Malsenitsa

“Thank you so much for coming, Fedya,” Alyusha shook his cousin's hand vigorously.

“Of course, cousin. Tell me all you know.” Fedya Kasparkova withdrew his gloved hand and gazed around the tent. The warmth of the stoves was all but squelched by the 17 degree wind chill. He could smell the blini's cooking and it reminded him of home.

“The last I saw her was here at the festival. The damn musora have done nothing! That's why I called you.”

“We're not all bad, Alyusha.”

“I know, I'm sorry,” Alyusha replied, “You are an honest officer and a good man. I'm just frustrated and scared.”

“I will find your daughter, cousin.”

Fedya looked out at the crowd of people. Children were running around, throwing snowballs at each other. He could hear the melody of a domra wafting through the air. Maslenitsa, the annual carnival, was very different out here in the country. In Moscow, the holiday had become so commercialized, but out here the cultural roots bled through. In the middle of the crowd, a small girl caught Fedya's gaze. She wore an orange and yellow dress and held a lollipop in her hand. She bore a striking resemblance Fedya's own daughter.

“Where are my manners?” Alyusha interrupted his concentration. “Have a blini, cousin! They are delicious, much better than that adstoj they serve up in Moscow.”

The moment had passed and the girl was gone.

As the week progressed, the festivities continued and increased. Fedya had just finished speaking to the local Militsiya. Alyusha was right, they were incompetent. Fedya walked through the festival hoping for clues. He passed a few shirtless men with blood smeared faces tossing back drinks. Those who weren't drinking were fist fighting, a tradition that didn't linger in Moscow. Some people danced through the streets while other watched and laughed along with a puppet show. The bright clothing and merriment carried a more cheerful mood than the harsh winter would otherwise allow. In the center of town stood a giant effigy of a woman wearing an orange and yellow dress. And just below the effigy stood the same little girl holding a lollipop that he had seen earlier. The colors of her dress matched those of the effigy. Fedya ran towards her as she disappeared behind the effigy. He ran past the crowds into the woods before finally giving up.

The Moskva River ran along the outskirts of the town. Fedya could see it from here. It was mostly iced over except for a small portion where a tree had fallen over. The river had eroded the shoreline revealing fresh dirt under the snow. Standing over the spot, Fedya could see bones unearthed by the landslide.

“It wasn't your daughter. The body was long dead.” Fedya could see a wave of relief wash over his cousin's face.

“The poor girl,” Alyusha shook his head despondently.

Fedya put his hand on Alyusha's shoulder as he watched the local Militsiya work. Police tape was up around the grove where Fedya had found the body.

“Alyusha, is there any significance to this grove?” asked Fedya.

Alyusha raised his head slowly, as if waking from a daze, “This is where they spread the ashes of Lady Malsenitsa every year.”

Fedya raised a questioning eyebrow.

“It is tradition,” Alyusha continued, “We burn an effigy on the last day of the carnival to symbolize the end of winter. For a detective you sure don't know much about our heritage, cousin.”

“It's different in Moscow.”

It was evening on the last day of Malsenitsa. It was called Forgiveness Sunday, the day before Lent when traditionally people asked to be forgiven of their sins. If Fedya failed to find his niece he would be the one asking for forgiveness. Everyone in town was gathered around the large effigy of Lady Malsenitsa. Music and laughter washed over Fedya but he was too focused to revel. He scanned the crowd for anything unusual. And then he saw the little girl in the orange and yellow dress. She climbed out from the crowd and onto the stage where the effigy was perched. Fedya frantically pushed his way through the crowd. He saw his own daughter walking playfully into the busy street but he could not get to her. He shook the image out of his head. A man with a torch approached Lady Maslanitsa, while on the opposite side of the stage, the little girl with the lollipop crawled underneath the effigy's dress. Fedya waded through the sea of people, wishing he was allowed to carry his gun while off duty. He struggled helplessly as he watched the car slam into his daughter. The onlookers screamed, but Fedya focused back on the present and the screams became laughter. He climbed up onto the stage as the effigy was lit. Fedya shoved the torchbearer out of the way and knelt down. He crawled under the effigy and found not the girl in the orange and yellow dress but instead his niece lying on the stage, bound and gagged. He lifted her, checked for a pulse, then clutched the little girl to his breast as the smoke clutched his lungs.

“I can't thank you enough, cousin!” Alyusha hugged Fedya.

The festivities had all but concluded and it was nearing midnight. Fedya looked down at his niece in the hospital bed. She wasn't seriously injured but the ordeal had been traumatic for a little girl. Fedya knew there was still work to be done. He was no closer to discovering who was responsible for her kidnapping and the body by the river had yet to be identified, but at least his niece was safe. If only he could say the same for his own daughter.

“You look deep in thought, cousin. You know,” said Alyusha, “It is still Forgiveness Sunday for another ten minutes. Perhaps its time you forgave yourself.”

“Perhaps it is, cousin, perhaps it it is.”

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Malsenitsa was written and illustrated by Daniel Weinell.