Jürgen led me to my apartment: a cramped, single-room flat with a shared kitchen and bathroom.

Since I didn’t have any slippers for him, he stepped inside with his snow-covered boots, leaving dark, wet stains across the carpet.

I showed him into my shabby bedroom. It was sparsely furnished with an old, squeaky iron bedstead with uneven legs, a small sofa hidden beneath a rose-patterned cover, and a round table that doubled as a desk and dining table.

Both the bed and the sofa were absurdly small. Even for someone not particularly tall like me, the bed was so narrow that I often found myself rolling off it in my sleep.

“Shall I make some tea?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Jürgen lowered himself onto the rose-patterned sofa. Given his broad frame, the seat sagged alarmingly under his weight, making me worry that it might collapse. With someone of his size filling the room, it seemed to shrink even further, making the air feel stiflingly close.

“I need a drink. Jurgen, what about you?”

“Don’t drink. Listen to me with a clear head. Sit down.”

“Just a moment… I should ask the superintendent to turn up the heat. It’s freezing.”

“Sit.”

He stood with the bearing of a man accustomed to command. Hoping he might save my brothers’ lives, I could only bend submissively before him.

Still wearing my grimy yellow work overalls, I sat on the iron bed opposite him. A crushing weariness fogged my mind, leaving me dazed and numb.

“No… I’ll have tea. I need it.”

I jumped up and hurried into the kitchen. I put the kettle on the hob and collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath. My chest heaved painfully with each hard, pounding heartbeat.

‘What in the world is happening?’

I was still in turmoil. My eldest brother had died of pneumonia. The other two were trapped in the camp. Jürgen had offered to free them if I married him.

The kettle soon began to bubble. I put the strainer in and brewed the tea. As the minutes passed, the liquid darkened to a deep red-black colour. I poured it into a chipped cup, held it to warm my hands, and took it back to the room.

Jürgen was gazing out of the window.

“Jurgen.”

I called out to him as I sat down opposite him again. He raised his left arm to check the time. He did this often, yet he never looked hurried. There was always that same strange air of composure about him, as though time itself bent around him.

“Have you decided?”

‘Decided…?’

I sipped my steaming tea and wondered if I even had a choice. If marrying him meant saving my brothers, then of course I had to do it. I couldn’t let them die in the camp like Seryozha.

Yet I couldn’t bring myself to answer.

I knew so little about Jürgen. The few things I knew were that he was Archum’s friend, that he was a foreign student from the West, and that he was wealthy enough to drive an imported car.

Our relationship had always been simple. I talked and he listened. He rarely spoke about himself. Even after three years, I hardly knew him.

“Why go this far for me?”

I took another sip of tea, the rising steam blurring my vision.

“Getting someone out of a camp isn’t easy. It takes money, connections. How could you, a student? And why?”

“Do you doubt me?”

I shook my head hastily and set the cup down, terrified he might change his mind.

“I just don’t understand. I don’t know why you’d go to such lengths—or why you’d propose to me.”

I gazed into his grey eyes, searching for something — anything. But he remained unreadable. Handsome and expressionless, he was like a waxwork figure that had been carved too perfectly to be real.

“Whatever the reason, I want to marry you.”

He was still wearing his gloves and scarf. Sitting on my rose-patterned sofa in his heavy wool coat, which hung down past his ankles, he looked like he hadn’t quite settled in yet.

I considered taking his coat for him, trying to treat him properly as a guest. But just as I moved towards him, he murmured something quietly.

“Svyeta. After you marry me and bear my child, I want you to die by my hand.”

My vision wavered and my eyes trembled helplessly. I was so shaken by Seryozha’s death that I thought I must have misheard. Perhaps it was just another one of his grim, tasteless jokes.

“Congratulations, Svyeta.”

Jürgen spoke with impeccable politeness, as though he were proposing a toast.

“You’re now living on borrowed time.”

✹✹ ✹✹ ✹✹ ✹✹ ✹✹

In December, winter brought a whole new set of challenges to apartment life. Each morning, someone had to clear the snow to make the walkways accessible. Residents took it in turns, rotating according to the day of the week. On Thursdays, it was my turn.

