Riding Icarus (6 page)

Nechipor’s melon field was deep in the patchwork of allotments that covered the low, sandy ground between the garages and the river. Masha thought she knew the maze of paths pretty well, but she was certain she’d never walked past Nechipor’s plot before. The fence was made of sprouting willow wands, wound round with the curly-wurly tendrils of morning glory.

“You should see the flowers in the morning,” boomed the Cossack. “Such blue! Blue as Our Lady’s gown; you never saw anything like it.”

There were raspberries and gooseberries and blackcurrants and redcurrants, which Nechipor offered them in liberal handfuls, but most of the plot was given over to low, creeping marrow and melon plants. Some of the stripy marrows were as long as Masha’s arm, but the watermelons were still small, hard green balls. A ramshackle shelter in one corner, built out of all sorts of rubbish, stood over a huge, sagging iron bedstead heaped with blankets and old cushions.

“Do you sleep here?” asked Gena.

“Of course I do. If I didn’t the birds and any old thieving vermin would have the lot. And as for the watermelons, they’re as much bother as children – need to be covered up from too much sun, turned so they ripen evenly. Honest to God, I think I’ve spent more time mollycoddling my melons than I ever did my sons and daughters. The thing is, you never know how your children are going to turn out; whatever you want, they want the opposite, the contumacious creatures. But melons now.” He folded his hands on his big belly and his moustache twitched in a benign smile. “Give your melons a little care and they’ll grow as plump and sweet and juicy as you like.” He smacked his lips. “That one there, that’s a Turkish melon. Curved like a ram’s horn when it’s grown. No one grows them but me.”

Masha stared at the plant with its blaring trumpet yellow flowers. “Perhaps my mama’s eating melons like that right now,” she said wistfully. “She’s in Turkey,” she explained to the Cossack.

To her surprise, his moustache bristled fiercely and his hand flew to his belt, where, Gena had already noted, he carried a big knife in a leather scabbard.

“In that godforsaken country, that nest of vermin?” he roared. “Carried off, was she, by God; kidnapped by those marauding sons of dogs?”

“Not exactly,” said Masha cautiously. “She went there to work.”

“Work? That’s right, they make slaves of our freeborn Cossack maids, steal them from our hearths by night, by stealth, can’t fight like men, the cowardly dogs. Oh, that they should enslave our mothers and sisters, our daughters. My blood boils; my Cossack heart burns for action, for revenge!” And he smacked his chest resoundingly with his clenched fist.

Gena and Masha stared open-mouthed. Nechipor looked down at Masha, and his expression softened. “Well, poor little one,” he said awkwardly. “And what about your grandmother? Recovered, has she, after your wagon knocked her over like that?”

“Trolleybus,” Masha corrected absently. “Granny!” In the excitement of meeting the Cossack again, she’d actually forgotten about Granny. “We’re going to see her today. In fact, we should go right now. Come on, Gena.”

“But I haven’t shown you the place yet, where I was dancing when old bony-knees snatched me off heaven knows where— ”

“May his teeth all fall out next time he tries to eat
vareniky
,” Masha put in.

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” said Nechipor. “Come back soon, young fellows – er, both of you, and I’ll show you the cursed spot.”

B
ut they didn’t get to see Granny. The nurse at the entrance to the ward, one Masha didn’t recognize, closed the door firmly in their faces.

“No visitors,” she said. “Doctor’s orders.”

“But what’s wrong with her?” asked Gena’s mother. “Can’t the doctor talk to us at least?”

“Why can’t we see her?” Masha added. “They told us on the phone that we could.”

“She’s a very old lady,” said the nurse. “We have to run a lot of tests. And until we have the results, she can’t be disturbed. The doctor’s busy; come back next week if you want to talk to him.”

“Next week!” exclaimed Ira indignantly. “Now listen to me. This little girl has a right to see her grandmother—”

“You listen to me,” the nurse interrupted, her fat cheeks quivering with anger. “We are highly trained medical staff; do you think we don’t know what’s best for our patients? Either you let us do what’s proper or we’ll turn her out on the streets, and believe me she’s in no fit state for that. If you want her to get medical attention, you leave her with us. Now, did you bring anything with you?”

Ira, her mouth set in a hard line, handed over the bag of fruit and cheese and biscuits they had brought. “When can we see Praskovia Matveyivna?”

“Come back next Friday.” The nurse was shamelessly inspecting the food package. “Is this all?”

“How do we know you’ll give them to her?” demanded Masha, clutching the bunch of flowers she and Gena had picked.

“Well, little girl, I hope you aren’t suggesting they won’t get to your grandmother,” the nurse replied grimly. “I’m sure you want the old woman to receive the best care possible.”

“Of course we do,” said Ira hurriedly as Masha opened her mouth to ask the nurse what she meant. “Please tell Praskovia Matveyivna we called, and we will be back next Friday. I hope the doctor can see us then and tell us what’s wrong.”

“Don’t we all hope that,” the nurse retorted. She took the flowers from Masha’s unwilling hand and folded her arms over the front of her grubby white coat, staring at them until Ira turned away.

“What did she mean?” Masha insisted as they squeaked down the long, dingy hospital corridors. “Why did you give in to her like that?”

“Hush, Masha,” said Ira tiredly. “What can we do? If they refuse to keep her here, we can’t afford to take her anywhere else. We have to do what they say.”

“But why wouldn’t they tell us what’s wrong?” Masha’s voice was small. “Do you think – is Granny really ill, do you think? Is that why we couldn’t see her?”

