Two Suns

«You thought you could play games with me?! Let's play then…» The miller cocked the rifle. Apparently, this was the very weapon that had eluded the police.

Having survived the nightmares of the Civil War, Olga was all too familiar with how such situations often ended. This terrifying scene felt real, not like a bad dream.

«You don't like losing, do you?» Leonid's voice sounded distant to Olga.

«I have the final say!» Anton threatened once more, the muzzle of the rifle still menacingly close.

«This is no game!» Mirachevsky advanced a step, now resembling a beast ready to pounce.

«I'll shoot you!»

«She never promised you anything! Did she? She didn't make any commitments?» Leonid could sense Anton's hesitation and tried to take another step.

«Stop! I'll kill you regardless!»

«Come on!» The student locked eyes with his rival, showing no fear.

The sturdy country boy never expected the city slicker to be so stubborn. «He's not afraid!» In one swift leap, Leonid lunged at Anton, knocking the rifle out of his hand and sending him to the floor.

A sleepy station duty officer emerged from a side door, seemingly indifferent to the tense situation.

«Your train is arriving, folks. Hurry up.»

He finally noticed the scene on the floor and quickly pulled out a whistle from his pocket. Olga regained her composure and cried out:

«Help! Anton is going to kill him!»

The on-duty officer let out a shrill whistle and hurried to separate the boys. The girl quickly picked up the shotgun and sought refuge behind a nearby column.

From the adjacent station house, where the line department was located, a policeman came running. The other duty officer had just managed to drag Anton Kravchuk away. He immediately turned his attention to Leonid and proceeded to apprehend him.

«It wasn't his fault!» Olga exclaimed as she jumped to her feet. «He was defending himself!»

The policeman hesitated for a moment, then cautiously reached for his holster with his free hand. Before him stood an agitated girl, holding a sawed-off shotgun!

«Peter!» The duty officer wanted to intervene, but he couldn't approach the struggling Kravchuk. He held the boy more firmly, urging him to calm down.

«It has nothing to do with the girl, Peter!»

At that moment, Leonid realized that the current threat to his wife came from the policeman. He struggled to break free from the officer's grip but found himself back in the strong hands of the law.

«Come on, Miron, let's take them both to the station. And you,» the policeman observed that the young lady was not a threat, «hand over your rifle and come with us. We'll sort this out there.»

«Old man, you're quite something!» Leonid, surprised by the officer's sudden trust, tried to catch his breath.

«I served in the navy, in Kronstadt,» the «old man» revealed himself to be a young man. He added approvingly, «And you, young student, are not half bad. I didn't expect this!»

«We still need to find out what kind of student he is,» the policeman grumbled, roughly nudging Mirachevsky forward with the seized shotgun.

Anton had clearly calmed down, his anger subsiding, and he appeared visibly subdued.

At the station, Peter seated the miller down and directed Leonid into a holding cell. He simply nodded casually at a chair in the opposite corner to Olga.

«I have to go,» the duty officer said hurriedly, «the train is about to arrive.»

«Wait. Mr. Pavlenko will be back soon, and then you can leave. Trains are always late, it's nothing new.»

He sat down at the table and unfolded a piece of paper. However, he hesitated to draft a report. «He's illiterate and inexperienced.» The teacher thought right away. «How can he be taken seriously, trying to assert his authority,» she thought.

«What makes you think that this one,» the policeman nodded toward the holding cell, «is a student?»

«I met him the other day at the train station. He was asking about the girl. I mean for directions to find the school.»

«What for?»

«Peter! He came here to get married. The boys are fighting over the girl!»

At these words, Kravchuk leaped to his feet.

«Sit down!» The policeman, a young and somewhat brash fellow, shouted at him and cast an unkind glance in Olga's direction. The «authorities» seemed to have their own preconceived notions about the situation.

«You claim you're here to get married? And with a shotgun?!»

«It wasn't his weapon!» Olga was desperate, realizing that the situation was taking a serious turn. «Please, officer, let us go. We'll miss our train!»

«That's right. What train? Now, you're going to join your accomplice!» The policeman noticed tears welling up in Olga's big brown eyes and added sternly, «And don't cry here!»

«So?» He turned to the duty officer again. «Who came with a shotgun?»

Miron only sighed and scratched the back of his head.

