“Sveta!” Andrei yelled when he realized whose voice he just heard through the phone. “Svetochka!”
“Andryusha, dear, honey,” Svetlana prattled incoherently. “I can’t call my mom. Where is she, did you talk to her?”
“Of course; she’s hanging around the theater. Waiting for you. There’s a bunch of relatives there; they’re getting help. Are you alive?” he asked a stupid question and immediately corrected himself. “Are you okay?”
The scared woman got up from a puddle, picked up the crying child and ran away into a building.
“Yes. Tell my mom to start organizing pickets against the war in Chechnya. Otherwise, we’ll be shot. Tomorrow, everyone has to come out into the Red Square.”
“Sveta – ”
“I can’t talk anymore. If there are no protests, we’ll be shot,” the girl kept repeating.
“Sveta, is anyone standing next to you?”
“Yes.”
“Can I call you later?”
“No.”
The call ended. Andrei stood in the dark courtyard, looked at his phone, and waited for another call. Then, he carried the phone in his hand for a while to be able to answer Svetlana’s call right away. Every now and then, he looked at the display to make sure that the battery isn’t dead and the network is available.
The phone was in working order. But no more calls came in.
She called him “honey”. It’s been so long since she called him that. An eternity.
The hostages may be shot! No, those were empty threats. Just empty threats, he kept telling himself. And immediately remembered: one girl was already dead. And kept beating away a shameful thought: good thing it wasn’t Sveta.
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