Riding Icarus (5 page)

“It’s a present from a Cossack. A
girl
Cossack.”

Gena’s mother laughed. “I’m glad to hear it.”

The mention of presents brought Masha to her next question.

“Is it true that Ukrainians have two birthdays?”

“Why, do you want another already?” teased Ira. “You’ve only just had the last one. No, my dear, as far as I know, little Ukrainian girls, like the rest of the world, only have one day a year for presents and birthday cake.”

“What about Ukrainian boys?” asked Gena, who had come in to hear the last question.

“Little Ukrainian boys don’t deserve any birthday at all until they learn not to bring in lots of dirt on their shoes,” replied Ira smartly. “Go and clear it up, now.”

That was a disappointing end to a promising conversation, Masha thought. Why did some grown-ups always bring the subject back to dirt, dirt, dirt? Really, sometimes she thought she was better off without any parents at all.

“Why were you asking about birthdays?” Gena said later as they sat by the river again. The sun blazed down and the inexhaustible crickets spun out and reeled in, spun and reeled in the sound of heat steadily rising. On the island, the round-topped oak trees looked very dense and dark green across the glittering water.

Masha glanced sideways at him. “I’m not sure I’m going to tell you.”

“Oh, go on. Are you still angry because I didn’t believe you? Well, I’ve changed my mind. I do now.”

“
I
don’t believe
you
. You’re just saying that so I’ll tell you why I was asking.”

It was too hot to argue. “Oh, go on, Masha,” whined Gena, lying flat on his back and squinting at the smooth blue of the sky through his eyelashes. “I promise I’ll believe anything you ever say ever again.”

“Ok.” Masha sat up, inspired. “I’m the cleverest, most intelligent, super-duper interesting, beautiful person in the whole world.”

“I believe you,” said Gena promptly, shutting his eyes.

“And you’re the smelliest, stupidest, fattest blob in the universe.”

“I believe you,” murmured Gena, looking at the warm rosy red inside his eyelids, and the purple shapes that swam slowly across them like fish, like whales.

Masha had won that game so absolutely that there wasn’t much left to say, except tell him.

“I heard somewhere – well, someone told me – that I’ve got another birthday. In fact, they told me that all Ukrainians have two birthdays. You know mine is on midsummer’s eve, so I’ve already had it. But there are two midsummers, and the second one is coming up. I’ll have my second birthday then, and they said I’d get a present.” My heart’s desire, she thought. But she didn’t tell that to Gena.

“Who said?”

“Someone.”

The purple whales were joined by luminous stars, exploding silently and re-forming and exploding again. A little shining fish of memory stirred, grew, burst brilliantly.

“But there
are
two midsummers,” said Gena slowly, opening his eyes. The world around him was coldly, palely coloured now, all washed-out greens and blues. “Like there are two Christmases and two Easters. Alice told me.”

“I know, in England they have Christmas two weeks before we do, and Easter’s different. But that’s just because they’ve got different Churches from us.”

“No, it’s weirder than that.” The colours had deepened, warmed themselves. Gena wondered why he’d thought they were so bleached and wintry bright a moment ago. “It’s because there are two calendars, I think.”

“Eh?”

“It’s very complicated. There was an old calendar, but there were too many days in it for how long the year was. Something like that. So all the dates in this old calendar got more and more behind the real date.”

Masha stared at him. “I don’t get it.”

“How many days are there in a year?”

“Everyone knows that: three hundred and sixty-five,” she answered impatiently. “Except leap years, then there are three hundred and sixty-six.”

“Ok. So imagine there are three hundred and sixty-six days in
every
year here. That means our year is a day longer than in England.”

“And what?”

“Think about it. The first year, we have Christmas on the same day. But when it’s their new year we have another day to go. So
our
new year, January the first, is already
their
January the second. The second year, because our year is a day longer, our Christmas is a day after theirs.”

“Mmm.” Masha was doubtful.