«You didn't see it?» the «investigator» concluded.

«You're right, I didn't see it. But I'm sure it wasn't his,» Miron nodded in the direction of the cell.

«Not his, huh?» A booming voice sounded from the doorway. Pavlenko, an older and more experienced figure, had arrived. «What's the matter, Kravchuk? Did you manage to find a weapon after all? Did you borrow it from your father or inherit it from your brother?»

Peter slowly rose from his chair, making room for the senior officer.

«So, what do we have here?» The chief gave a stern look to everyone. «Martynov, report.»

However, Martynov appeared somewhat confused, realizing that the incident's picture was not entirely clear.

«Well,» Pavlenko leaned back in his chair, «let's start from the beginning. And did you check the citizens' ids?»

Martynov had to release Leonid from the cell. After examining their documents and hearing accounts from Miron and all sides of the conflict, the chief summarized, «That's it, young newlyweds, go where you need to go,» and handed back their papers. «We'll take care of our own business here, of local importance, so to speak.»

«What about the report?» The failed «chief» regained his senses.

«We will write one,» Pavlenko reassured him. He then nodded to the Mirachevskys, «Goodbye.»

They left the station and embraced each other tightly. They were still shaken by the encounter. As the long-awaited train approached the station, they rushed to board it, nearly colliding with the duty officer.

«Watch out, youngsters!»

«Thank you!» Leonid firmly shook Miron's hand. «If it hadn't been for your help…»

«You'll be just fine,» the duty officer grinned and winked at Olga. «Your student is quite the fighter! Hold on to him, girl!»

The train's horn sounded.

«Hurry up!»

Only when the train gained momentum could Olga finally exhale. She was still frightened, but now she looked at her fiance in a completely different light. He appeared calm again, even smiling. That smile dispelled her fear and uncertainty…

Yet, despite calming his beloved, Mirachevsky couldn't sleep for a long time. He found comfort in contemplating the sound of the wheels. Now, Leonid realized that Miron's help had played a crucial role in their escape.

If it hadn't been for the intervention of the head of the department… It was fortunate that he had obviously been stationed in Lazirky for a considerable time and perhaps had personally apprehended criminals here. If the other officers were like Peter, their sympathies would not be in favor of the student – he was a stranger to them. And perhaps an even more estranged element than the understandable miller-kulak (wealthy or prosperous peasant). «What about the international proletariat anthem? Where is the justice?» The realization of this fact tormented his soul terribly. While the first part of the incident, the scuffle with the rival, was even somewhat satisfying to recall («how he stood up for her!»), the aftermath was something he wished to forget as soon as possible.

* * *

Indeed, Olga Gurko departed Lazirky just in the nick of time. The age-old village was undergoing transformations in its long-established way of life… Subsequently, an artel with the evocative name «Nezamozhnyk,» meaning «Poor Man,» was founded there.

However, fate beckoned the young men onward, leading them through Kharkov and onward by rail to Moscow.

Chapter 6: For a Better Share

In those years, Moscow warmly welcomed all who sought a new beginning. Young and old, rich and poor, from the «former» or «present,» people from all walks of life tried to establish themselves in the Red Capital and forge a fresh destiny. They settled in its alleys, cramped rooms, and barracks, clustering in the suburbs, yet persistently clinging to hope for a change in their fortunes.

Yakov Maretsky's decision to relocate from the Taurida Governorate to Moscow was a well-considered and arduous one. His wife, Maria, had been suffering from a prolonged illness, necessitating the attention of capable doctors. Moreover, the future of their children demanded attention, especially their eldest, Mark, who was already sixteen!

Nonetheless, parting with their beloved hometown of Henichesk was no easy task. It had experienced a literal blossoming just before the revolution, becoming an official city only in 1903. The construction of the port had transformed the landscape: mudbrick houses in the center were replaced by sturdy stone structures, streets were paved, and even the main square, which once rivaled a swamp in inclement weather, now looked quite decent. Various trading offices, including foreign ones, hotels, restaurants, coffee houses, and taverns had sprung up. Yakov himself was engaged in his own business, buying goods from villagers and reselling them at the city market or port.

