What is it, boy? A bear? A wolf? A wood spirit? Tolya crowned the dog with a handful of mashed leaves. You and me, we are hunters. He imagined jumping over the fence into the trees, leaping from the branches onto that fragrant carpet of needles and tumbling into the wooded gloom, deeper into the forest, where the only sound was you and the crunch of twigs beneath your feet. He would hunt down the smells, the voices, the history. He would hunt down the shaman. He would track him to his hut hidden in the gloom and tell him about Stalin. No need for magic now, comrade shaman. We, you and me, we are Communism! We have the new magic, in Stalins word. It will cure our ills, and keep us safe. Your forest belongs to us all now. Tolya gripped the top of the gate and stared out into the trees, looking for movement.
Come on, Tolya! cried Baba from the porch, theres work to be done. Wheres your broom, eh? Forgotten on the ground, and Lev is going to chew it up watch out!
Tolya knew damage to the broom would be punished and jumped down from the gate to retrieve it. The trees sighed and waved. He was lucky he had trees to look at, and not some neighbours house. Take Comrade Goloshov, for example: if his house was opposite Comrade Goloshovs, all he would see would be an old man with a red nose sitting by the window all winter and on his porch all summer. And his house smelled funny, like the inside of Levs ears.
He looked down the track towards the village. Smoke straggled from every crooked chimney. Chernovolets was little more than one road lined with wooden houses on each side, all higgledy-piggledy, not a straight line between them. To Tolya, it seemed a busy, people-filled place after all, there was a school, and a shop, and a village hall, his auntie and uncle even a doctor. The houses were ancient: indeed, not one was under fifty years old. The climate moulded the dwellings: the wooden walls and floors gradually bowed and buckled and sank in on themselves, producing façades as individual as the faces of the tenants. This was his village: four thousand kilometres east of Moscow, and home to five hundred and eighty-nine people, various chickens, some dogs, cats, rats, a few pigs, a riot of boys and girls, and a bucketful of stories and myths. Baba called his name. He leant the broom on the fence and joined her at the well.
When will Papa be back? he asked as they drew the water up.
Late. Hes busy. The words came out like whacks of an axe as she puffed. When theyd finished with the water she added, Comrade Stalin needs more paper, to print more information, and for that the paper mill needs more trees, and for that Papa needs to work more, to make sure the trees are ready and the paper gets made. Otherwise he gets in trouble. Its all in the plan, and we dont want any trouble.
Baba, will I work in the forest when Im grown up? Is that in the plan?
She laughed and wiped finger trails on her apron. Well, Tolya, I dont know. Maybe. Kind eyes crinkled under a frown.
Thats good. I like trees.
Boy, its hard work. Youve seen Papa when he gets home: he can hardly walk. You wont have much time to like trees if you work in the forest. Youll be cutting them up.
But its good work, Baba?
Its work. But you youre different, Tolya. Youre not like your papa. With your drawing and your writing, and all that
But I could do it!
Im sure, Im sure, my treasure, she said, smiling at him suddenly, the cracks in her face deepening. But well see. Theyre moving people out here to help with the work. Outsiders, from Moscow, and out that way.
Really? Ive not seen any, Baba. Tolya was intrigued by the idea of outsiders: what did they look like? What did they smell like? What language did they speak? Would their children go to his school?
They dont live in the villages. They are kept to themselves: they have their own camps.
Our teacher told us about Pioneer camps, where children go for holidays if theyve been very good. Are they like that?
Something like that, son, something like that Baba turned away and headed off back to the cottage, shaking her head. Tolya patted Lev on his soft, brown neck and tugged at his ears.
Hard work, Lev-chik, hard work is required! We will work hard, and Comrade Stalin will be pleased, and say thank you to us! We will make him proud. Thats what Papa does, and thats what we will do. He looked around the yard with a critical eye. Wheres the broom? There are leaves in the yard, and we must get them all! Every one! Not one leaf will be left! He grabbed the broom and darted around the yard, chasing down the leaves and pushing them into the black wooden bucket.
Dusk quilted the trees, blurring their outlines as Tolya waddled about, pretending the leaves were goats and he was herding them. Baba had lit a lamp and it glowed orange in the window, but still Tolya stayed out. He was bending down, talking to himself and stuffing handfuls of leaves into the bucket, when a crackling sound, close by in the trees, made him stop. Something heavy had moved. Between his legs, looking back towards the house, he could see Lev. The dog was no longer snuffling around the feed bin. Instead he stood rock still, ears clamped to his skull and tail tucked between his legs. He was staring past Tolya into the trees. The wind disappeared, and for a moment all there was in the world was silence, and the thud of his own heartbeat.