“And the year after, we are two days behind. Then three, four, until we’re way behind England.” Gena had sat up and was frowning in concentration. “It didn’t happen quite like that really. I’ll look it up properly when I get home. But anyway, that’s why there are two Christmases and two Easters, and I guess two midsummers.”

Masha selected a blade of grass, stretched it carefully between her thumbs and forefingers and blew a long derisive squeak.

“It’s true!” Gena objected huffily.

“I’m not disbelieving you,” Masha replied. “I’m just showing my amazement.”

She blew again, and the shrill blast echoed across the still, blazing water into the shadows of the oaks beyond. A moment later, several black crows exploded out of the trees, cawing loudly, and flew straight over the river towards them. The birds settled in the willow tree behind the two children. They bobbed and wobbled in the slender branches, fidgeting on their big feet, cawing and making strange popping noises, just like corks being drawn from bottles.

“Shh,” Gena said to them nervously. “Go and sit somewhere else.”

“Look over there,” said Masha. “Smoke.”

A thin blue line ascended vertically into the air from amid the oak trees on the island. It reached a certain height and then levelled off and hung in a curious flat pancake.

“It’s coming from a cauldron, isn’t it?”

Gena shaded his eyes to peer across. There did seem to be something bulbous and black under the trees, but he couldn’t make out what it was.

“If only we had a boat!” Masha exclaimed, thumping the ground in frustration.

“Why? It’s probably just someone cooking shashlik.”

But it’s exactly like in my dream, Masha thought. She looked for her mother over there, waving a white flag. But she could see nothing, only the fine pencil line of smoke.

Gena gave her a friendly push. “Let’s move. These crows are starting to annoy me.”

M
asha led Gena along the path between the allotments and the river. The meadow grass was thick with flowers and stood higher than their shoulders. Dozens of tiny grasshoppers pinged out of it as they passed.

A bunch of crows followed them, hopping and flapping and cawing close behind like a gang of irritating little children.

“Where are we going?” asked Gena. The crows were really getting on his nerves.

Masha was in two minds whether to tell him or not. But then, she reflected, he’d told her something very interesting, if unlikely, about her possible two birthdays. It was time to relent. “I’m looking for the place I went to in Icarus. I know it’s around here somewhere. It’s where you can see the church dome on one side and the dovecote pole on the other.”

“OK.” Gena was quite excited. After all, it was fun to believe in night-time rides and mysterious buried treasure. He followed her happily, only occasionally stopping to throw lumps of crumbly dry earth at the crows.

The faded blue onion dome of the church was soon visible, peeping through the trees on their right. They went on more slowly, looking out for the pole of the dovecote on the left.

“Got it,” said Gena as the pole came into sight, all that showed above the trees of the little wooden hut on its one leg. “So do you recognize the place yet?”

“Bother,” said Masha crossly. “Now we can’t see the church. We’ll have to go back.”

They retraced their steps, the crows ahead of them flapping like old bin bags. The church came into view again.

“Now we can’t see the dovecote,” Masha said, exasperated. “It must be a bit further back again.”

They trekked up and down, up and down, in the heat. They tried going nearer the river, and nearer the allotments. The fact was, as the crows seemed to derisively remark, that from nowhere could they see the church and the dovecote at the same time.

“But that’s impossible!” Masha was close to tears of annoyance. “It
has
to be here.”

Impossible but true. A few steps one way, and the church peeked between the trees. A metre or two the other way, there poked the dovecote. The place where they were both visible simply did not exist.

“Caw! Caw! Ha ha ha!”
said the crows.

Gena stopped. “Are you
sure
you came here last night?” He was beginning to doubt Masha’s whole story again. The crows’ cawing was making his head ring, and it was far too hot to be searching for a place she’d probably just dreamt of. He sat down, and the high grasses towered above his head, enclosing him in a striped pinky-green tent.

“Of course I’m sure!” Masha snapped. But after a moment, she sat down beside him.

