Child Thief Read online

  ‘Boring is how we like it,’ Natalia told her. ‘Boring is good.’

  ‘Boring is boring,’ Lara said.

  ‘You’ve been listening to your cousin too much.’ Natalia nodded to me and beckoned with her hands, telling me to bring the man into the house.

  So Viktor and I lifted him between us and carried him to the door while Natalia snatched up some blankets and cushions and put them by the fire.

  ‘Put him here,’ she said. ‘It’s the warmest place. There’s a little food; you think he’ll eat?’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll do much of anything.’ We put him down and watched Natalia cover him with blankets.

  ‘Who is he?’ Dariya asked, squatting beside the man and peering into what she could see of his face. She put out a finger and poked him, but Natalia caught her hand and pulled her away.

  ‘Did you bring meat?’ she asked. ‘We have some mushroom soup, a little milk and oats, but, like this, a man needs meat.’

  We set our rifles by the door and Viktor went for the rabbit we’d snared, coming back and handing it to his mother, holding it up by the ears.

  ‘This is it? A small rabbit? I send my husband and twin sons to find meat and they bring me one small rabbit and another mouth to feed?’ She took it in her fist and held it up to inspect it. ‘How do I feed a family with one rabbit?’

  ‘We have potatoes,’ I said. ‘A few beets.’

  ‘And not much else.’

  ‘Be thankful. The activists come here, we’ll have nothing.’

  ‘One rabbit.’ She shook her head and turned her attention back to the man.

  ‘Petro, stay with your mother.’ I touched Viktor’s shoulder, indicating he should come with me.

  ‘I can help you, Papa.’ Petro came forward but I shook my head.

  ‘I said stay with your mother.’ I looked at Petro for a moment, softening my expression, but my son tightened his jaw and turned away. I sighed and stepped outside, pulling the door closed.

  There were one or two men standing by their homes now, armed with pitchforks and sticks, and I knew they’d be worried about Petro’s warning, wondering if men had finally come to take their belongings. Sticks and farm implements would be no match for the rifles of a Red Army unit, but some of the men would fight with their bare hands if they had to.

  I told Viktor to let them know everything was safe. ‘But don’t mention what’s under there.’ I glanced back at the sled. ‘Don’t tell them what else we found.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I don’t want to scare them. They’re scared enough already.’

  Viktor nodded, and when the men saw him approach, they began to wander out to meet him. I waited until there was a group of them, clustered in the twilight, then I went back into the house and closed the door behind me.

  The room was small but it was large enough for one family. There was a table and a pich – the clay oven where Natalia did her cooking. There was a woven mat in front of the fire, a couple of chairs to soak the heat, and above the fire an obraz hung on the clay wall. The icon was unremarkable, just paint and wood, an image of the Virgin embracing her child. It had been in Natalia’s family for as long as she remembered, and the last time it had been taken from its position was when her mother lay dying, outliving her husband by just a few weeks, and she had held it in her fingers while she breathed her last.

  The rushnyk draped over the top of the icon had also been in its place for many years because we’d had no reason to take it down. Before the revolution, the rushnyk was always on the table, put out to welcome guests. The colour of the embroidered flowers on the towel was a rich and deep red, and the family would display it with pride and put out bread and salt as an offering for visitors. But now it gathered dust and the flowers had faded. No one visited any more. No one trusted anyone now.

  Already, Natalia had discarded the man’s scarf, opening his jacket and removing the clothing that would become damp now he was inside where it was warm. What I could see of his face was bright red, the blood resurrecting in his veins, but his cheeks and his chin were covered with a thick matting of beard that hid his mouth from view. The hair was clotted together in places, twisted and clumped.

  ‘I’ll have to take everything off him,’ Natalia said, looking up when I came in. Petro was standing beside her, still holding his knife, reluctant to let it go. Lara was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs, squeezed beside her cousin Dariya, both of them watching the man with curiosity. Lara jumped down and came over to me, putting her arms around my waist and holding herself tight against me. I leaned down to kiss her hair.

