Yom Kippur in Amsterdam by Shrayer Maxim D.;

Author:Shrayer, Maxim D.; [Shrayer, Maxim D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Syracuse University Press
Published: 2016-01-20T05:00:00+00:00

WHEN SUMMER CAME, Pavel and Alyona Lidin went on their annual beach vacation to Palanga, Lithuania. Fyodor Shtock, his wife, and their son Kirill also went away, to the Black Sea resort of Pitsunda. Pavel’s account of fishing in ’45 would have been forgotten—just as were many of Pavel’s other stories—had it not been for Kirill. He kept nudging his skeptical father with questions. For a while Shtock ignored him, but Kirill persisted with a teenager’s loyalty to wondrous memories.

“Papa, why can’t we go to Uncle Pavlik’s lake? What if Uncle Pavlik wasn’t joking about catching fish with his bare hands? Papa? Can we please go?”

Shtock considered his son’s request and agreed to go to the lake after their return to Moscow, hoping that Kirill would forget this promise by the end of the summer. But Kirill didn’t forget, so Shtock had no choice.

Pavel had gotten back from his vacation just a few days earlier. Shtock’s call surprised and alarmed him. What if there are no more fish? What then? Shtock will tease me for months after. But I didn’t call him, he called me. It’s he who’s curious. And what if there’s still plenty of fish in the lake? I should be able to catch some, Pavel mused after talking with Shtock.

Shtock’s wife never went to the country; she said she despised “sylvan pleasures.” Alyona wanted to come along but—in a show of female solidarity—ended up staying behind to keep her company. They went in Shtock’s car. Kirill slept on the backseat while Pavel and Shtock chatted quietly. They drove for more than an hour before turning off the highway at Novopetrovskoe.

“The village should be about half a mile from here,” Pavel indicated the direction with his hand.

A single log cabin had survived on the edge of the village; its roof was about to fall in. Where other houses had once stood now grew elder bushes and tall grass. Plants of desolation—rosebay, darnel, and fescue—now ruled over the empty space.

“My God, there’s nothing left!” Pavel cried out.

“I hope the lake is still there at least,” Shtock felt irritation stirring in his stomach.

At that point Kirill woke up and shouted: “Papa, papa, the lake!”

And they drove out onto the shore.

The forest had moved even closer to the water. The lake’s dark surface glistened like an amethyst set in blackened silver.

By late afternoon they had eaten all their picnic supplies and done enough hunting for mushrooms in the forest and playing volleyball and badminton. Shtock caught a good-size pike using his fancy Swedish rod and reel, and was very proud of himself.

“Well, boys, we’ve got to get moving,” Shtock said and looked at his watch. “Go ahead, Pavlik, and dive in. Show us how you do it, and we’ll head back.” He was waiting for Pavel to make a fool of himself. “The old girls must be tired of keeping our dinner warm. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Shtock held a double towel for Pavel. I bet he’ll come out after thirty seconds with the excuse that the water is too cold, he thought to himself.

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