"And sometimes I even made dinner for lost wanderers"

Ivan was not certain how he had wandered off of the path. Certainly he had not intended to stray from it. He had a healthy fear of these woods and the bears and wolves- and other things, too, that might be superstition but were best left alone anyway. And yet here he was- he was off the path, and moreover, he could not see any sign that any path was nearby or even could be nearby. The woods had an air of ancient, undisturbed foreignness. This was not a place for men at all. 

Just as he did not know how he'd left the path, he didn't know when or how he knew that he was not alone.

He paused, when this knowledge came into his awareness, and swung the lantern. It made a blurred arc across the bushes and leaves, and shadowy patterns appeared in its wake that revealed nothing to him. Perhaps something was moving, disturbed by an unseen entity, and perhaps not. Maybe the sound of rustling was only the wind. 

Or maybe something was moving- very nearby- and getting nearer. 

He heard breathing, now. In his pocket was a knife, but it was so dull- it was a tool knife, not anything that could help against wolves, let alone anything worse than wolves, but-

"Hello?"

At the very same time as Ivan's nerves fired like a shot and he jumped, he took in the voice and its sound- a high, soft, hoarse voice, rather timid.

The man that had appeared at his elbow very nearly got a frenzied fist to the face before Ivan could pull himself back. Round, dark eyes sent out a mute apology. "Of course it's startling to appear so suddenly in the dark like this. There aren't many passers-by here anymore! I'm used to watching little animals and things, and one doesn't introduce oneself to animals, in general. It's very late. I had almost gone home. It seems that you've had some good luck. Some people are fortunate, in that way."

"Eh- hello," said Ivan, who did not know how to reply any more than he did when faced by similar meaningless torrents of words from children.

"It's this way," the stranger said in a businesslike tone, beckoning with short and decisive motions of his arm. 

"What's that way?"

"My home. It's late. We won't be able to find the way back at this hour. Come quickly!"

The authority in his words propelled Ivan to follow him, even though in many ways, it seemed like a bad idea. But then again- there was no reason to doubt that it would be difficult to get back. Everything outside of the faint beam of the lantern was a featureless void.

The stranger moved through the undergrowth in the careless meandering manner of an animal. He wore a long, tattered coat and shoes that seemed to be a size too big, and it looked as if his dark hair had never met a comb. Ivan recalled that some things could look human- but weren't.

The stranger glanced behind him. "You must have a name! People have names when they come through here."

"I'm- Ivan Ivanovich."

"Ivan Ivanovich!" the stranger mused. "Your name fits so well together. That's a good one."

"But don't you have a name, too?" 

"I have never had need of one." The stranger sounded like he had suddenly lost interest. "Every so often that bothers somebody. Call me something, if you like."

"All right... Something. You have a home here?" Ivan was beginning to wonder if 'home' really meant a house- but just as he thought this, they ducked through some undergrowth (Ivan ducked, anyway, and the stranger seemed unconscious of the nearness of the branches), and a house appeared. Ivan looked up. He could not see the top of the house. It was immensely tall, and disappeared into the sky. Perhaps it only looked that way because it was dark.

"This is a research station," the stranger said, as the lock clicked. "I take care of it."

"Is that so!" 

"My father lived here before me, and my grandfather before him. I don't know how far back it goes. I wasn't alive for anything before that, of course!" The door opened with a creak, and prickles ran up the back of Ivan's neck. The door loomed- golden light fell from within.

The stranger bustled inside. "Come in, come in! You must come in at once!"

Between this looming doorway and the encroaching, dark, whispering woods, Ivan was forced to concede and step inside.

He politely removed his boots. When he looked up, he was in a small, square room. A scent of must and damp rose from wet, stained walls. A tiny stove stood by the doorway, and the stranger was already lighting it to remove the clammy chill from the room. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling. 

A slanted bed with a colorful quilt stood in the corner. The bright squares of the quilt looked somehow desperate. 

"Take off your backpack," said the stranger, "take off your heavy pack right away, and set it down wherever you choose. I won't meddle with it."

Ivan complied at once, though his pack was nearly empty. He felt unable to resist the stranger's commands, as if he were being directed in a dream.

"I'll make a soup," hummed the stranger. "I might also make tea. But in fact, I don't have any tea. Never mind, then, a soup is enough. There should be enough for two. Well, if it so happens that there isn't enough, I won't eat."

Under the glare of a bare light bulb, he had skin the color of brittle old paper, and bruise-dark circles beneath his eyes. His hair had looked mousy brown in the dark outside but now Ivan could see that it was red.

"You have whiskers," said the stranger. His head tilted at an angle, putting one in mind of a curious dog. His own face was as smooth as a boy's.

Ivan fiddled at the ends of his mustache. "My wife doesn't like them."

"You have a wife!"

"Yes..."

