Harvest

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Yakov had not dreamed of his mother in years, had scarcely thought of her in months, so he was bewildered when, on his thirteenth day at sea, he awakened with a memory of her so vivid he could almost smell her scent still lingering in the air. His last glimpse of her, as the dream faded, was her smile. A wisp of blonde hair tracing her cheek. Green eyes that seemed to be looking through him, beyond him, as though he was the one who was not real, not flesh. Her face was so instantly familiar to him that he knew this must surely be his mother. Over the years he had tried hard to remember her, but her face had never quite come to him. Yakov had no photographs, no mementoes. But somehow, through the years, he must have carried the memory of her face stored like a seed in the dark but fertile soil of his mind. Last night, it had finally blossomed. He remembered her, and she was beautiful.

That afternoon, the sea turned flat as glass and the sky darkened to the same cold grey as the water. Standing on the deck, looking over the railing, Yakov could not tell where the sea ended and the sky began. They were adrift in a giant grey fishbowl. He'd heard the cook say there was bad weather ahead, that by tomorrow no one would be keeping down much more than bread and soup. Today, though, the sea was calm, the air heavy and metallic with the taste of rain. Yakov was finally able to coax Aleksei from his bunk to go exploring.

The first place Yakov took him was Hell. The engine room. They wandered for a while in the clanking darkness until Aleksei complained the smell of fuel was making him sick. Aleksei had the stomach of a baby — always puking. So Yakov took him up to the bridge, where the Captain was too busy to talk to them. So was the Navigator. Yakov could not even demonstrate his special status as a regular and accepted visitor.

Next they headed to the galley, but the cook was in a cranky mood and did not offer them even a slice of bread. He had a meal to prepare for the aft passengers, the people no one ever saw. They

HARVEST

were a demanding pair, he complained, requiring far too much of his time and attention. He grumbled as he set two glasses and a wine bottle on a tray and slid it into the dumbwaiter. He pressed a button and sent it whirring upwards, to their private quarters. Then he turned back to the stove where a pan was sizzling and pots were steaming. He lifted one of the pot lids, releasing the fragrance of butter and onions. He stirred the contents with a wooden spoon.

"Onions have to be cooked slowly," he said. "It makes them sweet as milk. It takes patience to cook well, but no one has patience these days. Everyone wants things done at once. Stick it in the microwave! Might as well eat old leather." He closed the pot lid, then lifted the lid to the frying pan. Browning inside were six tiny birds, each one no bigger than a boy's fist. "Like morsels from heaven," he said.

"Those are the smallest chickens I've ever seen," marvelled Aleksei.

The Cook laughed. "They're quail, idiot."

"Why do we never eat quail?"

"Because you're not in the aft cabin." The cook arranged the steaming birds on a platter and drizzled them with chopped parsley. Then he stepped back, his face red and sweating as he admired his creation. "This they cannot complain about," he said, and slid the platter into the dumbwaiter, which by then had returned empty. "I'm hungry," saidYakov.

"You're always hungry. Go, cut yourself a slice of bread. The loaf is stale, but you can toast it."

The two boys rummaged in drawers for the bread knife. The Cook was right; the loaf was dry and stale. Holding down the loaf with the stump of his left arm Yakov sawed off two slices and carried them across to the toaster.

"Look what you're doing to my floor!" said the cook. "Dropping crumbs all over. Pick them up."

"You pick them up,"Yakov told Aleksei. "You dropped them. I didn't." "I'm making the toast."

"But I didn't drop the crumbs."

"All right then. I'll just throw away your slice."

"Someone pick them up!" roared the cook.

Aleksei instantly dropped to his knees and picked up the crumbs. Yakov slid the first piece of bread into the toaster. A furry ball of grey suddenly popped out of one of the slots and leaped to the floor.

"A mouse!" shrieked Aleksei. "There's a mouse!"

The grey ball was scampering around Aleksei's dancing feet now, chased in one direction by Yakov, then in the other direction by the Cook, who threw a pot lid at it for good measure. The mouse skittered halfway up Aleksei's leg, eliciting such a scream of terror it immediately changed course. It dropped back to the floor and shot off, vanishing under a cabinet.