A snap shot into the air and the blood surged in Tolyas veins. He swallowed and dropped the two fistfuls of leaves to the sodden earth. Lev churned out a growl. The wind blew a flapping sound into Tolyas ears: like sheets on a line, or maybe wings.
With eyes squeezed shut he drew himself upright, fingers crossed like the boys had said. He began to pray to Stalin for help. Before hed got a word out, Levs bark ricocheted off the trees, snapping Tolyas eyes back open. He stared into the gloom, groping in the darkness, dreading to see, but unable to turn away. At any moment, he knew, moth boy, with the throbbing, hairy thorax and wavering antennae, would reach out for him. For a moment he saw nothing but leaves and clouds and shadows. Then, among the lower branches of the nearest pine, something stirred.
Floating in the darkness there was a face, sharp and pale, with black-ringed eyes that glowed like fireflies. A human face? Maybe he could make out two arms, perhaps, or were they wings? They flapped against the figures sides as it hovered in the undergrowth. Tolya raised his chin. He should be brave. He should protect Baba. He was about to speak when he saw the figure was not looking at him at all: its eyes reflected the lamp, in the house. It was looking past him. It might not even have seen him. He took a step backwards, then another, and felt the wall of the well behind his heel. The creature did not react. He couldnt go backwards all the way to the house. But if he turned and ran, it might give chase, swooping onto his neck with talons sharp as knives. What if it caught him, or worse, followed him in? He creased his eyes towards the cottage, face taut. The thing in the woods began flapping again, and a gurgle spewed from its mouth, somewhere between laughter and choking.
What are you? Tolya called out, his voice small and frightened against the wind.
It did not reply, but hunched down, almost hidden in the shadows.
You cant hide! Ive seen you! And and I have a fierce dog! Baba will be out any minute. She knows about the old ways, and she wont be scared! Shell give you a good hiding!
What are you? Tolya called out, his voice small and frightened against the wind.
It did not reply, but hunched down, almost hidden in the shadows.
You cant hide! Ive seen you! And and I have a fierce dog! Baba will be out any minute. She knows about the old ways, and she wont be scared! Shell give you a good hiding!
There was no reply. Tolya could see nothing, but Lev knew more, and a growl shuddered through him. A twig snapped not three metres from Tolya. He turned and fled, dashing on ship-wrecked legs back to the house as a tempest of barking filled his ears.
Baba, Baba, theres something in the trees! He burst through the door. A spirit! Moth boy! Hes flapping in the trees I saw him!
She was busy, knife in hand, a pile of bloody bones resting on the table in front of her. What are you on about, boy? Ive bones to boil, and youre shrieking about spirits? A pot was already bubbling on the stove. And look at this kindling it wont split itself! Baba jabbed her knife towards the stack of wood in the corner. You and your stories
Really Baba, I really, really saw it! Look: Lev is still out there, he wont come in! Hes growling at it. Its in the trees! Look!
He grabbed Babas arm and tugged her towards the window. She pulled away from his grip.
I see nothing, boy. Get the dog in. If he gets in the forest we wont see him for a week.
But he wont come, Baba! cried Tolya, desperate. Please!
Akh! she spat, and grabbed up the lantern from the windowsill. Together they hurried out into the yard. Lev! Come! shouted Baba, but the dog was at the gate, intent on the trees, still growling, ears back and dagger teeth shining. Baba made towards him with swift strides but stopped short at the well, head cocked to one side, sniffing the air.
Its there, Baba! Tolya pointed into the darkness, where the eyes had glowed and the arm-wings had flapped. She said nothing, but held the lantern higher. Still Lev snarled, front paws coming off the ground in fierce jerks.
Show yourself! she bit out at last. We know youre there.
Nothing stirred but the wind and the leaves.
No harm will come to you, that I promise. We are good folk.
Tolya looked up at her, questions bubbling to his lips.
Hush! she commanded.
Lev growled, then split the dusk with a volley of barks.
In the darkness below the pines, a greyness rose, shaking the air like a mirage. A wretched, flapping, scarecrow figure emerged, cloaked in rags; an apparition as thin as paper, filmy like the skin on a pond. Baba eyed it carefully, frowning and squinting, and clicked her tongue, muttering under her breath.
Come closer, come here in the light slowly, mind!
The figure flickered, taking form out of the green and grey, solidifying from apparition to
Youre no spirit. Theres no magic at work here, she said to Tolya, and then more loudly. Youre no moth, are you? Who are you?
The apparition moved closer, and in the soft light of the lantern, Tolya could see it was, in fact, just a boy. Older than him, taller, maybe sixteen or seventeen, but thin and strange. The boy stood still a while, then slowly raised his hands and flapped them in front of his face, in and out, in and out. Yellow-white teeth like standing stones split his mouth in a strange grin.