  ‘Who is he, Papa?’ she asked.

  ‘Is he one of them?’ Dariya said. ‘A twenty-five-thousander?’

  Natalia and I shared a glance over the top of Lara’s head.

  ‘Where have you heard that?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Someone was talking,’ Dariya said. ‘Some of the men.’

  ‘And you were listening in? There’s a word for children like that,’ Natalia told her.

  ‘They said they’re coming to take our land, is that right?’ Dariya asked.

  Word had reached the village about the party activists. Twenty-five thousand young communists dispatched by Stalin, bringing with them the ranks of the Red Army and the political police, spreading out across the country, searching for anything of value, anything that could sustain life. Already there had been word of other villages garrisoned and occupied, families broken.

  ‘That’s not for you to worry about,’ I said. ‘You let the adults think about that.’

  ‘But when are they coming?’

  ‘Perhaps they won’t come at all,’ Natalia told her. But we knew they would reach Vyriv eventually. It was inevitable that some time soon the soldiers would look down into the shallow valley and see the smallholdings, and the purge would come.

  ‘But Papa said—’

  ‘Enough, Dariya,’ Natalia stopped her. ‘We have other things to think about right now.’

  ‘You need to go home.’ I went to where Dariya was sitting and squatted in front of the chair. ‘Your mama and papa will be worried about you.’

  ‘Please, Uncle Luka.’

  I shook my head.

  Dariya pouted, but when I tickled her ribs she laughed and knew she was beaten. I went to the door with her and waited for her to put on her boots before letting her out. ‘Straight home,’ I told her as she ran out into the cold.

  I watched her go, then closed the door and headed to the room where we slept.

  It was dark in there, but I could see well enough to find the chest of drawers that had once been white but was now a greyish colour. I opened the bottom drawer and looked at the few clothes folded into neat piles. Lara had one dress, the one she was wearing now, and there was another in here, ready for her when she grew into it. Beside it there were some clothes my boys had outgrown long ago, in a time when I hadn’t even known their faces; a time of bloodshed and filth.

  I picked up a shirt, the material worn so thin I could barely feel it between my hardened fingers. There was still use in the clothes, but I needed something and they could be spared, so I took a pair of trousers to go with the shirt, tucked them both inside my coat, then slipped back into the adjoining room.

  As I headed to the front door, Natalia spoke to me, asking, ‘Where are you going?’

  She was leaning over the man by the fire. Lara was beside her, taking his clothes as her mother passed them back to her. He was wrapped in many layers, each one a surprise, as if, when they had all been peeled back, the man beneath would be nothing but a skeleton robed in slack skin and matted hair.

  ‘I have something to do,’ I said. ‘Outside.’

  Natalia continued to watch me for a moment and I looked away so she couldn’t read me. When our gaze met again, I knew she had seen something in my eyes, stored it in her memory, ready to bring it out at a more appropriate moment. I nodded once to her, an understanding passing
between us, then forced a smile and turned to the front door.

  Outside, I dragged the sled around to the small barn behind the house. The sky was heavy with cloud, the moon failing to do much more than break the odd patch, but the ground was white and reflected what little light there was.

  Pulling the barn doors wide, the smell of animals came out on a waft of warm air, and I hauled the sled inside. The cow watched from its stall, its dark eyes like glass.

  I studied the tarpaulin, seeing its shape, knowing what was beneath the ice-encrusted material.

  ‘I can help,’ Viktor said, surprising me.

  ‘I didn’t hear you coming. You better close the doors,’ I told him.

  While Viktor pulled the doors shut, I lit a lamp and hung it from a nail on one of the supports. ‘You spoke to the others,’ I said.

  Viktor came back and pulled down his scarf. ‘They wanted to see him, but I told them to wait until tomorrow.’

  ‘And they listened to you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I showed my son a rueful smile. ‘They listen to you. It’s good.’

  Viktor gestured in the direction of the sled. ‘What are you going to do?’

