Free Voroshilovgrad by Serhiy Zhadan

behind a scorched smell of iron and burning skin. The sky had already started to turn white over wherever they’d come from. As soon as they disappeared, the airwas injected with an even, gray light, the new morning filling it up like water poured into a vessel. A red crack ran across the sky, and morning sunlight doused the valley. Kocha was still sitting next to me—he seemed to be sleeping . . . with his eyes open. I sucked in a sharp breath through my nose. Morning did come, but a bitter aftertaste of the voices that had been there a moment ago remained in the air. It felt as though death or a freight train had just come through.
    3
    In the morning, Kocha and I drank some tea he had brewed. He told me how to find Olga, and then sent me off with a trucker whose rig he had just filled up.
    â€œGive me your poison,” I said. “I’ll at least figure out what you’ve been taking. Where’d you buy this?”
    â€œIn the main square,” Kocha replied, “at the pharmacy.”

    Down below, just beyond the bridge, a row of lime trees spread out along the highway; the blinding sun fought its way through the leaves. The truck driver put on his sunglasses; I just closed my eyes. A dam, built to protect the city against any possible flood, curved off to the left. In the spring, when the river overflowed its banks, big pools would form; sometimes they’d break through the dam and deluge the nearby neighborhoods. We rolled into thecity, drove past the first few buildings, and stopped at an empty intersection.
    â€œWell, that’s it, buddy, I’m turning right,” the truck driver said.
    â€œOkay,” I answered, and hopped down onto the sandy street.
    The city was empty. Some slow current seemed to be carrying the sun to the west. As it moved along above the city blocks, the light was settling on the air like river silt, making it thick and warm. This was one of the older parts of the city, mostly crumbling one or two-story red brick buildings. The sidewalks were covered in sand; grass had sprouted everywhere else, making it look as though the city had been abandoned and reclaimed by nature. The grass filled every crevice, reaching upward gently, yet persistently. I passed a few mom-and-pop stores, the smell of baked bread and soap wafting from their open doors. There didn’t seem to be any customers around, though. One woman, wearing a short red skirt, was standing there listlessly, leaning up against a doorway. She had heavy, ash-colored hair, tan skin, and large breasts. Beads of sweat, like drops of fresh honey, rolled down the whole warm expanse of her body. She was wearing some beads, and a few necklaces with gold crosses on them. She had gold watches on, one on each hand, or maybe I was just imagining it. I greeted her as I walked by. She nodded in reply, scrutinizing me, but she couldn’t recall my face. “She’s really paying attention,” I thought. She appeared to be waiting for someone. I covered a few more blocks and stopped by the telephone company. It was dank inside, like an aquarium. Two local cowboys, wearing T-shirts that only partially covered their tattooed shoulders, stood in line by the customer service window. Once the cowboys had split, I paid the station’s phone billand went back outside. I turned the corner, walked along a street where all the kiosks were closed, and found myself in the main square. The square resembled a drained pool. Grass was poking up through stone tiles turned white by the rain—the whole place was starting to look like a soccer field. City Hall stood on the other side of the square. I stepped into the pharmacy. A girl with dyed blonde hair, naked except for a white lab coat, stood behind the counter. When she saw me, she slipped her feet into a pair of sandals lying next to her on the cool, stone-tiled floor.
    â€œHi,” I said, “my grandpa bought some medication here a while back. Could you