Yakov had married a treasure of a wife: beautiful, thrifty, and from a reputable family – the daughter of a wealthy shopkeeper (the Bersovs' store was located near the market in the city center). As fate would have it, she bore him two children – first, a son to assist the father, and then a daughter to support the mother. It seemed that Yakov's love for Maria only grew stronger after the birth of their children.

Yakov cherished his offspring: Anna, a delicate flower with captivating green eyes, and Mark, a spirited force whose energy needed channeling from an early age. At the tender age of five, the responsible duty of looking after his one-year-old sister was entrusted to the eldest son, Mark. It quickly became evident that responsibility was the boy's second most prominent trait, following his boundless curiosity, for which there seemed to be no end. Mark was intrigued by everything, and who better than his father to explain the unfathomable!

It became apparent to Yakov that his son needed an education beyond the Talmud alone. «Perhaps grammar school would suit him better. He should attend a cheder and should strive for greater things.»

* * *

«Maria,» the father, feeling both fatigued from the continuous questions and genuinely delighted, called out to his wife, «how did you manage to give birth to my son just in time for the opening of the library! That must be it; that's why he has this insatiable thirst for knowledge!»

The establishment of the opulent Public Library, the first in Henichesk, became a noteworthy event that drew both approval and discontent from the local press and bazaar-goers alike. Some questioned the abundance of books, arguing that the Torah was enough.

«Oh, Yakov, do you want your son to be a nar (fool) like Moysha, who only knows how to chase pigeons and cats?» His wife reminded him of the foolish offspring of the Winklevich family, adding with a chuckle, «And besides, with the streets being paved that year, would you also say our son has a heart of stone?»

Before Yakov could respond to his wife, young Mark had another question. «What is a library?» he inquired. And then, without pause, he asked, «Is there really such a thing as a heart of stone?»

«A library is a place filled with many books,» Father tried to be patient, eager to bring the never-ending conversation to a close. «And a heart of stone is an expression used for children who lack empathy and torment their parents with incessant questions.»

Little Anna, the younger sister, stood up for her beloved brother. «Mark is good!» she declared, not fully grasping the nuances of the conversation but sensing the changes in her father's tone. Mark, the restless and inventive elder brother, was her hero. He was the best in the world to her, and in return, he cherished his little sister tenderly.

* * *

In general, everything was going well for the Maretsky family. They lived harmoniously, not wealthy but not impoverished either. In a port city, only the indolent or inebriated would become destitute, but Yakov was diligent, astute, healthy, and robust – qualities essential in his line of work.

However, the Civil War did not merely sweep through Henichesk – it nearly obliterated it. The small port in the Melitopol district, situated on the outskirts of Crimea, faced attacks from all sides: shelled by armored trains on the railroad, visited by every faction fighting in Ukraine. The destruction inflicted gaping wounds on its streets, and sorrow and fear permeated the homes of its inhabitants.

Of course, the residents were resourceful people; they sought refuge in local catacombs and stockpiled food to outwit Germans, Whites, Reds, Greens, and other punitive detachments. These ancient dungeons concealed secret passages that baffled outsiders, but the boys, forbidden from going near the catacombs due to their former use by smugglers, still managed to learn and explore a lot. Mark, naturally curious, couldn't resist involvement in such significant matters, yet attentive parents promptly put an end to his attempts, ensuring he didn't partake in unsafe underground exploration. Disobeying was out of the question.

However, strangely enough, the real catastrophe struck in 1921, after the Civil War in the South had already ended. Henichesk seemed destined to never recover: plagued by typhus, subject to shootings by the Cheka, and plunged into a terrible famine. A famine in a land known for its abundance of bread, a place that had grown into a city thanks to its flourishing grain trade…

* * *

No one believed it, even though gradually the townspeople were transitioning back to peaceful life. But the prospects had dried up here, and supplies were depleting after enduring so many pogroms and requisitions…

Recalling the horrors he had endured, Yakov suspected that his wife's sudden and puzzling illness was a result of the endless searches and threats they had faced. The walls of their once-reliable house now seemed inadequate to protect the family.

Perhaps, that's why he found himself agreeing with his daughter when she spoke about leaving. Anna observed with eagerness as those who had held the town together departed Henichesk, one by one.

«Daddy, everyone is leaving from here,» her voice trembled, «I wish we could go to Kharkov, too. There's a new Ukrainian capital and real life there now.»

«Eh, what kind of life is real, daughter?»

