Sun Dogs

None of us expected it.

             “Are we—Is this--?” I stuttered, not quite ready to finish my sentence. Are we in the real world? Is this a dream… Is this science fiction?

             We were standing on the frozen lake, snow boots firmly planted on top of several layers of thick ice, in front of the gaping hole of black water, where the ice had broken only moments before.

             Erin paused, one foot in front of the other. She’d been heading back to the car, but now she was still.

             Erin’s daughter, Clara, who’d been huddling with Masha and shivering, stopped shaking and pointed. Both girls forgot that they were cold and wet; they took out their phones and started taking selfies. “No one’s going to believe this isn’t photoshopped,” Clara said.

             “No one’s gonna believe us at all,” whispered Masha.

             Zhanna, who’d spent her entire life in northern Kazakhstan – every winter in the frozen steppe – gaped. “I… Uh…” she said, unable to articulate anything else.

             Forgetting all our drama, past and present, we stared.

             In the distance to the southeast were the soft rolling hills at the entrance to Karaganda, Kazakhstan’s fifth largest city. The landscape in every other direction was flat, vast, empty steppe, covered in ice and gleaming white snow.

             To the southwest, hanging brilliantly in the sky, surreal, were three suns.

             Fingers shaking, Erin scrolled through her phone. “It’s just not safe to be anywhere without a decent signal,” she grumbled, but at last she found an answer. “They’re called Sun Dogs,” she said. “And they’re real.”

             “Well, then,” Zhanna said, grinning broadly at me.

*

             That morning – the first day of our winter break – we’d set out from a dingy hotel in downtown Karaganda. We’d taken the train the night before; Zhanna’s brother dropped off his car for us to borrow. It was a Lada, a down-to-basics car without even power steering, but it had four-wheel drive and snow tires with metal spikes. Since I was, surprisingly, the one with the most winter driving experience, I was the designated driver. Years ago, I’d owned my own Lada, and Zhanna and I had explored the countryside around Astana, where we’d lived and worked. We’d driven hundreds of miles in every direction, in (nearly) every kind of weather, and I was excited to get back behind the wheel.

             We exited the city and passed by the hills with their dachas. Zhanna pointed out the wooden shack that had been her summer home. “Grandma kept her garden there,” she said. Then she directed me to the frozen lake that was just off the highway. We off-roaded and parked.

             I got out and pressed my feet firmly on the crisp, flat snow. “Are you sure we’re on land?” I asked. It was hard to tell where the ground ended and the lake began.

             Zhanna nodded. “I use to ice-fish out here every winter,” she said. “Every single winter of my childhood. And when I started uni, I came out here as well. Stopped when Grandpa got sick. That’s why I never took you.”

             “Until now,” Erin said. This was a bonding trip for us girls. Zhanna and I had been best friends during my first stay in Astana, when I worked as a kindergarten teacher and she was my aide. Then I’d gotten married and moved to the US, right when Erin and Clara arrived. Erin became Zhanna’s new best friend. I’d returned this year, and now it was the three of us, ready for new adventures.

             Clara and Masha loved grown-up vacation time. This was when they were left alone. On the train ride over, they’d huddled over the phones and whispered fervently, giggling frequently. We’d ignored them to do our own whispering and giggling.

             Zhanna opened the trunk to grab the supplies, then she surveyed the surroundings. The sun had only just risen above the horizon, pale pink and lavender bands against the white-and-yellow land.

             The sun in winter is so beautiful, large and hazy, faintly glowing, hovering near the horizon. “That’s why I returned,” I said, pointing.

             “Huh?”

             “That’s why I returned to Kazakhstan,” I said, “I miss the sun.”

             “You’re crazy,” she said, shaking her head but smiling. “You came back because of that cheating bastard— Sorry,” she said, noticing the teenaged girls.

             “It’s okay, we know that word,” said Masha.

             “And we know that Mr. Rory cheated,” Clara said.

             “Kids gossip, too,” Masha said.

