Books

Extract

Chapter 1

Soviet Union
Ukraine
Village of Chervoy
25 January 1933

Since Maria had decided to die, her cat would have to fend for itself.
She’d already cared for it far beyond the point where keeping a pet
made any sense. Rats and mice had long since been trapped and
eaten by the villagers. Domestic animals had disappeared shortly
after that. All except for one, this cat, her companion which she’d
kept hidden. Why hadn’t she killed it? She needed something to live
for; something to protect and love – something to survive for. She’d
made a promise to continue feeding it up until the day she could no
longer feed herself. That day was today. She’d already cut her leather
boots into thin strips, boiled them with nettles and beetroot seeds.
She’d already dug for earthworms, sucked on bark. This morning in
a feverish delirium she’d gnawed the leg of her kitchen stool,
chewed and chewed until there were splinters jutting out of her
gums. Upon seeing her the cat had run away, hiding under the bed,
refusing to show itself even as she’d knelt down, calling its name,
trying to coax it out. That had been the moment Maria decided to
die, with nothing to eat and nothing to love.
Maria waited until nightfall before opening her front door. She
reckoned that under the cover of darkness her cat stood a better
chance of reaching the woods unseen. If anyone in the village
caught sight of it they’d hunt it. Even this close to her own death,
the thought of her cat being killed upset her. She comforted herself
with the knowledge that surprise was on its side. In a
community where grown men chewed clods of earth in the hope
of finding ants or insect eggs, where children picked through
horse shit in the hope of finding undigested husks of grain and
women fought over the ownership of bones, Maria was sure no
one believed that a cat could still be alive.
*
Pavel couldn’t believe his eyes. It was awkward, thin, with green
eyes and black speckled fur. It was unmistakably a cat. He’d been
collecting firewood when he saw the animal dart from Maria
Antonovna’s house, cross the snow-covered road and head
towards the woods. Holding his breath, he glanced around. No
one else had spotted it. There was no one else about; no lights at
the windows. Wisps of smoke, the only sign of life, rose from less
than half the chimney stacks. It was as though his village had been
snuffed out by the heavy snowfall, all signs of life extinguished.
Much of the snow lay undisturbed: there were hardly any footprints
and not a single path had been dug. Days were as quiet as
the nights. No one got up to work. None of his friends played,
staying in their houses where they lay with their families huddled
in beds, rows of enormous sunken eyes staring up at the ceiling.
Adults had begun to look like children, children like adults. Most
had given up scavenging for food. In these circumstances the
appearance of a cat was nothing short of miraculous – the reemergence
of a creature long since considered extinct.
Pavel closed his eyes and tried to remember the last time he’d
eaten meat. When he opened his eyes he was salivating. Spit ran
down the side of his face in thick streams. He wiped it away with
the back of his hand. Excited, he dropped his pile of sticks and
ran home. He had to tell his mother, Oksana, the remarkable
news.
*
Oksana sat wrapped in a woollen blanket staring at the floor. She
remained perfectly still, conserving energy as she devised ways of
keeping her family alive, thoughts which occupied her every
waking hour and every fretful dream. She was one of the few
who’d not given up. She would never give up. Not as long as she
had her sons. But determination itself wasn’t enough, she had to
be careful: a misjudged endeavour could mean exhaustion and
exhaustion invariably meant death. Some months ago Nikolai
Ivanovich, a neighbour and friend, had embarked on a desperate
raid upon a State granary. He had not returned. The next morning
Nikolai’s wife and Oksana had gone looking for him. They’d
found his body by the roadside, lying on his back – a skeletal body
with an arched, stretched stomach, his belly pregnant with the
uncooked grain he’d swallowed in his dying moments. The wife
had wept while Oksana had removed the remaining grain from
his pockets, dividing it between them. On their return to the village
Nikolai’s wife had told everyone the news. Instead of being
pitied she’d been envied, all anyone could think about were the
handfuls of grain she possessed. Oksana had thought her an
honest fool – she’d put them both in danger.
Her recollections were interrupted by the sound of someone
running. No one ran unless there was important news. She stood
up, fearful. Pavel burst into the room and breathlessly announced:
—Mother, I saw a cat.
She stepped forward and gripped her son’s hands. She had to be
sure he wasn’t imagining things: hunger could play tricks. But his
face showed no sign of delirium. His eyes were sharp, his expression
serious. He was only ten years old and already he was a man.
