The 14th Day Read Free Page A

landscape he’s come to know, dipping and swelling gently, with clusters of thin, resilient pines growing out of red soil; and not the ghostly birches that ringed the lakes in the region where he grew up, those lakes whose deep blue waters mirrored exactly the color of the late autumn sky—the most fleeting memories of that place could bring a heavy sense of dread. Yet at the same time that his eyes confirmed his being here, a huge sorrow welled up inside as he recognized again that he might have to live out the rest of his life in a place where few people have even heard of his country, where they spell its name differently when they spell it at all. I’ll die among strangers . The unspoken words lay like stones in his throat. And still his heart was pounding with terror at the thought of how easily he’d been transported back there. Looking into the darkness of early morning, Vaniok fervently prayed for the daylight, when it would be easier to believe in the truth he’s taught himself since leaving: that the past is dead, that the people he left three years ago no longer exist, his country no longer exists. He has no choice but to look forward, not backward.
    Vaniok takes a deep breath. He looks around: gradually, his world is returned to him. He can even smile at the thought that Jory’s coming here caused his dream. Though you could just as easily turn it around and say the dream was a harbinger of the man who was coming. A man with creased pants who ignores the sunlight and talks about where you’re going to be buried! Vaniok bends down to lift a box, grateful for its satisfying heft. He settles it on a dolly. He’s glad to be by himself again; it’s time to get to work. Pushing the dolly, he already feels better. He gives a cheerful wave to one of the native workers as he passes him. He’s survived worse things than this; he can put up with Jory. Though one meeting a day is plenty for now. He wishes he hadn’t agreed to have a drink with him after work.
    When the time comes, he encounters Jory in the street in front of the warehouse as they’d arranged it. “How did the first day go?” he asks. Though the man has obviously been working, his pants are still unwrinkled.
    Jory shrugs. “Unremarkable,” he says and offers Vaniok a cigarette. He lights one for himself, his head bent toward his cupped hand as if he doesn’t want the fire to be seen, though the day is sunny and the tiny spurt of flame would be lost in the brightness. He exhales and begins walking away from the building, refusing to acknowledge the site of his first day of work here by looking back.
    Vaniok falls into step. The sun is warm on his arms. “I can only stay a short while,” he says.
    â€œIt’s good of you to come,” Jory says. “I appreciate it.” As they move along the streets of this university town where Vaniok has lived for more than a year, he tries to remember what it looked like to him when it was still as strange and unknown to him as it is to Jory; but the other man walks briskly toward his apartment, apparently uninterested in the sights around him.
    â€œLet me know if I can help in any way,” Vaniok offers. “Do you have everything you need?”
    â€œYes, the refugee organization took care of those things.” There’s a tone of finality to the statement. He isn’t encouraging further discussion of this subject.
    The shrubs and bushes are already green though it wouldn’t be spring yet where the two of them come from. “This must be a change for you,” Vaniok says. “After the last place.” After all, they’re now more than a thousand miles south of where Jory came from.
    â€œYes,” Jory answers simply.
    â€œI’ve never been there,” Vaniok says, thinking of snow, of winter sports. “Some people I know went there. I’ve heard some good things about it.”
    â€œIt’s