             “He was an awful teacher,” Clara said. “He assigned way too much homework.”

             “Girls,” Erin said, “enough gossiping.”

             “But that’s why we came on this trip!” Masha said. “To gossip and take photos!” And just like that, they forgot about the teacher drama and ran off to take photos without any grouchy grown-ups in the background.

             “But we get to gossip,” Zhanna said, “and we get to badmouth Mr. Rory.” Rory had taught AP English at the school for two years before we’d fallen in love and moved back to the US. Our whirlwind relationship had been the fodder of much good-natured gossip. Neither Clara nor Masha had had Rory for a teacher, and they knew him by reputation only. He’d been a well-loved teacher, his heavy homework load the only point of contention.

             “We don’t need to badmouth him,” I said, stomping the ground one more time. “You’re sure the car won’t fall in?”

             Zhanna laughed. “Relax, Jules, we’re on land!” she said.

             We finished gathering the gear and walked onto the lake. It had frozen over months ago; with each consecutive below-freezing day, the ice had thickened. Layers of fluffy, powdery snow buried the lake.

             As we positioned ourselves near the center of the what was most likely the lake – large, roundish, extra flat – the wind started to blow, and Zhanna shouted to be heard. “The lake’s been frozen since early November, but that doesn’t mean it’s all solid. It got to above freezing late November; it got warm a few weeks ago.” In a Kazakh winter, “warm” still means below freezing. “Never trust anything.”

             “Then why are we here?” I asked.

             “Relax,” Erin said. She’d grown up in Minnesota, which is perhaps why she’d adjusted to life here so well. This was nothing new to her.

             Erin helped Zhanna set up the gear – the cheap plastic tent so we could shelter from the wind, poles pounded into the ice so it wouldn’t fly away. The girls returned to help with the shoveling; the snow was light and powdery. They took turns shoveling, flinging snow into the air, and snapping photos.

             “Why didn’t you invite Dragos?” Masha asked Erin, grinning broadly and ducking as Clara threw a fistful of show at her. Dragos was a new arrival in their class this year. He was tall and lanky, with a mop of tousled hair that never looked combed.

             “Masha, no!” Clara squealed.

             “No boys,” Erin said. “This is a girls’ trip.”

             “Besides, I’m sure he’s a cheating bastard just like Mr. Rory,” Masha said.

             “He is not!” Clara said.

             “He’s a good young man,” Zhanna said. She taught Russian to the high schoolers and knew Dragos better than Erin or I. “Very serious, cares about his schoolwork. But I can’t speak for his boyfriend qualities.”

             The girls burst out giggling and raced off once again.

             “Your turn to help, Jules!” Zhanna said to me, as she crouched in front of a cleared-off patch of ice. It was thick and dark – hard to imagine that it was clear, that it was just reflecting the darkness beneath, freezing cold water hidden from sunlight. There were large, white cracks running through it. “They’re normal,” Zhanna reassured me.

             She showed me how to use the ice auger to drill a hole. Both Zhanna and Erin kept a close eye on me as I did so, their care and attention letting me know that they were more worried than they were willing to say. I appreciated the caution.

             Across the lake, the girls were making snow angels and snowmen, tossing snow in the air and laughing so loudly we could hear despite the wind. My fingers, buried underneath sheepskin gloves, felt numb with monotony and cold. My eyes watered. The sun rose just enough for its rays to glimmer and sparkle off the ice.

             As a decent-sized hole finally became apparent, the girls reappeared, red-faced and breathless. “Hot chocolate!” Clara demanded, and Zhanna motioned towards the car.

             “Curious how hot it still is,” she said, and then added mischievously, “Did you decide if Dragos is a future cheating bastard or worthy of your love?”

             “Zhanna!” Erin said in unison with the shocked girls.

             “That’s our gossip,” Masha said. “You old ladies can gossip about Mr. Rory. We’ve got Dragos.” The girls ran off.

             “Old ladies, really?” Zhanna said before turning to me. “But yeah, gossip time now."

