Child Thief Read online

  Dimitri was a big man and he used his full weight, but I put my arms around him and rolled, raising my hands to punch him in the side of the head, over and over again as he struggled. I moved so I was on top of my brother-in-law and I hit him again and again before I felt hands grabbing at my coat and I was yanked back, falling in the snow.

  I sat like that, the sun almost gone, the air so cold the snow didn’t even melt beneath me, and I looked across at Dimitri. I watched him push himself up to look back at me, his face bloody and blotched from the weight of my punches, his eyes wild and staring like a horse’s when it’s exhausted from a hard run.

  ‘Don’t try to blame Lara for this,’ I said to him. ‘Dariya ran away because she saw you killing a man.’

  ‘She didn’t see anything.’ Spittle came from Dimitri’s lips as he spoke. The hate was thick in his words.

  ‘She saw you take him and string him up and she came up here to get away from it,’ I said, getting to my feet and standing over Dimitri. ‘While you were trying to save us from a killer, you were failing to protect your own child.’

  Dimitri looked away.

  ‘And if you ever say it again,’ I told him. ‘If I ever hear you blame my daughter for this, I’ll kill you. I swear to God, I’ll bring you out here, right here, to this place, and I’ll kill you.’

  The other men said nothing. They stood in the failing light, among the dark trunks of the naked trees, with their breath circling their heads like wraiths, and they said nothing. I looked at each of them and let them see what was in my eyes; let them see that if any of them repeated Dimitri’s thoughts, I would take the words as an insult.

  One of the men nodded, his face barely visible beneath his fur hat and his thick beard, but I saw that it was Leonid. The respected war veteran who had been in the cemetery earlier that day. One of the men Dimitri had brought with him. He had seen it my way; he had tried to persuade Dimitri to keep what we’d seen to himself, but later he had been in the crowd.

  I had always thought Leonid Andreyevich to be strong – a man who knew his own mind – but today he had proved himself fickle and indecisive, following the majority, afraid to step forward from the line. He’d listened to Josif, a wiser and stronger man than he would ever be, but faced with the strength of numbers he’d merged with the majority, following them like a sheep that follows its flock to the place of slaughter.

  He opened his mouth as if to speak.

  ‘You have something to say, Leonid Andreyevich?’

  He held up his hands to my challenge, a defensive, calming gesture.

  ‘There are tracks,’ Stanislav offered, trying to ease the moment. He was a young man, just a few years older than my own sons.

  ‘What kind of tracks?’ I asked, still staring at Leonid.

  ‘They could be the girl’s.’

  ‘Show me.’ I was already thinking it would be a miracle if any tracks had survived all the activity up here. When the men had come up the slope, they had walked in Dariya’s prints, and now all that was left was a deep trough from my house to this point. It looked as if a small army had marched there. And where we were standing, the ground was a mess of crushed snow from our fight. We had destroyed what might be the quickest means of finding Dariya.

  Stanislav turned and led me further among the slender trunks of the trees. They were widely spaced, but they were confusing; the many bare trunks against the white snow in the failing light of the day made it hard to focus on anything in particular. The last of the sunlight was showing, a glimmer that reached from the horizon and felt its way among the trees. A mesmerising babble of colour and image that could easily confuse a man lost in this place. Above, visible through the gnarled and empty tree branches, the spectral image of the waxing moon as it drew its strength from the sun, waiting for the short day to come to an end.

  The other men began to follow, but I turned and held out a hand. ‘The rest of you stay here. You’ve disturbed enough.’

  Leonid spoke up. ‘What makes you think—’

  ‘Leonid.’ I stopped him. ‘I saw you there too. Did you bring the rope? Or maybe you tied it off so he swung like that from the tree.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or did you just kick him when he was lying in the snow?’

  ‘Don’t judge me, Luka.’

  ‘Like you judged him.’

  ‘You’ve no right—’

  ‘Rights? That’s a joke. What? You suddenly grew some balls after you lynched a man? It gave you the strength to step forward, did it? Or are you speaking because you think these men stand behind you?’ I looked at the others, but none of them made any sign of wanting to join Leonid. They looked at one another and I could see they knew what they’d done. Finally, there was shame.

  Leonid looked at the ground.

  ‘I thought so.’ I watched them before turning back to Stanislav. ‘Show me the tracks.’

  ‘Maybe Dimitri should come too?’ he offered.

  I nodded. ‘Of course.’ I had no love for Dimitri, but I hadn’t lost my ability to empathise with him. His daughter was missing, and I couldn’t think of anything that would burden my heart more than if Lara were taken from me.