  I replied by taking the clothes from beneath my coat. ‘I need to cover her.’

  ‘You want me to do it?’ Viktor asked.

  ‘We’ll do it together.’

  Viktor hesitated before reaching down to take the corner of the tarpaulin and peel it back. I took the corner nearest to me and did the same, both of us moving the length of the sled so we could draw back the covering and whip it off.

  I had to force myself to look at what lay beneath.

  4

  The low light was a blessing; it cast a gentler hue on what we were seeing. The sled was packed with the man’s few belongings. A bale of clothes, rolled and tied with rope. A couple of waterproof coverings. A leather satchel and a Mosin-Nagant rifle like the one Viktor had been carrying on the steppe. There was also a wooden case for a Mauser pistol.

  And there were the two bodies. A boy and a girl.

  It wasn’t so easy to make it out in the incomplete darkness, but I had seen the boy’s face when we were on the hillside, I had seen the precise laceration on the naked girl’s leg, and I saw those things now, just as clearly in my mind.

  Looking at the two bodies lying in shadow, I closed my eyes and thanked God I couldn’t see better in the dark.

  ‘We have to cover her,’ I said. ‘Give her some dignity. And nobody else needs to see this. You understand that, don’t you? People have enough to scare them. They hide in their homes and pray for deliverance, and something like this …’

  ‘I understand, ‘Viktor said. ‘But how do we keep it from them?’

  ‘We’ll bury them tomorrow. In the right place.’

  ‘The graveyard? People will see.’

  ‘We’ll go early.’

  ‘They’ll see where we’ve been digging.’

  ‘By then it won’t matter. We’ll tell them something they’ll believe.’

  Viktor reached out to take the clothes, but I tightened my grip. Viktor tugged once. ‘Let me.’

  ‘No.’ I pulled them back and opened them out, laying them beside the girl.

  I gritted my teeth and leaned down to slip the trousers over her feet. My hands were dumb inside thick gloves, and I fumbled and failed. I shifted, straightened the trousers once more, and tried again, but her feet were at right angles to her ankles and they refused to slide into the legs of the material. I cursed and breathed out hard, preparing myself for another attempt, this time jamming the child’s feet in the trousers so hard I had to tug to remove them for another try.

  ‘Damn it.’ I put the trousers aside, knowing I’d have to break the joints.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Viktor said, but his voice was weak, almost a whisper.

  ‘No.’ I took off my gloves and stuffed them into my pockets. I put my left hand on the girl’s frozen shin and looked up at the ceiling of the barn.

  My hands were still warm from having been inside the gloves, but I felt the heat draining away when I touched the girl. Her skin was smooth and cold as stone.

  I put my right hand on her foot and squeezed my eyes tight before I leaned all my weight down and felt the ankle crack. And as it did, a lump rose to my throat and I fought hard to retain my composure in front of my son. Our world was not a world for weakness. It was a world for strength and survival. Those were the most important lessons I could teach my son. And yet I couldn’t bring myself to look at the girl as I felt for her other foot and prepared to do the same the thing again.

  With the second crack, I turned away and bent over, putting my hands on my knees and breathing hard. I fought the urge to vomit, swallowing hard, drawing on all my reserves of strength. ‘Damn.’ I punched my own leg. ‘Damn, damn, damn.’

  I had been in terrible places and I had seen terrible things. As a soldier I had been responsible for many deaths, and in my life as a farmer I slaughtered animals and I butchered them. I had broken bones many times over, but nothing had ever sickened me like this. The sound was close to that of snapping away a lamb’s leg, and I knew I would never be able to do that again without thinking of this moment.

  ‘Let me finish,’ Viktor said, putting his hand on my back.

  I straightened and looked my son in the eye. ‘No, I—’

  ‘You don’t have to do it all yourself.’

  I wanted to tell him how much that meant. ‘Dry that. It’ll freeze.’

  ‘Hm?’

