A Train to Samarkand

Author: Guzel Yakhina

A boy wearing a crimson sleeveless men's waistcoat with golden flowers and crystal buttons stood in the hallway, urinating into a bucket. The waistcoat was so large that its hem bunched up and spread in folds on the parquet floor. The boy's slender neck protruded from the waistcoat's collar like a stick from a fur collar. Beneath the red velvet, his white body was completely bare; the boy wore no trousers, not even underwear. After relieving himself, the boy lifted the edges of his garment to prevent it from dragging as he walked and slowly shuffled towards his place. His bare feet, visible from beneath the sides of the waistcoat, resembled an elephant's feet – ugly, swollen lower limbs that had lost all shape, moving slowly, with effort, barely lifting from the ground. "We found this treasure on the orchestra balcony, along with wigs and powder," Shapiro explained, panting and out of breath from the climb (it seemed to Deyev that she was swaying from exhaustion and the agitation of the last few minutes). "It's true, a dozen tuxedo suits remained from the musicians, but not a single pair of shoes. It would have been better if we had found the opposite. But good things are not wasted, so we distributed them among the boys… Or are you looking at his feet? I told you, we have a dispensary here." The third floor space was much narrower and had lower windows. One could see a projecting cornice from above, and Deyev could touch the ceiling if he wished. Clearly, auxiliary structures had once been here, each with a low door. Shapiro and Deyev looked into several hallways (they had to bend at the threshold so their hats wouldn't hit it) until they found Belaya in one of them. She wasn't pacing the room but simply stood near the door, observing the inhabitants with interest. Even if she had wanted to walk, she wouldn't have been able to – the rooms were too narrow, and the floor was densely covered with children's bodies.