The Lost Souls of Angelkov Read Online Free PDF

bottle from him, she pours herself a glass and nods at him. He bows and steps outside, although Antonina knows he will remain in the hall near the door.
    She moves to the wide leather chair. Eventually she hears the clock on the landing strike the midnight hour. She pours from the bottle. She drinks through the first night of her son’s disappearance.

    At daybreak, Konstantin calls for Pavel and sends him to fetch Grisha. Antonina hasn’t slept. She paces. She knows there is no news; had there been, Grisha would have come immediately.
    When Grisha tells them that the search party returned near midnight, empty-handed, Konstantin orders them all to be beaten. He doesn’t know how else to deal with his fear and guilt. Grisha nods, but has no intention of carrying out the order.
    “Surely there will be a ransom letter today,” Antonina says to Konstantin as she continues pacing in front of his bed. She wipes her lips with the back of her hand. “It will arrive today, and we’ll know what to do to have Misha returned.”
    Konstantin’s skin is grey. The bandage is crusted with dried blood and blossoming with fresh blotches of scarlet.
    “You should have your hand seen to,” Antonina says. “I’ll send for the doctor.”
    “There’s no time. We’ll go out again,” Konstantin tells her. “Pavel, help me dress.”
    “I’m going as well,” Antonina says, and Konstantin doesn’t argue with her.
    By eight o’clock, they all set out in the overcast, damp April day.
    They return to the clearing where Mikhail was taken. Antonina sees the churned mud and skiffs of hard snow, some of it spattered with Konstantin’s blood. They move out in a spoke-like fashion. Antonina rides with Grisha. They ride slowly, their horses finding paths through the trees. Eventually they come out into a field, and cross it to the village of Tushinsk, owned by Konstantin.
    There they dismount and tie their horses, walking through the few streets. “It’s best if you stay with me, madam,” Grisha says.
    Grisha questions the villagers. They are wary of him, silent, shaking their heads. They bow from the waist to Antonina. She asks them questions as well, but the faces of the men and women, when she orders them to lift their heads, show nothing.
    They ride on; they don’t stop to eat or drink. With each passing hour Antonina feels more desperation. When they question a villager with a handcart on the road and he simply stares up at them, not responding to Grisha’s questions, Antonina raises her voice at the man in frustration. Grisha leans close and lays a hand on her reins.
    “It’s growing late, madam. We should return to the estate. You’re cold, surely.” He looks at her wool cloak, blowing open in the cooling wind.
    “I’m not cold,” she says, pulling it around her. “Let’s keep going.”
    Then a light drizzle begins, and Grisha insists they turn around and ride back to Angelkov.
    “Not yet, Grisha. Let’s keep going. Just another hour,” Antonina says.
    Grisha shakes his head, looking at her horse. The roan Antonina has named Dunia is weary, her head down as she plods on her delicate hooves. “Perhaps the count, or the others … perhaps Mikhail Konstantinovich is home by now,” he says.
    “I pray this is so, Grisha,” Antonina says, and turns Dunia to ride with Grisha back to Angelkov.

    They arrive home before the others to find there has been no word from Mikhail’s captors.
    Antonina goes to her bedchamber and changes out of her mud-spattered clothing. Lilya brings her one then a second glass of vodka, and afterwards Antonina stands on the veranda, shivering, arms wrapped around herself as she looks down the long treed drive, the linden branches still naked in the spring air.
    Eventually she goes back inside, but within half an hour hears the sounds of men and horses, and races out in her slippers and thin woollen dress, running through the patches of dimpled, melting snow and frozen mud to the stable yard.