Something was burning on the stove. Cursing, the Cook ran to turn off the flame. He cursed some more as he scraped blackened onions from the pot, the onions he'd been so tenderly nursing along in butter. "A mouse in my kitchen! And look at this! Ruined. I'll have to start over again. Bloody fucking mouse."

"He was in the toaster," saidYakov. Suddenly he felt a little sick.

He thought about that mouse crawling, scratching around inside. "Probably left it full of his shit," said the cook. "Bloody mouse."

Yakov cautiously peered into the toaster. No more mice, but lots of mysterious brown specks.

He slid the toaster towards the sink, intending to dump out the crumbs.

The Cook gave a shout. "Hey! Are you stupid? What are you doing?"

"I'm cleaning out the toaster."

"There's water in that sink! And look, the thing is still plugged in. If you put that in there, and you touch the water, you're dead. Didn't anyone ever teach you that?"

"Uncle Misha never had a toaster."

"It's not just toasters. It's anything that plugs in, anything with an electric cord. You're as stupid as all the others." He waved his arms, shoving them towards the door. "Go on, get out of here, both of you. You're a nuisance."

"But I'm hungry," saidYakov.

"You wait for supper like everyone else." He threw a fresh slab of butter into a saucepan. Glancing atYakov, he barked: "Go!"

The boys left.

They played on deck for a while, until they grew chilled. They tried the bridge again, but were shooed from there as well. Sheer boredom took them, at last, to the one place in the boat where Yakov knew they would bother no one, and no one would bother them. It was his secret place, and he'd meant to show it to Aleksei only as a reward, and only if Aleksei could manage, for once, not to be a crybaby. He had found it on his third day of exploring, when he had spotted the closed door in the engine-room corridor. He

HARVEST

had opened that door and found it led to a stairwell shaft. Wonderland.

The shaft soared three levels. A circular staircase spiralled up and up, and leading off the second level was a flimsy steel walkway that clattered and shook if you jumped up and down on it. The blue door leading aft from the walkway was always kept locked. Yakov had stopped even bothering to try it.

They climbed up to the top level. There, with the floor a dizzying drop below them, it was easy to scare Aleksei with a few noisy jumps.

"Stop it!" Aleksei cried. "You're making it move!"

"That's the ride. The Wonderland ride. Don't you like it?"

"I don't want to take a ride!"

"You never want to do anything."Yakov would have kept jumping up and down, shaking the walkway, but Aleksei was on the verge of hysteria. He had one hand clenched around the railing, the other hugging Shu-Shu.

"I want to go back down," Aleksei whimpered.

"Oh, all right."

They went down the staircase, setting off lovely clatters. At the bottom they played for a while under the bottom steps. Aleksei found some old rope and tied one end to the lowest walkway railing. He used it to swing back and forth like the ape man. It was only a foot off the ground; not very exciting.

Then Yakov showed him the empty crate, the one he'd found shoved into a nook under the stairs. They crawled inside. There they lay in darkness among the wood shavings and listened to the engines rumble in Hell. The sea felt very close here, a great, dark cradle that rocked the hull of the ship.

"This is my secret place," saidYakov. "You can't tell anyone about it. Swear to me you won't tell."

"Why should I? It's a disgusting place. It's cold and wet. And I bet there are mice in here somewhere. We're probably lying right now in mouse shit."

"There's no mouse shit in here."

"How do you know?You can't see anything."

"If you don't like it, you can get out. Go on."Yakov gave him a kick through the wood shavings. Stupid Aleksei. He should have known better than to bring him here. Anyone who carried a filthy stuffed dog everywhere could not be expected to enjoy adventures. "Go on!You're no fun anyway."

"I don't know the way back."

"You think I'm going to show you?"

"You brought me here. You have to bring me back."

"Well I'm not going to."

"You bring me back or I tell everyone about your stupid secret place. Disgusting place, full of mouse shit." Aleksei was climbing out of the crate now, kicking up shavings in Yakov's face. "Bring me back now or-'

"Shut up," saidYakov. He grabbed Aleksei by the shirt and yanked him backwards. Both boys tumbled together into the shavings. "You asshole," said Aleksei. "Listen. Listen.t' "What?"

