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Serhiy Zhadan
into a dry, rustling expanse of
corn, shining in the afternoon
sun and cutting off our view
in every direction. It seemed
there was a path hidden
there, nearly invisible to
the untrained eye, though
obvious enough once we
were on it; it ran through
the heart of this corn jungle,
protecting us from the evil
eye. We drove slowly, pushing
through the cornstalks and
tuning in to the random
sounds scattered out in the
sun-drenched fields. It felt as
though the Volga was barely
moving—the thick dust on
the dashboard jumped every
time we hit a ditch.
Eventually we emerged out
into stubble fields. Then we
crossed over a strip of fallow
ground between two fields
and rolled onto a brick-paved
road. It was completely
empty out there, just the dew
sliding down blades of grass,
and the sun rising higher and
higher. The drive seemed to
be going on forever. Maybe
Mr. One Eye wanted to make
sure our trail would be hard
to follow, who knows. Soon
the fields ended abruptly and
we found ourselves in front
of a wide gully stretching
out to the east. The road
dropped sharply, and about
a dozen identical two-story
structures, which looked like
they’d been built back in the
’80s, stood at the bottom
of the hill. At the edge of
this settlement I saw rows
of
warehouses;
gardens
followed the warehouses,
and then there were yellow
meadows sprawling out to the
horizon. Far to the east I could
just about make out what
might have been a dam or a
huge earthen wall stretching
out along the horizon. It had
a well-defined shape, though
I couldn’t quite decide what I
was looking at.
“What’s that?” I asked the