Chapter 5: 3.

Yuri Karamov was the oldest son of five siblings. His father was quite an old man, even at the time when I first met him. His mother was as beautiful as she was fragile. She spent most of her days inside, reacting negatively to what seemed like everything around her in nature. We hardly ever saw her outside during the spring and summer. She had undefined allergies, a whole list of them, which restricted her movement. She was pale, even paler than Yuri, and had the longest, shiniest head of black hair I had ever seen.

His father liked to call her his Snow White. He liked to say, in his thick Brommin accent that he'd found her sleeping in the forest of Elhem in the middle of a snowy December morning. He'd kissed her and she'd pierced his soul with her blue eyes. Whenever he would say this, Yuri's mother would turn away abashed, or wave away his words as if they hovered over her face. It warmed me, such open display of affection and love. My father and his wife were hostile and frigid in comparison. It was rare that I even saw them kiss on the hand.

There were a lot of things I had to confront about what I thought I knew at eight years old in Yuri's home. I didn't know, for one, that some people lived as if every day was a gift. Not guaranteed but given; a blessing. The Karamovs were a very religious household, and even something as simple as waking up to a new day was attributed to the will and mercy of God.

The start of our friendship began with force. More precisely, with the insistence that I go and pay my respects to Yuri's parents. I suspected that Eline, my father's wife, must have seen Yuri and me riding his bicycle from one of the windows because I hadn't told her what had happened at the football pitch. But if that was the case, it didn't quite explain why she would have waited until the start of the weekend to send me out. If she had seen us that very day, wouldn't it have made more sense to pay my respects the following morning? It was the odd timing of it all which made me suspect that she had been brooding on her revenge for a while.

Eline had never been one to bother with the Brommian of our town, but over dinner the following Friday—the day before she would force me to Yuri Karamov's house—she took a keen interest in the boy in my parallel class. I told her he was Brommian, but the feline smile on her lips wouldn't be persuaded.

- And? Do you not think him equal to you? She asked.

It had been just us at the table, which explained her nasal tone. She had the grisliest voice that she disguised from my father. When I was younger I took note of these cracks in her perfect facade, and I would cherish them like trump cards. It seemed wicked that Eline had contrived a character just for my father. And I was sure the moment he found out, he would leave her and bring back my mother.

- His parents only speak Brommin, I lied. The truth was that I didn't know, I hadn't met them.

- He's not sharp. I tried to wane Eline's interest with a disinterested voice of my own.

- That won't be a problem. The cook will have to write a message of our thanks in Brommin. I'll wrap up a stew and biscuits, and you'll deliver it to their door. Tell them the house of Konstantin of Ljerumlup sent you.

- But...but I don't know where he lives, I said, horrified when I realised she was serious.

- I'm sure Adriana knows, why don't you bring her along?

If anyone knew where Yuri Karamov lived, it was my cousin. I kept my mouth shut for the remainder of dinner, but made sure to show my displeasure by slurping the onion soup a notch louder. If it had irritated her in the slightest, Eline hadn't shown any signs of it.

I couldn't explain why I was nervous, and more importantly why I had such a clear dislike for the Karamov boy. I was sure if ever asked, he wouldn't have disliked me quite as much. But the thought of him (and to be honest, ever since our bike ride it was hard not have intruding thoughts of him) I would have the strongest reaction to the suggestion that I might like to be friends with him.

But he's a dimwit! I would mutter to myself. He reads at a first year level! The thought of friendship was one that brought on a rash all over my body.

It was decided, the Karamov boy and I would never become friends.

It was with this mindset that I walked over to Adriana's house right after lunch the following day. I let myself in, greeted their housekeeper, and walked with dragging steps up to her room.

- I need to know where Yuri Karamov lives, I told her when I found her in her room, playing with a friend she had over, despite looking lethargic and pale from her cold.

- Why would you want to know that? She rasped, taking my disheveled appearance in stride.

I vented to her and told her about Eline's punishment. I also told her that had I known I would be sent to his Brommian house, I would never have ridden on his bike. I said Brommian the same way my grandmother would've said it. It made Adriana's friend laugh. Adriana, on the other hand, clenched her teeth.

- Don't say it like that, she chided. - It's not funny.

I hadn't told her about Yuri saving my life and felt bad for making fun of him when I remembered it myself. Adriana didn't seem to think that Yuri Karamov was bad if she was defending him. Why was I making fun of him then?

