The Child Thief

10

Natalia was at the window, lit by the weak flame of a candle, when I returned. She and the children had been watching for me, seeing the dark shapes up on the slope before the sun dropped and took them from their sight. But now she was at the door, helping me with my coat, waiting for me to remove my boots.

‘Did you find her, Papa?’ Lara came forward without hope in her eyes.

I put my hands on my daughter’s cheeks and squatted so our eyes were level.

I wanted to tell her that Dariya was safe at home, that I had climbed the gentle hill with my head high and I had shown the other men what to do. I wanted to prove to my daughter that I was the brave and perfect father she believed she had.

But I shook my head. ‘No, my angel.’

Lara swallowed and nodded because she knew that would be the answer. She’d been at the window with her mother, and she’d seen that Dariya was not with me when I returned to the village. ‘Did the Baba Yaga take her?’

I smiled, but it was a forced, tight-lipped expression caused by sadness rather than amusement. ‘No, my angel. There is no Baba Yaga. That’s just a story.’ A story with which we teased the children, a way of keeping them from wandering too far into the forest. It was a dangerous place if they became lost, but it was sometimes hard to make children understand that. Frightening them with tales of the old hag worked better. There were even grown men who shuddered in the forest when they remembered the tales they’d heard as children – tales which they now recounted to their own sons and daughters.

Alone in the forest, with nothing but the trees, a person raised on folk stories of the old witch can find it hard not to imagine the bone fences, each post topped by a human skull except for the one left free for the head of the next weary traveller. There were savage dogs and a terrible house that moved on chicken legs, creaking and groaning, screaming as it turned to face the traveller. And the twisted old hag herself, spewing from that house, cackling, flying in her blackened pestle. The stories varied from telling to telling – the keyhole filled with teeth, the witch who ages a year each time she answers a question – but the one thing many of the stories had in common was that the Baba Yaga’s favourite food was lost, vulnerable children. And thinking about it like that, I wondered if Lara wasn’t half right. Perhaps the Baba Yaga had taken Dariya.

‘Then where is she?’ Lara asked. ‘Is she lost?’ Her eyes widened as she considered something even more terrible than the broken teeth and the crooked back of the old witch. Lara had heard Natalia and me talking. She had assimilated words and emotions she knew nothing about, but they had become her fears. ‘Did the Chekists come for her?’ she asked.

I glanced up at Natalia standing close, the word hanging between us as an invisible entity. It was an old word for an organisation that no longer existed under that name. Lenin’s Cheka was once responsible for grain requisition, the interrogation of political enemies, running the Gulag system and putting down rebellious peasants, workers and deserting Red Army soldiers. Its name was so ingrained in the consciousness of the people that even though it had a new title, OGPU, many people still referred to the political police as Chekists. And just that one word was sufficient to capture the essence of everything the organisation stood for.

For Lara, the word held special power. She was afraid of the Baba Yaga, but the adults were afraid of the Chekists.

‘No, Lara. Not them either,’ I said. ‘Dariya is lost, that’s all. But I’m going to find her. Her papa and I are going to look for her and we’re going to find her.’

‘You promise?’

‘Didn’t I already promise?’

Lara nodded and I hugged her tight, grateful she was here and not out there in the dark and the cold. I felt a great sadness for Dimitri, and I felt fear and sympathy for Dariya, but I couldn’t help also feeling relief for my own daughter, and for the other people standing around me in that room.

I held Lara for a while, the hard floor painful on my knees, and I wiped the palm of my hand across my eyes before I released her. ‘Time for you to sleep now.’

‘But, Papa, I—’

‘Now,’ I said, looking up at Natalia again. ‘And no stories tonight. Straight to sleep.’

Natalia nodded and took Lara’s hand, leading her into the bedroom.

I watched them go and stayed on my knees. My legs didn’t work like they did when I was a young man. There was a stiffness in the joints, aches in the places where they had been broken or injured. I’d survived two wars, fought for three different armies, and I counted my blessings I’d come away alive, but I hadn’t been free from injury.

I pushed up, ignoring the pain, and stretched the discomfort away before beginning to gather the things I’d need.

