This is the writer's voice, New Fiction from The New Yorker. I'm Deborah Triesman, fiction editor at The New Yorker.

On this episode of the writer's voice, we'll hear Sana Krasakoff read her story The Model from the August 15th, 2022 issue of the magazine.

Krasakoff is the author of the story collection one more year for which she won the National Book Foundation's 535 award,

and the novel The Patriots, which was published in 2017. Now here's Sana Krasakoff.

The Model

Sura was trying to reach Alona and Oleg. First over Skype in WhatsApp, then Facebook, in which Alona kept an account she barely used.

It should not have been so hard to get hold of them. Alona had not posted recently, but she checked her messages, Sura could see that.

Maybe she thought Sura was being dramatic, hadn't she always thought so? With her digital silence, Alona was making a big show of her own calm,

doubling down on her refusal to treat anything as a catastrophe.

Well, goody for her, Sura thought, and shut her laptop. If Alona wasn't panicked, why should she be?

It was day three, and there were still no Russian boots in central Kiev.

There was the battle for the Hamasel airport, and a rocket had crashed into a building in a balloon.

But that was not near where Alona and Oleg lived, in the Shchentkovsky district.

From the security of her own house in Krotenan Hudson, Sura tried not to think about the last conversation she'd had with Alona.

It had been a rather unpleasant chat, but now there was a war on, and it seemed unnecessary to be holding a grudge, one of the very few they'd had in their 60 odd year friendship.

And day five, our reply came over Skype.

We're alive, two words in a pale blue bubble. It should have taken the tension out of her lungs, but it only agitated Sura more.

She'd expected a bit more motiveness. Did they have groceries, or are they spending nights in their building's basement or in the metro? We're alive, the bare minimum.

She would write back, Sura decided, but not yet.

She dialed Pavel's number in Winnipeg instead.

All right, Pavel, she said, briskly. What is going on with your parents? They're waiting it out in the apartment.

She gathered from his voice that he'd understood her meaning. Not, are they okay, but what is wrong with those two? Why aren't they on their way to Winnipeg?

...