Circumstances demanded that he forgo his childhood. His father
was almost certainly dead, if not dead then dead to them. He’d set
off towards the city of Kiev in the hope of bringing back food. He’d
never returned and Pavel understood, without needing to be told
or consoled, that his father would never return. Now Oksana
depended upon her son as much as he depended upon her. They
were partners and Pavel had sworn aloud that he’d succeed where
his father had failed: he’d make sure his family stayed alive.
Oksana touched her son’s cheek.
—Can you catch it?
He smiled, proud.
—If I had a bone.
The pond was frozen. Oksana rooted through the snow to find a
rock. Concerned that the sound would attract attention she
wrapped the rock in her shawl, muffling the noise as she punctured
a small hole in the ice. She put the rock down. Bracing herself for
the black, freezing water she reached in, gasping at the cold. With
only seconds before her arm became numb she moved quickly. Her
hand touched the bottom and clutched nothing but silt. Where was
it? Panicking, she leant down, submerging all of her arm, searching
left and right, losing all feeling in her hand. Her fingers brushed
glass. Relieved, she took hold of the bottle and pulled it out. Her
skin had turned shades of blue, as though she’d been punched. That
didn’t concern her, she’d found what she was looking for – a bottle
sealed with tar. She wiped away the layer of silt on the side and
peered at the contents. Inside was a collection of small bones.
Returning to the house, she found Pavel had stoked the fire.
She warmed the seal over the flames, tar dripping onto the embers
in sticky globs. While they waited, Pavel noticed her bluish skin
and rubbed her arm, restoring the circulation, ever attentive to
her needs. With the tar melted, she tipped the bottle upside down
and shook. Several bones snagged on the rim. She pulled them
free, offering them to her son. Pavel studied them carefully,
scratching the surface, smelling each one. Having made his selection
he was ready to leave. She stopped him.
—Take your brother.
Pavel thought this a mistake. His younger brother was clumsy
and slow. And anyway the cat belonged to him. He’d seen it, he’d
catch it. It would be his victory. His mother pressed a second bone
into his hand.
—Take Andrei.
*
Andrei was nearly eight years old and he loved his older brother
very much. Rarely going outside, he spent most of his time in the
back room, where the three of them slept, playing with a pack of
cards. The cards had been made by his father from sheets of paper
sliced into squares and pasted together, a parting gift before he’d
set off for Kiev. Andrei was still waiting for him to come home. No
one had told Andrei to expect anything different. Whenever he
missed his father, which was often, he’d deal the cards out on the
floor, sorting them by suits and numbers. He was sure if he could
just finish the pack then his father would come back. Isn’t that
why he’d given him the cards before he’d left? Of course, Andrei
preferred playing with his brother but Pavel no longer had time
for games. He was always busy helping their mother and only ever
played at night just before they got into bed.
Pavel entered the room. Andrei smiled, hoping he was ready to
play a hand, but his brother crouched down and swept the cards
together.
—Put these away. We’re going out. Where are your laptys?
Understanding the question as an order, Andrei crawled under
the bed retrieving his laptys: two strips cut from a tractor tyre and
a pile of rags which, when bound together with string, served as a
pair of makeshift boots. Pavel helped tie them tightly, explaining
that tonight they had a chance of eating meat as long as Andrei did
exactly as he was told.
—Is Father coming back?
—He isn’t coming back.
—Is he lost?
—Yes, he’s lost.
—Who’s bringing us meat?
—We’re going to catch it ourselves.
Andrei knew his brother was a skilful hunter. He’d trapped
more rats than any other boy in the village. This was the first time
Andrei had been invited to accompany him on such an important
mission.
Outside in the snow Andrei paid special care not to fall over.
He often stumbled and tripped, for the world appeared blurred
to him. The only things he could see clearly were objects he
held very close to his face. If someone was able to make out
a person in the distance – while all Andrei could see was a
blur – he put it down to intelligence or experience or some
attribute he’d yet to acquire. Tonight he wouldn’t fall over and
make a fool of himself. He’d make his brother proud. This was
more important to him than the prospect of eating meat.
