Shaking his head, Jack attached himself to the ladder. Elizaveta, however, couldn’t rid herself of the image that had popped into her mind: a handful of dolls huddled underground in the tomb-like blackness, knives or other deadly weapons clutched in their small hands, waiting.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go,” she told Jack, hating herself for letting Pita’s superstitious hoopla get to her.

“We need to know what’s down there.”

“Why?”

“Pita was right when she said it could be a tunnel. Which means it’s not just a way out, but a way in as well.”

A drawn-out silence ensued.

“Fuck it,” Nitro said. “Let Jack Goff go. Maybe he’ll get stuck after all and we’ll have some peace and quiet tonight.”

Jack collected the candle and started down the ladder. After a moment’s hesitation, Elizaveta latched on to the ladder as well.

Jesus seized her shoulder and said, “What do you think you’re doing, cariño?”

“Jack shouldn’t go by himself—”

“You’re not—”

“I am, Jesus,” she said, shrugging free.

5

The wood ladder leaned against the wall of the hole at a steep angle. The risers felt rough beneath Elizaveta’s hands, and she hoped she didn’t incur any slivers. Below her, Jack had stepped off the last rung and was now on his knees and elbows, bent sideways, as if he were peering beneath a sofa. “What do you see?” she asked him.

“You were right,” he said. “Some sort of crawlspace. Dark.”

“Be careful!” Pita called from above.

Jack army-crawled forward until his upper body disappeared, then his legs. Elizaveta continued down the ladder to the bottom of the hole. The ground was hard-packed earth. The crawlspace was barely half a meter in height and extended away from her in every direction; she couldn’t be certain how far it went because everything was black. She started the way Jack had gone, the dirt cool beneath her hands and knees, the low ceiling scraping her back.

“Hey!” Jack said suddenly.

Elizaveta’s heart leapt. “What?” she whispered. The claustrophobic space deadened her voice.

“There’s a basket or something ahead.”

Elizaveta scuttled to catch up. Jack pointed. The candlelight’s reach didn’t extend far, and she had to squint. At first she thought she was seeing a cardboard box, but it resolved into a wicker basket of the sort you might find on an apple orchard.

“Wonder what’s in it?” he said, army-crawling forward again, pulling himself with his elbows.

Elizaveta reached the basket first. She tipped it to see inside, flinching in anticipation of the unexpected. She relaxed. “Potatoes!” she said.

Jack stuck his arm in the basket and retrieved a spud. He turned it over in his hand. The skin was yellowish-brown and covered with small sprouts.

“This is nothing but Solano’s root cellar,” he said, sticking the potato in the pocket of his shorts.

“You will eat that?” she said, surprised.