I don't understand what it had to do with what I wrote...
Well, if you are looking for symbolism in your story, I just thought I'd mention that the street in Yekaterinburg named for the killer Yermakov actually originally and now refers to a supply of clean water. But of course it might not be of interest to you, if you place the characters in your story far out in the forest at this point. However, if you mention the Iset, experienced Romanov romantics will think of some lines in Vladimir Mayakovsky's poem about the execution site. (And coïncidentially it actually starts with a reference to washing.) And if you or your potential readers don't know it, why not get to know it and include a reference to this hauntingly sad and beautiful poem:
The Emperor
I remember –
it was either Easter or Christmas:
everything was washed and then dried
for the celebration.
Along the Tverskaia
in lines stand privates
before the privates – police officers.
The policemen stare obsequiously
at their officers:
"Your Excellency, shall we arrest him?"
The police chief hooks his mustache
behind his ear.
The police officer salutes: "Yes, sir!"
And I see –
a landau is rolling
and in this landau sits
a young officer with a well-groomed beard.
Before him,
like blocks of wood,
four little daughters.
And on their pave-stoned backs
as on our own backs,
his suite follows him
covered in eagles and coats of arms.
And the mighty ringing of the bells
grows thin, a ladylike squeal:
"Hurrah! Tsar Nicholas
Emperor and autocrat of All the Russias!"
The snow covers
the sloping roofs,
it silvers
the telegraph network.
He gripped the cold wire
and was left to hang on it.
The whole of Siberia,
the whole of the Urals,
is covered by the fog of a blizzard.
Beyond the Iset,
where there are mines and cliffs,
beyond the Iset,
where the wind whistled,
the driver of the executive committee
fell silent and stopped
at the ninth verst.The universe was covered in snow.
You can’t see a thing –
more’s the pity.
And only the traces of wolves’ bellies
follow the track
of wild goats.
Six puds (to make a round figure)
as if in charge of a regiment of cedars is he, -
the snow squeaks
under the feet of Paramonov,
the chairman of the executive committee.
He opens his coat,
he kicks the snow
with his boots.
"Was it here?"
- No, not here.
We’ve passed it! –
Here a cedar
was marked by an axe,
incisions to the root of the bark,
at the root,
under the cedar,
a road,
and under it –
the emperor is buried.
Only the clouds float like flags,
and in the clouds the lies of birds,
raucous and one-headed,
the crows curse.
Many are lured by the rays of a crown.
Welcome, nobility and gentry.
In our country you can get a crown
but only with a mine.
Sverdlovsk, 1928.