Of course, it had snowed overnight — there had been a storm all night long.

At dawn, I took a wooden snow shovel and stepped into the courtyard.

“Forward, soldiers…! For our great Motherland—forward, forward, forward…!”

As I made my way through the snowdrifts, I passed an old man who was so drunk that he could barely stand. He was humming a marching song.

“Svyeta! Good morning!”

“Igor Petrovich, you’ve been drinking again at this hour?”

“Don’t tell Masha.”

“All right.”

So much snow had fallen overnight that clearing it all seemed impossible. I took a cigarette out of my pocket, lit it, and took a deep breath.

Damn it, it’s freezing – really freezing!

I put the shovel down for a moment and smoked. Igor Petrovich stretched out a hand, asking for a cigarette too. I handed him one and struck a match for him.

“Want a drink?”

“If you’ll share, thank you.”

I knew I shouldn’t have drunk before work, but I was in a bad mood today. I took the bottle of vodka that he had been drinking from and finished it in one go.

“Ugh…”

The liquor was so strong my face twisted on its own. The warmth spread fast, leaving me lightheaded. Soon I found myself humming along with Igor’s soldier’s song as I shoveled again.

“By the way, did you know Archum came by last night?”

“…What?”

“He said that no matter how many times he rang, you didn’t answer. He seemed worried.”

Last night, I had buried myself under the blankets, listening to music on the radio until morning. I must not have heard the bell at all.

“I’ll get in touch with Archum soon.”

Why had Archum come looking for me when he was about to get married? But Jurgen was dominating my thoughts, so I felt nothing when I heard the news.

“It’s freezing—go on inside, Uncle.”

“All right. Take care, Svyeta.”

“Yes. Good luck.”

My face, reddening from the cold and flushed from drinking, stung with every sniff. The air felt cold enough to kill me.

At last, I had finished clearing the snow and stretched my arms wide. But even as I cleared a path, fresh snowflakes kept falling, undoing all my hard work.

Too tired to care, I lit another cigarette. I had hardly slept the night before.

By the time I had finished smoking, I was running late. I needed to quickly change my clothes and get to work.

Just as I stepped towards the building, I heard a sharp car horn behind me. I turned around and saw Jürgen’s saloon car waiting.

Sighing deeply, I walked towards his car. He rolled down his window to look at me.

“What do you want this early in the morning?”

“I’ll give you a ride. Get in.”

“I need to change first.”

As I turned around to go back to my apartment, Jürgen stuck his arm out of the window and grabbed me.

“Just get in.”

I climbed into the passenger seat, feeling reluctant. After what he’d said yesterday, I felt uneasy being near him.

What woman would want to sit next to a man who could so casually joke about killing her with his own hands? I was frightened of him. I wanted nothing more than to keep my distance.

“When will you give me your answer?”

“…Please give me time. It was too sudden—I need to think.”

I wanted to believe that what he had said earlier was a joke. But there was something about his tone of voice and the look in his eyes that made me doubt that. I felt a chill of unease.

Jürgen started the car. The previous night’s blizzard had clogged the roads, bringing traffic to a standstill. Snow kept falling and the windscreen wipers swiped furiously.

The ride to the repair shop normally took less than ten minutes. But half an hour passed and we were still stuck on the road.

“At this rate, I’ll be late. I should just walk.”

I couldn’t bear it anymore. I reached for the door handle to step out, but then—

When I reached for the door handle to get out, his voice cut sharply through the air.

“Sit.”

He spoke to me as if I were his subordinate, someone who had no choice but to obey him. Regardless of whether he was sincere, I couldn’t let go of the fragile hope that he might free my brothers from the camp.

Suddenly, the car skidded on the snow.

“Damn it…”

He muttered the curse as he slammed the brakes. We narrowly avoided crashing into the car ahead.

‘Damn it.’

That was the word Seryozha had once written in a letter to me. My eyes blurred with tears as the memory surfaced.