Free Kolia by Perrine Leblanc

there were enough of them to prevent a total flop. It was a partial defeat that Bounine accepted begrudgingly. He finished his monologue, bowed, and headed backstage. The decision to admit Kolia into the troupe had been intended as a statement — a statement which had evidently gone right over the heads of the audience. “A bunch of morons,” he muttered to himself, removing his wig as soon as he was out of view. But that night, Bounine had claimed a small personal victory against the tyranny of the prison system.

A RISING STAR
    THE ACT WAS A HIT. Bounine had shortened his monologue and, in the end, the public had come to adore Kolia’s character. The sight of this silent pickpocket deftly manoeuvring about the ring in a coat that was several sizes too big for him was simply endearing. The fact that he didn’t say a word made everyone curious to hear Kolia’s voice. Rumours began to circulate that he had been born in the notorious Kolyma camp, and that his parents both died there. The rumours didn’t hurt the popularity of the act one bit. Every night was standing-room only. The authorities didn’t make any trouble, and everyone was happy. The troupe, in a savvy move, decided to neither confirm nor deny the rumours.
    Kolia had become an object of public curiosity. The mystery surrounding his silence could easily have fed the flames of damaging speculation over every breakfast table in the city, but, for the moment, things seemed to be okay. Pavel and Bounine continued to make media appearances, as they had always done, but Kolia was not permitted to appear on television or radio, and all magazine and newspaper interviews were turned down. The troupe feared that an appearance out of costume, and out of the ring, could demystify everything that was working in his favour — particularly if he opened his mouth and said the wrong thing. For his part, Kolia didn’t care one way or the other.
    He was getting used to reading about his confreres in the newspapers and seeing them on television. One night, while Eva was visiting her parents outside the city, Kolia took over babysitting duties and found himself in front of the TV. Masha was half asleep beside him, her head propped up against an exotic Turkish pillow. Pavel and Bounine were being interviewed by a Slovak journalist. They were on tour as a duo and had performed in Bratislava the night before. While the camera crew buzzed around their hotel room, they diligently responded to all the journalist’s questions and described everything that went into a typical day’s work for a performing clown. Kolia fell asleep just as Pavel was describing how he had first met the young man who was now the third member of the Bounines. “It was right after his performance in a play put on by the local workers’ drama club,” Pavel said with a straight face. Just a little white lie.
    Kolia spent many of his evenings and an increasing amount of his spare time at Tanya’s apartment. She had come to see him in a different light, now that he was a fully fledged member of Bounine’s troupe. One evening, after a little too much vodka with dinner, she began telling him about Iosif’s childhood and how he didn’t read as a young boy.
    â€œHe only became interested in books after we arrived in Moscow.”
    She talked about Switzerland, and how her mother had returned there shortly after Kruschev had come to power. She missed her mother. She missed her brother, too. This sudden wave of nostalgia surprised Kolia. He had never heard her speak of Iosif this way. She rarely showed emotion, and she hardly ever brought him up in conversation.
    Then Tanya mentioned that Iosif had not died in the camp and that he hadn’t been killed either. She had received a letter from a man in 1955, which stated categorically that although he was unable to say exactly where Iosif had gone after leaving the camp, or whether he was still alive,