After the coffin was buried, everyone drove to the restaurant Sosnovyy Les to celebrate. Zhenya wasn't sure what they were celebrating exactly, but, apparently, funerals were a big deal. Much bigger than Zhenya's birthdays.

The tables were bending from all the foods. They even had bananas and oranges, big and bright. And while the only guests at Zhenya's birthdays would be his brothers, mother, and, sometimes, Father, now there were lots of people.

What was even weirder, everyone seemed to know Zhenya. At least five babushkas pinched his cheeks, calling him Zenechka, and some dedushkas said he had really grown since. Since when, though?! 

It might have been annoying at first, but Zhenya didn't really mind the attention. For some reason, people liked him, and it was nice. Not mother, though. She hated the fact Zhenya was well liked. Jealous, perhaps? Hysterical. So, soon she sent him back to the kids table, no matter how hard Zhenya pleaded.

The kids table was located at the very end of the hall. It was much smaller too, with only two plates of sandwiches and a bowl of fruit. Vova, Vadim and the two girls, their cousins or something, weren't sitting by the table like the grown-ups. They were giggling beneath it.

Crouched behind the chairs, Zhenya watched them quietly for a few minutes. Under the table, the kids took turns spinning an empty bottle, then said something so funny, everyone laughed, tears gathering at the corners of their eyes. Vova was the loudest, his laugh echoing like thunder. He never laughed like this at home.

"What are you doing?" Zhenya asked.

"Zhenya?" Vova yelped, so surprised, he nearly hit his head into the table as he turned to him. Everyone stopped laughing, and stared at Zhenya.

"I wanna play what you're playing," Zhenya said.

"No," Vova barked.

"I want to!"

"No," Vova repeated angrily.

"Please, I just want to—" Zhenya said, but before he could finish his sentence, Vova shoved him, hard, and Zhenya felt the cold, hard floor against his back. "Ouch!" he cried out, quickly getting back on his knees. "Vova, please!"

"Go away, you ruin everything," Vova commanded, and an invisible hand suddenly gripped Zhenya's throat. He looked at Vadim pleadingly.

Vadim bit his lip, eyes wandering. Left. Right. All around Zhenya but never meeting his gaze. And then he smiled. Mockingly. "Yeah, go away," Vadim said, mimicking Vova's bitter tone. "Go cry to mommy!" He pretended to wee like a baby, and everyone burst out laughing.

No.

"I won't," Zhenya wanted to say, but the invisible hand was now choking him, and it was hard to breathe.

"Is it true that he peed his pants?" one of the girls whispered to Vadim who was nodding, and Zhenya's face lit up like a match.

It wasn't true. Of course it wasn't. It was Vadim who always cried, and Vova who would occasionally wet his pants, but nobody seemed to care, and nobody seemed to listen, they all simply laughed.

Zhenya clenched his fists.

They all were dumb, and mean, and Zhenya wanted to hurt them. Hurt them real bad. Until they stopped laughing; until they all laid still like the stuffed animals, and—

"Let's go," Zaika said, suddenly appearing on Zhenya's left. "We don't talk to stupid kids."

Zhenya shook his head, fist unclenching. "We don't talk to stupid kids," he repeated, standing up.

They can stare if they want to. They can laugh. As long as Zhenya had Zaika's soft paw in his hand, all was good.

"Can we play charades later?" Zaika asked, as they marched towards the empty chairs at the end of the hall.

"Sure." Zhenya said.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

The laughs and giggles from under the table continued throughout the evening. It didn't matter though. If they were having fun, Zhenya and Zaika were having twice as much. Zhenya could watch Zaika hop around the tables, jumping over all the foods and all the bottles like a professional show horse. Or they could sing songs. Or they could—

"Not having fun, huh?" An unexpected yet familiar voice made Zhenya jump.

Zhenya quickly glanced up. "Uncle Fedya?" he exclaimed.

Fedya's belly was bigger, but he looked so much like Father: he had the same deep brown eyes, and the same long nose. Now he smelled like Father too—stale and sour. "Funerals are boring, aren't they?" Fedya plopped on the chair next to Zhenya, letting out a deep, exhausted sigh.

"Uh-uh," Zhenya nodded so slightly. He wasn't sure whether he was allowed to say that, but Fedya didn't seem to mind.

Fedya grabbed an orange from the bowl. "Want one?"

If you were offered something, you had to accept. Zhenya knew as much so he nodded, even though he couldn't care less about the orange. Zhenya had already tried one today—a squirt of juice got into his eye as he was peeling it, and it stung, and it tasted like a wet nothing.

"So, how's school?" Fedya said, one by one stacking orange peels onto the table.

"I don't go to school yet. But Vova does."

"I bet you're still smarter than Vova."

Zhenya's cheeks heated up, and he was probably red too. "You think so?"

"Sure do."

"But Vova knows a lot."

"Like what?" Fedya handed him half an orange. "Here you go." He shoved the rest of it into his own mouth, chewing and swallowing so loudly, it would have made Father furious. 

"Thank you very much," Zhenya said, laying the slice gently on his lap. He then paused to think. "Vova… he knows people have souls."

Fedya raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you believe that?"

"Yes we do," Zaika said, jumping onto the table in front of Fedya, and Zhenya nearly choked from embarrassment.

"Shushhh!" Zhenya commanded telepathically, and Zaika frowned, hands folded across his chest. Zhenya then turned to Fedya. "No?" he said quietly, scanning uncle's face for answers, and as soon as Fedya's face lit up, Zhenya repeated, louder. "No, I don't. I don't."