‘You’re leaving now?’ Viktor asked.

‘No, not in the dark. Not now. I’ll go at first light. Dimitri will be waiting, if he isn’t stupid enough to try going now.’

‘But you don’t think he will?’ Petro said.

‘No.’ I shook my head as I tipped an assortment of cartridges onto the wooden table. The brass and lead rolled together, forming patterns. ‘He knows it’s no use. He’d never find her in the dark.’ I looked up at my sons. ‘You want to help; sort these out.’

‘You’re going to need all these?’

‘Who knows what I’m going to need.’

I took the two handguns that had been among the hanged man’s belongings and placed them on the table along with other things I intended to take.

‘You don’t think she’s just lost then?’ Petro asked as he began to sort the cartridges, standing them upright on the table.

‘No. Dariya’s not lost. Someone has taken her.’

‘Taken her?’ Petro looked up from what he was doing. ‘Why do you think that?’

‘There were tracks.’ I sat down and put my elbows on the table, but my hands were in fists and they pushed down on the wooden surface.

‘But who would take her?’ Petro asked. ‘Who would want to take Dariya?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Someone from the village?’

‘No.’

Natalia came out from the bedroom and closed the door behind her. ‘Speak quietly,’ she said. ‘Lara’s not sleeping.’

‘I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t sleep at all tonight,’ I replied.

Natalia went to the pich and put a pot of water on to boil. She made black tea, weak to preserve what we had left.

‘Tell me what happened,’ she asked as she put four cups on the table, clicking her tongue at the mess I’d made. ‘And move some of these things away.’

I told her about the fight with Dimitri at the edge of the forest and I described the tracks I’d found.

Natalia listened in silence, her hands wrapped around her cup. Not once did she sip her tea.

‘You’re sure about this?’ she asked.

‘Of course I’m sure. There’s no doubt at all. Dariya’s been taken.’

‘And you think it’s the same person who did that to those poor children you found yesterday.’ It wasn’t a question. It was what we were all thinking, but Natalia was the only one with the courage to say it aloud. And then she voiced the second thing we all had on our mind: ‘Do you think she’s still alive?’

‘I hope so, but…’ I put my face in my hands and rubbed hard before speaking again. ‘I’m afraid for her.’ I stared at the tabletop. ‘I’m afraid that when I find her she might already be dead.’

‘Then why wait until morning to go after her?’ Natalia asked. ‘Why not straight away?’

‘Don’t you think I’d have gone straight away if I could?’

‘It’s just a question, Luka, not an accusation.’

I sighed. ‘The tracks I found were at least a few hours old, but we had less than half an hour of daylight left and you can’t track with lamps. If we’d gone unprepared, we’d have ruined the trail and been lost and cold within two hours. We’d probably be dead by morning. It wasn’t an easy decision to make.’

Natalia reached across the table and put her hand on mine. She held my fingers in hers. Two hands that had been apart for so much of the time they should have been together.

Viktor and Petro stayed quiet, watching us.

‘Every time I think of Dariya, I see those two children.’ I took a deep breath. ‘But beneath it all, a part of me is glad.’

I looked around the table and saw confusion in Viktor’s eyes, but in Petro and Natalia’s I saw only understanding.

Natalia nodded, her face softening. ‘You mean you’re glad it isn’t Lara.’

‘Yes.’

I went back to gathering what I’d need tomorrow while Natalia remained in her seat, drinking her tea and watching me prepare. She didn’t touch anything, and she didn’t protest again at the mess I was making of her table. She lifted her cup to make room for me and when I’d put everything on the table, I stood back to look at it all.

‘So much to carry, Papa,’ Viktor said. ‘One man couldn’t carry all that for long in the snow.’

‘Two men,’ I said.

My sons both looked at me, but my eyes were on Viktor. ‘I want you to come with us.’

Viktor nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘But not me?’ Petro asked.

‘I want you to stay here. You need to look after Mama and your sister.’

Petro shook his head, clenching his jaw, the muscles bulging and relaxing.

‘Why not both of them?’ Natalia said. ‘Three are stronger than two, and Petro’s a strong boy.’

