Child 44

There was no reply. He called again. Was this a game? No, Pavel didn’t play games, not any more. Andrei walked in the direction he’d last seen his brother but he couldn’t see anything. This was stupid. He wasn’t the one who was meant to find Pavel, Pavel was meant to find him. Something was wrong. He called again, louder this time. Why wasn’t his brother answering? Andrei wiped his nose on his coarse jacket sleeve and wondered if this was a test. What would his brother do in this situation? He’d follow the tracks in the snow. Andrei dropped his sticks and knelt down, searching the ground on his hands and knees. He found his own footsteps and traced them back to the point where he’d left his brother. Proud of himself he switched to his brother’s footsteps. If he stood up he couldn’t see the footprints so, crouching down, with his nose only an arm’s length from the snow, he carried on, like a dog chasing a smell.

He arrived at a fallen tree, sticks scattered all around, footsteps everywhere – some deep and large. The snow was red. Andrei took a handful, crushing it between his fingers, squeezing it and watching it turn to blood.

– Pavel!

He didn’t stop shouting until his throat hurt and his voice disappeared. Whimpering, he wanted to tell his brother that he could have his share of the cat. He just wanted him back. But it was no good. His brother had left him. And he was alone.

***

Oksana had hidden a small bag of powdered cornstalks, pigweed and crushed potato peelings behind the bricks of her oven. During inspections she always kept a small fire burning. Collectors sent to check that she wasn’t hoarding grain never looked beyond the flames. They mistrusted her – why was she healthy when the others were sick, as though to be alive was a crime. But they couldn’t find food in her house, couldn’t brand her a kulak, a rich peasant. Instead of executing her outright they left her to die. She’d already learnt that she couldn’t beat them by force. Some years ago she had organized the village resistance after it was announced that men were on their way to collect the church bell. They wanted to melt it down. She and four other women had locked themselves in the bell tower, ringing it continuously, refusing to let them take it away. Oksana had shouted out that this bell belonged to God. She might have been shot that day but the man in charge of the collection decided to spare the women. After breaking down the door he’d said that his only orders were to collect the bell, explaining that metal was necessary for their country’s industrial revolution. In response she’d spat on the ground. When the State began taking the villagers’ food, arguing that it belonged to the country and not them, Oksana had learnt her lesson. Instead of strength she feigned obedience, her resistance remaining a secret.

Tonight the family would have a feast. She melted clumps of snow, bringing it to the boil and thickening it with the powdered cornstalks. She added the remaining bones from the bottle. Once cooked, she’d grind the bones down to flour. Of course she was getting ahead of herself. Pavel hadn’t succeeded yet. But she felt sure he would. If God had given her hardship he’d also given her a son to help. All the same, if he didn’t catch the cat she promised not to become angry. The woods were large, a cat was small, and anyway anger was a waste of energy. Even as she tried to brace herself for disappointment she couldn’t help becoming giddy at the prospect of a meat and potato borscht.

Andrei stood in the doorway, his face cut, snow on his jacket, snot and blood running from his nose. His laptys had completely come apart and his toes were visible. Oksana ran over.

– Where’s your brother?

– He left me.

Andrei started to cry. He didn’t know where his brother was. He didn’t understand what had happened. He couldn’t explain. He knew his mother was going to hate him. He knew it was going to be his fault even though he’d done everything right, even though it was his brother who’d left him.

Oksana’s breath was snatched from her. She brushed Andrei aside and hurried out of the house, looking to the woods. There was no sign of Pavel. Maybe he’d fallen and injured himself. Maybe he needed help. She ran back inside, desperate for answers only to see Andrei standing by the borscht with a spoon in his mouth. Caught red-handed, he looked at his mother sheepishly, a line of potato soup dribbling from his lip. Overcome with anger – anger at her dead husband, her missing son – she ran forward, knocking Andrei to the ground and pushing the wooden spoon down his throat.

– When I pull this spoon out of your mouth tell me what happened.

But as soon as she pulled out the spoon all he could do was cough. Enraged, she shoved the spoon back down his throat.