Riding Icarus (20 page)

“He’s got a topknot and a moustache and bright red trousers…”

“Oh, another of your and Masha’s Cossack games,” Ira said tolerantly as they walked on.

Slightly jealous, Masha watched their heads bobbing along above the bushes. Then the bushes got too high. The branches trembled and whispered, further, further away. There was a sudden flash of colour: a patch of bright red between the green leaves.

“…a friend of Masha’s,” a voice floated back. “A real, honest-to-God Cossack!”

M
asha sat cross-legged on the riverbank. It was late afternoon; the low sun that lent the oak trees on the island a brief glamour beamed warm on her cheek. In her lap lay the encyclopaedia of animals and the letter Gena had given her.

She closed her eyes and looked at the glowing inside of her eyelids. Orange, striped with black. She thought about the tiger. And she thought about how the tiger must have looked to Igor.

“It must have been a rival mafia gang,” her mother had said. “They do things like this to each other. He can’t have paid them off properly. Yes, that’s it. Or perhaps it was that long-suffering wife of his,” she had said. “Maybe she finally had enough.”

Her mother would not let Masha read the letter inside the fat envelope the driver had brought.

“Then at least tell me what it says,” Masha demanded. “Tell me why he sent all this.”

All this
was money. The envelope was so fat because it was stuffed full of hundred-dollar bills. They bulged out of the envelope and fell onto the bed and the floor of the trolleybus.

“Because he’s sorry,” said her mother. “He says. And this – these are my wages. The money I earned when I was forced to work in Turkey.”

“It’s Nechipor’s treasure,” Masha said. She had thought treasure was always gold, strings of pearls, crowns crusted with diamonds. But she supposed money would do as well.

“He says we’re safe; that he won’t make me go back; that he’ll never harm us,” her mama said. She looked blankly at all the money scattered around her, and held out her arms to Masha. “Come and give me a hug, my love. I’m never going away again.”

“None of it has happened like I thought,” Masha said later to Granny, while Mama was outside.

“It never does,” Granny answered. Her leg was still propped on a stool: that was one thing that hadn’t changed.

“Does it hurt much? I’m sorry I didn’t wish for it to get better.”

“It’ll get better anyway,” said Granny. “You can’t wish for everything. You did a good job, Mashenka.”

But I never meant most of it, Masha thought now, sitting in the fiery glow of her closed eyelids with the sun behind them. And I never found out about Mama and Igor. Perhaps it doesn’t matter any more.

The orange glow went dark as a shadow fell across her.

“Hello, sleepyhead.”

Masha opened her eyes and had to blink a lot, dazzled. It was Fyodor Ivanovich.

“Hello,” she said. “Where’s your horse?”

Fyodor Ivanovich looked puzzled. He countered, “Where are your rollerblades?”

“They aren’t mine. I only borrowed them.”

“We got some new work in at the garage today,” Fyodor Ivanovich said. “A car that’s had some
very
strange things happen to it. Needs a paint job, as well as some major straightening out. And it was a nice Mercedes once.” He gave Masha a quizzical glance. “But I’m on my way to the church first. Look.” He unfolded a flat paper-wrapped package, and held out a heap of sparkling stars.

“I gave mine away,” Masha said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. So long as whoever you gave it to deserved it.”

“I think so.”

Fyodor Ivanovich wrapped the gleaming handful up again. “So you’re home in your trolleybus. Saw you and your granny there this morning. Nice to be back?”

Masha nodded. “And my mama has come home too,” she said. “For good.”

“Well, there’s good news! So now you’ve got everything you want, have you?”

“Nearly.” Masha waved as he set off along the riverbank. “I haven’t got my own rollerblades,” she called after him.

“I should hope not,” said another voice. Masha jumped. “You children, you want the world – you’re spoilt. That’s what you are, spoilt!”

Masha stared. A shabby old woman pulling a cart on pram wheels had appeared out of nowhere. She had lost her feather boa but she still had the cigarette glued to her lower lip.

“No empty bottles, ducky?” she wheedled, rattling the empty beer and fizzy drink bottles in the cart, which could be returned to the factories for a few coins. “Or how about ten kopeks for a hungry old grandmother, eh?”

Masha drank the last of the lemonade she’d brought with her and handed over the empty bottle. “Here you are.”

The old woman inspected it with a disappointed air before wedging it into her cart. “Looks like Ivana Kupala didn’t bring you much to share. What’s the matter: don’t like what you asked for?”

