Read The Road for Free Online Page B

her little guest had barely entered the room when the doorbell rang.
    “Ah, it must be Uncle Lyova,” said Vera Ignatyevna. She took the little girl by the hand and led her toward the door.
    “Let me introduce you,” she said. “This is Ksenya Mayorova, and this is comrade Orlov, Uncle Lyova, my husband.”
    “Greetings, my child!” said Orlov, and patted the little girl on the head.
    He felt disappointed. He had imagined the little girl would be tiny and pretty, with sad eyes like the eyes of a grown-up woman. Ksenya Mayorova, however, was plain and stocky, with fat red cheeks, lips that stuck out a little, and eyes that were gray and narrow.
    “We came by car,” she boasted in a deep voice.
    While Vera Ignatyevna was preparing supper, Ksenya wandered about the room examining everything.
    “Auntie, have you got a radio?” she asked.
    “No, darling. But come here—there’s something we have to do.”
    Vera Ignatyevna took her into the bathroom. There they talked about the zoo and the planetarium.
    During supper Ksenya looked at Lev Sergeyevich, laughed, and said pointedly, “Uncle didn’t wash his hands!”
    She had a deep voice, but her laugh was thin and giggly.
    Vera Ignatyevna asked Ksenya how much seven and eight came to, and what was the German word for a door. She asked her if she knew how to skate. They argued about what was the capital of Belgium; Vera Ignatyevna thought it was Antwerp. “No, it’s Geneva,” Ksenya insisted, pouting and stubbornly shaking her head.
    Lev Sergeyevich took his wife aside and whispered, “Put her to bed. Then I’ll sit with her and tell her a story—she doesn’t feel at home with us yet.”
    “Why don’t you go out into the corridor and have a smoke?” answered his wife. “In the meantime we can air the room.”
    Lev Sergeyevich walked up and down the corridor and struggled to recall a fairy tale. Little Red Riding Hood? No, she probably knew it already. Maybe he should just tell her about the quiet little town of Kasimov, about the forests there, about going for walks on the bank of the Oka—about his grandmother, about his brother, about his sisters?
    When his wife called him back, Ksenya was already in bed. Lev Sergeyevich sat down beside her and patted her on the head.
    “Well,” he asked, “how do you like it here?”
    Ksenya yawned convulsively and rubbed her eyes with one fist.
    “It’s all right,” she said. “But it must be very hard for you without a radio.”
    Lev Sergeyevich began recounting stories from his childhood. Ksenya yawned three times in quick succession and said, “You shouldn’t sit on someone’s bed if you’re wearing clothes. Microbes can crawl off you.”
    Her eyes closed. Half asleep, she began mumbling incoherently, telling some crazy story.
    “Yes,” she whined. “They didn’t let me go on the excursion. Lidka saw when we were still in the garden...Why didn’t she say anything...?And I carried it twice in my pocket...I’ve been pricked all over...but it wasn’t me who told them about the glass, she’s a sneak...”
    She fell asleep. Lev Sergeyevich and his wife went on looking at her face in silence. She was sleeping very quietly, her lips sticking out more than ever, her reddish pigtails moving very slightly against the pillow.
    Where was she from? The Ukraine, the north Caucasus, the Volga? Who had her father been? Perhaps he had died doing some glorious work in a mine or in the smoke of some huge furnace? Perhaps he had drowned while floating timber down a river? Who had he been? A mechanic? A porter? A housepainter? A shopkeeper? There was something magnificent and touching about this peacefully sleeping little girl.
    In the morning Vera Ignatyevna went off to do some shopping. She needed to stock up for the three days of the holiday. She also wanted to go to theMostorg Department Store and buy some silk for a summer dress. Lev Sergeyevich and Ksenya stayed behind.
    “Listen,
mein liebes Kind
,” he said.