The priest who arrived prayed over the body for a long time, sprinkling it with holy water. Grant eternal rest, O Lord, to your departed servant Irina, and eternal memory, he chanted, swinging the censer. Andre had a bitter thought.
Eternal rest. A young woman, full of life, carrying a child who never saw the light of day. Where is the rest in that? The funeral took place on the third day.
According to village custom, the coffin was carried by hand through the whole village to the cemetery. Andre followed behind, feeling neither the cold nor the fatigue. Beside him walked Irina’s parents and a few neighbors.
The cemetery was on a hill, about half a kilometer from the village. In summer, it was a beautiful place, pines whispering in the wind, birds singing. But in winter, it looked bleak and lifeless, like death itself.
The grave had to be dug in advance. The ground was so frozen that shovels couldn’t break it, so a small excavator had to be brought in. The pit was clean, with straight walls.
When the coffin was lowered and the final prayers spoken, Andre was the first to throw a handful of earth onto the lid. The hollow thud echoed painfully in his chest. People took turns stepping up, tossing flowers and earth, whispering condolences.
It all felt like a dream. Like it wasn’t happening to him. When it was over and a fresh mound of earth marked the grave, people began to leave.
But Andre lingered by the fence, unable to take his eyes off the spot, where his wife and unborn son now rested. Come, son. Irina’s father gently touched his shoulder.
You can’t stand by the grave too long. Let’s go say our farewells. Andre nodded and slowly followed him.
Back home, the table was set for the memorial meal. But Andre couldn’t eat. He sat there, mechanically raising the glass when custom required, and downing it just as mechanically.
The vodka didn’t dull the pain. Nothing could. When the guests left, Andre was alone in the empty house.
A photo of Irina stood on the table, smiling, a wreath of wildflowers on her head. It had been taken last summer, during their trip to Lake Baikal. His thoughts were interrupted by Severt’s howling.
The wolf was again thrashing on the chain outside. Andre stumbled to the porch. Titsy from drink.
Shut up, he shouted, or I’ll sheep you. But deep down he knew he wouldn’t. No matter how great his anger, he couldn’t harm the creature his grandfather had loved so much.
And he himself had grown attached to the wolf over the past months. Andre approached Severt and silently unfastened the collar. The wolf froze, staring at the man with amber eyes.
Then he turned and dashed off toward the forest, in the direction of the village cemetery. Andre watched him go. Then returned to the house.
He took a bottle of vodka from the cupboard and sat by the window, staring into the darkness. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow, I’ll file a request to transfer back to the city.
There’s nothing left for me here. Andre drank without tasting it. At some point, he fell asleep in the armchair, still clutching the empty glass.
In the morning, a knock at the door woke him. On the doorstep stood Irina’s parents. We’re going to the cemetery, his mother-in-law said.
To visit our girl. Andre nodded, his head splitting from the hangover. He quickly washed his face with cold water and stepped into the yard, where his father-in-law was already waiting with the car.
The weather had finally cleared. The blizzard had passed, and a timid winter sun peaked through. The frost had weakened.
It was just minus 15 degrees Celsius, almost a thaw by Siberian standards. When they reached the cemetery, they immediately noticed something strange. A crowd had gathered at the gates, people shouting and waving their hands.
What’s going on? the father-in-law asked, as he got out of the car. There’s a wolf, someone from the crowd replied, digging up a grave. What grave? Andre’s blood turned cold.
Yesterday’s. The young woman’s. Andre rushed to the gate, pushing people aside.
He ran between the rows of crosses and gravestones, and saw a horrifying sight. Sever was frantically tearing at the earth on Irina’s grave. Half of the mound was already destroyed, and the wolf had clearly reached the coffin.
Oh my god, what is he doing? Irina’s screamed, running up. Stop him! One of the men raised a shovel, but Andre caught his arm. Don’t touch him, he said.
That’s our wolf. He’s destroying your wife’s grave, the man shouted indignantly. He should be shot.
But Sever had finally managed to scratch through the coffin boards. Suddenly, he stopped, tilted his head to the side, and pressed his ear to the gap he’d created. Then he jumped back and howled, not like before, but short and sharp, as if giving a signal.
At that moment, a moan came from the grave. Everyone froze, unable to believe their ears. Then people rushed to the grave, widening the hole the wolf had dug.
Andre worked with his bare hands, tearing through the earth, not noticing his nails breaking and his palms bleeding. Get shovels, someone shouted. And be careful, there’s a person down there.
When they opened the coffin, Andre saw his wife’s face, pale but not deathly blue, like three days ago. And then he saw her eyelashes tremble. She’s alive, he cried, grabbing Irina in his arms.
Call an ambulance, call an ambulance. But there was no time to wait. They laid Irina in the back seat of his father-in-law’s car, and he sped off toward the regional hospital.
No one noticed that Sever ran after them, limping on his front paw but not falling behind. At the hospital, Irina was immediately taken to intensive care. Andre paced the corridor, unable to calm down.
An hour later, a young doctor who had recently arrived on assignment came out. Are you the husband? he asked. Andre nodded.
Amazingly, she’s alive. Her condition is stable. How? How is that possible? Andre whispered.
It’s called a lethargic sleep, the head physician later explained, having joined the examination. A very rare condition. A person falls into a state close to clinical death.
But the brain continues to function at a minimal level. Breathing and heartbeat become so faint that they’re undetectable without specialised equipment. But the paramedic, he said she was dead.
In a home setting, without proper tools, it’s nearly impossible to distinguish lethargy from death, the doctor explained. He’s and I would probably have drawn the same conclusion. But how did she survive three days and then even underground? Andre asked, shocked.
In that state, the body consumes very little oxygen, the doctor answered. There would have been just enough in the coffin for a few days. But you understand that if it weren’t for the wolf, he stopped short.
I understand, Andre nodded. If not for sever, both of them, the doctor frowned. Speaking of both, we did an ultrasound.
The fetus is alive. The heartbeat is audible. But the condition is critical.
I don’t want to give false hope. Observation and time are needed. Andre sank into a chair, feeling his legs give out from a new wave of emotion.
Can I see her? Not yet. She’s unconscious. We’re doing everything we can.
Go home and rest. We’ll call if anything changes. But Andre didn’t leave.
He sat outside the ICU doors all day and all night. In the morning, they allowed him in briefly. Irina lay pale, entangled in tubes and wires.
An oxygen mask stretched to her nose. A needle pierced her hand for the IV. But she was breathing.
Her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of the ventilator. Ira. Ir.
Andre gently touched her hand. I’m here. You came back to us.
Please wake up. But Irina didn’t react. A nurse gently touched Andre’s shoulder.