Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

March 2000

Ilya held his mother’s hand as she walked home with him from the ice rink where he’d just had practice with his hockey team. Their next game would be that weekend and Ilya was already a star forward for his team a few months before his ninth birthday.

“Your coach says that a HC CSKA Moscow scout will be at your next game,” his mama Irina told Ilya. “You should be very proud that he wants to come see you play.”

“I’ll work hard, Mama! I’ll have the best game ever.”

“I know you will, my Ilyusha. Your Papa will be so proud of you when we can call and tell him. And I’m proud of you too. You’ve already been working so hard and playing so well.”

Ilya’s father Grigori had been sent to Grozny, the capital of Chechnya, a month ago. Russia had just regained control of the capital in a monthslong battle against the Chechen separatist group that had controlled the city for years. The city needed to be entirely rebuilt and Chechen separatists were still continuing guerilla warfare efforts against the Russian military and police. Many police officers from across Russia, including Grigori, were sent to Grozny to help maintain order as civilians returned to the city and recruit and train local officers to keep the peace.

Things weren’t easy with Papa gone. Mama was left to handle everything on her own. Alexei, who had just turned twelve and already started to rebel before Papa left, was spending more and more time away from their home with his friends. Mama’s sadness and exhaustion clung to her; many mornings Ilya would make himself breakfast and get ready for school while Mama struggled to get out of bed. Papa would call once a week and he and Mama often argued when they were on the phone together.

Hockey was the only thing that made things better. Every day, Ilya would struggle to sit through classes, waiting impatiently for his hockey practice to start right after school. When he was on the ice, he didn’t have to worry about his mama, his papa, or his brother. He could just skate and score goals. When she was feeling well enough, Mama would come watch his practices and cheer him on alongside the other parents, usually bringing a hand-knit blanket she would wrap herself up in to protect herself from the cold arena. Ilya loved seeing her in the stands.

When Ilya and Mama arrived at home, a man in a police uniform was knocking on the door. Mama paused, clutched Ilya’s hand tighter, and cleared her throat. “Hello? Can I help you?”

“Irina Viktorovna?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“My name is Pavel Konstantinovich and I work with the Moscow police department. There has been an accident. Could we go inside to speak about it?”

“Yes, just let me unlock the door.”

Irina let go of Ilya’s hand and retrieved her house keys from her purse as the police officer stepped aside to allow her to unlock the door. Irina entered the home first, followed by the officer, and Ilya trailed behind.

“I think it’s best if we sit down for this conversation,” the officer said.

Before sitting down, Mama knelt in front of Ilya. “Ilyushenka, darling, will you go upstairs? Just for a minute so I can talk to this man. You should go to your room and start your homework. I’ll call you when we’re done and you can come help me make dinner, okay?”

“Mama, I want to stay.”

Mama blanched. “No, Ilyushenka. You have to go upstairs. It’ll only be for a little while.”

“Okay, Mama.”

Irina hugged Ilya briefly, squeezing him tight, before gesturing to him to go upstairs and taking a seat in the living room. The officer took a seat in an armchair, Grigori’s favorite armchair when he was home, across from her.

Ilya went up the stairs with his backpack, but instead of going to his bedroom, he perched by the stair landing to listen in on the conversation. The police officer hesitated before speaking.

“Irina Viktorovna, there is no easy way to say this. I’m very sorry. Your husband, Rozanov Grigori Mikhailovich, was killed by Chechen terrorists in Grozny this morning.”

Ilya couldn’t hear anything Mama said, if she said anything at all, but he could hear the familiar sound of her sobs. She tried to stifle them, like she always did, but her breath had a telltale way of catching when she was crying.

“I’m so very sorry. I want you to know, he died instantly, there was no pain. He was leading a group of new police officers on a training exercise when they were ambushed by a terrorist hiding in the ruins of a bombed building. Your husband is a hero to Russia for his sacrifice in our struggle against these terrorists. You will receive a one-time payment and a monthly pension for you and your sons.”

Mama took a moment to speak, still crying. “What happened to the other officers with him?”

“There were five other officers with him. Two of them were severely injured and are still receiving medical treatment. Three of them received only minor injuries and have been released from the hospital. We don’t know exactly what happened, but your husband may have helped save the others from the terrorist by shielding them.”

Ilya didn’t really believe his Papa would do that, but maybe.

“What happened to his remains?” Mama asked.

“They are in Grozny. The medical examiner must do an autopsy on all combat deaths before we can return his body to you, but once his body is released, we will provide a coffin, put his remains on a military flight to Moscow, and contact you so that you can arrange to pick them up. Do you need assistance with burial arrangements?”

“No, no. His family has a burial plot, I’ll call the church to arrange a service.”

Just then, the front door opened and slammed shut. “Mama, what is happening?” Lyosha’s voice came from downstairs.

“Lyoshenka, go upstairs with your brother. Now.”

Lyosha said nothing else but stomped his feet as he made his way through the living room and up the stairs before he spotted Ilya around the corner from the landing. Lyosha said nothing, but stood next to Ilya so he could also listen in.

“I don’t want to take up too much more of your time,” the police officer said. “I’ve brought some paperwork with me to allow you to collect your payment and pension. When this is complete, you can fax it to the police headquarters, bring it in person, or mail it. I recommend you bring it in person or fax it so it will be processed quicker. I have also included a phone number to call for Grigori’s supervisor. Please call him when funeral arrangements have been made. Grigori’s fellow officers may want to attend to pay their respects. Do you have any questions for me?”

“No.”