- I know where that Bommian lives, her friend spoke up. She wasn't in our class, so she must have been in Yuri's.

- He lives at the foot of Elhem, in a log house together with fifteen cousins and eighty sheep. She laughed at her own joke but was cut off prematurely by Adriana's stern look.

- He lives-, Adriana corrected, - just up the hill to Ljerumlup.

Ljerumlup was the name of the twin peaks piercing the shroud of Elhem, the highest point of our town, and the place where our houses were situated.

- So, you know the main road before Stan, to get up here? There's a gravel road that veers off, she explained while motioning with her hands. - Follow it, and then get on the smaller trail to your right, he lives about there. But take your bicycle.

I didn't want to seem like a coward in front of Adriana's friend, so I didn't ask her to come with me. I left them with a curt nod and closed the door on my way out.

The cook had wrapped two containers of food in a white linen cloth and told me not to dirty it on my way over.

I made my way onto the road, riding my bicycle while holding the containers by the cloth in one hand, and the handlebar in the other.

I followed Adriana's directions and found myself on a small gravel road. Tall trees flanked either side of me. The road was bumpy and hadn't undergone real construction work since...well, probably never. There were ditches and pools filled with murky rainwater which I carefully maneuvered my way around.

The two storey log house came into my field of vision after minutes of biking up the narrow, muddy trail. It was situated on a hill, surrounded by pine trees. I was winded and clutching my inhaler by the time I parked my bicycle at the roots of a large tree.

It looked better than anything I could have prepared myself for. A part of me reluctantly held on to the belief that if Yuri lived in Elhem, he lived in some remote shed far into the deep forest.

There were wooden steps built into the ground that led me up to Karamov's house. The forest around me was lively in the afternoon light. The undergrowth smelt freshly of rain, and the birds twittered a beautiful harmony in the background. I was in a part of Elhem that I'd never set foot in before. Pine needles crunched under my footsteps whereas in Ljerumplup the undergrowth was soft with broadleaved leaves and shrubs. Above me, the canopy had been replaced by tightly-packed conifers that grew tens-of-meters tall.

Their house, contrary to my prejudice, was the product of skilled labour and great design. It's base was made out of cubes of stones, on top of which the foundation was built. It would later be explained to me that the house was built according to traditional Brommian architecture. From then on, I would identify Brommian houses by their white timber gables.

With clammy hands and a rebelling stomach, I remember knocking on Karamov's door. Within seconds, I was standing face to face with a tall, bearded man.

- Does Yu...Yuri...-, I stuttered, looking down at my feet.

He was old, much older than I was anticipating, and his menacing face made it impossible to hold eye contact.

- Live...does...does he—

- What's the matter, boy? Speak! I'm going deaf.

His Brommin accent was just thick enough for me to be able to discern the individual words with the use of some brainpower.

He must have noticed the white cloth wrapped around the containers because he was crouched down to my level when I dared glance up at him again. He tugged the cloth from my grip. I handed him the containers. Up until that point, I had been convinced that I'd knocked on the wrong house, but taking a closer look at the man there was no denying that he bore some resemblance to Yuri. It felt like I was looking at a prediction of what he might look like at the age of sixty. Perhaps a bit older. His father's genetic makeup wasn't the best. The deep pink ridges slashing his hollowed cheeks in combination with his long salt and pepper beard and his weathered skin made it harder to take a guess at his age. His face lacked warmth and hospitality, but his eyes—honey brown—glinted with amusement and childlike curiosity that had yet to make itself known.

- Whatcha got here?

- I want to pay my respects s-sir. Y-Y-Yuri...we...we go to the same school. He gave me a ride home. I brought over some gulaars and biscuits.

- From the house of Konstantin of Ljerumlup, I quickly added. My heart pulsated in my fisted palms.

One raised eyebrow was all that changed in the old man's expression. He regarded me with silent deliberation, before he asked, - So you're the count—Stefan Konstantin's son?

I nodded.

- The Konstantin? And you're a friend of the Boy...at school? He sounded quizzical like he didn't believe it himself.

I nodded again, this time a little slower.

- Seems to me that you ought to be paying your respects to him, he said, standing up. The floorboards on the porch creaked under his weight. - After all, he continued, smiling faintly, - I wasn't the one who saved your life.

- Why don't you step on in? The Boy is on an errand.

Without much will on my part. No, it was safe to say, with no will on my part, I was persuaded inside Yuri Karamov's house. After entering the dimly lit hallway, I was guided into a bright kitchen with row upon row of windows along the upper wall.