Somewhere above, a door squealed and clanged shut. The walkway was rattling now, the sound of every footstep shattering to a thousand echoes in the stairway shaft.

Yakov crawled to the opening and peered out of the crate, at the walkway above. Someone was knocking at the blue door. A moment later the door opened, and he caught a glimpse of blonde hair as the woman vanished inside. The door closed behind her. Yakov retreated back into the crate. "It's just Nadiya."

"Is she still out there?"

"No, she went in the blue door."

"What's in there?"

"I don't know."

"I thought you were the great explorer."

"And you're the great asshole."Yakov gave another kick, but only succeeded in tossing up a puff of shavings. "It's always locked.

Someone's living in there."

"How do you know?"

"Because Nadiya knocked, and they let her in."

Aleksei retreated deeper into the crate, having changed his mind about venturing out quite yet. He whispered: "It's the quail people."

Yakov thought of the tray with the wine bottle and the two glasses, the onions sizzling in butter, the six tiny birds blanketed in gravy. His stomach suddenly gave a rumble.

"Listen to this," saidYakov. "I can make really sick noises with my stomach." He sucked in and thrust out his belly. Anyone else would have been impressed by the symphony of gurgles.

Aleksei just said, "That's disgusting."

"Everything's disgusting to you. What's wrong with you, anyway?"

"I don't like disgusting things."

"You used to like them."

"Well, I don't any more."

"It's because of that Nadiya. She' s turned you all soft and gooey.

You're sweet on her."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!" Aleksei threw a handful of shavings, catching Yakov full in the face. Suddenly both boys were grappling, rolling against one side of the crate, then the other, cursing, kicking. There was not much room to move, so they could not really hurt each other. Then Aleksei lost Shu-Shu somewhere in the shavings and began scrabbling around in the darkness, searching for his dog. Yakov was tired of fighting anyway.

So they both stopped.

For a while they rested side by side, Aleksei clutching ShmShu, Yakov trying to coax new and more repulsive sounds from his stomach. Soon he tired of even that. They lay immobilized by boredom, by the sleep-inducing rumble of the engines, and by the sway of the sea.

Aleksei said, "I'm not sweet on her."

"I don't care if you are."

"But the other boys like her. Haven't you noticed how they talk about her?" Aleksei paused. And added: "I like the way she smells.

Women smell different. They smell soft."

"Soft doesn't make a smell."

"Yes it does. You smell a woman like that, and you know, when you touch her, she'll be soft. You just know it." Aleksei stroked ShuShu. Yakov could hear his hand skimming the tattered fabric. "My mother smelled that way," said Aleksei.

Yakov remembered his dream. The woman, the smile. The wisp of blonde hair tracing across a cheek. Yes, Aleksei was right. In his dream, his mother had indeed worn the scent of softness.

"It sounds stupid," said Aleksei. "But I remember that. Some things I still remember about her."

Yakov stretched, and his feet touched the other end of the crate. Have I grown? he wondered. If only. If only I could grow big enough to kick my feet right through that wall.

"Don't you ever think about your mother?" asked Aleksei. "No."

"You wouldn't remember her anyway."

"I remember she was a beauty. She had green eyes."

"How would you know? Uncle Misha says you were a baby when she left."

"I was four. That's not a baby."

"I was six when my mother left and I hardly remember anything."

"I'm telling you, she had green eyes."

"So she had green eyes. So what?"

The clang of a door made them both fall silent. Yakov squirmed over to the crate opening and looked up. It was Nadiya again. She'd just come out of the blue door and was crossing the walkway. She vanished through the forward hatch.

"I don't like her," saidYakov.

"I do. I wish she was my mother."

"She doesn't even like children."

"She told Uncle Misha she dedicates her life to us."

"You believe that?"

"Why would she say it if it isn't true?"

Yakov tried to think of an answer, but could not come up with one. Even if he had, it would make no difference to Aleksei. Stupid Aleksei. Stupid everyone. Nadiya had them all fooled. Eleven boys, and each and every one of them was in love with her. They fought to sit beside her at supper. They watched her, studied her, sniffed at her like puppies. At night, in their bunks, they whispered about Nadiya this and Nadiya that. What foods she preferred, what she'd eaten at lunch. They speculated about everything from how old she was to what undergarments she wore under her grey skirts. They discussed whether or not Gregor, whom everyone despised, was her lover, and unanimously decided he was not. They pooled their knowledge about feminine anatomy, the older boys explaining, in lurid detail, the function of tampons and how and where they are inserted, thus transforming forever the way the younger boys would view women — as creatures with dark and mysterious holes. This only increased their fascination with Nadiya.

