The Turkmen

Клыч printed out a small triangular field-mail letter. It wasn’t from his brother. No. It wasn’t his handwriting… Клыч turned the page to see the signature. There were several. Clearly, something had happened to his brother. “Comrades are writing,” it said.

Today Клыч was planning to go to the village to see his mother. But what if the letter contains news of Berda’s death?

No, better not read the letters.