“It’s a trick really,” said Masha. “That’s why in stories people always make the wrong wish. You think it’s all about knowing, but I don’t think you can know your heart’s desire; or, you can never know what it will do.”

“What were you expecting?” asked the woman, sucking on her cigarette butt. “I told you – you’re spoilt. Think you can have everything. You should count yourself lucky, Mistress Masha. You’re still here; I’m not taking you along with me, much as I’d like to.” And she suddenly reached down, seized Masha’s cheek and squeezed it. “But maybe I’ll come back for you, one of these days.” She grinned, her dirty, leathery face close to Masha’s for a moment. Then she walked away down the bank, her little cart clattering and tinkling along behind her.

Masha looked around nervously to see who else might pop up to startle her. There was one other person she was almost expecting. But the riverbank was deserted in the drowsy late sun. She closed her eyes again, listening. She was waiting for someone to say her name. Rustling leaves, crickets whirring, and that was all. She was half sorry, half relieved. She wasn’t sure she had recognized that voice anyway. She wasn’t sure that if he were to come along right now, she would recognize him. Perhaps the old woman was right: she wanted too much. Getting one parent back was good enough.

So she looked at the things in her lap. First, the encyclopaedia of animals Anya had given her, where the Siberian tiger had been. Masha wondered if that page was blank now. She wondered where the tiger was, after what it had done. Had it gone back to Kamchatka; back to the same place that voice had come from? She didn’t know what to do with the book. Would she ever dare open it again? She weighed it experimentally in her hand, and then on a sudden impulse she threw it into the river. It landed
smack!
on its back on the water and floated, slowly slipping away downstream.

Second, the envelope Gena had given her. It said
Masha
on it in big round English letters, with a smiley face inside the first
a
and a flower sprouting from the tail of the second. Inside were a letter and a photograph.

Masha looked at these. And then she jumped up, kicked off her sandals and ran down the riverbank to where the encyclopaedia was gliding away. She waded out into the cool water to retrieve it. Its hard shiny cover seemed to have kept it from much harm.

She returned to her place and propped the book open beside her on the grass to dry. Then she turned her attention back to the letter. It was written in English, and said:

Masha couldn’t read English very well, but she could understand most of this letter. It also had pictures drawn down both margins. On the left there were knights on horses with swords and shields, some fish, and an animal Masha thought might be the mysterious guinea pig. On the other side there were people in Cossack costumes jumping over a big fire. There was also a small house standing on a chicken’s leg, and a curly fern plant with a big flower sprouting out of it.

The photograph showed a girl Masha’s age, peeking out from under a furry Cossack hat. Her Cossack trousers were green and shiny, her boots were red as cherries, and round her waist was a red and orange woven belt just like the one Masha had tied round her waist.

Masha smiled into the sun. She beamed at the gilded oak trees on the island. She put the letter and photograph back in the envelope, and slipped it inside the animal encyclopaedia. She had decided she would never dare look at that book again, but now she thought she would probably want to show it to her friend, the little Cossack girl.

The book of animals tucked under her arm, Masha set off for home.

borscht
beetroot soup

Cossacks
runaway serfs and soldiers who founded their own society and army on the Ukrainian and Russian steppes in the seventeenth century. They battled the Poles and the Turks and Crimean Tatars before losing their independence to the Russian Empire. Their songs, dances, costumes and history are still a beloved part of Ukrainian tradition

dacha
summer cottage

hopak
a Cossack dance

horilka
vodka

rusalka
a female river spirit

salo
salted pork fat, a Ukrainian delicacy

samogon
home-made vodka

shashlik
kebab

syrniky
small fried curd cheese cakes

vareniky
dumplings filled with potatoes, cabbage, fruit or curd cheese

A
n ancient Slavic midsummer festival. Originally a pagan celebration (where the word Kupala comes from) it was later combined with the Christian feast of St John the Baptist (Ivan). On the night of Ivana Kupala people lit bonfires and jumped through the flames; if a couple managed to hold hands as they jumped it meant they would stay together for a long time. Girls floated candles and flower wreaths on the river to foretell who they would marry. Midnight on the eve of Ivana Kupala was the only time the fern flower bloomed. It was said to grant wishes and bring riches but only if the seeker could withstand the devil and evil spirits. One of the most famous retellings of the fern flower legend is
The Eve of Ivana Kupala
by Nikolai Gogol, and this is the story Granny tells in chapter fifteen.

Amnesty International
is a movement of ordinary people from across the world standing up for humanity and human rights. Our purpose is to protect individuals wherever justice, fairness, freedom and truth are denied.