Ten Years Ago

‘Wake up.’

Olesya rubbed her eyes. Zakhar, her older brother, was whispering in her ear.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, sitting up.

Zakhar held a letter, typed and printed. She tried to read it but some of the English words were difficult. Zakhar giggled and folded the paper over to reveal the Russian translation.

‘I’m … accepted? I have the scholarship?’ she asked.

He grinned. ‘Congratulations!’

‘Where did you get this?’ she asked.

‘I took it from the kitchen,’ Zakhar said. ‘But you need to act surprised when they tell us tomorrow.’

Olesya looked at him. ‘Where’s your letter? Did you get in?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘My letter’s different.’

‘But … I’m going without you?’

Zakhar smiled. ‘You’re fourteen now, you can do it. I know you can.’

She looked at her brother. He was dressed in jeans, a down jacket and beanie.

‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

‘I’m going to build a snowman,’ he said. ‘And I’m not doing it by myself.’

She frowned. ‘In the middle of the night?’

‘All the other kids are doing it. And it’s your last New Year before you go.’ Zakhar wiggled an eyebrow. ‘You don’t want to miss out on the fun. Unless you’re boring—’

Olesya pushed him to one side. ‘I’ll get my boots—’

‘These ones?’ Zakhar was already holding them.

She grabbed them. ‘Lucky guess.’

Zakhar paced the bedroom while she pulled a thick sweater and jeans over her pajamas. He’d already picked out their scarves and gloves. She reached for the door. Zakhar put his hand on her arm.

‘The window,’ he said. ‘Always go through the window.’

Luckily they were on the first floor, because she didn’t like heights. The window creaked as he opened it, and she hoped their parents wouldn’t hear. She could hear them with the other adults. They were in the apartment next door, sharing Olivier salad, champagne and loud stories.

Their voices were constant enough to cover Zakhar’s movements as he helped Olesya out into the winter’s night, holding up the window so she could wriggle through. She let him take her hand and steer them to the subway, avoiding next door’s windows. It was only a five-minute trip into town and they didn’t have to wait more than a minute for the train.

It was almost two in the morning, but the streets were filled with equal amounts of kids and grownups. She watched kids slide down a hill on a wooden sled and plough into a clump of snow. They disappeared into the white, their laughter muffled.

Zakhar’s nose was already winter-red as he pulled her eagerly toward the bridge. He wanted to walk across the canal—the water frozen solid—but she chose the bridge instead, not wanting to slip across the ice. He didn’t protest and instead they crossed the bridge and reached the Palace Square. This was their first new-year celebration outside of their hometown in Belarus and she wasn’t prepared for so many people or decorations.

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In front of the peppermint and cream Winter Palace, Olesya could see large crowds gathering. Grownups ate pirozhki—pies filled with cabbage, mushrooms or beef—while the kids nibbled on sweet gingerbread. Some of the families danced around fir Christmas trees that sparkled with gold ornaments and purple, blue, and green fairy lights. They were dancing for Santa Claus—Grandfather Frost—and his granddaughter, the Snow Maiden.

Olesya squeezed Zakhar’s hand. ‘Let’s dance.’

‘Nooooooo,’ he said as she pulled him through the crowd.

They made it as far as the nearest glittering fir tree before Zakhar saw the circle of kids and dug his heels into the snow. He poked his tongue out and broke from her grasp. Olesya gave chase, cutting him off at the market stalls. By then he was distracted. He seemed to ignore the pies and go straight for the fireworks stall. She caught up and pushed him to the next stall where she could talk him into sweet cotton instead. He used his pocket money to pay for two pink balls of fluff, each on a stick, and handed her one.

‘They call this cotton candy in America,’ Zakhar said.

He bit a chunk off the sweet cotton so large it stuck to his cold nose. Olesya laughed as she watched him try to retrieve it with his tongue, going cross-eyed. He was just showing off, so she took the sweet cotton from his nose. He tried to stop her but she was too fast, shoving it in her mouth. It melted on her tongue and tasted exactly like pink.

‘That’s not fair!’ Zakhar said.

This time, Olesya stuck her tongue out.

Together, they walked Nevsky Prospekt and ate their sweet cotton. Zakhar didn’t seem to have a direction in mind, which was fine with her.

‘You’ll need to know words like “cotton candy,”’ he said.

‘I know,’ Olesya said. ‘I need to learn more English.’

‘You’re super-smart. You can do it.’ He pulled her beanie over her eyes. ‘I still get to see you on vacation, right?’

She nodded, breathing thimbles of cold air. The buildings on both sides of Nevsky Prospekt were high and dusted in snow, lit with pretty lights. Everyone seemed to be smiling tonight, eyes warm with hope for the new year.

‘What should we do?’ Zakhar asked.

Olesya wrinkled her nose. ‘Build a snowman, obviously.’

His eyes lit up. ‘Let’s build a snow army!’

‘I have a better idea,’ she said. ‘Let’s build a snow dinosaur!’

‘I’ll make the horns!’

The street was busy and Olesya had to watch her step so the sweet cotton didn’t stick to someone’s coat. They crossed another frozen white canal. On either side of the road there were more aged buildings. Some were aglow with festive lights while others—candy cathedrals and apricot fortresses—gleamed with an enchantment of their own. Zakhar found a garden that was less crowded, but still coated in snow. Olesya scooped up a handful and smoothed it into a ball.

‘I like this statue,’ he said, standing before it.

With a scepter in one hand and olive wreath in the other, the Empress of Russia stood before them. Below her, a second tier of carved men and women—politicians, poets, swordfighters, and courtiers.

Olesya knew the Empress from her mother’s history books. She was called Catherine the Great. Born Sophie Friederike Auguste in the eighteenth century, she was intelligent, kind, and ambitious. Sophie expanded the country’s education, science, and the arts, bringing a golden age to Russia it had never seen before.

Olesya ducked just in time as a snowball almost struck her face.

‘How did you—’ Zakhar said.

She was ready, hurling her snowball at him in mid-run. It exploded over his ear. He spat snow and tumbled. Olesya ran over to see if he was hurt, but he sprang to his feet with a new snowball that clipped her shoulder. He adjusted his beanie and looked up at her.

‘You never miss,’ he said. ‘How do you do that?’

‘Easy.’ She wiped snow from her coat. ‘I watch you move and know where to throw it.’

Zakhar collapsed on his back with a sigh. ‘That’s why they picked you.’

Olesya slumped down behind him, the top of her beanie touching his. She looked up at the sugarcoated spires. They pointed to the stars above.

‘What if I come back and you’re not here anymore?’ she asked.

‘I’ll always be here,’ Zakhar said. ‘And if I move, I’ll leave a secret message for you where no one can find it, except you.’

She laughed. ‘That’s impossible.’

‘Nothing’s impossible.’ Zakhar, still lying down, pointed toward the statue of Catherine the Great. His finger aimed for one of the people carved under her. ‘See that woman in the gown, holding that book?’

She followed his aim. ‘The head of science.’

‘Yeah, her.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll hide a secret note in her gown that only you can find.’

‘What if … I can’t?’ Olesya hated the words as she said them.

For a while, he was silent. It was the longest she’d seen him not talk. Above them, fireworks crackled, then trickled down the velvet sky. Olesya tried to imagine what this scholarship on the other side of the world would be like. What it would be like without her big brother.

The snow squeaked under Zakhar’s jacket. He rubbed his face with a gloved hand and she realized he’d been crying. The fireworks had faded now, golden glitter in the night.

‘I’m supposed to look out for you,’ he said. ‘How will I know you’ll be OK?’

‘You won’t.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Even I won’t know that.’