The Magic Words
“…a tragedy that has shattered the New Year’s celebration for dozens of families here in Kurov. Authorities confirm twenty-two dead and forty-one wounded in a brutal attack at the famously popular Elit discoteca.”
The TV reporter in a heavy wool coat fought against the windy morning with her words cutting in and out. Behind her stood the sinister Elit, the lights gone and just as lifeless as the faces I’d seen inside. People carrying flowers and icons of saints crowded around it in the background.
“The event unfolded after two in the morning, following a speech by the club’s co-owner, Yisa Bugarin. Eyewitnesses state that a group of armed men opened fire without provocation, specifically targeting a section of the club where known criminal offenders were present.”
Mama watched it with a trembling hand over her mouth. She wept. Poor, sweet Mama.
I felt nothing.
“However, the investigation has uncovered an even more heinous detail. Forensic examinations indicate that the victims were poisonedprior to the shooting. Lethal amounts of formaldehyde were discovered in their systems, causing severe optic damage and, in some cases, organ failure and death. A consequence, experts say, of consuming vodka contaminated with methanol.”
“Never vodka…” I whispered, my vacant eyes still fixed on the TV. “Never the vodka…”
“The militia is classifying this as an act of gang warfare between rival factions of the Kurov criminal world. An official warning has been issued—if you have purchased vodka-based drinks or received unsealed bottles as a gift, do not consume them. Monitor your health closely, and report to your district’s municipal hospital if you experience any of the following symptoms…”
“If you experience death…” I finished for her.
There must have been hundreds of people there.
Mama made some whimpering sounds, and a part of me wanted to comfort her, but there was little left in me to offer sympathy. I doubted there was anything left inside me at all.
I had to call Vitali. I had to make sure he was alive…
The thought closed up my throat for the fear of that being the only thing that made me feel anything at all.
Kra-kra-krakrakrak—the hungry machine guns, like dogs, barking.
“I have to make sure Elena is alright…” I muttered and turned away from Mama and the TV.
“Reporting from Kurov, this is Aleksandra Golkova for Vesti Odin.”
I sank down onto the stool at the kitchen table and pulled the phone to my chest where I could feel the rhythmicBRRRof the rotary dial. My fingers paused before I touched the first number. I really ought to call Elena.
I dialed, and I waited.
“Allo?” the woman on the other end said.
“Irina Ivanovna, can I speak to Elena?” I asked.
“Ah, one minute.”
My eyes fluttered closed, but not in prayer. I had nothing to offer God that day.
“Allo?”
“Elena,” I said.
“Katya? Are you at home?”
“Did you see the news?”
“I did…” There it was, that note in her tone. The‘I can’t talk about it’ that I’d only recently had to learn.
“Tragedy,” I said.
“Very tragic! Is… did Vitali get home okay?”
