ArtView March 2015 | Page 17

little wood. It was a traditional timber izba, or cottage, two-story, with walls of silvery weathered boards, the golden light of late afternoon picking out the delicate tracery of carvings around the windows. “Here is house of Professor Bayeva.” “Oh, it’s lovely,” exclaimed Mrs. Clement. Sergey went to open the car door, ushering them out. As the girl stepped out, he said, a little anxiously, “Please excuse if I frighten you, Miss.” The girl looked at him. Beautiful eyes, but too serious for one so young, he thought. At her age, she should be full of joyful sparkle, like his niece Masha. She said, softly, “It’s okay, Mr. Filippov. I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.” “It’s Helen’s first time in Russia,” explained her mother protectively. Sergey nodded. “Ah. And you have come from Moscow, of course. Much too big, noisy, tiring city. I myself go there only once. And this enough. I want to run away. But here is different. You find peace, Miss, I think.” ** The taxi driver turned his back to them as he opened the front door of the house, and didn’t see the look that passed over Helen’s face. He was quite right, she had been freaked out by Moscow. But unlike Sergey, she came from a big city, so it wasn’t that. And it wasn’t that the Russian capital was ugly or frightening, either, quite the opposite. Partly, it was because the physical contrast to home was so great, and so sudden. They’d left a mild gray London spring morning and emerged into a Moscow afternoon so bright blue that it seemed painted on with a lavish brush. Everything had culture-shocked her, from the sublime to the ordinary: the candy-striped domes of St Basil’s cathedral flaunted against the intense sky, Red Square vast as a rolling stone plain, wide streets strung with garlands of lights, weird little railway kiosks like tiny general stores, impassive people whose faces she didn’t know how to read. And most of all, the barbed-wire look of Cyrillic script, fencing her off from any real understanding of what was going on. But it wasn’t just culture shock; she knew that. www.momentumbooks.com.au/books/trinity-the-koldun-code-book-1/ www.firebirdfeathers.com www.sophiemasson.org