  The three of us moved away from the mess of the scuffle and the destructive tracks of the searchers until we came to the pristine snow, and Stanislav pointed.

  We stood in a line at the first print. A clear footprint in the snow, followed by another and another, moving away into the trees until they were too far away to see any more.

  ‘Could it be Dariya?’ Stanislav asked.

  Dimitri moved to step forward but I put out a hand and stopped him. ‘Keep them fresh,’ I said. ‘For once the snow is our friend.’

  Dimitri resisted a moment, then stopped. He shouted Dariya’s name into the woods and waited for a reply.

  There was no sound. Nothing. Not a bird call, not a flutter of snow from a branch, not even the whisper of the wind. He called again, and when there was no reply he stepped forward once more, pushing against my hand which was held to his thick coat.

  ‘Please,’ I said. ‘For Dariya’s sake. Stay still.’

  I felt him relax.

  ‘You think they’re her tracks?’ Stanislav asked.

  I already knew they weren’t Dariya’s tracks. Dariya was eight years old. A young girl with small feet and a short stride. These tracks were large and deep and far apart.

  ‘What do you think?’ I said as I continued to study the marks, crouching in the snow for a closer look, blowing away the sprinkling of soft snow that had fallen into the prints. The tracks were recent enough to call them fresh. They had sharp edges, the bottom packed hard but not frozen to crystal. Older prints would be less defined, crumbled around the edges, glazed with ice. These were clear; the snow had captured them perfectly. I could make out the shallow tread of the boot that had made them, a place on the bottom of the right foot, close to the toe, where a piece of the sole was missing. This was what I’d use as a signature track. That defect on that particular boot made its print unique. I could follow it.

  ‘I think they’re too big,’ said Stanislav. He crouched beside me and we looked at each other.

  ‘We should follow them,’ Dimitri said.

  ‘These aren’t Dariya’s tracks,’ Stanislav said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s right,’ I told him. ‘Anyone can see these aren’t your daughter’s tracks.’

  ‘Then whose?’ He started to move again. ‘We have to go after—’

  I stood and held him back once more. ‘There might be other tracks,’ I said. ‘Something to show us where Dariya has gone.’

  ‘And you’re an expert?’ Dimitri said.

  ‘I’ve followed tracks.’

  ‘Rabbits,’ he said. ‘Squirrels. That makes you an expert?’

  I ignored him and went back to the other men, taking no notice of them watching me as I went to the boundaries of the disturbance we’d made and began walking around it, looking for other signs
. It wasn’t long before I found them.

  I called to my brother-in-law, but Dimitri wasn’t alone when he came to where I was crouched in the snow. The others followed, keeping back.

  ‘The same tracks,’ I said without looking at them.

  I sensed Dimitri step closer and I put out a hand to take hold of the hem of his coat. I tugged, indicating he should come down to my level.

  ‘I have tracked more than rabbits and squirrels,’ I said quietly. ‘They’re what I track here, because they’re what we have. Maybe a wolf from time to time, but I’ve been way north of here, right into the Carpathians, and I’ve tracked bear and deer and elk.’ I looked at Dimitri. ‘And you’re forgetting the things you hate about me. I’ve followed armies through the snow and the summer forests, across steppe and river, and they’ve followed me. I’ve tracked and killed men – experts at concealing themselves – sharpshooters hiding in the forest. I’ve hunted deserters and enemies, anarchists and revolutionaries and tsarists.’ I leaned close so Dimitri could feel my breath in his ear. ‘Don’t doubt that I know how to track a little girl.’

  Now I looked back at the others standing behind us and I raised my voice. ‘Any one of us can see these tracks were made by the same boots as those tracks back there. And even my daughter Lara,’ I glanced at Dimitri, ‘even my daughter Lara could tell me these prints were not left by an eight-year-old girl.’

  I pointed into the track. ‘The light’s not so good, but see how deep this is?’ I took Dimitri’s hand and pulled off his glove. ‘Put your finger in it,’ I told him. ‘Feel how deep this track is.’ I let go of his hand and waited for him to put it into the impression in the snow, nodding at him when he hesitated. ‘Go on.’

  When Dimitri had done it, I stood and walked away, beckoning him to follow. We went to where the other tracks led away and I told him to do the same thing.

  ‘What?’ Dimitri said looking up. ‘What am I supposed to be feeling?’

  ‘They’re different,’ I said.