Pavel paused by the edge of the woods, bending down to examine
the cat’s tracks in the snow. Andrei considered his skill in
finding them remarkable. In awe, he crouched down, watching as
his brother touched one of the paw prints. Andrei knew nothing
about tracking or hunting.
—Is this where the cat walked?
Pavel nodded and looked into the woods.
—The tracks are faint.
Copying his brother, Andrei traced his finger around the paw
print, asking:
—What does that mean?
—The cat isn’t heavy, which means there’ll be less food for us.
But if it’s hungry then it’s more likely to go for the bait.
Andrei tried to absorb this information but his mind drifted.
—Brother, if you were a playing card what card would you be?
Would you be an ace or a king, a spade or a heart?
Pavel sighed and Andrei, stung by his disapproval, felt tears
beginning to form:
—If I answer do you promise not to talk any more?
—I promise.
—We won’t catch this cat if you talk and scare it away.
—I’ll be quiet.
—I’d be a knave, a knight, the one with a sword. Now you promised
– not a word.
Andrei nodded. Pavel stood up. They entered the woods.
*
They’d walked for a long time – it felt like many hours, although
Andrei’s sense of time, like his sight, wasn’t sharp. With the moonlight
and the reflective layer of snow his older brother seemed to
have little difficulty following tracks. They were deep into the
woods, further than Andrei had ever gone before. He frequently
ran in order to keep pace. His legs ached, his stomach ached. He
was cold, hungry and although there was no food at home at least
his feet didn’t hurt. The string binding the rags to the tyre strips
had come loose and he could feel snow edging under the soles of
his feet. He didn’t dare ask his brother to stop and re-tie them.
He’d promised – not a word. Soon the snow would melt, the rags
would become sodden and his feet would become numb. To take
his mind off the discomfort he snapped a twig from a sapling and
chewed the bark, grinding it down into a coarse paste which felt
rough on his teeth and tongue. People had told him bark paste
sated feelings of hunger. He believed them; it was a useful thing to
believe.
Suddenly Pavel gestured for him to remain still. Andrei stopped
mid-step, his teeth brown with bits of bark. Pavel crouched down.
Andrei copied him, searching the forest for whatever his brother
had seen. He squinted, trying to bring the trees into focus.
Pavel stared at the cat and the cat seemed to be staring at him
with its two small green eyes. What was it thinking? Why wasn’t it
running away? Hidden in Maria’s house, perhaps it hadn’t learnt
to fear humans yet. Pavel drew his knife, cutting the top of his
finger and daubing with blood the chicken bone his mother had
given him. He did the same with Andrei’s bait, a broken rat skull –
using his own blood since he didn’t trust his brother not to yelp
and startle the cat. Without saying a word the brothers parted,
heading in opposite directions. Back at the house Pavel had given
Andrei detailed instructions so there was no need to talk. Once
they were some distance apart, on either side of the cat, they’d
place the bones in the snow. Pavel glanced at his brother, to check
that he wasn’t mucking up.
Doing precisely as he’d been instructed, Andrei took the length
of string from his pocket. Pavel had already tied the end into a
noose. All Andrei had to do was position it around the rat’s skull.
He did this and then stepped back as far as the string would allow,
getting down onto his stomach, crunching and compressing the
snow. He lay in wait. Only now, on the ground, did he realize that
he could barely see his own bait. It was a blur. Suddenly afraid, he
hoped the cat would go towards his brother. Pavel wouldn’t
make a mistake, he’d catch it and they could go home and eat.
Nervous and cold, his hands began to shake. He tried to steady
them. He could see something: a black shape moving towards
him.
Andrei’s breath began to melt the snow in front of his face;
cold trickles of water ran towards him and down his clothes.
He wanted the cat to go the other way, to his brother’s trap, but
as the blur got closer there was no denying that the cat had
chosen him. Of course, if he caught the cat then Pavel would
love him, play cards with him and never get cross again. The
prospect pleased him and his mood changed from dread to
anticipation. Yes, he’d be the one to catch this cat. He’d kill it.
He’d prove himself. What had his brother said? He’d warned
against pulling the snare too early. If the cat was startled all
would be lost. For this reason and the fact that he couldn’t be
sure exactly where the cat was standing Andrei decided to wait,
just to be sure. He could almost bring the black fur and four legs
into focus. He’d wait a little longer, a little longer . . . He heard his
brother hiss:
—Now!
