The damp December air seeped under her old coat, and Shura tried to wrap herself even tighter in her grandmother’s worn-out shawls. The snow barely had time to dust the roadside before it melted immediately. Her feet in their cheap, leaky boots had long been frozen, but she couldn’t leave.
Her grandmother had made it clear that she’d better not return home without the day’s earnings. The girl adjusted the neat pyramid of jars with sauerkraut and pickles on the wobbly wide board. Expensive foreign cars were constantly driving in and out of the parking lot, their polished sides gleaming.
Shura spotted a distinguished-looking man in a cashmere coat. He was in a hurry: a strong chin, a confident stride, an expensive watch on his wrist. Shura, mustering her courage, called out to him quietly as he passed by:
— Sir, would you like to buy some? Homemade cabbage, crunchy, lightly salted cucumbers.
The wealthy man paid no attention, walking past while nervously questioning someone on the phone. He suddenly quickened his pace, ran to a nearby car, slammed the door, and immediately started the engine.
The powerful car abruptly pulled out of its parking spot and reversed toward the frightened vendor. Shura didn’t even have time to scream; she just squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for impact. There was the sound of shattering glass, and a hot wave of exhaust fumes washed over her face.
Brine sprayed in all directions, drenching the hem of her coat and her boots. The vendor, losing her balance, fell awkwardly backward off her wobbly stool. Opening her eyes, Shura saw the aftermath of the accident.
The pyramid of jars had vanished under the enormous wheel, turning into a filthy mush. The driver jumped out of the car, his face deathly pale and his movements jerky and frantic. In two leaps, he was at the trunk, glancing at the bumper, then at the spreading sludge of broken glass and crushed cucumbers under the wheels, and finally, he stared at Shura.
She lay on her back, unable to move, holding her hands out in front of her as if to ward off danger.
— Why were you getting under the wheels?
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