«I don't know. It's just… there, not here.»

A lump formed in his throat. Amid the daily struggles for survival and Maria's health, he had overlooked this despair. He glanced at his son – serious and silent. Understanding his father's unspoken question, he simply nodded. And who could doubt it? These two were always on the same page.

Yes, I should have made up my mind long ago. He pulled Anna closer, rubbed his son's shoulder.

«Well, if we're going to the capital, we're going to the main one!»

«Daddy!»

«Oh, tsores…» Maria sighed.

«Why the distress, Mom?» Mark asserted confidently. «There are good doctors there too.»

* * *

Mark adored Henichesk, just as children hold dear everything associated with the earliest and brightest years of their lives. It was astonishing how much this small town encompassed! The bustling, colorful bazaar gave way to the tranquility of the new embankment, where composed locals strolled, and the hush of a narrow street with soft dust underfoot abruptly yielded to the lively bustle of the central «avenue.» The port's incessant hum, where carts rattled on the flooring day and night, barges rumbled, and movers shouted, retreated before the serene calm of the deserted Arabat Arrow.

In this place, the feeling of crowdedness and confined space, so often found in many provincial towns, simply dissolved, for on all sides lay vast expanses! On one hand, the boundless water surface, and on the other, an endless steppe. The air carried not just scents but also tastes, where the salty sea freshness mingled with the aroma of steppe grasses. Mark, naturally observant, had ample time to notice all the subtleties and nuances, the shifting moods and ever-changing aspects of nature as he ran errands for his parents or wandered with his friends.

Perhaps, it was the diversity of Henichesk that had a significant impact on shaping his character. However, it also meant that he was destined to outgrow his hometown, feeling the urge to explore beyond its limits.

* * *

Of course, Mark supported his sister's desire to leave Henichesk. What prospects awaited him in this town? The grueling toil at the port, assisting his father on commercial trips, or, in the best case, working for the Bersovs – his grandfather Zeide wouldn't refuse his only daughter's son – with the potential of becoming a storekeeper. However, firstly, these options held little appeal for the inquisitive young man. Secondly, they seemed to fade away on their own. Despite the bright memories of his childhood, the impressions of the harsh years weighed heavily on his future.

Mark couldn't yet precisely articulate what he aspired to do. Initially, he entertained the idea of joining the navy, but he had witnessed its less glamorous aspects since childhood and realized that there was little romance in the navy. Then, a completely different realm captured his imagination.

Over the years, Mark had repeatedly observed airplanes circling above the city and the sea, sailing gracefully through the sky with their engines moderately humming or pouncing fiercely like hungry seagulls, dropping deadly cargo. Sometimes, he received reprimands for his hesitance, being told to hurry to the basement for safety. Instead of hiding, he tried to watch each aircraft closely. Those were remarkable days, as various models soared through the sky: Voisins, Farmans, Nieuports, Sopwiths, and more.

Once, Mark had the extraordinary luck of witnessing an airplane with a truly enormous wingspan. At the time, he didn't know its name, Ilya Muromets, but it left a lasting impression on his imagination. Excitedly describing it to his friend Sergei, Mark exclaimed, «It's huge! The wings! The rumble it made was so loud, I could feel the vibrations inside me!» He gestured vigorously, trying to imitate the roar of a four-cylinder engine, and then ran around the yard with arms outstretched, reveling in his delight.

Even earlier, he had observed Lebed hydroplanes taking off and circling over the sea from the northeastern Azov coast. The airplane factory built in Taganrog in 1916 tested its new machines over the water, and sometimes they ventured beyond Taganrog Bay, much to the delight of the boys. When they heard the distant murmur of the engine, they would rush to the embankment to catch a better glimpse of the marvelous aircraft gliding in the clouds above the sea surface.

However, it was during the war that Mark truly witnessed the beauty and power of these winged machines, as they demonstrated their capabilities in combat conditions (if only his parents didn't interfere with watching these battles!).

By the time he turned fifteen, it had become clear to Mark that if he were to choose a profession, it must be connected with this new technology, with the sky. But in Henichesk, with its limited opportunities, and for a boy like Mark, the sky seemed so distant and unattainable…

The unexpected decision of his father to move to Moscow brought new opportunities. However, Yakov embarked on a reconnaissance trip to Moscow himself. In the city, the new economic policy, as insiders claimed, had already begun to work miracles, reviving the seemingly impossible with a life-giving elixir.

