"Not really,” Galina said. “You're lucky you don't remember Dad."

Masha looked furtively toward the kitchen, but their grandmother remained there, ensconced in the sizzling of the vegetable oil, the clanging of the oven door and the smells of cabbage and fried onions. “Grandma is making pies,” Masha said. “Tell me about our father."

There wasn't anything new to tell, but this conversation had the comfort of familiarity about it. “He was a jerk,” Galina said.

"And a drunk,” Masha said with conviction.

"Not so much a drunk,” Galina said. “The neighbors said that Mom was crazy to let him go. Where else would you find a sober man, they said. But he just… he wasn't anything. I don't think he ever said a word to me. And Grandma hated him."

Masha nodded, smiling. “I guess it's good that there aren't any boys here then."

"If you say so."

"You'll be late for your school,” Masha said. “Why do you go to school at night?"

"It's evening college for those who work,” Galina said. “Like me. I can be late a little."

Masha gave her a penetrating look, modeled so perfectly off their mother's that Galina had to laugh. “You really have to be taking this more seriously,” Masha said. “If you keep on like this, you'll never have an education, and I'll probably be married before you."

"Of course you will.” Galina laughed still. “You're the one who wants boys in the house."

Masha shrugged. “Galka,” she said thoughtfully. “Would you rather be deaf or blind?"

Galina weighed her options. “Deaf, I suppose. What about you?"

"Blind,” Masha said. “This way, Mom will have no choice but let me get a dog."

"You have it planned out, I see,” Galina said. She looked at her watch and sighed. “I have to get going, I suppose. Don't go blind just yet; maybe we can talk Mom into getting you a puppy."

Masha beamed. “Thanks, Galka. You know what I really want? I mean, besides the puppy?"

Galina looked out of the window, and saw her bus pass by. There would be another one; she sat down on the couch and kicked off her shoes. “What do you really want?"

Masha stared at the passing bus. “I want to be someone else."

"Who?"

Masha shrugged. “I don't know. Not me."

Then there was guilt again; Galina couldn't stop feeling that it was her fault also. Who would want to be a girl with a crazy sister and no brothers or a father? Who would want to be a girl with such a severe mother and silently disapproving grandmother, who constantly cooked fried potatoes, pies, borsch that tasted of frustration and suppressed anger? Who would want to be a girl in a house filled with damaged women, and no hope of ever becoming something else herself?

"I'm sorry,” Galina said. “You know, things can change. It doesn't have to be this way forever."

Masha nodded. “Go,” she said. “I love you, as much as forty thousand brothers."

Then the scene changed-they were in a darkened room, with sooted wooden walls. Masha was older now, but her eyes still watched Galina with a hopeful expectation. “You'll help me, won't you?"

"I've been doing nothing else,” Galina said. “I'm here looking for you, with a stupid cow and Koschey the Deathless, while Mom is home with your baby."

Masha looked confused for a second. “A baby?"

Galina nodded. “But we'll talk about that later… in person. Now just tell me where you are."

"I'm in a castle,” she said. “Although it doesn't look like a castle, but they tell me Peter the Great used to live here."

"Who are they?” Galina tried to keep her voice steady.

Masha shrugged. “I don't know. There are several of them, or maybe just one and he wears a different face every day."

"What do they want with you?"

"I don't know. They keep us here and send us, always send us to look and tell them what we saw. They have so many birds, and we see every corner of above and below. They take the images from our eyes and the memories from our heads, sounds from our ears and voices from our tongues… please come find me before we're all deaf and mute and blind."

"Who has many faces and a castle?” Galina asked Zemun as soon as she woke up under Bayun's tree. Look at this, she thought; I'm talking in goddamn riddles. And I'm asking advice from a talking cow. And I talk to birds and cats. It's a good thing my schizophrenia is in remission.

"Hmmmm,” Zemun said. “Dvoedushnik, maybe. But who knows what other creatures lurk in this forest?"

"What do you mean?” Yakov interrupted. “I thought you all knew each other."

"Do you know every person in Moscow, or even in your neighborhood?” Timur-Bey countered. “When this place was formed, some chose to build a city. Others stayed in the forest. Didn't anyone tell you it's not safe here?"

"David did,” Yakov admitted. “He didn't say why."

"There's also something you might want to know,” Galina told Yakov. “Remember the house of Peter the Great in Kolomenskoe that Sergey mentioned? I dreamt that it was here, in this forest."

Sergey the rook hopped onto Galina's shoulder and peered into her face. “You mean to say that this forest is actually Kolomenskoe?"

"I don't think so,” Galina said. “But maybe there's a connection."

"Perhaps,” Koschey said. “I'm ashamed to say that I don't know anything here that belonged to any czars."

"I do,” Timur-Bey said. “And incidentally, that's not the same as the house in Kolomenskoe."

"How do you know that?” Zemun said.

"Because,” Timur-Bey said, “the one here ended up underground after its above version was burned by Napoleon."

Galina and Yakov traded looks. If one didn't think too hard about it, it almost made sense-Kolomenskoe and Peter the Great and the birds-but the moment one looked at the pieces directly they fell apart again, like bits of mosaic that formed a picture if looked at from a distance but a meaningless jumble up close.

Yakov apparently felt the same way-he shook his head and sighed. “Think we're getting closer?” he asked Galina.

She nodded. “I don't care about the puzzles,” she said. “I just want my sister back; you can have the rest."

Yakov produced an uncertain smile. “That sounds like a bargain,” he said.

The world used to make sense; Yakov remembered that much. And yet, here, underground, he couldn't avoid the thought that the apparent sense and order was just a result of his wistful optimism. It also occurred to him that the closer he found himself to evil, the harder it was to maintain the illusion of a sensible universe.

He resented the vague and abstract quality of evil-it was always in the plural, be it thugs or communists or Chechen terrorists. It was never a person with a face and a possibility of affixing blame, at least not after some time passed; only then could evil be identified and labeled as such, but who could believe something after so much time had passed? And after living underground and hearing the denizens’ stories he started to doubt that historians on the surface ever got the real meaning of anything.

Now, he felt lost among dreams and speculations, in a dark forest so big that the initially sprawling and overwhelming underground city became but a speck lost in a mosaic of trees-some frozen and leafless, others just starting to sprout their first sticky leaves: a patchwork of seasons and-Yakov suspected-times. And somewhere deep within the forest there was a palace of the czar who had abandoned Moscow for St Petersburg. And within this palace there were birds who used to be people but were now subjugated to some unknown but menacing enemies-numerous, faceless, like any other evil.

Timur-Bey led them, following landmarks only he could see; he sometimes stopped to look closely at a tree trunk or a patch of grass, or to rub the delicate skeleton of a fallen leaf between his small dry palms.