"Who's there?" a hesitant female voice came from behind the door.
"Aunt Valya, it's Rita Buinova!" the girl cried joyfully.
The door opened cautiously. A heavyset woman of about forty stepped out, the curious heads of children visible behind her. She looked warily at me, the gun slung across my back, then at Margarita.
"Aunt Valya, I decided to come over, since you invited me yourself... Could I stay with you?" the girl, at a loss, barely found the strength to finish.
"That was when I suggested it, back when there was no war," the aunt backed down. "But now, my dear niece, where am I supposed to put you? You've got six children sitting on the benches, your husband's been missing for two days, and all the livestock has been wiped out by those flying bastards. You go to your father; his