“Again, Irina Viktorovna, I’m very sorry for your loss. Your husband was a brave man and a good police officer. He died in service to Russia and I hope that brings you comfort.”

There was a pause as the officer and Mama stood up. “I should go now so that you can be with your sons. If there is anything the Moscow police can assist you with, please let us know.”

“Thank you, Pavel Konstantinovich. Goodbye.” Ilya recognized this tone from his Mama. It was something beyond sadness, as if all the life had been drained out of her voice, as if the mere act of speaking took an effort she could barely make.

“Goodbye.”

Lyosha took off toward his bedroom and slammed the door shut. Ilya went downstairs, where his Mama was standing in the kitchen, clutching the countertop as her knuckles turned white.

“Mama,” Ilya said, approaching her from the side and reaching out for a hug.

All she could say was “Ilyushenka” as she turned around and gathered him in a hug, both Ilya and Irina crying on each other’s shoulders.

August 2000

A new year of school was about to start and Ilya was visiting a new doctor.

After the funeral, Mama had sold the family home. “We have too many bad memories there,” she’d told her sons. To most, it sounded like she missed her late husband too badly to stay in a home where she’d shared fond memories of him, but Ilya knew the truth. Every room held a memory of Grigori yelling, cursing, throwing things, hitting.  

Their new home was a bit smaller, but still fairly large for Moscow, and closer to the CSKA Moscow training facility where Ilya would practice now that he’d been recruited by them. He and Lyosha were able to stay in the same schools. However, there was a pediatrician just up the block from the new house and their old pediatrician was now too far away to walk to, so Irina was taking the boys for their annual physicals before the school year started.

Ilya's new doctor’s office was brightly lit with the walls painted a soft yellow and there were toys and children's books in the waiting room. The doctor at their old house had been older, a bit gruff on the surface, but this one seemed young. A diploma from Yaroslavl State Medical Academy for Lebedev Dmitry Andreevich hung on the wall of his office. He had soft hands and kind eyes.

"Ilya Grigoryevich, I hear you like to play hockey," the doctor said as he examined young Ilya's ears, eyes, and nose.

"Yes, sir!" Ilya exclaimed. "And I'm the best at it! I'm going to train with CSKA Moscow this year!"

"Well, that's wonderful, young man. I'm sure you're going to be an excellent hockey player, you must really be the best if CSKA Moscow recruited you. Let's make sure we keep you healthy so you can play, okay?"

"Okay!"

Dmitry continued his exam, asking about Ilya's eating and sleeping habits as he did so, and reminded Ilya to always eat his vegetables. Ilya made a face, but Mama smiled at the instruction. "Yes, Ilya, listen to the nice doctor. You need to eat a healthy diet if you want to be the best hockey player."

Dmitry looked again at Ilya's chart. "Ilya, they told me that your father died a few months ago. I'm very sorry for your loss, I know that must be hard for you. How have you been feeling since that happened?"

Ilya shrugged. "I'm okay."

Dmitry glanced at Mama, who said "He's been coping well, I think. It's been a lot of change for all of us, but he seems happy."

Dmitry again studied the chart with Ilya's medical history and seemed to notice something, flipping back and forth between two pages. After a moment, he put the chart down and smiled at Ilya. "Well, I'm very glad to hear that you're doing well, but always remember that if you feel sad or angry or scared about what's happened, that's okay. You can talk to your mama or to another adult you trust. Sometimes men think that they have to be tough and hide their feelings to be a man, but that's not true. It's okay to have feelings and talking about them can help you feel better."

"Okay." Ilya's papa was one of those men who felt that men had to hide their feelings. Sometimes, when Papa and Lyosha weren't around, Mama would tell Ilya that it was okay to be sad and to cry if he needed to, but Ilya had never heard a man say that. He wasn't sure if he believed it.

"Well, Ilya, it seems like you're a very healthy young man. You're due for a couple of shots, so I'm going to have the nice nurse Nina come give you those next, and then your Mama can take you home. I do want to tell you one important thing first, though. If you get hurt playing hockey, it's very important that you rest and let those injuries heal. Even if your coaches want you to keep playing, you have to take good care of your body. I know resting isn't as much fun as playing, but if you heal right when you get hurt, you'll be a better player."

"Yes, listen to Dmitry Andreevich," Mama said. "You need to be careful on the ice and rest when you get hurt."

"Yes, Mama," Ilya said, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. Resting wasn't as much fun as playing, and Ilya was tough, just like his Papa and his coaches said he should be. He could play through anything.

"Okay, I have to go see another patient. Ilya Grigoryevich, Irina Viktorovna, it was lovely to meet you both. Please let us know if you have any questions or need anything from us."

"Thank you, Dmitry Andreevich," Mama said. Ilya noticed how she smiled, how bright her eyes looked as the doctor left. Today must be one of her good days.

September 2000

On Irina's third good day in a row in mid-September, she decided she would go out to a cafe.

Irina knew the shape of her moods well enough to know how to use a string of good days. The first good day was always for catching up on the things that had been left undone during the bad days. She would shower and tend to her curls, brush her teeth and make sure to use floss and mouthwash to make up for any days she'd skipped. Dishes washed and put away, sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, catching up on laundry, putting away clutter that had gathered, taking out the trash. If she could, going to the grocery store to stock up on what she needed. 

If she got a second good day in a row, that was for preparing. Mostly this was cooking things she could store for future bad days. She made soups, borscht and shchi simmering on the stove until they could be put away in the freezer. Pelmeni and chebureki could be filled now and frozen so she would only have to warm them up on the bad days - or, on the worst days, ask Ilyusha or Lyosha to do it. The savory pies took more effort to make, the kind of effort that could push her right back into a bad day, so were prepared sparingly. Irina would also go through the bills and send out the payments for them on the second good day, even if they weren't due yet.

