Iris and chamomile

"Where are you going?" Ira caught Seva by the strap of his backpack. After yesterday’s argument, her tone sounded suspiciously cautious.

"Kirill called me to the field. They’ve been excavating the settlement near Tver for the past two years. I’m just going to stay for a week or two and come back."

"And your work?"

"Took a vacation."

"Smooth arrangement," Ira grumbled, trying to keep herself composed after yesterday’s clash. "Perfectly convenient. You want to leave when you feel like it, come back when you want. You’re spending your vacation as you please, as if I don’t exist. Aren’t you afraid I’ll change the locks?"

"Come on, Ira, relax. You’ll rest."

Seva tried to kiss her on the nose, but Ira turned away. He felt a twinge of guilt — her right, he didn’t want to argue, so he ran. But really, he wouldn’t change the locks, especially in a rented apartment. Let her sit alone, calm down. It wasn’t the first time, after all.

⠀

Pavel Ivanovich was trimming the dried leaves off his houseplants, still surprised:

"You’re restless again. Why do you care so much about these excavations? We already did our part. Whether they find something or not isn’t our concern. Why aren’t you happier working at the museum? Dig through your archives — if anyone needs a consultation, they’ll come to you."

Pavel Ivanovich stopped snipping and fell into thought.

"Wait — you probably asked for it yourself."

Serious Lyudmila Leonidovna, with her characteristic furrow between the brows, smiled with an open, childlike smile.

"Pavlusha, I feel it. They’ll find something," she said softly.

Pavel Ivanovich exhaled with a resigned sigh. Sixty-three years old, and his Lyuda still hadn’t calmed down — she’d arranged for herself a position as a consultant at the monastery, just to be involved in the excavation of the settlement in some way.

"What makes you think that?"

Lyudmila Leonidovna placed a stack of clothes on the sofa and began explaining:

"Pavlusha, everything adds up. The monks preserved Tikhomir’s records as part of their medical writings, and he’s listed in church records as having died in a fire. That means he lived there until the end, and the capsule should still be somewhere there. Fire or no fire, Tikhomir kept such a valuable thing hidden — no doubt about it."

Her scissors clicked again. Ah, her dream of finding an iris with a chamomile flower.

"Lyuda, even if they find it, what does it matter to you? You’ll just look at it normally. You’re not planning some kind of ritual."

There was no reply, and Pavel Ivanovich momentarily doubted his wife’s sanity.

"Lyuda, stop talking nonsense."

"I didn’t say anything. It’s you who’s thinking too much."

"Lyuda!"

⠀

Seva had been working under the sun for two weeks straight. Digging in his designated square, removing soil layers, tossing earth into the dump, logging the finds, if any — simple fieldwork life. But he couldn’t fully shut off his mind from worries. Ira still harbored resentment. Not as actively or stubbornly as at first, but from her tone, Seva knew she’d prefer to go home early — they probably didn’t expect him.

To make a phone call, he had to climb the hill toward the gloomy monastery. That was the only place the phone worked. It was probably arranged for the clergy. Respecting the sanctity of the place, Seva tried to keep close to the wall surrounding the monastery yard and speak softly. Not always successfully.

"What makes you think that I don’t love you?!" Seva snapped back at her again, and this time, the silence on the line indicated the call had ended.

He groaned inwardly, thinking for a few minutes about what to do. All this fuss over nothing was tiring. Ira constantly demanded proof that she meant something to him. Seva still couldn’t understand what she lacked.