Yakov shared that fascination, but his was not because of adoration. He was afraid of her.

It was all because of the blood tests.

On their fourth day at sea, when the boys were still puking and moaning in their bunks, Gregor and Nadiya had come around carrying a tray of needles and tubes. It will be only a small prick, they'd said, a small tube of blood to confirm you are healthy. No one will adopt you if they cannot be assured you are healthy. The pair had moved from boy to boy, weaving a bit from the rough sea, the glass tubes clattering in the tray. Nadiya had looked sick, on the verge of throwing up. Gregor had been the one to draw the blood. At each bunk they'd asked the boy his name and fitted him with a plastic bracelet on which they'd written a number. Then Gregor tied a giant rubber band around the boy's arm and slapped the skin a few times, to make the vein swell. Some of the boys cried, and Nadiya had to hold their hand and comfort them while Gregor drew the blood.

Yakov was the only boy whom she was unable to comfort. No matter how she tried, she could not make him hold still. He did not want that needle in his arm, and he had given Gregor a kick to emphasize the point. That's when the real Nadiya took over. She pinned Yakov's one arm to the bed, holding it there with a grasp that pinched and twisted at the same time. As Gregor drew the blood, she had kept her gaze fixed on Yakov, had spoken quietly, even sweetly to him as the needle pierced his skin and the blood streamed into the tube. Everyone else in that room, listening to Nadiya's voice, heard only murmured words of reassurance. But Yakov, staring into those pale eyes of hers, saw something entirely different.

Afterwards, he had gnawed off his plastic bracelet.

Aleksei still wore his. Number 307. His certification of good health.

"Do you think she has children of her own?" asked Aleksei. Yakov gave a shudder. "I hope not," he said, and crawled to the crate opening. He looked up and saw the deserted walkway and the empty stairway, coiling above like a serpent's skeleton. The blue door, as always, was shut.

Brushing off the wood shavings, he scrambled out of their hiding place. "I'm hungry," he said.

As Cook had predicted, that grey and oppressive afternoon was soon followed by heavy seas — not a severe storm, but rough enough to confine the passengers, both children and adults, to their cabins. And that was precisely where Aleksei intended to stay. All the coaxing in the world would not budge him from his bunk. It was cold and wet outside, and the floor was rocking, and he had no interest in poking around the dark, damp corners that so seemed to fascinate Yakov. Aleksei liked it in his bed. He liked the cosiness of a blanket pulled up around his shoulders, liked the draughts of warmth that puffed at his face when he turned or wriggled, liked the smell of Shu-Shu sleeping beside him on the pillow.

All morning, Yakov tried to drag Aleksei out of bed, to tempt him with another visit to Wonderland. Finally he gave up and went off on his own. He came back once or twice to see if Aleksei had changed his mind, but Aleksei slept all afternoon, through supper, and straight into the evening.

In the night, Yakov awakened and sensed at once that something was different. At first he could not decide what it was. Perhaps just the passing of the storm? He could feel the ship had steadied. Then he realized it was the engines that had changed. That ceaseless rumble had muffled to a soft growl.

He crawled out of his bunk and went to give Aleksei a shake.

"Wake up," he whispered.

"Go away."

"Listen. We've stopped moving."

"I don't care."

"I'm going up to take a look. Come with me."

"I'm sleeping."

"You've been sleeping a whole day and night. Don't you want to see land? We must be near land. Why would the ship stop in the middle of the ocean?" Yakov bent closer to Aleksei, his whispers softly enticing. "Maybe we can see the lights. America.You'll miss it unless you come with me."

Aleksei sighed, stirred a bit, not quite certain what he wanted to do.

Yakov threw out the ultimate lure. "I saved a potato from supper," he said. "I'll give it to you. But only if you come up with me."