On the third good day, Irina liked to go out. She didn't have close friends, really. She'd been so young when Lyosha and Ilyusha were born. It felt like as soon as she'd finished school, she'd become Grigori Rozanov's wife at her father's urging and then Lyosha's mother. Irina stayed at home with her boys until Ilyusha had started school. It was easier then, being at home. Grigori wouldn't be suspicious of her whereabouts if she didn't go out, and she wouldn't have to worry about hiding bruises or coming up with stories about why she had them. Occasionally people wanted to talk to Irina. Childhood friends, mothers of Lyosha's and Ilyusha's friends, wives of Grigori's police colleagues. Irina would try to connect with them, on her better days, but on the dark days it was so hard to talk to anyone. Everyone seemed to drift away after their calls went unanswered on too many bad days.

Still, Irina found it nice to be in public when she was having a good day. It was nice to watch other people going about their days. She might have a conversation, pass the time with a pleasant interaction with someone who wouldn't be disappointed in her if the next day she couldn't get out of bed or answer the phone. If Lyosha and Ilyusha were around, she'd take them out to do something nice, but today they were both in school. She'd go to Ilyusha's hockey practice after school, at the new rink where CSKA Moscow trained the youth who were not yet in their hockey academy, but until then she'd enjoy the time to herself. There was a cafe up the block. She'd sit there awhile, order some tea and lunch, and do some reading.

Irina packed a paperback novel and a throw blanket for hockey practice in her large handbag, then started on the short walk to the cafe. On the way, she stopped at a newspaper stand to pick up today's paper. At the cafe, she ordered herself a cup of tea, a bowl of solyanka, and a pirozhki with meat, cabbage, and mushrooms in the filling, then took a seat at a table in the back corner of the cafe. She opened the newspaper first, skipping past the news to look at the classified ads and see if anyone was hiring for part-time work. She hadn't worked outside the home while Grigori was alive - he hadn't liked the idea, and her moods would have made it difficult. For now, she and the family were getting by on the pension from the police department and the money she'd made selling the old house. Now that Ilya was with CSKA Moscow, they helped with some of the expenses of hockey. Irina's story as the young widow of a police officer killed in Chechnya raising two boys alone garnered sympathy, but more than that, CSKA Moscow saw a talented young player like Ilyusha as an investment. Cover the cost of new skates, uniforms, and travel now, he'll bring glory to the club and to Russia in the future. Still, even with the pension and CSKA Moscow helping, it would be good to have a little extra money coming in if she could find some part-time work.

Sadly, there weren't many ads in the paper. Russia's economy had undergone a crisis just two years ago, and while inflation was no longer as bad as it had been, unemployment was still high. No one was looking to hire a housewife with no real work experience.

As Irina folded up her newspaper, she noticed a familiar-looking figure ordering his own lunch. Was that…? As he spoke, ordering his own tea and pirozhki, she recognized his voice. That was Dmitry Andreevich, the pediatrician she'd brought Ilya to just a couple of weeks ago, with the kind eyes and handsome face. She kept her eyes on him as he completed his order and turned around, catching his glance. "Would you like to sit with me?" she asked.

"I would love to," he said, taking a seat across from her. "Irina Viktorovna, yes? It's wonderful to see you again."

"Yes. It's lovely to see you too, Dmitry Andreevich."

"How is your son Ilya doing?"

"He's very well, thank you. He just started practice with the CSKA Moscow team and he couldn't be happier about it. Comes home every day raving about getting to play with the big kids and how much he's learning."

"I'm glad to hear that. Do you come to this cafe often? I like to come on my lunch break, but I don't think I've seen you here before."

"No, not often." Irina paused, trying not to reveal too much about the moods that kept her in bed. "I have an older son, Alexei, as well as Ilya, and you know my husband passed away this spring. So keeping an eye on those two and taking care of our home keeps me busy enough I don't get to sit in cafes like this as much as I'd like. It's always nice when I can, though." 

"Well, I'm glad you could come today. It's nice to have the company."

"How long have you been working here?"

"A few years now. I finished my medical degree in Yaroslavl six years ago, then spent two in a residency with other pediatricians here in Moscow, and I've been working at this office ever since I finished my residency. It's a nice little neighborhood, many young families like yours."

"Did you grow up in Yaroslavl?"

"I did. My papa worked for the Northern Railway and my mama was a schoolteacher, back in the Soviet days. They wanted me to get a good education and they were so proud when I went to medical school." Dmitry grinned and added, "A little less proud after I went nearly 300 kilometers away to work. What about you, where did you grow up?"

"Here in Moscow. My papa was a policeman, that was how I met my husband Grigori. I never went to university, we got married when I was very young and then I had my Lyosha not long after."

An hour passed in the blink of an eye as Dmitry and Irina shared quiet, friendly conversation. When Dmitry checked his watch, he sighed as he got up to leave. "Irina Viktorovna, you are wonderful company, but I have to get back to the office for my afternoon appointments. But I hope you come back to this cafe soon. I would like to have lunch with you again anytime you like.”

"Could you wait just a moment?" Irina asked, searching through her handbag for a pen. Dmitry nodded and Irina retrieved a pen, tore off a blank corner of her newspaper, and wrote her name and phone number on it before handing it to Dmitry.