“Oh come now, Masha.” Ira put her arm around Masha’s shoulders. “I’m sure she’s all right. The doctor probably didn’t have any time today, that’s all. And it’s true, your granny is a very old lady. I expect they want to keep her in for a while for check-ups. Don’t worry.”

“I bet she won’t give Granny the flowers or the food,” said Masha. “The horrible old pig.”

“Don’t be rude,” Ira said in her schoolteacher voice. They scrunched down the gravel path towards the gates, and she turned to them with a bright smile. “Children, how about ice creams? You stay here and I’ll get some. What do you want?”

“Chocolate,” said Gena.

“Vanilla,” said Masha.

“All right. Back in a minute.”

Ira set off down the street. Gena sat on the kerb to wait, but after a moment Masha turned back in through the hospital gates.

“Where are you going?” Gena demanded.

“I’m going to try and find the window of Granny’s room. Maybe if we shout she’ll hear us. Coming?”

They ran across the dry, scrubby lawns and along by the peeling hospital walls. It was hard to work out where they had been, but Masha thought it was round the corner, and she knew it was on the first floor. A few windows were open, greyish curtains flapping out of them.

“Granny!” called Masha softly. “Granny!”

“Babka Praskovia!” Gena called, even more softly. “What if the nurse hears?” he whispered to Masha. “You heard what she said. They might turn your granny out.”

There was no sign of anyone at the windows.

“I suppose so,” Masha said reluctantly. “Anyway, maybe Granny’s asleep.”

They turned back the way they had come. Then came the call: “Masha! Mashenka!”

“Granny!” Masha whirled round, staring up at the windows. And there, not where they had been looking but further along, was her grandmother peering out.

“Granny!” She ran back, waving excitedly.

“Shh,” hissed Babka Praskovia, laying her finger on her lips. “Quiet, little one.”

Granny had lost her headscarf, and without it her head looked tiny, and her gossamer white hair so thin and light it might blow away any minute. But her dark eyes twinkled as brightly as ever as she smiled down at Masha. “I’m so glad to see you, my dear.”

“We came to visit you, but they wouldn’t let us in.” Masha was nearly crying with relief.

“Oh, the staff here, what fools!” said Babka Praskovia. “Still wet behind the ears! People were coming from all around to ask my advice before they were even born, and now they think they can boss me about. So when are you going to get me out of here, my sweetheart? I tell you, your old granny can’t stand it much longer.”

“They won’t let us,” cried Masha. “They won’t tell us what’s wrong with you.”

“They wouldn’t know what was wrong with me if it jumped up and poked them in the eye,” said Granny. “It’s just a bit of witchcraft, that’s all. And how’s our trolleybus, Masha? Is it behaving itself?”

“It came back. But I’m not living there now; I’m staying with Gena. Granny, I want to tell you all about what happened that night.”

“And so you shall. But you have to take me away from here first.”

“I don’t know how,” said Masha despairingly. “They told us to come back next Friday.”

“I can’t wait till then. I—” Babka Praskovia broke off. She put her finger to her lips again. “Hurry, little one, come back soon,” she whispered. “Bless you!”

She disappeared from the window. Masha heard an angry shout from inside the room. “Praskovia Matveyivna! What are you doing out of bed? Get back at once.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, young man,” Granny’s thin, reedy voice replied. “And get that thing away from me. Call yourself a doctor? Don’t you go sticking that into me, as if I was a pincushion.”

A white-clad arm, brandishing a big hypodermic needle, appeared at the window and shut it with a bang.

“Gena! Masha!” They heard Ira calling. “Your ice creams are melting. Where are you?”

M
asha awoke and lay listening. But of course, she was behind concrete walls now, not in the trolleybus; here there was no guessing the weather. After a week she had got quite used to living in the hot stuffy flat again, but it still surprised her when she woke in the early mornings, her mind tangled with dreams.

She opened her eyes. The sun was lying in wonderfully clear stripes across the bed. Her head felt as though it were full of the same clear, warm light. Why was she so happy?

It was because of her dream. She’d dreamt she had been walking through the bright soft grass by the river, with her friend the Cossack girl beside her and the goat kid trotting behind. Everything shone as if polished. They had talked about the impossible place between the church and the dovecote, and Masha’s two birthdays on the old and the new calendar, and it had all become clear. In the gap between the calendars was a magic time between midsummer and midsummer. And this magic time was just like the enchanted place between the church dome and the dovecote, where treasure was buried. Impossible, but there. It was as if time and place were pieces of paper with pictures on each side. If you folded them carefully you could see both pictures at the same time, and together they combined to make a new picture, an answer to Masha’s questions – when would she get her birthday present? And what was her heart’s desire? Somehow it had made sense. Perfect sense.

But now as she tried to remember, the ideas slipped away and it all got confused again. Calendars and birthdays were interesting, but there were so many other things to think about: the trolleybus, and Nechipor, and the smoke on the other side of the river, and Granny. How was she going to get Granny out of hospital? It was obvious after their visit last week that she couldn’t ask Ira for help. Oh, how complicated everything was!

The day got worse. When she came back from checking on the goats and the trolleybus, the big black Mercedes was parked outside the tower block, purring to itself. Masha hurried past, wondering who was watching from behind the tinted windows.

Inside the flat, Ira was flustered and Gena envious.

“The driver’s been waiting for you for ages,” said Ira. “Hurry up and get changed. You’re to go round to Uncle Igor’s for the day.”