"If I had a wife there would be someone who wouldn't leave," said the stranger. He seemed more alien by the minute. "But you should be comfortable while you're here, you should sit." He looked into the opposite corner of the room, where a small desk and chair sat next to a large oval mirror. "That chair looks small. You're a big man! You'll be more comfortable if you sit on the bed... "

Ivan moved towards the bed.

"It's no good to sit there," the man said, in a tone that was almost sharp. "It creaks, and makes strange noises. Don't sit there, after all. Sit on my desk, if the chair's not the right size! I'll just move some things." He removed some papers from the top of the desk and they vanished away somewhere. Some slim, flat object was swiftly tucked underneath the pillows on the bed, and then the stranger sat down on the bed. His feet did not touch the floor. His legs hung loosely off the edge of the bed, like a doll's. "What's it like, now, in the city?" he asked.

"Not sure. I'm on my way there for the first time."

Ivan settled himself onto the desk. It creaked, and a look of horror flashed onto the stranger's face- he looked at the legs of the desk. "Don't come to any harm, Ivan Ivanovich," he said plaintively, "if the desk collapses, you should stand up right away. Don't worry about me. I use the desk a lot. I take observations of the surroundings every day and that's where I write them up, so it's pretty important- but I'll just make repairs, don't mind that at all. I'll start the soup. We can't eat the soup if it's never made."

"You have food here?"

"From the woods." He stepped off of the edge of the bed into his slippers and crossed the room with an unhurried shuffling gait. "I eat what I can find. It's enough for me- not everyone likes it."

"I'm sure I've had worse."

"I should hope so! I hope it's not the worst you've ever had! I'd be mortified!"

He looked very upset indeed.

"It will be all right, I'm sure," Ivan said. "You do some kind of research here?"

"Yes- I track the changes in the land. My family has tracked it for centuries. There are endless notes. "

"And what do you do all that for?"

"It might be useful for research," said the stranger, busily assembling things by his stove. "In fact, suppose you wanted to know something about generational changes in the soil for growing crops or something like that. You'd come here, and talk to me- in theory. In fact- you'll find it difficult to find me again."

"I don't know how I found you in the first place."

"I've never seen the same face twice. Even though someone or other promised to come back. No one ever has come back to me." His back was to Ivan. His voice was quietly matter of fact. "But, in general, everyone has to leave, at some point. Since they don't come back- they must not be able to find me..."

"Who do you give these notes to- someone official collects them, I assume?"

There was an odd silence.

"I live a simple, quiet existence," said the stranger. "It's been years since I went outside."

"But you were outside a moment ago, with me." This was what had happened, surely?

The stranger glanced over his shoulder. His dark eyes were confused. "I wasn't outside." He paused. Ivan said nothing- he had begun to think he was just talking to a normal man, if a daft one, but now the eerie feeling was returning. "I ventured out of the house to work, but, it's a different matter.... entirely different! On that note. I'll lead you to the edge, tomorrow, but I can't take you to the city." 

"That's alright, I can find my own way- usually."

"Yes, yes!" The stranger seemed, for the first time, faintly amused. "We can all find our way only usually. It's a shame, isn't it?" 

"But- you must have been given some permission to be here, yes?"

Again, the odd silence. "Ah- yes," the stranger said finally. "Of course it's all right... this will take some time to cook."

He walked across the floor again, his footsteps halting now, and he sat back down on the bed. His small hands fiddled restlessly in his lap.

Suppose he really shouldn't be here? Did he own this land?

Ivan recalled that the house had looked vast from the outside. There was a door at the back of the room.

"It may not look it, at the moment," said the stranger, "but this house is quite big. There are lots of rooms. Dozens." Dozens- all for the same person? But this was a research station- he surely didn't own it. "I'm not sure I've ever seen quite all of them. However- they're locked at present. I don't go in."

"Why not?"

The stranger's mouth formed a prim line, and he said nothing. 

A decidedly odd smell rose from the stove.

"It's been a long time since anyone came along here," said the stranger. "In the past I could think of more to say, but I've been really tired. I can't sleep. It makes it quite hard to think. So- if you'll humor me- if you'll do me a kindness- perhaps, you may speak to me."

It was hard to say no to him.

"About what?"

"About anything. Do you have children? No- never mind, not that. What do you do for work?"

This was a difficult question- Ivan would not know precisely what he was doing until after he got to the city, and there was no reason to volunteer such things to an unknown person. "Ah..."

"Where do you live, usually? What sort of place?"

Ivan was not sure how to answer. 

"But," said the stranger, with a small sigh, "you must be tired too. You look as if you don't want to talk." 

"I-"

"That's all right. I won't pry." He kicked his feet back and forth and then said: "Is the soup done? No, it can't be. I just put it on. Ah, well."

The world outside had gone pitch black- there would be no leaving now. Ivan found himself glancing at the door at the back of the room.

"I shan't open it for you," said the stranger.

"I didn't ask you to."

"No, but you're thinking there's not much room- and so there isn't, but it would be a mistake to open that door." His eyes were far away, and looked black in the low candlelight. Ivan rather liked candlelight, but in this place it had a feverish heat.