"I enjoyed your company too," she told him. "Perhaps if you'd like, we could see each other again when you don't have to rush back to work."

“I’d like that very much.”

October 2003

CSKA Moscow claimed that the young athletes in their sports academy were enrolled in a high-quality educational program as well as rigorous athletic training.

Less than two months into his first year as a student, Ilya had already figured out they were full of shit.

Ilya's mornings started with either morning skate or time in the gym, depending on the day. Classes were squeezed into a few hours in the middle of the day and few of the students took them seriously. Homework was rarely assigned and even more rarely checked - they had hockey and other sports to practice, after all. After classes were done and lunch was eaten, it was time for afternoon practice, the most intense part of the day. There would be several hours of drills and scrimmages on the ice as well as additional gym time. If they had a game coming up, there would also be time devoted to game tape review. At 12 years old, Ilya was a hockey player moonlighting as a student and he knew it.

He didn't outright skip class. The teachers understood their role in the system, but that didn't mean they'd tolerate blatant disrespect. Worse, the teachers spoke with the coaches regularly. Inattentiveness in class was fine, expected even, but earning a reputation as a rule-breaker really wasn't something anyone wanted. Coaches wanted obedient athletes who would respect authority and listen to instruction, and they could be brutal toward young athletes who didn't.

Still, class seemed pointless to Ilya and he wanted to go home. He’d gotten up and left the house early for cardio and weightlifting in the morning with his teammates and coaches, but he was worried about his Mama. It was Thursday and the last time he remembered seeing Mama out of bed was on Saturday. So in his first class of the day, he told the teacher he didn’t feel well and asked if he could go see the school nurse, and she readily agreed.

The school nurse was a bit harder to fool. “You don’t have a fever,” she told him.

“I feel sick to my stomach and my head hurts,” Ilya said. “Please, let me go home and rest.”

The nurse raised her eyebrow at him. “You are in the hockey program? I’ll call your coach and tell him you are too ill to practice today.”

Uh-oh. “Maybe I can practice later if I just go home and sleep now. Please.”

The nurse looked at Ilya and sighed. “I’ll call your mother and see what she says.” She thumbed through Ilya’s file to find his home phone number, dialed it, and waited until the answering machine message played. She dialed again, and this time someone picked up on the third ring.

“Irina Viktorovna? This is the nurse at CSKA Moscow Sports Academy…yes, your son Ilya says he has nausea and a headache, but no fever…can you come pick him up?...I mean, I could, but if he’s not well enough to stay in school I’m not sure he should take the Metro home…ah, I see. A bug going around the house, maybe? Okay, I’ll tell him. I hope you all feel better.”

The nurse hung up the phone and looked at Ilya. “Your mother also isn’t feeling well. She can’t come to pick you up, but she says you may go home. I’ll tell your teachers and coaches you’re going home sick today. Don’t try to practice if you still feel unwell. Feel better, Ilya.”

Success. “Thank you.”

The school nurse gave Ilya another searching look as he gathered his things, but it didn’t matter. He’d been granted a reprieve to go home and see Mama. His house was just a couple of stops away on the Metro and he made it there in 10 minutes, only to be greeted with a quiet, dark house.

“Mama?” he called out as he dropped his things in the kitchen.

“Ilyusha?” Muffled, but that was her voice, from the bedroom upstairs. Ilya ran upstairs and into the bedroom, where his Mama was lying in bed.

“Hi, Mama,” Ilya said as he climbed into bed with Irina. Her curls were flattened, her skin had an oily sheen to it, and she had dark circles under her eyes despite the amount of time she’d been spending in bed.

“What are you doing at home, Ilyusha? Are you sick?”

“I just wanted to see you, Mama,” Ilya admitted.

Mama sighed, looking slightly exasperated but not truly angry. “Well, okay. You can stay here for lunch. Dima is going to bring me something on his lunch break, I’ll call his office and ask his receptionist to tell him to bring extra for you. But I want you to do all your reading and homework for the classes you miss today, okay?”

“Okay, I will. Do I have to go to practice or can I stay with you?”

“Let’s see how you feel after lunch. You should try if you can, but everyone needs a day off sometimes.”

Ilya cuddled close to his Mama and hugged her tight. “Thank you!”

Mama sat up with what seemed like great effort and reached for the cordless phone on her nightstand, dialing the number for Dmitry Andreevich’s office. Mama and Dmitry had gotten married two years ago, a little more than a year after Ilya’s Papa had died. He wasn’t so bad, Ilya thought. Just very different from Papa. Papa had been prone to yelling when he was displeased and always wanted Ilya to be tough. Papa had been very focused on Ilya being the best at hockey.

Dmitry was calm in a way Ilya found unsettling. He found it hard to tell what Dmitry was really thinking. Dmitry came to Ilya’s hockey games with Mama and cheered for him, but he never criticized Ilya’s performance on the ice. Sometimes he would talk to Ilya about his schoolwork, which seemed silly to Ilya. No one at his sports academy cared about school, so why should Dmitry? Yet Dmitry talked about the importance of Ilya working hard in school and especially about learning English. Plus, Dmitry was always on his case about Ilya getting enough sleep and recovering from injuries. Papa wouldn’t have liked that. Sleeping in was lazy. Sitting out of practice or games was lazy. Playing through minor injuries was a sign of toughness.

But Mama liked Dmitry, so Ilya put up with him and tried not to complain.

“Hi, Nina,” Mama said to the receptionist over the phone. “It’s Ira. When Dima takes his break from patients, can you ask him to bring home some extra pirozkhi and soup?...Yes, my son Ilyusha is home for the day…Thank you so much, Nina, have a good day.”

