Arc of Fire

“Indeed,” Pavlov nodded, “You can tell just by looking at the scenery, there’s no other place with such beautiful grasslands, with such fertile black soil.”

Wang Zhong nodded.

For some reason, looking at the grasslands under the afternoon sun, Wang Zhong suddenly felt a sense of melancholy.

Logically speaking, this was simply the homeland of Count Aleksei Konstantinovich Rokossovsky, while Wang Zhong’s own homeland had no such vast grasslands, and the scenery was completely different.

Logically speaking, the outsider Wang Zhong should not feel melancholic for a mere place name.

At that moment, Ludmila and Nelly came down from the second carriage and stood by Wang Zhong.

Ludmila: “As a child, you were only not such a rascal when riding a horse.”

“Eh?” Wang Zhong looked at his fiancée, “Really?”

“Yes, you would always let the reins go on horseback, letting the horse run on its own, then you’d spread your arms wide, feeling the wind like an idiot,” she said.

Spreading your arms wide, embracing the wind like an idiot—indeed, it seemed to be somewhat the case.

Suddenly, Wang Zhong jolted and turned to ask Nelly, “Did I… also used to love eating sour cream?”

Nelly affirmed with certainty, “Madly so, especially the one made by your deceased mother.”

At that instant, a huge wave of sorrow, like a flood that had been building for a long time, surged forward and took hold of Wang Zhong’s heart.

Although he could remember nothing, neither racing across the fields nor the taste of his mother’s sour cream, the tide of grief that passed through was overwhelmingly real.

Why this melancholy?

Because I am Aleksei Konstantinovich Rokossovsky, I was born here, I grew up here, and the milk of the black earth nourished me.

Even if the memories are gone, even if the soul has been replaced by another, my body still remembers.

It remembers the wind here, everything here.

Struggling to keep his voice steady, Wang Zhong said, “Nelly, bring me a lunchbox.”

“A lunchbox?”

“Or some other metal box, one with a lid that’s easy to carry.”

Although Nelly looked puzzled, she turned and ran off.

Wang Zhong stepped forward, crossed the platform, jumped down, and landed on the black soil.

Nelly came running back with the lunchbox: “Here you go!”

Wang Zhong grabbed the lunchbox, forcefully opened the lid, wedged it under his armpit, squatted down, and scooped up a handful of the black soil.

Nelly: “I’ll get a shovel.”

“No! No need,” Wang Zhong stopped Nelly and continued plunging his hand into the fertile black earth, carefully placing the soil from this second homeland into the metal box.

On the third handful, a startled cricket sprang out and leaped into the grass not far away.

Wang Zhong kept filling the lunchbox, handful after handful.

Mud packed under his fingernails and filled the lines of his fingerprints.

His hands looked like those of a child playing with mud, all dirty.

But everyone watched him in silence.

Ludmila’s eyes even brimmed with hot tears.

Grigori, carrying the red flag, stood silently on the platform.

Finally, Wang Zhong closed the lunchbox and pressed down hard. He squeezed out a smile for those around him: “Now, my homeland will always be with me.”

He looked up as if seeing the Kazarlian landscape for the first time.

As if greedily wanting to imprint everything in his mind.

He remembered countless faces: the unnamed elders of Karlinovka, the worker Loktov who rescued him from beneath the tank, the old lady Alexeyevna from number 43 Krugen Street…

In the end, Wang Zhong saw Crown Prince Ivan and “Old Man” Konstantin standing in the light, seemingly saying something.

They were saying “safe travels.”

At that moment, the train’s whistle startled Wang Zhong. He turned his head and saw the stifle cars full of young faces passing by on the opposite platform, heading in the direction Wang Zhong was leaving.

Ignoring the mud on his hands, Wang Zhong cupped his hands to his mouth to make a megaphone and shouted to the young faces: “Safe travels!”

The soldiers of the 151st Division shouted together: “Safe travels!”

The red flag, gifted by the workers of Shepetovka, fluttered in the wind.

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