             “Really?” I asked.

             “Of course!” Erin said, examining the hole and then sitting down inside the tent. “Let’s set up the lines and then gossip about Mr. Rory.”

             “You really don’t have to call him that,” I said.

             “How about ‘cheating bastard’?” Zhanna said. She took out a rod and demonstrated how to get started.

             “How about just Rory?” I said. “My husband – ex – maybe.”

             “You’ve got to make a decision,” Erin said wisely.

             “Why don’t we talk about your ex?” I asked defensively.

             “Because I made him my ex ten years ago,” she said. “There’s no more gossip.” She stared intently at the pole, the line leading into the blackness. Softly, she said, “He didn’t cheat. But it was awful. And we can talk about it. It’s good to talk.”

             Sometimes it helped me to realize that I wasn’t the only one with relationship woes. Erin had a past – one that I didn’t know much about – but it had left her a single mother in a foreign country. There obviously was a story there, one that involved tears and heartache.

             The wind blew and wicked me sharply across the face. “I’m way too frickin’ cold for this,” I said.

             “You returned to Kazakhstan because you missed the cold,” Zhanna teased me.

             “I returned because I missed you,” I said.

             “I never cheated on you,” she said.

             “Hey!” Erin said, pretending to be offended. “You cheated on Julia with me, remember? I’m your best friend now.”

             The wind calmed down and the entire lake was peaceful. I took a deep breath and surveyed the surroundings – the large yet pale sun, the hazy blue sky, the sparkling air. “This is why I came back,” I said. Then I pointed to the sun. “You see that?” I said.

             “The US has the sun too,” Zhanna said.

             “Yeah,” I said, “but there’s something special about a winter sun in the north. That’s Rory and me.”

             “Huh?”

             “Our love – that’s the sun. Pale, doesn’t give off much heat – the passion has faded but the love remains.” Zhanna scoffed. “Intermittent, fading on and off – more off than on – but it’s there. Unity. Rory and me. Together.”

             “You’ve gone crazy,” Zhanna said, and I’m sure Erin thought the same. But she was too polite to be so blunt.

             “That’s poetic,” Erin said.

             “I married an English teacher,” I said.

             “You’re a kindergarten teacher,” Zhanna said, “sappy and hopeless.”

             “Hopeful,” I said.

             “Hopeful for what?” Zhanna said. “Hopeful that he’ll say he’s sorry and mean it? There’s never an excuse for cheating.” This time her voice was serious. She looked me in the eyes, not a glimmer or spark.

             “Never?”

             “Never,” she said firmly. I stared at her with pleading eyes, begging her to see the truth.

             “Rory and I—” I said.

             “You can’t forgive someone who has cheated.”

             “But I love him,” I said softly, pathetically.

             Erin watched the conversation in silence; the air was deathly still.

             “I want him to forgive me,” I said quietly, my words floating on the stillness, riding alongside the crystalline snow drops hanging in the air.

             Then we heard it –

             The shriek.

             The splash.

             The thud.

             The high-pitched, blood-curdling scream.

             Then we realized it –

             The girls had been gone far too long. There really was nowhere to go.

             We leapt up, running, panicking, lifting our legs up high to get out of the snow and make every step forward count. Why isn’t it easier to run in snow?

             Our hearts were pounding; adrenaline coursed through my body. I could only imagine how Erin must have felt.

             We slogged through the snow; it suddenly felt so much heavier than it’d been before. It seemed like ages before we reached the source of the screams – but the sun was still in the sky, slowly making its way towards the western horizon, meaning it was still daytime, merely hours since we’d first arrived at the lake, and most likely just minutes since we’d first heard the screaming.

             In front of us, in front of the never-ending, blindingly white snow were two dark lumps – mounds of fashionable coats – one girl on her stomach, one girl in the –

             One girl in the lake. Mostly underneath the black, black water. The water that was so dark it resembled a black hole more than water.