Mama hung up the phone and settled back into the bed next to Ilya. “Ilyusha, darling, why did you really want to come home if you’re not sick?”

“I wanted to see you, Mama. I was worried about you.”

“Why were you worried, darling?”

“Because you’ve been so sad and you’ve been staying in bed. I wanted to make you feel better.”

Mama looked away, tears springing to her eyes. “It’s not supposed to be your job to make me feel better, Ilyusha. I have to do this on my own.”

“But I want to help, Mama.”

“Oh, my sweet boy. Well, how about this? Dima will be here in about 45 minutes. Why don’t you sit here with me and help me get ready for when he gets here? You can keep me company while I get ready. Tell me about what’s going on at school.”

“Okay, Mama.”

Mama got out of bed slowly, as if her limbs were made of lead. She went into the en-suite bathroom and looked at the shower for a minute before shaking her head, but she washed her face and brushed her hair and teeth at the sink. Ilya started chatting about morning skate and the bigger kid on the team who was helping him practice his checking technique while Mama went to the closet. She got out of the nightgown stained with sweat and put on a simple blue wrap dress, no tights or jewelry, again looking tired and taking her time to select clothes. Mama returned to the bathroom and looked at her makeup, taking her time deciding what to put on, before simply putting on lipstick and perfume.

“Okay, Ilyusha. Let’s go downstairs, we can watch a little TV before Dima gets here.”

There was a TV show called Okna on. Usually, Mama and Dmitry didn’t like to watch this kind of thing. They would watch game shows like What? Where? When? and Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? together in the evenings and play along with the contestants. They’d both liked the political satire show Puppets until it was cancelled in 2002. Okna was a far cry from those shows. It was all about dysfunctional families coming on the show to yell at each other, often swearing or physically fighting. Today, a husband and wife were accusing each other of infidelity, making wild accusations about how many people their spouses had slept with and telling stories of catching them in the act. Ilya giggled at the stories and the censors’ attempts to bleep out the constant swearing, while Mama stared off into space, looking in the direction of the TV but not reacting to anything happening on the screen.

Dmitry’s key turned in the lock just as the wife on Okna was standing up to yell at the husband. Damn, just as it was getting good. “Hi, Ira. Hi, Ilyusha,” Dmitry called out from the kitchen. “Come eat, I brought plenty of food.” He paused in the doorway to the living room. “What on earth are you watching?”

Neither Ilya nor his Mama answered. Irina turned off the TV and went into the kitchen, followed by Ilya. “Hi, Dima, thank you for bringing lunch,” Mama said and kissed Dmitry’s cheek.

“I’m happy to do it. You look better today, I’m glad to see it,” Dmitry said as he unpacked the takeout containers from the bag and set them on the table. “Ilyusha, what are you doing home from school?”

“I wanted to see Mama,” Ilya responded, then froze. He shouldn’t have said that. He was about to get a lecture about how he needed to be in school right now.

Yet Dmitry’s eyes were soft. Concerned, but not angry. “Were you worried about your Mama?”

Mama looked away. Ilya whispered, “Yes.”

Dmitry put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I was too. That’s why I brought lunch home, so I could see your mama and make sure she ate something. Let’s help her together, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Come on, let’s sit down and eat. I have to be back at the office at 1:30.”

The three of them opened their cups of shchi and ate. Ilya was hungry from morning skate and ate eagerly, and he noticed that Dmitry did the same, perhaps in a hurry to get back to work, while Irina ate her soup slowly.

Once Dmitry finished his soup, instead of reaching for his pirozhki, he placed his hand on top of Irina’s. “Ira, darling, I think you need to call the number I found for you.”

Mama froze. “Dima, I…I can’t. They’ll lock me away, they won’t let me out. Those places, they’re so horrible to people. They sent my mama to one and they were so horrible to her there. I’ll get through this somehow, I always do. Please don’t make me do this.”

“Ira, darling. I would never send you to one of those places. The number I gave you is an office, not a psychiatric hospital. They have therapists there you can talk to and doctors who can prescribe medication, and you’re home an hour later. One of my friends from medical school works there. They would not send you away from your sons.”

“I don’t know, Dima. This is too risky.”

“Just call today and make an appointment. Please. I’ll go with you to the appointment, or one of the boys will. You don’t have to do this alone, Ira. I know how hard you work to try to get past it, but this isn’t your fault, how you feel. They can help you feel better, and I know they’ll be kind to you.”

“Are you sure this is the right thing to do?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Ira, look at Ilyusha. He’s worried about you, too. All of us want you to feel better, and I really believe this will help. Will you try? Please?”

Mama looked down at her half-empty bowl of soup for a long moment, then back up at Dmitry. “Okay. I will try. I’ll call them.”

Dmitry leaned over, still seated, to hug Mama and kiss her cheek, then looked at Ilya. “Ilyusha, will you sit with your Mama and hold her hand while she makes the call today? She’s being very brave, asking for help, and she might need a little help from you to be brave.”

“Yes, sir, I will.” Ilya paused for a moment. “What is she calling about? How will they help?”

“You don’t have to call me sir, Ilyusha, I’ve told you before. Dima or Dmitry is fine. I think your mama has a condition called depression, which is when your brain doesn’t make enough of the chemicals that help make people happy. Sometimes the treatment for depression can be going to a hospital, if it gets really bad, but I don’t think your mama needs that. She can take medication to help her brain produce the right chemicals and she can go to therapy to talk about her problems and learn how to deal with them.”

“So Mama is sick?”