"Of course, you don't, my smart boy!" Fedya tapped Zhenya's shoulder twice, and Zhenya jumped slightly. It was odd having grown-ups, anyone at all, touching him like this. But it was nice and Zhenya could feel his cheeks tensing, turning into a big big smile.

"There are no souls." Fedya continued. "If Vova believes in souls, he's really dumb."

Zaika was still frowning, but it didn't stop Zhenya from giggling. No grown-up has ever called Vova dumb. And Vova was dumb. They all were dumb. Dumb and stupid and ugly.

"I even know how to tie my shoes," Zhenya said.

"You do?"

"Yes. Faster than Vadim."

"What a big brain," Fedya said, running his hand through Zhenya's hair. "And big brains need food to grow, so why not eat that orange?" He pointed to the slice on Zhenya's lap.

Oh, no. Uncle couldn't know about his eternal hunger? About him not eating much lately? Could he? "Uh, I—" Zhenya inhaled sharply, "—cannot eat, really."

"Why? Not a fan of fruits?"

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. Zhenya lowered his gaze, finger digging into a strip of skin hanging loose by his thumb. "It's just… I don't really like anything."

"Not even special foods?"

"Special foods?"

"Yeah. Special like—" Fedya smiled, one corner of his lip rising higher than the other, "—Like chocolates."

Zhenya's eyes lit up. "Chocolates?"

"Are you good at keeping secrets, Zhenya?"

Fedya’s grin widened as he opened the trunk of the red car. “This one’s mine,” he said, his voice low but cheerful. “Gimme a sec.” He leaned inside, digging through a chaotic mound of bags. The street lamps flickered above them, their faint glow a sickly yellow against the evening’s creeping shadows. “You don’t get stuff like this around here.” He finally pulled out a shinny package and held it out with a flourish. “Best goods come from the Americas, did ya know?”

Zhenya’s breath caught. His small hands trembled as they cupped the treasure—a chocolate bar, wrapped in golden foil that shimmered vividly even in the dim evening light. The red letters on it were foreign, impossible to read. Symbols of a distant, magical place, perhaps.

Americas, was it?

The hunger twisted inside Zhenya. It was always there, always, but now it was scratching him from within.

If Uncle Fedya knew about it, about his eternal hunger, about all the babies who had starved because of him… Would he still be smiling like this? Would he still be giving him the chocolate?

“Can I?” Zhenya whispered. “Really?”

Fedya winked. “All yours. Won't tell anyone.” He mimed turning an invisible key in his mouth and tossed it into the bushes.

The wrapper crinkled under Zhenya’s fingers as he struggled to open it. His breath quickened. When the foil finally gave way, the rich, earthy scent of chocolate tickled Zhenya’s nose; a smell so real it almost had weight. Zhenya hesitated. 

It smelled delicious, yes. But so did the oranges and so did the waffles, and Zhenya still couldn't taste them.

But it wouldn’t hurt to try. Right?

He bit down.

The crunch. 

The sweetness.

The taste.

Zhenya gasped. The flavor exploded across his tongue—sweet, rich, and otherworldly. Real. It melted in his mouth, warm and smooth, filling a place inside him that had been empty for so long. He swallowed and felt its warmth sink all the way down, spreading like sunlight in his belly.

He took another bite. And another.

Maybe… just maybe… this was the answer. Magical chocolate from the magical Americas kingdom. If he ate more, a little more, his curse might be lifted. He would feel full, truly full, and the gnawing emptiness would finally leave him.

The last piece dissolved on his tongue. He licked his fingers.

“There’s more in the back if you want,” Fedya said, his voice soft, almost tender. He opened the car door.

Yes. Yes, god, yes. Just one more. And he will be free from his curse.

Zhenya took a step forward, but a tug on his sleeve stopped him.

“Hey, you promised charades,” Zaika whispered, his voice urgent, a tremor beneath his usual playfulness.

“Not now,” Zhenya replied telepathically. He shook his arm until Zaika’s soft paw slipped away.

“Please,” Zaika said, stepping in front of him, ears drooping, his button eyes wide with a glint of something desperate. “Let’s play. You promised.”

Fedya’s smile lingered. The car door opened wider.

“Move, Zaika,” Zhenya hissed.

Zaika didn’t move. He spread his arms wide. “No! Play! Let's play!”

“Ugh, you don't get it." Zhenya rolled his eyes. "You’re just like Vova. Like Vadim. Like mother.”

Zaika flinched as if struck. His ears flattened against his head, and his eyes glistened. “You don’t mean it.” His voice cracked, small and brittle. “Please… say you don’t mean it.”

"I said, move!" Zhenya shoved Zaika out of his way. Zaika tumbled backward, landing on the dirt with a soft thud. “I need this." He marched toward the car.

Zaika’s voice followed him, faint, breaking. “Zhenya… no… please.”

Fedya held the door open, waiting, his smile as steady as ever. Zhenya climbed inside, and Fedya followed him, closing the door with a muted click.Zhenya didn’t look back at Zaika. He was probably crying like a little girl now. Stupid Zaika.

“Everything alright?” Fedya asked, his tone light.

“Yes!”

“Good. Then, grab those chocolates for me.” Fedya gestured casually to the floor. “They’re just under the seat.”

Zhenya leaned forward, the leather seat creaking beneath him. He slid his hand into the dark gap, fingers searching the cool, empty space. He felt crumbs, some crumpled papers, nothing else.

“Where?” he asked, his hand fumbling deeper.

“Just below the seat,” Fedya said. “Take a look for yourself."

Zhenya leaned over and peeked under the seat. Suddenly, something moist brushed against the back of his neck, a touch so light it could have been a breath or a shadow. Zhenya's hand froze mid-reach.

“Uncle,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I… I don’t see them.”