  ‘For God’s sake, we’re wasting time. My daughter is out there, maybe she’s—’

  ‘These tracks are leaving,’ I said. ‘The others were arriving.’

  Dimitri looked at me.

  ‘And they’re made by the same boots. There’s a defect in the right sole, close to the toe.’

  ‘Dariya’s?’

  ‘No. You followed her tracks. You wiped them out with your own; otherwise you’d be able to compare them. These are a man’s boots. And the prints are much deeper here. This man was carrying something when he left. Something heavy.’

  ‘Something heavy like what?’

  ‘A child.’

  Now the realisation came to his eyes. Dimitri’s whole face changed as he stood and looked out at the tracks that disappeared into the trees. ‘We have to follow. Now.’ He began to move, but once again I stopped him. Dimitri pulled against me but I dragged him back.

  ‘This is going to be difficult for you, Dimitri, but you can’t go now. Unprepared. In the dark.’ The sun was gone now and the sky was darkening quickly. It would be black in just a few minutes. ‘Only an idiot would go into the forest at night in just their coat and boots.’

  ‘But we have to go after her.’

  ‘We can’t leave her out there.’ Leonid came forward.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Stanislav said. ‘Together we’ll find her.’

  ‘You’d die,’ I said. ‘That’s what you’d do together out there, and you know it. You’d get lost in the dark and you’d freeze to death.’

  ‘What about Dariya?’ Leonid said. ‘She—’

  ‘She’ll be fine. Whoever she’s with, he’ll have to stop. There’s nothing out there for a long way. It’ll be too dark, too cold. He’ll have to stop. He’ll have somewhere. Shelter of some kind.’

  ‘Then we’ll catch up with him. Come on.’ Dimitri turned to the others. ‘Come with me.’

  Stanislav nodded, but the others stood and watched. Uncertain.

  ‘How can you be sure this man has shelter?’ Leonid asked.

  ‘Because if he didn’t, he’d freeze to death just like any of us. We have to go back first,’ I said. ‘We have to collect a few things. Then we’ll follow. At first light.’

  ‘That’s too late,’ Dimitri said. ‘She might be—’

  ‘She’s not,’ I said. ‘She’s not.’ But I couldn’t be sure Dariya wasn’t already dead. I could only hope.

  ‘I can’t wait till first light. I’m going now,’ Dimitri said, pulling away from me and rushing out into the snow. Almost immediately he stumbled and fell.

  I hurried out to grab hold of him. ‘You’re destroying the tracks. We’ll never find her if you do that. We have to wait until first light,’ I said. ‘We have to wait. I understand your pain and your impatience, but we have to wait. We can’t follow at night, unprepared.’ I felt Dimitri’s fear and his anger. I felt it seeping from every pore, washing him with its stink. I could smell it all around him. Dimitri was afraid for his daughter as any father would be afraid for his child. As I would be afraid for mine. And he had come fresh from the scene of two murdered children and a wrongly hanged man. He would be thinking what we were all thinking.

  ‘We’ll find her,’ I said. ‘I promised Lara, and now I’m promising you. We’ll find her and we’ll bring her back.’

  Dimitri continued to struggle, but he began to weaken and I felt the fight drain from him. He knew I was right. There was no point in following her in the dark. The moon was dying behind the clouds and the night would be black. We’d see nothing of the tracks, and the cold would break us. It would slip its fingers beneath our coats and it would wrap itself around our hearts. I could feel it now, already nipping at me.

  ‘We’ll fetch a lamp,’ Dimitri said. ‘Begin searching tonight.’

  ‘A lamp’s no good,’ I told him. ‘A few candles in the forest at night? You’ll see nothing but your feet. At best you’ll destroy any tracks, and at worst you’ll lose yourself and be dead from the cold before morning. I’ve seen it before.’

  I pulled my brother-in-law to his feet and turned him in the direction of home. Pushing and pulling him back down to the village.

  ‘First light,’ I said. ‘I promise,’ I was already thinking about what we would need to take with us.

  The other men walked in silence, all of them feeling Dimitri’s pain.

  ‘You’re a believer,’ I said to Dimitri.

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘You believe in God.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then pray.’

  ‘I already am. Every second.’

  I nodded, watching what I could see of Dimitri’s face in the falling darkness, then I lifted my eyes to the stars and a made a quiet prayer of my own. I thought about those tracks in the land, leading away from Lara and Dariya’s secret place, and I prayed that God would do just one thing for me. I prayed the tracks would stay fresh. I prayed it wouldn’t snow tonight.

  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 express
ion 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.