“I think so, yes. It’s not her fault, when she has a hard time getting out of bed or she feels sad for what seems like no reason. And we’re going to help her get better, you and me.”

“Okay, Dmitry.”

Dmitry smiled at Ilya and picked up his pirozhki. “Alright, Ilya, let’s finish eating. You must be hungry after skating this morning.”

Ilya and Dmitry finished their pirozhki, and while Mama didn’t eat hers, she did manage to finish her shchi and put the pirozhki away in the fridge, saying she’d warm it up and eat it later. Dmitry found the sheet of paper he’d written the phone number for the psychiatric office on and gave it to Mama before giving both Mama and Ilya big hugs. “All right, I’ve got to get back to my patients. I’ll be home by 6 and bring something for dinner, okay? I love you both.”

After Dmitry left, Mama took a deep breath, her hands shaking slightly. “Okay, Ilyusha. I’m going to make the call like Dima asked me to. Will you sit with me in the living room?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Mama gathered the cordless phone, the paper Dmitry had given her, and her appointment book, and took a seat on the couch in the living room. Ilya sat next to her and held her hand as she dialed the number.

“Yes, hello, my name is Rozanova Irina Viktorovna. I’m calling to make an appointment...I’ve been struggling with feeling very low and fatigued. It’s been difficult to get out of bed or keep up with my responsibilities around the house…My husband Lebedev Dmitry Andreevich suggested I call…yes, he’s a pediatrician here in Moscow…How long would that take?...Okay, I can come at that time. What is your address?...Okay, I will be there. Thank you.”

Mama hung up the phone and wrote down something in her appointment book, then looked at Ilya. “Thank you for helping me be brave, Ilyushenka. I’m going to see them next week. And they put me in the early afternoon so I can come to your hockey practice after. Maybe we’ll get ice cream when I take you home to celebrate.”

Mama hugged Ilya then, still sitting on the couch, and sniffled slightly into his shoulder. Ilya held on tight and said into his mother’s shoulder, “I love you, Mama. I hope this helps you feel better.”

“Me too, Ilyusha. Come, I think we’ve done enough hard things for today. You can stay home from practice. How about we read together on the couch? You can show me what you’re reading for your literature class, maybe I read it when I was a girl.”

July 2008

“What do you want to do tonight?”

Ilya was in Sasha’s living room on a Friday night. Sasha’s parents were off at some party, while Ilya’s Mama was at home, so Sasha’s house was the natural meeting point. Sveta was off visiting her mother in America, as she did every summer, so the usual trio was down to just two. Ilya expected the answer to his question to involve more of the Nelidovs’ vodka the two had already started in on and fooling around with each other.

Sasha held up the bottle and took a swig from it. “Well, this. But I have an idea. Remember that guy at the club last week?”

Ilya did remember. It had seemed risky, taking home a strange man from a club. They’d been at a club in Moscow that gay people often hung out at, but not everyone in the club was gay, and asking out the wrong man or being seen with another man by the wrong group of guys could get you beaten up. But Sasha had talked Ilya into getting the group some coke from Lyosha and it made him reckless, so he’d done it anyway.

“Yeah, what about him?”

“He told me about Gorky Park. It’s a pleshka.”

Ilya’s eyes went wide. A pleshka was a gay cruising site. He’d heard whispers of them before but was never quite sure if he trusted them enough to visit one.

“Do you…want to go?”

“Yeah, of course I do. We’ll get laid, it’ll be fun!”

Ilya bit his lip, then made himself try to act casual. “What, I’m not pretty enough for you, Sasha? You need to go suck some other man’s dick? Probably won’t be as big as mine.”

“We can suck each other’s dicks anytime we want. We’ll meet new guys tonight. They’re older, I bet they’re really good at sucking dick. Come on, Ilya!”

Ilya gestured for the bottle of vodka and Sasha handed it over. He’d need some liquid courage for this. “Do they just, like…fuck out in public? In the grass?”

“You pick up guys walking around these specific flowerbeds, and then there’s a public toilet right there where guys go to actually have sex.”

Ilya took a swig from the bottle of vodka and sighed. “Alright, we can go.”

“Cool! Let’s have another drink and then we’ll take the Metro over. He said not to go too early, but if we go around midnight or later, there’ll be guys there.”

“We should bring flasks.”

“Good idea.”

An hour and a half and two Metro lines later, Sasha was leading Ilya through Gorky Park, whispering under his breath. “You’ll see, this is gonna be so cool.”

Ilya felt buzzed from the vodka and curious about what he might find at this park, but he tried his best to hide his fear from Sasha. He wished he’d gotten some coke from Lyosha again, that would have helped with his nerves.

“Look,” Sasha whispered. A few men were walking around the flowerbeds, just as Sasha’s club hookup had told him there would be. A couple of them had handkerchiefs sticking out of their back pockets. “Come on, let’s go.”

Two dark-haired men were heading in the direction of Ilya and Sasha, walking toward the toilet building behind them as Ilya and Sasha walked away from it toward the flowerbeds where other men were pacing. It was dark, the park wasn’t well-lit, and Ilya couldn’t see them clearly until they were practically passing each other…oh fuck.

“Ilyusha? What are you doing here?” It was Dmitry, Ilya’s stepfather.

Ilya froze. Sasha answered for both of them, “He’s with me.”

“Sasha, you idiot,” Ilya hissed under his breath.

“Sorry, not tonight,” Dmitry whispered to his companion, then turned to the two of them. “You’re too young to be here. Both of you. I’m taking you home right now. Come to the car, I don’t want to hear any arguments.”