Chapter 7: Hopes and Losses

A couple of months later, Yakov returned to fetch his family. He had departed with a heavy heart, venturing into the unknown, but he returned with confidence that everything would fall into place as it should.

In the mid-1920s, as new societies, artels, and trusts emerged almost daily, there arose a need not just for laborers – there was plenty of that – but for people who were savvy and resourceful. Fortunately, Yakov managed to find a job rather swiftly. As a citizen of Jewish origin in a new place, the natural course was to approach the synagogue – they always offered help to their own people.

They advised him to seek out a certain Baruch Berkovich, the headman of a construction artel. Fortunately for Yakov, but to the dismay of Baruch, the artel's foreman had gone rogue and was expelled in disgrace. This was the perfect opportunity for Maretsky senior to utilize his experience as a traveling salesman, his negotiation skills, and, of course, his imposing appearance. «Schtark vl a ferd – strong as a horse,» his father used to say about him. The short, stocky Baruch gave Yakov a shrewd look but sternly inquired:

«Where are you from? What can you do?»

«From Henichesk…» And briefly, Yakov recounted what he had been doing since he was very young. He was immediately hired. The new occupation suited him perfectly, and he quickly became an indispensable assistant to the headman. Baruch even helped him with housing, introducing him to the right people.

* * *

Yakov shared all this with his family as they hurriedly packed up their rustic belongings. The journey was arduous, especially for Maria, but finally, they arrived in Moscow…

The capital immediately overwhelmed them with the clamor of the station square, the shouts of merchants, the clang of street – cars, and the rumble of wrought iron wheels on the sidewalk. In the evening, it dazzled them with bright shop windows and lights, astounding them with the abundance of advertising, especially in the main streets. Mark was enthralled. Since childhood, he had possessed the ability to marvel at even the smallest things and to find the extraordinary in the ordinary. Consequently, he immediately fell in love with the diverse and vibrant crowd, and with the seemingly endless streets that the streetcar carried them along from the station. The young provincial barely had enough time to turn his head, observing passers-by and reading the bright, promising signs: «Artel of Gastronomic Goods,» «Confectionery Cooperative,» «Metallotrest: Our Drills, Scythes, Axes – all Strong and Sharp.»

«Look at The Haberdashery Manufactories! It's not like the Bersov's store; have you seen their window?!» Mark marveled, familiar with the wisdom of trade from childhood, and astonished by the capital's grand scale.

«Anna, look, look, look! This is how the capital dresses!» Mark even leaned out of the window to catch a glimpse of the elegant girls – the kind he had only seen in movies – emerging from the arcade doors.

«Don't break your neck,» his father chuckled.

«Oh, the dresses are so beautiful…» Anna caught her brother's mood, and her apprehension towards passers-by transformed into curiosity.

«I'll get you a dress, don't worry.»

«You're boasting, son. Moscow has a temperament; it won't accept just anyone.»

In reality, Yakov, who himself had never been afraid to embark on a new venture, was pleased.

«We'll be kind to it, so why shouldn't it accept us!»

«You're quite the braggart, Mark!» The sarcastic tone held no malice; his sister trusted him wholeheartedly.

Only Maria did not share her family's optimism. Pale and exhausted from the journey she could barely bear the stifling heat in the crowded streetcar and tried not to sigh too loudly so as not to upset her husband and children. Only occasionally did she whisper to herself, «Meshuggah, meshuggah.» Yes, to newcomers, this city often seemed a little crazy.

* * *

They arrived at a rented apartment on 3rd Meshchanskaya Street, two cramped rooms without a kitchen – quite a fortune for those times. Yakov had deliberately chosen this neighborhood for its proximity to the former Sheremetev Hospital, now transformed into the Institute of Emergency Care, located on Bolshaya Sukharevskaya Square. Just in front of the hospital, standing like a fairy-tale palace at the foot of the renowned Sukharev Tower, was the bustling main market of the capital. The Moscow Soviet had closed down the market during the revolutionary turmoil, denouncing it as a «hotbed of speculation and crime.» However, with the advent of the New Economic Policy (NEP), trade had spontaneously revived, nearly matching its previous scale.