In winter

He thought that if he cried, it wouldn't hurt. It didn't work out that way, in large part because he found himself unable to cry. Anger, frustration, had taken up that part of him that emoted, and he had long been beyond crying. So he just sat there on the bench, grumpy, agitated, and cold. He had been grumpy, agitated and cold for weeks now.

 

The stone face of the mountainous train station behind him forced the Siberian wind downwards, increasing in penetrating meanness as it hounded him. Or so he thought. He beat his arms and rubbed them for warmth, the cold nizzling its way through his bulky gloves, wool ushanka pulled down over his ears, sturdy coat and scarf, turtle necked sweater, vest, two fully buttoned shirts, and long underwear to reach his fatless reddened skin. Any more layers and he would be unable to move, like a matryoshka. He was sure he would lose something to frostbite, but in reality he hadn't been outside for more than a few minutes and was well bundled against the northerly wind. Dmitri was just having a bad day. He waited for Casimir, who didn't understand the concept of other people's time, or how the cold affected it. This was odd, being they lived in Minsk, arguably cold frequently enough one should be thoroughly familiar with it, and where no one had the patience.

 

The massive ornate wooden door of the station creaked open narrowly and a slurry of reluctant people flowed out carrying the equally unwilling Casimir within it. He saw Dmitri, waddled down the icy steps toward the bench, gestured with his head for Dmitri to join him at the bottom of the stairs. Dmitri sat a moment then unstuck himself from the icy bench and joined Casimir. Two furry giants among the herd of people making their lurching way.

 

"You gotta cigarette?" Casimir asked chatteringly, wooled hands buried deep in his coat pockets.

 

"What? Are you kidding me? Even if I did would I bother to to freeze giving it to you?"

 

"Eh...", Casimir grunted.

 

They walked then in silence, too focused on not falling and not letting the cold in to have much to say. It was getting dark, and the gas lamps had not been lit for over a month. It took several more minutes than it usually did, but they found a crowd outside a department store where someone rumored there was toilet paper, and they waited in the queue. It didn't matter what they actually would fine, whatever it was you needed it or could sell it.

 

"So... you going tonight?" inquired Dmitri, gazing up with as little movement as possible at the taller man.

 

Casimir made a face that offered something unpleasant, "I don't know... I have this thing about getting arrested. It upsets my stomach."

 

"Yeah, there's that, you with the stomach of a baby...", replied Dmitri. They shuffled forward in the queue. "I don't know which is worse, getting arrested or working. At least you get to go home after working, but then", he hunched his shoulders, "maybe that's not such a good thing either."

 

Casimir looked askance, "I'm tired of being cold. In summer I get tired of being hot, in winter of being cold. At least in prison factory the climate is constant, eh? There's that."

 

Dmitri chuckled, "I am tired of always being hungry". They shuffled forward again, the throng moved murmuring, huddling like penguins. "I am tired of always being angry...".

 

They came to the front of the line, and learned it was bread that was being sold. Two small nearly frozen loaves a piece, then they made their way towards the street their small apartments were built over. Along the way they stopped at a small shop and left a loaf each for the old lady who lived upstairs, then continued on home. Dmitri went with Casimir, together they crowded into Casimir's kitchen, and made a fire in the stove that quickly overwhelmed them in their heavy clothes. They started shedding layers as the room warmed, piling them mindlessly to the floor. The cats gathered and took refuge in the layers.The fulfilling smells of bread, soup and vodka being heated on the stove filled the room.

 

"So, Dmitri, I know you are upset..."

 

"Yes, but I don't want to talk about it. The anger keeps me warm at night, I don't want to give any of it up."

 

"It was his fault, you know it was, and there is nothing to be done. It's in the past, he's dead, and he needed dying, that one."

 

"This is my consolation, Casimir? That this, this zasranec, he's dead, but Myrna, she has to live her life knowing what he did to her?"

 

Casimir shrugged, carefully lifting the glass carafe of vodka off the stove with a handkerchief and pouring half into Dmitri's cup, the rest into his own. "It is what it is, Dmitri. You would rather she too was dead? There is nothing to be done."

 

Dmitri said nothing, sipped his vodka and took the warmed bread Casimir offered, spreading the thin preserves over it, dipping it in the vodka and popping it whole into his mouth. He looked into the bottom of his cup, swirled it, sipped then drank the entire thing in one gulp, grimacing. He handed it towards Casimir as he lifted another warmed carafe and refilled it.

 

"I am going tonight. I will come", Casimir said, setting another carafe on the stove to warm.

 

Dmitri nodded in agreement, "Good, good. No one gets arrested tonight." He held his cup up towards his brother, raised it to Casimir's, clinking them together gently.

 

"And nobody dies", Casimir offered.

 

"And nobody dies...".

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