Both Ilya and Sasha followed Dmitry away from the flowerbeds, back through some trees and a place to skateboard before reaching Dmitry’s car parked on a side street adjacent to the park. “Sasha, I’m dropping you off at home first, then I’m taking Ilyusha home.”

Sasha and Ilya slumped down in the backseat of Dmitry’s car. “What were you doing there?” Sasha asked.

“Sasha, shut up,” Ilya hissed.

Truth be told, Ilya was very curious as to what his stepfather was doing at a pleshka with a strange man while Mama was at home. But curiosity or not, Ilya had basic survival instincts, and among those instincts was not talking back to one’s parents when you’d already been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to do. Papa would have given him hell for that, never mind that Sasha was the one who talked back.

Dima didn’t usually give Ilya hell. Ilya had come to like him, even. Dima had helped Mama when she’d been struggling, and with the therapist and medication he’d helped her get, she was happier and much less prone to spending days in bed. He came to Ilya’s games and helped him with his science homework. His nagging about healthy eating and sleep habits could be annoying, but he wasn’t harsh about it.

But…he was cheating on Mama with men, apparently.

Ilya tried to figure out where he stood. Dima might be angry that his own secret was out and lash out at Ilya because of that. It didn’t seem like Dima, but he’d never learned anything like this about Dima before. Then again, he might be afraid that Ilya would tell Mama his secret and be lenient about it.

“Listen to me, boys,” Dima said gently but firmly. “I’m not going to get you in trouble for being there. I’m not going to tell Sasha’s parents where you were. But you’re too young to be in places like this. There are men there that could take advantage of you, hurt you. I don’t want that for you. People like us, we have to be safe.”

People like us. Huh.

Ilya took a deep breath. “What about Mama?” He knew it was risky, but Dima didn’t seem to be angry, and Ilya felt like he deserved to know if his stepfather was cheating on his mother.

“We’ll talk about that after we drop Sasha off.”

Fortunately, Sasha lived closer to the park than Ilya’s family did, and he was content to sulk quietly in the backseat now that his plans for the evening had been ruined. Sasha’s parents were home by the time Dima pulled up to his house, and Dima simply stopped the car in front, letting him go in alone.

Once Sasha was inside, Dima drove away and looked in the rearview mirror towards Ilya. “Your mother knows,” Dima said quietly.

“She what?”

“Your mother knows I’m gay. We love each other very much, just…not in that way. We protect each other, we make a good team. It works for both of us. She needed support after your father died and if people knew I was gay, they wouldn’t trust me to take care of children.”

Ilya’s eyes went wide and he said nothing.

“I want you to know it’s more than a convenient arrangement. I love your mama very much, and you and Lyosha too. You are my family. I want to take care of you all, be there for you.”

“I know.”

“I’m not going to tell Ira that I saw you there. I would never betray your trust like that. But I can tell you that if you decide to tell her, she’ll understand. She will always love you. So will I.”

“Okay.”

“And above all, Ilyusha, I want you to be safe. You shouldn’t have been drinking before going somewhere like that. Did you have condoms with you?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t even planning on going there, I just wanted to go to Sasha’s house.” Ilya paused, reminding himself that Dima could be trusted with this secret. After all, he also had the same one. “Sasha and I…sometimes we do things. I’ve never been with any other men, but he thought it would be fun to go there and talked me into it.”

Dima sighed. “I don’t want you going to pleshkas. You’re too young. And no drinking beforehand. You need to have your wits about you. But I’m glad you had condoms to use with Sasha. You need to be careful about AIDS and other STDs, especially if you’re picking up other men.”

Ilya sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, but it also wasn’t like he could complain about it. Getting caught drunk at a pleshka and only getting a tedious lecture was the best-case scenario, really.

Dima parked the car and turned it off as they arrived home. “Drink some water and go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Ilya nodded and entered the house quietly alongside Dima, going to his room.

In the morning, Ilya awoke late and with a headache behind his eyes. He could hear Mama in the living room, but when he went to the window, Dima’s car was gone. He often saw patients on Saturday morning, so it wasn’t surprising. Ilya brushed his teeth, washed his face, and went downstairs still wearing the tank top and sweats he’d slept in.

“Good morning, Ilyusha,” his mama said as she was folding laundry with a TV game show on in the background. “Did you and Sasha have fun last night?”

“Um. I had something I wanted to ask you about.”

Mama paused her folding and looked up. “What is it?”

“Sasha and I went…out last night. Sasha wanted to pick up men. And…we saw Dima there.”

Mama nodded. She didn’t look surprised, so Ilya continued. “When he saw us, he made us come home with him. But he said you knew he was gay. I wanted to know if that was true. I don’t want him to hurt you, Mama.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mama said. “Yes, it’s true. I’ve known for a long time, since before we were married. Dima is a good man, he wouldn’t hurt me. It means so much to me that you cared most about that, though.”

“But why did you marry him if he’s gay?”

“I love him and he loves me. We’re partners, Ilyusha. We look after each other, we confide in each other. Living together is good for both of us. We don’t have to be attracted to each other to be good together.”

Ilya nodded and Mama looked at him. “That place you went last night…did you go because Sasha wanted to go, or because you wanted to?”

“It was Sasha’s idea.” Ilya took a deep breath. “But I wanted to go too. I mean, I was scared, but…I like both.”

“Did Dima tell you not to go to places like that?”

“Yeah. He gave me a lecture on the car ride home about how I’m too young, I shouldn’t have been drinking, I have to use condoms.”

