Smoke
“Why did you even call him?” David asked his brother. “Diana had the car, why did you call Anton first.”
Dante was caught by surprise. “Well… It’s just that I’ve known him for a long time, and he’s always been there for me.”
Before the Berlin Wall came down, and after Dante had finished school in Italy, he had met Anton in St. Petersburg. His father was invited to stay in a hotel with other advisors from various countries who had post-Stalinist links to the USSR. Orlando had refused to return to the United States for a period of time after McCarthyism had reared its head, but when invited by a USSR delegate for talks, the ageing father was permitted to take one son with him.
By this time David had run away from home, enlisting in the Italian Army. With no immediate prospect of war, he was committed to overseeing the results of the aid campaign to the province of South Tyrol in northern Italy. His coordination and good standing with his superiors made his father proud when the two were reunited after the fall of the Soviet Union.
During Dante’s visit to St. Petersburg he frequently visited the bars and saunas while his father was conversing with Russian delegates. On one Thursday night, he saw a red-haired man holding a bottle of foreign beer. This man was being question by someone who had just emerged from a dark alleyway. Dante’s understanding of the language had increased substantially since landing in St. Petersburg and it sounded as if the man was being threatened.
“Russian beer not good enough for you, ha? Is that is now? First you quit our organization, than you start abusing loopholes to import foreign beer! You make me sick!”
Dante walked up to the two men. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Who the hell are you?” The black-haired man said looking at Dante.
“Song of a delegate, meeting your leaders.”
“Well than… I’ve wasted enough of my time following this man, I’ll let you kill him if you wish.”
To Dante’s surprise the black-haired man turned around and walked away. The other male covered his face with his palms.
“Foreign beer?” Dante asked.
“Yeah,” The red-haired man replied as uncovering his bearded face. “Guess this is it. Didn’t even get to say goodbye to my brother.”
“You have a brother?” Dante pressed in Russian.
“Yes. He’s younger than me but my family won’t take care of him because they say he’s mentally ill, so I mainly bring food to him. I last tucked him into my bed. He doesn’t even know I left our apartment.”
The man started sobbing. He hid the tears from Dante, but stepped back as if anticipating to be shot any moment.
“Hey cheer up,” Dante answered more gently, stepping forward. “I have a brother too. Now what is your name?”
“Anton.” The man replied, wiping his face with the free arm not holding the imported bottle of beer.
“Look here Anton. I need a tour guide who can show me around. All I’ve seen are a few bars, and saunas and well I would like to tell my father I’ve been doing more. If you help me out, I’ll help you out.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
“Speak some English?” Dante pressed.
“Read several books.” He replied in English.
Dante gave him a brief hug before looking at the bottle of beer Anton was holding. “Great, now do you have more of that stuff at home?”
That night Dante learned more about the Secret Police than his father had cared to reveal prior to leaving.
“And remember,” Anton warned as they sat comfortably on a chair in his house, “we have to be very quiet.”
Dante pressed two fingers to his lips in a gesture of agreement. He took another mouthful of imported beer from a new bottle Anton had opened.
“So how do you get this stuff?” Dante whispered. He carefully placed the bottle on a small table between his chair and Anton’s.
“I know a guy who works as a border guard. He makes a lot of money selling illegally imported goods.” Anton replied as he opened his bottle with a decorative Stalin bottle opener.
“Good thing I showed up right on time before you got killed,” Dante continued.
“Yeah, I don’t know what that guy would have done, but I bet you I wouldn’t have left the scene with as much blood as I currently have.”
“What do you plan on doing after this Wall comes tumbling down?” Dante asked genuinely concerned.
Anton thought for a moment. “You know, I’d like to be able to import this beer openly without having to risk my life. Yes. I would like to import beer legally after the Wall comes down.”
The next day Dante woke to the sound of Anton snoring. An elderly man was staring into his face, inches away.
“You’re new.” The man spoke in Russian. His voice was tinged from smoker’s lungs.