‘That’s why I want him to stay with you,’ I said. ‘If they both come, who’s going to take care of you and Lara?’

‘We can take care of ourselves,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t be gone more than a day or two, and there’s not too much for us to do.’ She stared at me as if she were looking right inside me, trying to see what gave me my thoughts. ‘We can manage on our own for a while.’

Petro looked hopeful, his eyes meeting mine.

‘No. Petro stays.’

Petro turned away, going to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. The three of us stood in silence for a moment before I spoke again. ‘You should sleep too, Viktor. It’ll be a long day tomorrow.’

When Natalia and I were alone, I asked her to put out some food for me to take, so she gathered bread and sausage, a small piece of salo, wrapping each in a square of clean cloth. The salo was from our own pig, which I’d slaughtered in the summer. Nothing had been wasted. I’d cut the fatback myself, smoked and salted it, and Natalia had made kovbyk with the flesh from the beast’s head. That single animal had fed us for some time and the smoked salo had lasted well, but there was very little of it left.

She put the wrapped packages on the table with the other things and looked at the neat rows and piles I had laid out.

She spoke to me in a whisper. ‘So much to take. More than enough for just one day.’

‘It might take longer. I have to be ready for that.’

‘But I’ve given you only enough food for just one day. Hardly even that. I could give you more—’

‘No. Keep it. We haven’t enough, and, God knows, if the Bolsheviks make it here, there’ll be even less. I can hunt if I need to. I’ll find something.’

‘You should take Petro with you.’

I snatched a box of papirosa cigarettes from the shelf and sat down, taking one out and pinching the wide filter. I lit it with a match and leaned so my forearms were on the table, letting the smoke drift around my head.

In front of me, the photograph I’d found in the man’s tin. I picked it up and held it out so I could see it in the light of the candle. The family posing for the picture. All of them so serious. The children captured in that instant as if they would live for as long as the photograph remained.

‘This man lost everything,’ I said, tapping his face in the photograph, covering it over and rubbing my finger across his features. ‘Everything that made him who he was.’ I took a drag on the cigarette. ‘I think he was following the person who murdered his children.’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘It’s what I’d do if someone did that to my children. I’d want to find him and kill him. And you saw how weak he was. Shot. Starving. What else could make a man in that condition keep going? What else would make him drag that sled and keep on?’

I looked up at my wife and remembered the nights I’d woken her with my shouting; how she’d held me, repeating my name over and over, telling me where I was. Even in the winter, when there was ice on the inside of the window, I’d sweat in my sleep and she’d have to fetch water to cool me. I didn’t speak much of the things I’d seen or the things I’d done, but when I first returned from the fighting in the Crimea, she said she hardly recognised me. I was thin and hard and seemed barely alive. There had been a darkness in me, and I felt that same darkness now.

‘I think he was following someone who came close to Vyriv, and now that person has taken Dariya. And when I find him, I’ll kill him.’

Natalia watched me.

‘That’s why I don’t want Petro to come. He doesn’t need to be part of that,’ I said. ‘He’s strong, but he’s not like Viktor.’

‘No, he’s not like Viktor, you’re right. But he’s stronger than you think he is, and the way you treat him, he thinks you favour his brother. He thinks you don’t love him as much.’

I dragged on the cigarette, the harsh smoke tearing down my throat and soaking into my lungs. I allowed the smoke to leak from my nostrils before I pushed out the chair beside me. ‘Sit with me.’

Natalia sat down, and I turned to face her.

‘I think…’ I tried to find the right words. I rolled the cigarette in my fingertips and lowered my voice to a whisper. ‘I think I love him more, Natalia. Because he’s like you.’

Natalia was surprised. ‘You can’t love one son more than the other.’

‘It’s not like that.’ I rearranged my thoughts. ‘Not more, that’s the wrong word. Differently. I love him in a different way. I want to protect him from things that are…’ I sighed. ‘The kind of things I’d protect you and Lara from. He’s got so much goodness in him, I don’t want it to be ruined by all the shit that’s happening around us. I don’t want him to be hardened by it like you were.’

