The banya occupied a separate little building about fifty steps away from the house. On the outside, it looked a little bit like a log cabin right from a fairy tale; windows rimmed with carved wood, triangular roof, even a large pail of chopped wood nearby. The wind subsided by the time evening came, and now a faint odor of smoke lingered in the air. The smoke itself was not visible against the dark backdrop of a night sky. It was only four p.m., but here, just on the outskirts of Saint Petersburg, nightfall came early. The sun rose by eleven and rolled back under the horizon by three-thirty.  

A short, plump woman slipped out of the house, stepping into the icy darkness outside. She shivered in the cold despite being wrapped in a thick, puffy coat. There was a pair of worn Ugg boots on her feet, clearly a couple sizes too big. Ridiculous as she was, she ran those fifty steps and almost slipped halfway on a patch of icy ground. She managed to catch herself, giggling and swearing at the same time. A few moments later she was right at the heavy door to the banya, her bare hand grasping at the handle. She whimpered as she rattled the handle; the door refused to budge.

“You must push it, Jessie!” – a voice reached her. Two more women were just leaving the house, both taller than the first one. One of them, dressed in an old coat and a puffy winter hat, had a stack of towels with her. The other one wore a t-shirt, sweatpants and Crocs. With her hands in her pockets, she rushed after Jessie, repeating the instruction to “push”. She caught up quickly, but didn't slip along the way. The cold wasn't bothering her.

“Like this”, she said, pushing Jessie aside. Her hands fell on the handle and she shouldered the door, which immediately opened into a warm, well-lit room. The woman stepped inside, wiped her shoes off on the rug by the doorstep and kicked them off, briefly disappearing from Jessie's view. The plump girl, feeling ever so slightly embarrassed, followed the blonde. She left the door cracked open as she, too, stepped out of her shoes, which were indeed oversized. Her coat went on a coatrack by the door.

To the left of the entrance, there were two cozy lounge felt chairs with matching footstools in front of them and a small coffee table in between. Behind the chairs, a few thin mattresses were stacked against the wall. Right in front of the entrance, there was a kitchenette; the granite countertop supported a two-burner range, an electric kettle, a small, porcelain teapot and a dish rack with half a dozen of tea cups. The shelf over the countertop had a collection of brightly colored tea boxes, and the blonde girl was currently rummaging through those. Finally, to the right of the entrance there was a glass door leading further in… and right next to the door, built into the wall, there was a black iron wood stove. Heat emanated from the thing.

There was a polite “k-hm” behind Jessie, and she hurriedly stepped aside, letting the third woman in. “Oh I am sorry, Anna”, she said. Anna handed her the stack of towels she'd carried and took off her coat, which went on the rack; she then kicked off her fur-lined slippers and stepped to the center of the room, which suddenly felt very crowded – but also quite cozy.

Anna theatrically clasped her palms.

“So,” she began in that charming accent of hers. A short, abrupt Soh. “Let Ira pick tea. Let's go check temperature.” Let Eerah pik tee. Letz goh chek temperayture. It was great. Jessie couldn't do it even if she tried.

Anna pushed the glass door open and turned the light on. There was a short corridor with a tiled floor and multiple little doors, all helpfully marked. One led to a shower, another to a toilet, another to a room with… brooms?.. and the final one had an elegant little thermometer painted onto it. The banya. Anna opened that and stuck her head inside. Warmth emanated from the inside, soothing Jessie's reddened cheeks.

“It is eighty two,” Anna declared. “Might be enough. Not too hot not too cold.”

“No,” Ira's voice reached them. “Kick it up to ninety.”

They exchanged a couple short sentences in Russian. Jessie caught the gist.

“I'll be fine,” she exclaimed boldly. “Don't be gentle. I want to sweat!”

“Two to one,” Ira immediately said. “Ninety it is.”

“Fine. Then you can go get firewood. I will check ehm… veniks.”

Jessie had no idea what a “venik” was supposed to mean. She'd noticed that some Russians had a charming habit: whenever they didn't know a word in English, they just used a Russian one, but pronounced it with something that was supposed to resemble a British accent. Anna had done that on numerous occasions earlier. “Kabachoke caviar” turned out to be minced zucchini. Ira had better command of language, but, sadistically, preferred to watch her friend struggle. Besides, she didn't like to speak English all that much.

Ira turned the electric kettle on and led Jessie back outside; crazily, she didn't even put her shoes on this time, stepping right out onto the snow-covered porch. “Grab the carrier,” she noted. There was an empty metal carrier by the woodstove, and Jessie obediently took that with her. Outside, she held it while Ira filled it with the firewood from the pail. One, two, three, four. They went back inside, Ira rubbing her palms together.

“Are you not cold?”

“Banya's nicer when you're cold,” the blonde said, shrugging. Her face contrasted with her demeanor; she always wore a deceivingly dreamy, detached expression. Ira was incredible with makeup, as Jessie had multiple chances to observe… but right now the girl, of course, didn’t have any. Anna was decent too, definitely way ahead of Jessie who preferred a very minimal approach, but Ira’s work on her own face looked like she could be working in film.