Dante wiped his eyes, and struggled to coordinate his position on the chair.
“Friend of Anton?” The elderly man continued, walking away.
Dante sat up. The elderly man was now in the kitchen adjacent to the small living room. The television set depicted a man reading the news.
“Yeah,” He groaned.
The man yelled something over the sound of Anton snoring. It sounded as if the man asked whether he was hungry, but then he added a few words that Dante could not translate.
“No, I need fresh air.” Dante replied in his limited Russian.
The man stopped asking questions, as Dante rose to his feet and began heading for the front door. He picked up his black suit jacket from the floor and opened the door. A cold gust sliced into his face.
He stepped outside closing the door behind him.
Reaching into the jacket’s left pocket he pulled out a black plastic phone. It was the size of his hand, but his jacket had deep pockets that rivalled his father’s wealth.
“Hello father.”
“Dante. Where are you?”
“I’m okay father, I’m standing outside,” Dante paused as he looked around. “Well I don’t know exactly, but can you send a cab to my coordinates?”
“Dante, you’re consuming more of my wealth everyday.”
Dante remained silent as another frigid cold gust of wind rushed past his head. Across the street, in front of a cemetery, several leaves fell from trees guarding the entrance.
“I’m just in front of a cemetery. You know where?”
“Hold on Dante…” His father said bluntly, “anyone know a cemetery nearby? You? Where. Okay.”
“Father?”
“A cab is coming to pick you up so stay put.” His father hung up.
Dante pocketed the phone. He felt the leather skin of his wallet rub against his cold skin. Remembering that he kept a folded miniature map of St. Petersburg in his wallet, he swiftly pulled the wallet out of his pocket.
Dante opened it, as another gust of wind rushed past. The streets were empty with no sign of traffic but those of leaves moving with the force of gravity. He procured the map gently from wallet. A sudden feeling of nausea caught him by surprise, as he released his grip on the wallet. It fell open, scattering his identification cards on the road. Before he could control the nausea, sequential gusts of wind carried two of the I.D. cards away, above the cemetery fence, and behind the caretakers shed. Retrieving what he could, Dante rushed across the street. To his surprise, the graveyard’s entrance showed no sign of lock. Pushing the gate open, Dante strayed past the view of the elderly man who had been watching him through a window since he left without taking breakfast.
“Anton… wake up you fool,” The man growled.
“What is it?” Anton groaned. His eyes opened and he immediately recoiled before looking around.
“Where did he go?” He asked, rubbing his eyes.
“I saw him chasing some small paper into the cemetery just now before he disappeared behind a group of trees.”
Anton yawned. He looked down at the bottles of imported beer before realizing his father was looking at the same thing.
“I can explain.” He said suddenly.
“There’s nothing to explain here.” His father shouted back. “You obviously brought a dealer here. You’re nothing but blight on this family. You and your godforsaken brother.”
A nerve was ticked. Anton left for the exit, slamming the door behind him.
Dante circled around the shed. He repeatedly surveyed the grass, wondering if another gust had carried his documentation further into the cemetery.
As Dante was busy looking at the ground, he failed to notice that the shed door, once closed, was now open.
“Can I help you?”
He quickly turned around to face a young boy of sixteen dressed in guard uniform.
“Looking for dropped paper” Dante replied in Russian. He knew providing more details would only lead to suspicion.
The boy gave one nod, and walked away.
“Where is it…” Dante asked himself in vain.
“Hey!” A familiar voice yelled. Turning to his left he saw Anton running towards him.
“What are you doing in a cemetery?” Anton asked in English.
“Trying to some identification that go blown away after my flipping wallet slipped out of my hand.”
“Is it a small white card?” Anton inquired.
“Yes! Tell me you saw it!”
Anton pointed towards a group of branches above their heads. “I saw something white caught in the leaves. Give me a boost and I’ll get it.”
Dante tried held his palm out but he wasn’t strong enough to give Anton the boost he needed.
