“What about you, Toma?” Vanya asked, after a couple more bites. “Have you ever seen a rusalka?”

I nodded, still averting my gaze. “Yes, but I’ve never gotten a good look at one. It’s only just a leg, or a hand, or some red hair, and then they’re gone. Although, I did see them swarming a caribou once, but there was so much blood...”

All this talk about monsters gave me an idea.

“Let’s tell stories,” I said. “I want to hear something wonderful, scary, or exciting.”

“Like what?” Mikhail asked, setting down his bowl.

“I don’t know. Anything. I’ll go first. A few years ago, Galina lost her arm in the snow. It just fell off. Just like this.” I tucked my arm against my chest and waved my elbow in the air. “We looked for hours trying to find it. I thought we never would. Then, a week later, I heard a tick, tick, tick. Something was tapping at the door. I thought it might be snow at first, but it was a clear night. I opened the door, and it was lying there.” I laughed, warmed by the memory. “Her arm. It was waiting for us. Mama says all that you love returns to you, no matter what. I want to believe that. That she’ll come back.”

“I’d like to believe that, too,” Vanya said thoughtfully, lifting a spoonful of kasha to his lips. Midbite, his gaze shifted to Mikhail, who until now had been staring fixedly at Vanya. Eyes widening in horror, Vanya choked on his food. “Have you no shame, Tsar?”

“What?” Mikhail asked, blushing.

“Your bread.”

Throughout our meal, Mikhail had spent more time rearranging the tender slices of pickled beef tongue than actually eating them. Since setting his bowl aside, he had turned his attention to the slice of black bread and was in the process of tearing it into tiny chunks.

“You’re supposed to eat it,” Vanya said.

“It’s bitter.”

“That doesn’t mean it deserves to be mutilated.”

Mikhail thrust a sizable piece into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “There. Satisfied?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Vanya turned back to me. “I suppose I’ll go next... This isn’t my story, but it’s my father’s. When he was around my age, he would always fish along the Vesna. Along the bend, where the trout were most plentiful. One day, he saw a beautiful red-haired woman bathing in the river. She beckoned to him, and he realized that she was a rusalka. Naturally, he didn’t go to her, but he visited that area of the river every day, hoping that he would see her again. He would leave her presents. Sometimes just the fish he caught, but also fresh fruit and wooden figures he had carved for her.”

“What happened next?” I asked, mesmerized. It sounded like something out of Galina’s beloved stories.

“One day, he went fishing and she was waiting for him with her feet dipped in the river. He said her hair was like garnets in the sun.” Vanya ran a hand through his own loose curls, which were indeed the same color as the gemstone. “And her eyes, they were like the sun itself.”