Aleksei had missed supper, and lunch as well. A potato would be heaven. "All right, all right." Aleksei sat up and began buckling on his shoes. "Where's the potato?"

"First we go up."

"You're an asshole, Yakov."

They tiptoed past the double bunks of sleeping boys and climbed the stairway, to the deck.

Outside, a soft wind was blowing. They looked over the railing, straining for a view of city lights, but the stars met only a black and formless horizon.

"I don't see anything," said Aleksei. "Give me my potato."

Yakov produced the treasure from his pocket. Aleksei squatted down and devoured it right there, cold, like a wild animal.

Yakov turned and looked up towards the bridge. He could see the greenish glow of the radar screen through the window, and the silhouette of a man standing watch. The Navigator. What did he see from that lonely perch of his?

Aleksei had finished his potato. Now he stood up and said: "I'm going to bed."

"We can look for more food in the galley."

"I don't want to see another mouse." Aleksei began to feel his way across the deck. "Besides, I'm cold."

"I'm not cold."

"Then you stay out here."

They had just reached the stairway when they heard a series of sharp thuds. Suddenly the deck was ablaze with light. Both boys froze, blinking at the unexpected glare.

Yakov grabbed Aleksei's hand and tugged him under the bridge stairway, where they crouched, peering out between the steps. They heard voices and saw two men walk into the circle of floodlights. Both men were wearing white overalls. Together they bent down and gave something a tug. There was a scrape of metal as some kind of cover was forced aside. It revealed a new light, this one blue. It shone at the centre of the floodlit circle, like the forbidding iris of an eye.

"Bloody mechanics," one of the men said. "They'll never get this repaired."

Both men straightened and looked up at the sky. Towards the distant growl of thunder.

Yakov, too, looked up. The thunder was moving closer. No longer just a growl, it deepened to a rhythmic whup-whup. The two men retreated from the floodlights. The sound drew right overhead, churning the night like a tornado.

Aleksei clapped his hands over his ears and shrank deeper into the shadows. Yakov did not. He watched, unflinching, as the helicopter descended into the wash of light and touched down on the deck.

One of the men in overalls reappeared, running bent at the waist. He swung open the helicopter door. Yakov could not see what was inside; the stairway post was blocking his direct view. He eased out from the shadows, moving out onto the deck just far enough to see around the post. He caught a glimpse of the pilot and one passenger — a man.

"Hey!" came a shout from overhead. "You! Boy!"

Yakov glanced straight up and saw the navigator peering down at him from the bridge deck.

"What are you doing down there? You come up here right now, before you get hurt! Come on!"

The man in overalls had spotted the boys too, and was crossing towards them. He did not look pleased.

Yakov scurried up the stairway. Aleksei, in a panic, was right on his heels.

"Don't you know enough to stay off the main deck when a chopper's landing?" yelled the navigator. He gave Aleksei a whack on the rump and pulled them inside, into the wheelhouse. He pointed to two chairs. "Sit. Both of you."

"We were just watching," saidYakov. "You two are supposed to be in bed."

"I was in bed," whimpered Aleksei. "He made me come out."

"Do you know what a chopper rotor can do to a boy's head? Do you?" The navigator slashed a hand across Aleksei's skinny neck. "Just like that. Your head goes flying straight off. And blood shoots everywhere. Quite spectacular. You think I'm joking, don't you? Believe me,! don't go down there when the chopper comes.! stay the hell away. But if you want your stupid heads sliced off, be my guests. Go on."

Aleksei sobbed, "I wanted to stay in bed!"

The roar of the helicopter made them all turn to look. They watched as it lifted into the sky, the rotor wash whipping the overalls of the two men standing on deck. It made a slow ninety-degree turn, then veered off, to be swallowed up by the night. Only a soft rumble lingered, fading away like retreating thunder.

"Where does it go?" askedYakov.

"You think they tell me?" said the navigator. "They just call me when it's coming in for a pickup and I turn the bow into the wind. That's all." He reached for one of the panel switches and flicked it.

The floodlights were instantly extinguished. The main deck vanished into darkness.

Yakov pressed close to the bridge window. The chopper rumble was gone now. In every direction stretched the blackness of the sea.

Aleksei was still crying.