Andrei panicked. He’d heard that tone many times before. It
meant he’d done something wrong. He squinted hard and saw the
cat was standing in the middle of his snare. He pulled the string.
But too late, the cat had leapt away. The noose missed. Even so,
Andrei pulled the lank string towards him, pathetically hoping
that somehow there might be a cat on the end of it. An empty
noose arrived in his hand and he felt his face go red with shame.
Overcome with anger, he was ready to stand up and chase the cat
and catch it and strangle it and smash its skull. But he didn’t move:
he saw that his brother remained flat on the ground. And Andrei,
who’d learnt to always follow his brother’s lead, did exactly the
same. He squinted, straining his eyes to discover that the blurred
black outline was now moving towards his brother’s trap.
The anger at his little brother’s incompetence had given way to
excitement at the cat’s imprudence. The muscles in Pavel’s back
went tight. No doubt the cat had tasted blood, and hunger was
stronger than caution. He watched as the cat stopped mid-step,
one paw in the air, staring straight at him. He held his breath: his
fingers clenched around the string and waited, silently urging the
cat on.
Please. Please. Please.
The cat sprang forward, opened its mouth and grabbed the
bone. Timing it perfectly he tugged the string. The noose caught
around the cat’s paw, the front leg was snared. Pavel leapt up,
yanking the string, tightening the noose. The cat tried to run but
the string held fast. He pulled the cat to the ground. Screeching
filled the forest, as though a creature far larger was fighting for its
life, thrashing in the snow, arching its body, snapping at the string.
Pavel was afraid the knot would break. The string was thin, frayed.
As he tried to edge closer the cat pulled away, keeping out of
reach. He cried out to his brother:
—Kill it!
Andrei still hadn’t moved, not wishing to make another mistake.
But now he was being given instructions. He jumped up, ran
forward, immediately tripping and falling face down. Lifting his
nose out of the snow, he could see the cat up ahead hissing and
spitting and twisting. If the string broke, the cat would be free and
his brother would hate him for ever. Pavel shouted, his voice
hoarse, frantic:
—Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!
Andrei staggered up and without any clear idea of what he was
doing bounded forward and threw himself on top of the cat’s
thrashing body. Perhaps he’d hoped the impact would kill it. But
now, lying on the animal, he could feel the cat was alive and wriggling
underneath his stomach, scratching at the grain sacks that
had been stitched together to make his jacket. Keeping himself flat
on the cat to stop it escaping, Andrei looked behind him, his eyes
pleading with Pavel to take charge.
—It’s still alive!
Pavel ran forward and dropped to his knees, reaching under his
younger brother’s body only to come in contact with the cat’s
snapping mouth. He was bitten. He jerked his hands out. Ignoring
his bleeding finger he clambered to the other side and slid his
hands under again, this time arriving at the tail. His fingers began
creeping up the cat’s back. From this line of attack the animal had
no defence.
Andrei remained motionless, feeling the struggle play out
underneath him, feeling his brother’s hands nearing the cat’s
head, closer and closer. The cat knew this meant death and began
biting at anything – his jacket, the snow – crazed with fear, fear
which Andrei could feel as vibrations in his stomach. Imitating his
brother Andrei cried out:
—Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!
Pavel snapped the animal’s neck. Neither of them did anything
for a moment, just lying still, breathing deeply. Pavel rested his
head on Andrei’s back, his hands still tight around the cat’s neck.
Finally he pulled his hands out from underneath his brother and
stood up. Andrei remained in the snow, not daring to move.
—You can stand up now.
He could stand up now. He could stand side by side with his
brother. He could stand proud. Andrei hadn’t disappointed. He
hadn’t failed. He reached up, took his brother’s hand and got to his
feet. Pavel couldn’t have caught the cat without him. The string
would’ve broken. The cat would’ve escaped. Andrei smiled and
then laughed, clapping his hands and dancing on the spot. He felt
as happy as he’d ever felt in his entire life. They were a team. His
brother hugged him and the two of them looked down at their
prize: a scrawny dead cat pressed into the snow.
Transporting their prize back to the village unseen was a necessary
precaution. People would fight, kill for such a catch, and
the screeching might’ve alerted someone. Pavel refused to leave
anything to chance. They’d brought no sack with which to conceal
the cat. Improvising, he decided to hide it under a pile of sticks. If
they encountered anyone on their way home it would appear as if
they’d been collecting firewood and no questions would be asked.