Jessie had spent two weeks with them already. Anna was the one who got her the invitation. Ira was Anna's bestie, apparently going through a rough patch. Jessie had an idea of what the rough patch could be related to, but didn't dare ask. Being American, she felt lucky enough to have any friends at all in this country. She'd been planning her trip for years.

“And the outside will be nicer when you're warm,” Ira suddenly added. “You should dive in the snow.”

“You're not serious.”

“I am. I'll do it.”

“I am not sure I'm ready…”

“I'll just have to push you,” Ira said, and, as always, it was impossible to tell if she was joking or not. She went over to the kitchenette and measured some loose-leaf tea into the little teapot, then filled it with hot water and put the lid on.

“We're having tea first?”

“Not first,” Ira said.

“After.” Anna walked back into the room. Jessie was still holding the carrier with the firewood. Anna pointed to the floor next to the woodstove, and Jessie lowered the fuel down. Anna knelt by the black iron cover, rotated the locking handle a few times and pulled the thing open. Fires were roaring within; blocky remnants of firewood pieces smoldered on a bedding of ash.

“Can I try?”

“Sure.”

Jessie picked up a piece of firewood – it still had a bit of snow on it – and pushed it into the stove. Anna immediately added another one. They watched the flames lick the bark; then the fire caught, and Anna quickly replaced the iron cover.

“That should help,” Anna said. “So we go, uhm, warm in the banya, then we come out and have tea and walk on the snow…”

“Dive in the snow,” Ira corrected.

“Dive in the snow if you are Ira,” Anna concluded, “and then after tea we go back in the banya. Two rounds.”

“I see. Everyone does it like this?”

“I don't know,” Anna said, “but we do. Tea is very good after banya. We have herbal tea. Siberian herbs. Ivan-chai.”

“Fireweed,” Ira said. “You call it fireweed.”

“I have no idea what that is,” Jessie admitted. “I don't think we have it in Nebraska.”

“What do you have in Nebraska? Uhm, rolling fields?” Anna asked.

“Rolling what?”

“Tumbleweed,” Ira said, once again one-upping her friend on the vocab.

“Oh! You see them sometimes. I don't think they are supposed to be there, though. Like, they are invasive.”

“That's so cool,” Anna murmured.

“I think it's a Russian species, actually,” Jessie said. “So I was told.”

“I've never seen them here,” Anna frowned.

“Invasive, must be Russian, right” Ira said, shooting Jessie a crooked smile. Jessie smiled weakly. Ira stretched her arms and, without any further prelude, pulled her T-shirt. She was not wearing a bra. Her pale breasts had large, dark areolas. The girl threw her shirt on one of the felt lounge chairs and walked over to a tall closet on the side of the kitchenette. She opened it and pulled out a triangular hat: off-white, with a bright red star on the forehead. It screamed nineteen-sixties, communism, Red Scare.

“Oh… wow,” Jessie said.

“For hair,” Anna giggled. “Don't worry. We don't indoctrinate you.”

“She probably expected everyone here to wear some sort of commie paraphernalia,” Ira said. “Nebraska's a Republican state, right? Republicans think we're still communist?”

“Some do, maybe,” Jessie replied quietly, kind of wanting to shit the conversation away from possibly veering into the very things she did not want to talk about. In the days they've spent together, neither girl tried to make her feel bad or intimidate her in any way… it's just that Ira was a little blunt and opinionated at times. Jessie had to remind herself that these women, unlike her, didn't have a luxury of simply not thinking about the events at their southwestern border. Ira didn't treat her like an enemy, but liked to poke and prod at Jessie's convictions, despite Jessie staunchly holding herself to be apolitical.

“Anyways.” Anna started undressing, too. Jessie followed suit, blushing as she took her clothes off; her Russian friends were far more comfortable with being naked than she was. They all slept in the same room while at this house, and the room was hot, because that's how they built their houses in this country, and Ira was butt naked every night. “Let's go hop in the banya. I am soaking the… veniks.”

Ira didn't correct her. Probably didn't know the correct word, either. Eventually, all of them were wearing nothing but the ridiculous off-white hats with red stars on them; the hat turned out to be made of something resembling pressed wool and sat firmly on Jessie's curly hair. Anna led them through the glass door. She opened the door to the banya and pointed inside, inviting Jessie to enter first. The plump American lingered at the doorstep, bracing herself, and then stepped into the warm, dry, wood-scented room. The thermometer on the wall was showing eighty-five and rising. Anna and Ira entered after Jessie; the blonde closed the door and now the three of them stood shoulder to shoulder in this hot, stuffy little room. Jessie took a deep breath. It burned her lungs. She smiled, feeling giddy. The three of them might have had their differences, but, ultimately, weren't they so little, so inconsequential when it came to experiencing life together, spending time as friends are supposed to do?

“What are you waiting for?” Anna breathed in her ear. “Get on top shelf!”