"Stop it now," said the navigator. He gave Aleksei a scolding slap on the shoulder. "A boy your age, acting like a woman."

"But what does it come for? The helicopter?" askedYakov. "I told you. A pickup."

"What does it pick up?"

"I don't ask. I just do what they tell me."

"Who?"

"The passengers in the aft cabin." He tugged Yakov away from the window and gave him a push towards the door. "Go back to

HARVEST

your bunks. Can't you see I have work to do?"

Yakov was following Aleksei to the door when his gaze lit on the radar screen. So many times before, he'd stared at that screen, transfixed by the hypnotic sweep of the line tracing its three hundred and sixty-degree arc. Now he stood before it again, watching the line circle around and around. He saw it at once, a small white sliver at the edge of the screen.

"Is it another ship?" Yakov asked. "There, on the radar." He pointed

to the sliver which suddenly pulsed whiter as the line swept over it. "What else would it be? Get out of here."

The boys went outside and clattered down the bridge stairway to the main deck. Yakov glanced up and saw, against the green glow of the bridge window, the navigator's silhouette. Watching. Always watching.

And he said: "Now I know where the helicopter goes."

Pyotr andValentin were not at breakfast. By then the news of their departure during the night had already spread toYakov's cabin, so when he sat down at the table that morning and faced the row of boys sitting across from him, he knew the reason for their silence. They did not understand, any of them, why Pyotr and Valentin should be the first to leave the ship, the first to be chosen. Pyotr, they'd all thought from the start, would be among the leftovers, or would be consigned to some unlikely family who favoured idiot children. Valentin, who'd joined the group in Riga, had been clever enough, handsome enough, but he had a secret perversion known to the younger boys. After the lights went out at night, he would crawl into their bunks without his underwear, would whisper: "Feel that? Feel how big I am?" And he would grab their hands and force them to touch him.

But Valentin was gone now, he and Pyotr. Gone to new parents who'd chosen them, Nadiya said.

The rest of them were the leftovers.

In the afternoon, Yakov and Aleksei climbed to the deck and stretched out on the spot where the helicopter had landed. They lay gazing up at the hard blue glare of the sky. No clouds, no helicopters. The deck was warm and, like two kittens on a radiator, they began to feel drowsy.

"I've been thinking," saidYakov, his eyes closed against the sun.

"If my mother is alive,! don't want to be adopted."

"She's not."

"She could be."

"Why didn't she come back for you, then?"

"Maybe she's looking for me right now. And here I am, in the middle of the sea where no one can find me. Except with radar. I'm going to tell Nadiya to take me back. I don't want a new mother."

"I do," said Aleksei. He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Do you think there's something wrong with me?"

Yakov laughed. "You mean besides the fact you're retarded?" When Aleksei didn't answer Yakov squinted up at his friend and was puzzled to see the boy had his hands over his face, and his shoulders were shaking.

"Hey," saidYakov. "Are you crying?"

"No."

"You are, aren't you?"

"No."

"You're such a baby. I didn't mean it. You're not retarded." Aleksei had folded into a ball of arms and legs. He was crying all right. Though he didn't make a sound, Yakov could see the chest spasmodically sucking in gulps of air. Yakov didn't know what to make of this or what to say. A fresh insult was what automatically came to mind. Stupid girl. Crybaby. But then he thought better of it. He had never seen Aleksei this way, and he felt a little guilty, a little scared. It was just a joke. Why couldn't Aleksei see it was a joke?

"Let's go down and swing on the rope," saidYakov. He gave Aleksei a poke in the ribs.

Aleksei lashed back with an angry shove and jumped up, his face red and wet.

"What's the matter with you anyway?" saidYakov.

"Why did they choose that stupid Pyotr instead of me?"

"They didn't choose me either," saidYakov.

"But there's nothing wrong with me!" cried Aleksei. He ran from the deck.

Yakov sat very still. He looked down at the stump of his left arm. And he said, "There's nothing wrong with me either."

"Knight to bishop three," said Koubichev, the engineer.

"You always do that. Don't you ever try anything new?"

"I believe in the tried and true. It's beaten you every time. Your move. Don't take all day."