"I haven't seen an animal in such a long time," said the stranger. "There aren't any here, anymore. Somehow, eh- no one ever brings a horse here. I suppose the horses don't get lost like that. It's just as well, I don't have room here for a horse."

Ivan didn't know anyone with a horse.

"I think the food is done," said the stranger. He got up and walked over to check. "Hm, well. It's as good as it's going to be."

The soup was bitter and filled with chunks of things Ivan couldn't identify. Having nothing polite to say about it, he said nothing. 

"There's no bread," said the stranger, with a keen air of sorrow. "There's not much of anything..."

"That's all right," said Ivan. "No one has any bread."

The stranger blinked. "They don't? That's a shame."

Ivan had no answer to that. 

They ate in silence. 

At length, the stranger bit his lip and looked suddenly distraught. "There's no possibility of your sleeping in my bed, Ivan Ivanovich- you're too tall!" The bed was indeed quite small. "It's a disgrace to make a guest sleep on the floor."

"That's all right," said Ivan, "I brought a sleeping roll in my pack." He had intended to sleep out under the stars if he were out too long. Why, then, had it seemed as if he could not possibly refuse the stranger's offer of lodging? The woods were too deep and dark...

"Disgraceful," the man was murmuring, "it's a shame. Making a guest sleep on the floor."

"I don't mind it at all."

"But, on principle it's shameful. Ah..." He looked dubiously at the locked door. "Well, there may be some old piece of furniture back there. But really, I shouldn't open it- it's better for you, Ivan Ivanovich, if I don't. Who knows what might happen if that door is ever opened? I hope I never come to that!" He sighed. "I'll just have to be disgraced."

Ivan had somehow managed to finish his food. The stranger silently took the empty bowl and stacked it neatly on the stove. 

"I could speak with you for hours," he said, "just to have another voice besides my own to listen to. But I'm too greedy- you need to travel tomorrow, and you look tired. I don't have anything really good to drink that's worth staying up for, so I'll let you rest. It's good to rest."

"Thank you kindly." Ivan was surprised at the flood of relief he felt, knowing the stranger would stop talking. 

"I'll have to at least let you have my blanket," said the stranger.

"That's really not necessary-"

"I must!" It was a tone that did not admit argument. The pathetically cheerful quilt was stripped from the bed and laid in Ivan's lap. 

"But what about you? You could catch cold," said Ivan, feeling that he sounded like his mother-in-law.

"No, no, I look pale but I'm actually quite healthy. In any case I don't sleep when I have guests. Good night." 

And so, Ivan made up a place to sleep on the stranger's cold floor, bundled in his threadbare and odd-smelling quilt. He did not expect to sleep, but he fell prey to exhaustion quickly.

In the pale morning light, the house was empty, the door ajar.

It made a kind of sense that the stranger had vanished into thin air. So much sense that Ivan didn't even question that that was what had happened; he just folded the borrowed quilt and placed it on the bed, took up his pack, and went outside.

It was hard to tell which of them was more startled when he came upon the red-haired man grubbing about in the dirt.

The stranger pressed a hand to his heart. He had smooth hands, not the hands of a worker. "I didn't know you'd woken up! I take a sample of the soil here every morning. It's strange- it seems as if whatever is happening to the fertility of the soil is creeping in from the forest towards my house." He paused, and Ivan saw that he was trembling, although his face was stern and composed. "But I saw no reason to wake you, simply to tell you I was going into the yard. Well, you're wearing your pack, I see- I suppose you're ready to go."

"Yes," said Ivan, "I really must- my business in the city won't wait, and I'm already late." In fact, he had no appointments in the city, and not much idea of what he'd do when he got there- but the woods around the house were oppressive.

"Of course- of course, yes." In the light of day, there was nothing unusual about the stranger at all. He had a slightly stooped posture, like an old man, although the face was smooth and boyish. And so pale. Not the look of someone who worked outside.

"In that case, I..." The voice was small, devoid of energy. "I suppose we should go."

He was silent as he led Ivan through featureless forest. They reached the edge rather quickly. It wasn't a visible edge, but a clear threshold nonetheless.

The stranger pointed out into the real world. "There... you'll just go out, here, and straight ahead is the path. There's a sign- you'll find your way. It was good to have you- there aren't many people who come through here anymore."

The way out was so close, but Ivan hesitated. The stranger's eyes were so dark and sad. 

"You should come along," Ivan said. "Come on! There are plenty of people in the city- you'll get your fill of them right away."

The man took a tiny step back, lowering his body like a suspicious, cowering animal. "No, no, Ivan Ivanovich. I don't go outside. It's very important that I don't. I wish you the best." He turned away, abruptly, with an air of finality.

Ivan took a step forward, and paused. He looked over his shoulder, expecting to see round eyes watching him leave. 

No one was there.

It felt as if no one had ever been there.