“Good. Listen to Dima, he’s right about these things. And Ilyusha, this doesn’t change a thing about how I feel about you. All I want is for you to be safe, healthy, and happy. No matter who you love, you will always be my Ilyusha and I’ll always love you.”

Mama stood up and wrapped Ilya in a hug, rubbing his back gently.

December 2008

Someone gently knocked on the door of Ilya’s bedroom as he was putting clothes into his suitcase. “Come in,” he said.

Mama opened the door and looked at the suitcase. “Oh good, I was coming to check and make sure you were all packed for the International Prospect Cup. Did you remember to pack your toothbrush and toothpaste?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“And you have enough warm clothes packed? It’s going to be as cold there in Regina as it will be here, I checked the weather online.”

Ilya sighed and tried not to roll his eyes. “Yes, Mama, I know how to dress myself.”

“Do you have your passport?”

“Yes, it’s in the front pocket of the suitcase.”

Mama stepped closer to him. “Ilyusha, I want to give you something before you go. I wish I could be there with you in Canada, and I want you to know that I’ll be thinking of you and your team the whole time.”

Mama paused, took off the gold cross she wore around her neck most days, and put it on Ilya’s neck. “This belonged to my great-grandmother. My babushka and my mama kept it safe the entire time the Soviets tried to drive religious people into hiding. You know I don’t go to church, but for me, this necklace reminds me of family and bravery. I hope it reminds you of your family while you’re in Canada. Now and whenever you might play there in the future.”

“Thank you, Mama.” Ilya touched the necklace gently. The chain was lightweight and the metal felt warm against his skin. It was a woman’s necklace, but it looked nice on him.

“I know you’re going to play so well. And you call me anytime you need to talk, okay? Dima got you that prepaid cell phone with international minutes and put our numbers in it so you can call us anytime. Even if it’s the middle of the night here, I’m going to keep my ringer all the way up so I’ll hear it if you call.”

“Okay, Mama. I love you.”

“I love you too, Ilyusha. Did you remember to pack sunscreen? Even with the cold weather, you can still get sunburned.”

“Mama! I’m going to be in the rink all day!”

June 2009

“We’re not passing on a kid this strong with those hands. Not in Boston, Mrs. Rozanova. He’s a very natural number one pick. Congratulations again.”

“Thank you, sir,” Irina said hesitantly. She’d worked on her English ever since MLH scouts had first come to Russia to see Ilya play, knowing one day he might make it to North America, but she’d never learned it in school as a child and still struggled to grasp it. She and Dima had encouraged Ilya to study hard when he had the opportunity to learn English, but the academics at his hockey academy weren’t great and she worried about how well he would do in the United States. “I am so proud of him and very excited that he will play for Boston.”

“Yes, thank you, sir. It is an honor to play for Boston. I will work very hard for you, sir.” Ilya’s English was a bit more natural than Irina’s, but not by much.

“I have no doubt you will!” Boston’s owner said.

“My Ilyusha has never lived outside of Russia before,” Irina said, deciding her fear of her baby boy going to the U.S. alone outweighed her fear of asking for things in her stilted English. “What can you do to help him in his new home?”

“Don’t you worry, Mrs. Rozanova. We’re going to take very good care of your son. We can do what’s called a billet – we’ll find a family for him to live with during his first year, they’re going to help him adjust to living in America.”

“Will they speak Russian? Ilya’s English is very good, but he is still learning.”

“We’ll do our best to find someone who speaks Russian and can take him in. We have another Russian player on our team and some Russian-speaking staff.”

“Very good. Is there…” Irina paused and blushed, searching for the word she wanted. “Someone who can help him with English?”

“An interpreter? Yes, we can find one for him to help with interviews.”

“And with coming to the United States from Russia, what do we need to do for his papers?”

“Our lawyers will take care of almost all of that, Mrs. Rozanova. Ilya will have to go to the U.S. Embassy in Russia to get his visa approved, but you live in Moscow, right? Should be very easy to do that and we’ll help as much as we can.”

“Yes, we live in Moscow. I’ll make sure to take Ilyusha to the embassy when he needs to go. Again, we are so happy that Ilyusha will be playing for Boston.”

“We are too. Please excuse me for a moment, I need to speak with our team about our next draft pick. We need to build a good team around this young man!”

As Boston’s owner stepped away, Irina watched as Ilya looked down from the balcony toward where the second draft pick was standing. Shane Hollander, apparently, with who must have been his parents and someone from Montreal’s team. His mother was wearing a lovely gold dress and Irina wondered to herself if her own black dress was too simple for such a nice event. Shane Hollander seemed like a nice young man, Irina thought, but she couldn’t help a swell of pride that it was her son that had been the very first draft pick.

Yet despite her happiness for her son, the sadness and fatigue that haunted her sometimes was making itself known again. She wanted nothing more than to go back to her lovely hotel room and hide in the nice bed under the covers.

What kind of a mother was she that on the happiest day of her son’s life so far, she felt so sad? Surely if she were a good person, a good mother, she’d be able to get over this.

“I will go to bed early tonight, I think, Ilyushenka,” Irina said softly to her son in Russian.

Ilya looked away from Shane Hollander and back toward her, and a bit of sadness flickered in his eyes before he pushed it away. “They want me to stay, Mama. There are people who want to talk to me, sponsors and such. But I can do that alone.”

“I’ll stay as long as I can, Ilyusha. I’m so proud of you. I want to help you as much as I can.”

“I wouldn’t be here without you, Mama.” Ilya hugged Irina tight and she tried not to cry into his brand-new suit.