Cowardice lay behind the shameful arrangement. The ecclesiastical authorities, having rallied every church congregation behind Stalin during the war, were now an instrument of the State, a ministry of the Kremlin. This demolition was a demonstration of that subjugation. They were blowing it up for no reason other than to prove their humility: an act of self-mutilation to testify that religion was harmless, docile, tamed. It didn’t need to be persecuted anymore. Lazar understood the politics of sacrifice: wasn’t it better to lose one church than to lose them all? As a young man he’d witnessed theological seminaries turned into workers’ barracks, churches turned into antireligious exhibition halls. Icons had been used as firewood, priests imprisoned, tortured, and executed. Continued persecution or thoughtless subservience: that had been the choice.

Jekabs listened to the sound of the crowd gathered outside, the bustle as they waited for the show to begin. He was late. He should’ve finished by now. Yet for the past five minutes he hadn’t moved, staring down at the final charge and doing nothing. Behind him, he heard the creak of the door. He glanced over his shoulder. It was his colleague and friend, standing at the doorway, on the threshold, as if fearful of entering. He called out, his voice echoing:

– Jekabs! What’s wrong?

Jekabs replied:

– I’m almost done.

His friend hesitated before remarking, softening his voice:

– We will drink tonight, the two of us, to celebrate your retirement? In the morning you’ll have a terrible headache, but by the evening you will feel much better.

Jekabs smiled at his friend’s attempt at consolation. The guilt would be nothing worse than a hangover. It would pass.

– Give me five minutes.

With that, his friend left him alone.

Kneeling in a parody of prayer, sweat streaming, his fingers slippery, he wiped his face, but it made no difference, his shirt was soaked and could absorb no more. Finish the job! And he’d never have to work again. Tomorrow he’d take his little daughter for a walk by the river. The day after he’d buy her something, watch her smile. By the end of next week he would’ve forgotten about this church, about the five golden domes and the sensation of the cold stone floor.