             “I can’t get her out!” Masha squealed, her voice high, desperate, and pleading. So it was Masha sprawled out on the snow and ice; it was Clara in the water.

             Erin collapsed in an instant, her arms outstretched, reaching for the soaking wet and slippery gloves of her daughter. Zhanna crouched next to her and threw her arms around Erin’s waist. “I got you,” she said shakily. “Now pull her out.”

             I knelt next to the shivering Masha. “It’s okay,” I said quietly to her as I leaned in, helped Clara and Erin firmly grasp each other, helped them stay clinging, stay stuck, as Zhanna pulled on Erin’s body.

             Slowly, painstakingly, Clara came out.

             Then, a slip – who knows how it happened? – and she was back in, and all five of us were wailing.

             “Get a grip!” Zhanna demanded, her authoritarian teacher voice breaking through, and we all got a grip – figuratively and literally.

             We dragged Clara out.

             Her clothes were soaked through with water, likely weighing more than she did herself. Masha threw her arms around her, sobbing. Erin’s lips trembled, her eyes wide. “Holy shit,” she muttered.

             We remained there, not far from the incredibly tiny crack in the ice, in stunned silence and immense relief, all of us knowing what we needed to do next – go back to the car, get Clara warm - but right now, we just wanted to cherish the moment. Our hearts slowly calmed down, our breathing returned to normal, our racing minds relaxed.

             That’s when we stood up. That’s when we saw it.

             The three suns.

             Like some sort of sign from heaven. But what was it? Is three suns God’s way of telling us everything’s going to be okay?

             “I’m okay,” Clara whispered, teeth chattering. Then Masha took out her phone. “No one’s going to believe this isn’t photoshopped,” Clara said.

              “No one’s gonna believe us at all,” Masha whispered.

             As Erin looked on her phone, Zhanna grinned at me. “So?” she said. “Your love is like the sun? Unity and all that BS?” I rolled my eyes. “You see that?” she asked, pointing and counting. “One, two, three. There’s you, there’s Rory, there’s that bitch he cheated on you with.”

             I shook my head. “Let’s get back to the car,” I said.

             And so it ended. Our first ice fishing trip ending without a single fish caught. Before we’d really gotten started.

             We convinced the girls to stop taking selfies, got them in the car, turned it on, helped Clara out of her clothes, rewrapped her in blankets. We sat for a while, warming up.

             “I say that’s a sign,” Masha whispered. “You almost died,” she said to Clara, “and then we saw that miracle. Life’s too short to wait till you’re an old lady. You gotta ask him out.”

             “Masha took meaning from today, did you?” Zhanna asked me, almost accusingly.

             And then I had to tell her what I’d been too afraid to tell her. We’d been friends for so long. She thought she knew me. And then I’d done the unthinkable – the unforgivable.

             “Rory’s not the cheating bastard,” I said softly. “I mean, he did cheat on me. But only after… After I cheated on him.”

             The girls stopped giggling and shivering. They stared at me. Who would have guessed that an “old lady” and kindergarten teacher was capable of such a thing?

             I put the car in gear and started to maneuver out of the snow and towards the highway. “Do you think he’ll forgive me?” I asked. I looked at the sun; it was back to its usual single self and had nearly disappeared below the horizon.

             “Ms. Julia,” Masha gasped.

             “Ms. Julia, we still love you,” Clara said, reaching forward to comfort me with a half-hug. Her hair was frozen and starting to melt; cold water dripped on my shoulder.

             “It’s okay,” I said as I turned onto the highway and headed southeast. In that instant, I made up my mind. I’d returned to Kazakhstan as if that could make everything right. As if Rory would forget what I’d done and I’d do the same for him. But that wouldn’t happen. And I had to make my peace with that.

             “Zhanna,” I said, “I was an awful wife.”

             “You’re still a good friend,” she said. “But honestly, I hope he doesn’t forgive you.” I nodded, tears forming in my eyes as I realized that I agreed with her.

             I headed towards the darkening hills which were outlined in pale shades of pink and orange.