‘I’m hardened?’ She feigned surprise.

‘We’ve seen so much, Natalia. War, famine, winters that want to freeze our souls. You remember how I was when I came back? I couldn’t rest. The nightmares, the fevers. I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere, and if it hadn’t been for you I’d be… well, I don’t know what I’d be. Where I’d be. Maybe like that man they hanged today.’

‘This is different. And Petro feels guilty about what happened to Dariya, I see it in his face. He was the last person to see her and he thinks he should’ve brought her home. You have to give him a chance to find her.’

‘Viktor is strong enough to endure it, but Petro?’

‘I endured it. All of it. The fighting, being without my husband and then calming his sleepless nights. You weren’t the only one who had nightmares.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

Natalia made a dismissive gesture with one hand, then raised her eyebrows and chuckled. ‘And what about the revolution? We all endured that. How we thought it would make things better.’ She swallowed her bitter amusement and looked at me in her searching way. ‘I endured and so will Petro. Lara too. They all will; they have to. It’s life.’

‘Maybe you’re right.’

‘Of course I’m right; I’m always right.’

‘Mostly, that’s true.’

‘So take him with you. Show him he has your love and let him help find Dariya.’

‘What if something were to happen to him?’

She put her hands around her cup to soak in its warmth, but it had grown cold. ‘Nothing will happen. He’ll be safe with you.’

‘I don’t know…’

‘Luka, I don’t want any of you to go but, together, the three of you are so strong. This is no different from one of your hunting trips. You’ll be back in a day or two and Lara and I will be fine.’

‘There are other things to think about,’ I said. ‘I don’t want you to be alone when the Chekists come—’

‘If they come. Maybe they never will.’ She was trying to sound hopeful, to reassure me. ‘We’re so far west. So far from Moscow. And we’re not even close to Karkhiv; why would they ever come this far?’

‘They’re getting closer. Every day they find a new village. They’re everywhere, collectivising our farms, and each one they find leads them to another. They’ll find us eventually.’

‘Perhaps there’ll be another revolution before then, and everything will change again.’

‘I don’t think so. Not this time.’

‘We’re hidden away where almost no one can see us.’

‘But the other villages know.’

She let go of her cup and leaned back. ‘Then let them come, Luka. What will they do other than take what little we have? And what could Petro do to stop them, anyway? What could you do? Is it not more important to concentrate on one problem at a time; to find a stolen child? To give your sons some respect?’

I sighed and closed my eyes.

‘I don’t want you to go, Luka, but you’re the only chance Dariya has. Dimitri would never find her alone – he’s a farmer.’

‘So am I.’ I looked at my callused hands.

‘You were never a farmer. You were always a soldier. And now you’re a soldier pretending to be a farmer, and I can see in your eyes it isn’t who you really are. It’s why you go hunting and spend so much time outside. You’re happy to be with us, but the farming is a burden to you.’

‘No.’

‘I know you too well, Luka. On the outside you’re a family man, a farmer, but inside? Inside you’re still a soldier. So go and do that for a while. Put your knowledge to some use. Keep the promise you made to Lara.’

‘I didn’t promise to take both her brothers with me.’ I dropped my hands to my knees.

‘Take Petro,’ she said. ‘Let him see he has your love and your respect.’

‘He already does.’

‘Then show him.’

We sat together for a while before washing and going to bed, moving silently so as not to wake the children. It was cold – the fire had done little to heat the house – and we pulled close to one another to keep warm. Lying face to face, Natalia kissed me as she hadn’t done for a long time, and we pressed our bodies together, feeling the security and comfort of skin and scent and flesh. We made love, not as we had done when we were young and first together, but as two who are intimate in ways that reach beyond the physical, and, as we did, there was something that felt final in our act. We moved together that night as if it were the last time we would move in that way.

And when Natalia slept, I held her. I listened to her breathing in the night, and I felt the cold at my face. She turned in her dream, putting her arm across my chest, curling her leg around mine. I memorised the softness of her skin and I closed my eyes. But I did not sleep for a long time. I stared at the darkness and thought about Dariya, wrestling with the decision I had made not to follow her into the forest at night.