  I pointed at my son’s face and Viktor rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm, taking away the tear. ‘I’ll do the rest,’ he said.

  I let him take the trousers, and I watched him slip them over the girl’s loose feet and pull them over the wound on her thigh. I tried not to think of my own daughter.

  When he was finished, we stood side by side and looked down at the two small bodies on the sled.

  ‘You think we should have left them up there?’ Viktor asked.

  ‘On the hill?’

  ‘Not just on the hill, but out of sight, somewhere—’

  ‘For the wolves? Or for the crows to take their eyes?’

  ‘No, I just meant—’

  ‘This is someone’s daughter. Someone’s son.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘Then what did you mean?’ It wasn’t Viktor’s fault, but I could feel anger building anyway. I’d gone out this morning to find something to eat to keep my family alive as long as possible in this hateful, murderous weather, but I’d come down with the bodies of two children and a man who was no use to anyone.

  ‘I just meant it would have been easier. No, not easier. Better. Maybe it would have been better. We wouldn’t have had to do this. People don’t need another thing to worry about. This will scare them. It scares me.’

  I swallowed my anger, forcing it away, battling it back inside me to feed and grow. ‘That’s why we have to keep it to ourselves.’

  ‘We shouldn’t have him in the house.’

  ‘We don’t know he’s done anything wrong.’

  ‘Does it matter? Is it worth the risk?’

  ‘Of course it matters,’ I said, trying to feel my own humanity; trying to find my own compassion. ‘We’re still human. Whatever we do, whatever we see, whatever’s happening to this country, we have to remember that. We’re still human. We always have to remember that. Because once we forget that, it will all be over.’

  Coming back to the house, we stopped at the front door. ‘Viktor …’ I pursed my lips, wanting the right words to come.

  My son looked at me. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘You’re welcome.’

  I nodded and reached out to rub his shoulder. ‘You’re a good boy.’

  We went in and removed our coats and boots, stamping the snow off by the door.

  The stranger was lying in front of the fire with a blanket over him, but if anyone had walked in, they would’ve thought him nothing more t
han a pile of rags. Petro was sitting in the far corner, settled into one of the old chairs, a rifle propped against the wall beside him. The room was lit only by the fire that burned in the grate, and three half-burned candles wedged into a chipped clay holder on the table.

  ‘Has he said anything?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing.’ Petro blinked hard as if he’d been falling asleep. ‘Not even moved.’

  ‘But he’s alive?’ I went to the man, my knees popping when I crouched, and put my fingers to his neck. ‘Yes. He’s alive.’

  ‘You think he’s an activist?’ Petro asked.

  ‘No.’ I glanced at Viktor, letting our knowledge of the man’s cargo remain a secret between us.

  ‘From a kolkhoz, then?’ Petro pushed himself out of the chair and came closer. ‘You think he’s from a collective, running from the OGPU? Maybe they’ll follow him here.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ I said, opening the flap in the wooden case I’d taken from the sled. ‘But unlikely.’ I tipped it so the pistol slipped out. ‘I don’t know. There’s something about him.’ I turned the pistol over in my hands, looking at the number nine burned into the handle and painted red.

  ‘Some kind of mark?’ asked Petro. ‘Does the number mean something?’

  ‘To remind you what ammunition to use,’ I told him. ‘It means this weapon belonged to a German.’

  ‘He’s German?’

  ‘Or he took it from someone who is. Was.’ I slipped the pistol back and put the case on the shelf. I left the boys talking and went to where Natalia was standing over the stove. Lara was sitting at the table, playing with a piece of wool. I tousled the top of her hair and sat down beside her, watching her smile as she twisted the wool.

  ‘Hungry?’ Natalia asked, without turning around.

  ‘Starving.’

  She banged a metal spoon against the rim of an iron cooking pot and laid it on the worktop beside her. ‘Lara, put that away now.’

  Lara groaned and rolled her eyes at me, but did as she was asked, winding the wool into a ball as she pushed back her chair and called to Viktor and Petro.