He picked the cat out of the snow.
—I’m going to carry it under a pile of sticks, so no one can see it.
But if we were really collecting firewood you’d be carrying sticks too.
Andrei was impressed by his brother’s logic – he would never
have thought of that. He set about gathering wood. Since the
ground was covered in snow it was difficult finding any loose
sticks and he was forced to rake through with his bare hands.
After each sweep he rubbed his fingers together, blowing on them.
His nose had begun to run, snot collecting on his top lip. He didn’t
mind though, not tonight, not after their success, and he began
to hum a song his father used to sing, sinking his fingers back into
the snow.
Experiencing the same shortage of sticks, Pavel had moved away
from his younger brother. They would have to separate. Some distance
away he saw a fallen tree with branches protruding at all
angles. He hurried towards it, placing the cat in the snow so that
he was free to snap off all the dead wood from the trunk. There was
plenty here, more than enough for both of them, and he glanced
around, looking for Andrei. He was about to call out when he swallowed
his words. There was a noise. He turned sharply, looking
around. The woods were dense, dark. He shut his eyes, concentrating
on that sound – a rhythm: the crunch, crunch, crunch of snow. It was
getting faster, louder. Adrenaline shot through his body. He opened
his eyes. There, in the darkness, was movement: a man, running. He
was holding a thick, heavy branch. His strides were wide. He was
sprinting straight towards Pavel. He’d heard them kill the cat and
now he was going to steal their prize. But Pavel wouldn’t let him:
he wouldn’t let their mother starve. He wouldn’t fail as his father
had failed. He began kicking snow over the cat, trying to conceal it.
—We’re collecting . . .
Pavel’s voice trailed off as the man burst through the trees, raising
the branch. Only now, seeing this man’s gaunt face and wild
eyes, did Pavel realize that he didn’t want the cat. He wanted him.
Pavel’s mouth fell open at more or less the same time as the
branch arched down, the end slamming against the crown of his
head. He didn’t feel anything but he was aware that he was no
longer standing. He was on one knee. Glancing up, head cocked at
an angle, blood streaming into one of his eyes, he watched as the
man lifted the branch for a second strike.
*
Andrei stopped humming. Had Pavel called out? He hadn’t found
that many sticks, certainly not enough for their plan, and he didn’t
want to be told off, not after he’d done so well. He stood up, pulling
his hands out of the snow. He stared into the forest, squinting,
unable to see even the nearest of trees as anything more than a blur.
—Pavel?
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.
—You useless, clumsy, stupid boy. Where is my son? Where is he?
She pulled the spoon out again but he was crying and choking.
He couldn’t talk. He just kept crying and coughing and so she hit
him, pounding her hands on his tiny chest. Only when the
borscht was in danger of boiling over did she stop. She stood up,
moving the soup off the fire.
Andrei whimpered on the floor. Oksana looked down at him,
TOM ROB SMITH
her anger melting away. He was so small. He loved his older
brother so much. She bent down, picked him up and sat him on a
chair. She wrapped her blanket around him and poured him a
bowl of borscht, a generous portion far larger than he’d ever had
before. She tried to spoon-feed him but he wouldn’t open his
mouth. He didn’t trust her. She offered him the spoon. He stopped
crying and began to eat. He finished the borscht. She filled the bowl
again. She told him to eat slowly. He ignored her, finishing a second
bowl. Very quietly she asked what had happened and listened as he
explained the blood in the snow, the dropped sticks, the disappearance
and the heavy footprints. She closed her eyes.
—Your brother is dead. He’s been taken for food. Do you understand?
Just as you hunted that cat, someone was hunting you. Do
you understand?
Andrei remained silent, staring at his mother’s tears. In truth,
he didn’t understand. He watched at she stood up and left the
house. Hearing his mother’s voice, he ran to the door.
Oksana was on her knees in the snow, staring up at the full
moon.
—Please, God, give me back my son.
Only God could bring him home now. It wasn’t so much to ask.
Did God have such a short memory? She’d risked her life to save
his bell. All she wanted in return was her son, her reason to live.
Some of the neighbours appeared at their doors. They stared at
Oksana. They listened to her cries. But there was nothing unusual
about this kind of grief and people did not watch for long.