“Let me try,” Anton finally said as he held out his palm.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dante remarked before placing his foot on Anton’s palm.
To Dante’s surprise, Anton was able to support his weight and do so while standing.
“Are you on steroids?” Dante asked, as he retrieved the several identification cards blown away.
He jumped down, grimacing as he landed awkwardly.
“Something tells me you’ve been pampered a lot,” Anton joked warmly.
Dante coughed as he inhaled what smelled like a faint trace of smoke. “Do you smell that?” He said, testing the air with his nose.
Anton walked around the shed following the odour. Suddenly he broke into a run.
Dante quickly pursued him, halting only when they were standing at the entrance of the graveyard. Across the street, smoke poured out of the small house Anton had led him to last night. Neighbours vacated their nearby homes observing the fire as if caught in a trance. Dante turned his head to see how Anton was reacting. There was no sign of him nearby.
“Damn it,” He said, coughing as a gust of smoke blew his way.
Throwing his jacket on the street he ran towards the burning building, his only welcome – a screen of heat. The front door was kicked down, but a corner of the front wall smouldered uncontrollably. Nobody from the crowd spoke up as Dante ran inside the burning building. Then again, he wasn’t sure whether the heat had burnt off his ears as the silence became evident. The fire quickly enveloped almost the entire floor. The sound of bottles exploding briefly reassured Dante about his hearing as he kept his arm close to his face as a shield. Turning randomly amid the only clear path, he spotted Anton sprawled on the floor holding onto his brother and his mother. He was still alive, but coughing violently.
Silently Dante made a vow that if he was somehow able to make it out of this burning building alive with three fully-grown adults, he would worship his newfound saviour. Dante bent over, attempting to first drag Anton out of the burning building before returning for his mother and brother. Brother was the last thought he had before a large object slammed into his skull knocking him unconscious onto the floor of the burning building.
Outside the burning building, a large black car came to a stop in front of the discarded jacket.
“He’s not here!” The driver in shouted in English to another male in the passenger seat.
“We need to get out of here, can’t you see that building on fire!” The passenger replied, winding up the car’s tinted window on the side closest to the burning building.
Dante’s eyes shot open as the feeling of nausea appeared. He was still in the burning building but this time someone was dragging him as they held on to his feet. Dante glanced towards his saviour, quickly sheltering his face from the burning ceiling. Sunlight filtered through his hand onto his face. He was outside the building, but how?
“Can you walk?” Anton’s voice shouted.
Dante rose to his feet, gripping the back of his skull. To his surprise there was no sign of blood.
“We need to get further away from this building,” Anton yelled. “When the police come they might not question us lightly.”
“Your mother, and brother…” Dante coughed, following Anton towards his jacket.
“This is your jacket,” Anton coughed, handing Dante the black business coat lying on the road.
“I’m sorry,” Dante said, as they walked further down the street.
“Anton’s shaking again…” Lindsay warned David. Dante maintained his firm bear hug on Anton.
“Don’t let go.” David instructed his brother. “Lindsay, I need you to go downstairs and check the panel controlling the lights.”
“Which looks like…” She prompted.
“All lighting controls are insulated in a box embedded into the walls. The one on this floor and the first floor should be easier to access, but I need you to check for signs of damage on the first floor while I check this floor.”
“Why do you get to check this floor?” She asked, folding her arms.
“If Anton’s on some kind of drug that is having a side effect I’ll be closer to help Dante if anything occurs.”
Sweat continued to bead on Anton’s forehead as remained in a state of convulsion.
“Shouldn’t we call the police, or drive him to the hospital?” Lindsay pressed. She did feel comfortable going downstairs in this house by herself.
Dante glanced at her with his dark eyes. For a moment she remained in a state of tranquility wondering whether they were dark brown or just the impossible, black.
“I mean, I don’t feel comfortable going downstairs. What if it wasn’t Anton’s fault and the lights go off again,” She confessed hurriedly.
Dante transferred his glare towards David, “I’ll be fine here just hurry back up.”