Yakov rotated the chess board and studied it first from one angle, then another. He got on his knees and peered down the row of

HARVEST

pawns. Imagined black-armoured soldiers standing in formation, awaiting orders.

"What the hell are you doing now?" said Koubichev. "Did you ever notice the queen has a beard?"

"What?"

"She has a beard. Look."

Koubichev grunted. "That's just her neck ruffle. Now will you make your move?"

Yakov set the queen back on the board and reached for a knight. He set it down, picked it up. Set it down in a different place and again picked it up. All around them rumbled the engines of Hell.

Koubichev was no longer watching. He'd opened a magazine and was flipping through the pages, eyeing a succession of glamorous faces. The one hundred most beautiful women in America. Every so often he'd grunt and say, "You call that beautiful?" or "I wouldn't let my dog fuck that one."

Yakov picked up the queen again and set her down on bishop four. "There."

Koubichev regarded Yakov's latest move with a snort. "Why do you always repeat the same mistake? Moving your queen out too early?" He tossed the magazine down and leaned forward to move his pawn. That's when Yakov spotted the face on the magazine page. It was a woman. Blonde hair, with one wisp curling over the cheek. A melancholy smile. Eyes that seemed to be gazing not at you, but beyond you.

"It's my mother," saidYakov.

"What?"

"It's her. It's my mother!" He lunged for the magazine, knocking against the crate that served for a table. The chess board toppled. Pawns and bishops and knights flew in every direction.

Koubichev snatched the magazine out of reach. 'what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Give it to me!" screamed Yakov. He was clawing at the man's arm now, frantic to claim his mother's photo. "Give it!"

"You crazy boy, it's not your mother!"

"It is! I remember her face! She looked like that, just like that!" "Stop scratching me. Get away, do you hear?"

"Give it to me!"

"All right, all right. Here, I'll show you. It's not your mother." Koubichev slapped the magazine down on the crate. "See?"

Yakov stared at the face. Every detail was exactly as he'd dreamed it. The way the head was tilted, the way her skin dimpled near the corners of her mouth. Even the way the light fell on her hair. He said, "It's her. I've seen her face."

"Everyone's seen her face." Koubichev pointed to the name on the photo. "Michelle Pfeiffer. She's an actress. American. Not even the name is Russian."

"But I know her! I had a dream about her!"

Koubichev laughed. "You and every other horny boy." He glanced around at the scattered chess pieces. "Look at this mess. We'll be lucky to find all the pawns. Come on, you knocked it over. Now pick them up."

Yakov didn't move. He stood staring at the woman, remembering the way she had smiled at him.

Koubichev, grumbling, dropped to his hands and knees and began to crawl about, retrieving chess pieces from underneath machinery. "You've probably seen her face somewhere. The TV, or maybe some magazine, and you forgot about it. Then you have a dream about her, that's all." He set two bishops and a queen on the board, then heaved himself back onto the chair. His face was flushed, his barrel chest panting heavily. He tapped his head. "The brain is a mysterious thing. It takes real life and spins it into dreams, and we can't tell what's made up and what's real. Sometimes I have this dream where I'm sitting at a table with all this wonderful food, everything I could want to eat. Then I wake up and I'm still on this fucking boat." He reached for the magazine and tore out the page with Michelle Pfeiffer. "Here. It's yours."

Yakov took the page but didn't say anything. He just held it. Looked at it.

"If you want to pretend that's your mother, go ahead. A boy could do worse. Now pick up the pieces. Hey! Hey, Boy!Where do you think you're going?"

Yakov, still clutching the page, fled Hell.

Up on deck he stood at the rail, his face to the sea. The page was wrinkled now, flapping and crackling in the wind. He looked at it, saw that he'd been holding it so tightly, a crease now cut across those half-smiling lips.

He grasped one corner with his teeth and ripped the page in two. It was not enough. Not enough. He was breathing hard, close to crying, but no sound came out. He ripped the page again and again, using his teeth like an animal tearing at real flesh, letting the pieces fly off into the wind.

When he'd finished, he was still holding onto one scrap of the page. It was an eye. Just beneath it, pinched by his fingers, was a star-shaped crease. Like the sparkle of a single teardrop.

He threw the scrap over the rail and watched it flutter away and fall into the sea.