The Father's Tale by Michael O'Brien

Author:Michael O'Brien [O'Brien, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
ISBN: 9780898708158
Publisher: Ignatius Press
Published: 2011-08-31T06:00:00+00:00

PART THREE

24. A Bad Day at Listvyanka

A ghostly mountain range appeared in the south, its upper levels pink with alpenglow. In the east the serrated edge of higher peaks was dark against the floodlight of the rising sun. The train sped through the forested basin of a wide valley.

“The Angara River”, Irina said, pointing to a winding ribbon of white in the distance. “It is very big. It drains Baikal.”

“Where do you live?” Alex asked.

“A village on the west shore of the lake, a half day’s journey from Irkutsk. Where are you going?”

“I have to get to a place called Listvyanka.”

“Why Listvyanka?”

“The people who have my son are somewhere on the lake—where, exactly, I do not know. Have you heard of a place called the Dacha?”

“The dacha? That could be one of a thousand places. Even the poorest people like to have a shack or cardboard shelter they call the dacha.”

“It’s the only lead I have. A hotel clerk in Novosibirsk said that someone in Listvyanka might be able to help me find this resort or retreat center.”

“Did he say who?”

“He meant no one in particular. Just that I should try asking there.”

“It won’t hurt to ask, but Baikal is hundreds of kilometers long, and seventy to a hundred kilometers wide over much of its length. Numerous villages dot the shore, and some larger towns. There may also be special resorts that are not well known.”

“Then the chance is small.”

“It seems. But I will introduce you to someone at Listvyanka.”

“Are you going there?” he said, surprised.

“I must. My village is on a road accessible only through Listvyanka.”

“Does the road go all the way along the lake?”

“No—about forty kilometers through the forest along the west shore. It is for horse and sleigh only. There is an ice road as well. Motor vehicles travel up and down the lake on it, but we seldom use it.”

“I wonder if my son traveled on it.”

“Possibly. Visitors use many means of travel in these parts—snow vehicles, trucks, ski-planes, all sorts of things. But they stay far out on the ice. Because the shape of Baikal bends, the journey is shorter if they head north in a straight line. We rarely see them. We go through the trees.”

“Wouldn’t it be faster for you to travel on the ice?”

“Faster, but very cold in an open sleigh. The forest provides shelter from the wind. There are no vehicles where I live.”

“Your village sounds remote.”

“Not really. It’s just very small and uninteresting.”

“Why do you live there?”

“It’s my home.”

Her facial expression told him she was not enthusiastic about answering more questions. He wondered why.

The engine hooted and slowed as it entered the city of Irkutsk. Divided by the Angara into uneven sections, the larger and older part was on the east bank, looped by the river. The train stopped at a station on the left bank, and here Alex and Irina disembarked. As they made their way through the terminal,

Alex offered to carry her heavy briefcase, but she declined. Going out onto the street, they spotted a city bus by the curb and climbed onto it.

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