“Of course! Caw haw haw!”
the crows said in mocking satisfaction, and flapped away.

It was suddenly very quiet in their cage of grass and sunlight. Gena leant his chin on his pulled-up knees, watching a beetle like a shiny, bright blue bead crawl across his toes and onto Masha’s. It looked like hard work: each toe a mountain, each space between them a vast ravine. It was exhausting just to watch. And here was an orange butterfly drifting down as if to land on Masha’s sandal, and then fluttering away again like a dream of freedom…

Gena glanced up after it – and found himself staring straight into a round, red face with a straw-coloured moustache plastered to it and an outraged expression.

“What are you trying to do – trip me up? Hiding in the grass like a couple of partridges. Honest to God, it’s a good thing I didn’t bag you for supper!”

“What?” Gena scrambled to his feet in confusion.

But Masha knew exactly who it was. “Hello, Mr Cossack!” she cried.

“Well, if it isn’t my fellow adventurer,” he exclaimed, his little blue eyes twinkling at her. “Good lad! But where’s your spade?”

“Spade?”

“Haven’t you come back to look for the treasure?”

“Of course we have!”

Masha jumped up, triumphant. Now Gena would have to believe her story. Here he stood, large as life, a huge fat Cossack with shiny cheeks and a moustache drooping down to his chin. His topknot was hidden under a fraying straw hat, his enormous yellowish feet were bare beneath the folds of his vast red trousers, and he carried a spade over his shoulder.

“You’re a brave young lad to come back,” he said to Masha. “Doesn’t look so scary in sunlight, though, does it? And I see you’ve brought reserves.”

“Why are you calling her a lad?” Gena burst in. “She’s a girl.”

Masha blushed. “Of course I am,” she said crossly. “I’m Masha.”

The Cossack goggled at her. “A girl?”

“My name’s Masha,” she repeated, “and this is my friend Gena. What’s your name, please?”

“Nechipor Prokopovich Golokopytenko,” the Cossack replied, still staring. “But you can call me Nechipor,” he added, noticing them struggling to digest this mouthful. He started to laugh. “Well, bless my soul. If you were a granddaughter of mine, I’d lambast you for trotting around the countryside in that get-up. And in the middle of the night too! You didn’t run away, though. A little snip of a girl like you, and you didn’t run away. We’ll have to call you an honorary Cossack, bless my buttons.” And he laughed so much his fat belly quaked.

“What’s so funny?” demanded Masha indignantly. “I’m not a little snip.” She felt herself glowing pink and thought she might well lose her temper in a minute. “I bet you haven’t managed to find the place either, have you?” she said rudely.

“You bet right,” Nechipor answered, still chuckling. “You’ve a mighty forward way of asking, but since old goat-foot himself has put you in my path I’ll forbear to mention it. What a joke. Oh, he’s a sly one, the horrible hairy old pig-face.”

Gena hadn’t understood most of this. “Are you looking for the same place, with the grave and the candle, er, Nechipor?”

“Of course I am; I want my treasure! But I’m blowed if I can find it. Up and down, up and down, all the lifelong afternoon, and nothing to show for it but sore heels.”

“Exactly!” Masha burst out. “There’s nowhere you can see the church and the dovecote at the same time.”

“It’s a real piece of trickery,” Nechipor agreed. “Oh, what a monster, that stinking pile of goat’s droppings, may his teeth fall out and his bum be covered in boils.”

“Who?” asked Gena, confused.

“The devil, of course,” said Masha. “May his ears be bitten by a million mosquitoes.”

“Good la— Good girl,” said Nechipor approvingly. “I’ll tell you, though, you young ones, I’ve had it for today. This heat’s enough to send a fellow barking mad. I’m heading back to my melon patch. You can come with me if you like.”

It wasn’t often you met someone as loud, as brightly coloured, as puzzling and funny and scary as Nechipor. “Yes, please,” they both replied at once.