There was a woman standing by the stove that I quickly identified as the mother, she was much older than the girls seated at the table but not as old as Yuri's father. Perhaps even half his age.

Yuri's father announced my presence with a quick clearing of his throat before we crossed the threshold. A few long strides and he was across the room, next to the stove. He handed the mother the containers of food.

They exchanged a few words in Brommin. I decided to give them a moment of privacy and instead directed my attention to my surroundings. The kitchen was small and looked slightly cluttered, but in a way that aroused the sentiments of a lived-in home rather than a disorderly one. Nothing much stuck out from the ordinary.

- Is he a friend of Yuri? She asked the father, peering at me from her husband's side. She was tall and slender, and very pale. I remember thinking that perhaps it was her long hair that stuck out from her haphazardly drawn shawl that must have given her that alabaster hue. I had never seen anyone that pale before.

- Yes, Count Konstantin's son. Yuri's father answered. There was an undercurrent to his baritone voice that I couldn't quite pinpoint.

The smile on Yuri's mother's lips thinned.

- Sit. She gestured for me to take a seat at the wooden kitchen table. Everything in the kitchen was made out of wood. The floors, the shelves and cupboards, the chairs, the table, even the walls.

I took a seat opposite two female copies of Yuri, in varying sizes. One was older and thus larger than the other but wasn't as pleased to see me. The younger one was smiling gleefully; two holes gaped where her incisors should have been. Neither of them had blue eyes like Yuri.

- Yuri don't have Arash friends, the older one whispered accusingly at me.

Her parents were too busy talking over our heads in hushed tones to catch the grammatical error. I didn't correct her, didn't bother addressing her at all. I was afraid I would be overstepping my boundaries if I did. I didn't know what I expected to happen; that her mother would yell at me? I remember being afraid of lifting so much as a finger.

We had a lot of boundaries in my house. There were things you said, and things you thought but didn't say. I learnt at a young age that life was all about maintaining invisible lines—not offsetting the balance.

- I'm Katka, who are you? The older sister continued.

- Ru Konstantin.

- Are you Arash?

- Katka! Her mother cut in, startling me more than she did the girl. Katka pouted.

- He's a guest, a friend of Yuri. And you're no Arash police so stop giving me that pouty face.

Katka sank into her chair with a morose expression.

- Don't mind her, her mother said turning to me. - She's been in a horrible mood since I sent Anja with Yuri instead of her.

She turned to Katka and said, - You didn't want to do the dishes. The mother shrugged as if to say: it's your draw.

- Make yourself useful will you, go downstairs and get me a jar of the pickled beets.

A less than enthusiastic Katka left the table.

Yuri's mother turned to me once her daughter was out the door. - How are you feeling? She dried off her hands on her apron, worried eyes scanning my face.

- I'm...I'm...fine.

- Good. She nodded. She looked down at the inhaler around my neck.

- It was good thing Yuri had Anja's inhaler with him. I can't imagine what might have happened otherwise. Was yours not working?

- I didn't have it with me. My voice sounded much smaller than I would have liked. I didn't like the look on Yuri's mother's face. She regarded me for a solid second before her smile reached her eyes. She looked a lot like Yuri when she smiled. They had the same sharp canines.

- Your father would be heartbroken if anything happened to you. You're his brevidije mal, right? You need to take extra good care of yourself. A firstborn son is not a light matter to a father's heart, she said, coming around to lay a hand on my head. She smoothed down my unruly frizz with a few strokes.

- Yuri was really proud when he got home that day. He told me he'd made a friend, she said, sounding a bit absentminded.

I wondered if she could hear the blood rush to my head as she patted my hair. My heart was thundering in my ears. I was sure she could because just as I had thought it, she stopped patting my head and took a step away from me.

The confrontation I feared, my overreaction to her words; my inexplicable reason for getting so flustered, it all mellowed out when I turned around and saw that her attention was not fixated on me, but rather, on a point somewhere in the hallway.

- Krié, are you back already? She called.

- Andi mie Mama.

It was his familiar voice that answered us back.

- Yuri, you have a visitor, his mother called. Glancing back at me, a smile gracing her face, she added, - A classmate.

- Millin frimhest ikan Inu?

I heard his footsteps closing in. I rose from my chair and felt the blood drain from my face. I wasn't prepared for my knees to quiver the way they did.

It was safe to say that neither of us was ready for what greeted us when we saw each other.