn't help it.
Didn't want to understand these people, never wanted to, didn't want to be able to connect with them.
Ludwig had many things running through his head, but the only thing that came out then was a weak, lame, "Well, it's not your fault. How could you know? You'd be dead, too, if you'd stayed."
She tried to smile, but it fell, and then she asked Ludwig, rather pointedly, "Why didn't he just kill me, too? I don't understand why he didn't kill me, too."
Why did she seek answers from him? How would he know? Didn't know a damn thing about anything of them. He should have comforted her all the same, he knew. He should have said, 'Because you were his favorite,' or, 'Because he wanted you to take care of your little brother,' or something.
Anything.
But he only stared at her, and then shrugged, helplessly, and she turned away, eyes on the ground and brow furrowed.
She said no more, and started leading him back.
He was as useless as Toris.
Hell, what was he supposed to say to that? What could he have ever said? Everyone here was so crazy, felt so out of his reach. Even her; couldn't figure her out, either, as much as Ivan. None of them.
He didn't belong here.
The town passed, the sun was almost gone, and then there was the gate again. They didn't speak the whole while they walked up, and when he was back inside the house, she sent him another smile, undressed him, and then shoved him off down the hall. Where was he supposed to go? Did she want him to seek out Ivan? Didn't know what she wanted.
He would rather just go to sleep.
Ivan had been brooding.
Ludwig looked back at the door to get his bearings, and tried to trace his way back to the room that he called his own, despite the veil of faint darkness and the fact that every room looked the same. The sun sank past the horizon. Would Ivan come looking for him? He had passed his curfew surely. Felt so much longer than an hour. Doors and doors, and then he paused in front of the one that he was relatively certain was his, looking over both shoulders to make sure that he was not being followed. Ivan always managed to sneak up on him.
The halls were empty.
Satisfied, he raised his hand to the doorknob.
And then he froze still.
He heard someone whispering. Through the door.
Even though he should have just turned on his heel right then and there and retreated back to the warmth and safety of Irina (who he almost considered a literal human shield; if Ivan would not touch her, then why not hide behind her?) but god help him and goddamn curiosity. Couldn't help it. Just couldn't. Wanted to know. Wanted to see.
Inhaling through his nose and bracing his feet, he reached out and grabbed the doorknob, and pushed it open, just a crack. Leaning in, he pressed his ear against the gap, and listened. Whispering in Russian. Only one voice. A conversation with no one. There was no light from within. Only darkness. Cold air.
He knew better. Go back.
Yet still he furrowed his brow, and pushed open the door. The room was dark. He took a bold step inside, and let his eyes adjust. The moon could barely stream in through the thick curtains. He looked around the room, heart racing nervously. He couldn't see anyone, not on the bed. Not in the corner. No shadows stirred. Seemed empty. Maybe he was losing it. Reaching out behind, he shut the door gently closed, and then flipped on the light. A moment of adrenaline. He squinted. And there was nothing. No one. No whispering.
Nothing.
He stood still for a moment, and his arms fell loose at his sides, and he wondered, blearily, if he was going crazy, too. Figured. It wouldn't be the first time he had wondered that. He used to wonder all the time about his real parents, and where he had come from. If he had bad blood. If there had been something wrong with them, and therefore something wrong with him. Like Ivan. Maybe his parents had been crazy, and eventually he would become that way, too.
A heaviness in his chest.
Felt so tired, still. His wrist still ached from the needle. His feet still stung. Just wanted to rest. With a heavy sigh, he turned around to kick off his boots. As soon as he turned, though, as soon as he was facing the door, he froze still in his tracks. His head starting hurting. His chest lit up. Aching, everywhere.
Something was staring at him from the dark corner, peering out from shadow.
Ivan.