The Winter Horses (13 page)

“All right.”

As soon as Max was gone, Kalinka fetched a candle and went next door to speak to Temüjin and Börte.

The two horses had sensed something was wrong and seemed almost prepared for what she now told them.

“I need your help,” she said. “It’s really not safe for me in this place anymore. Most likely, the SS are coming here tomorrow and will probably kill me. Or send me to another place where someone else will kill me. But I’ve got a much better chance of escape if you come with me. If you want to stay here, I will understand. Askaniya-Nova is your home. It’s different for me. My home is gone. Effectively, the SS destroyed that when they killed all of the Jews in Dnepropetrovsk. On the other hand, maybe you feel the same about this place. It’s up to you. You decide.”

Max was gone for about half an hour. When he returned, Kalinka was waiting for him with the two horses.

“What’s this?” He let out a laugh. “You look like a deputation. Like you’ve got something to tell me.”

“They’re coming with me,” said Kalinka.

“How do you know?” Max asked her as he put some things in the pockets of her coat and helped her put it on.

“I know.”

“So what did you tell them?”

“They’re coming because I told them I needed their help,” she said. “That I don’t stand much of a chance without them.”

“Ah,” said Max. “Makes sense, I suppose.” He grinned. “Horse sense.”

“I don’t want to leave you, Max.”

“I know. But you have to, child. Neither of us has any choice in this matter. Look here, I’ve given you some money—all I have. It’s in the pocket of your Astrakhan coat. You’ll also find a box of matches to make a fire with, a compass to help you find your way to the Red Army, and some bread and cheese. Not to mention a little something to remember me by.”

“Why not come with us, Max?” She shrugged. “With all the horses gone, there’s no reason for you to stay here at Askaniya-Nova.”

Max shook his head. “I’m old, and I’m feeling rather tired,” he said. “So I’ll only slow you down. Besides, someone has to stay here and cover your tracks, so to speak.” He nodded at the walls of the cave. “If Captain Grenzmann finds this lot, he’ll know something is up, for sure.”

“Oh,” said Kalinka, looking around at her paintings sadly. “Yes, I suppose he will.”

“In which case, he would certainly pursue you all. Because he’s a fanatic and that’s what fanatics do.”

“I’ve given you a real problem in here, haven’t I?”

“Don’t you worry, Kalinka. There’s nothing on these walls I can’t shift with some soap and water and a stiff brush. Be a shame to clean ’em off, but that can’t be helped now. One day, perhaps you’ll come back here and paint them again. That’s all there is to it.”

“I’d like that.”

“Yes, you can return with the horses. Or their descendants. After all, you’re taking away a prime breeding pair.” Max shook his head. “And now you really had better get going.”

Kalinka pushed her hands into the pockets of the black Astrakhan coat, where they encountered the compass, the money, the bread and the cheese that he had thoughtfully placed there. The old man’s kindness brought a lump to her throat. She wanted to cry but knew she couldn’t. There simply wasn’t any time for that sort of thing.

“It’s not snowing,” observed Kalinka.

Max shrugged. “What of it?”

“Captain Grenzmann will see our tracks leading away from here. And then what will happen?”

“You let me worry about that, child.”

“But he might shoot you, too, Max. Have you thought of that? I couldn’t bear the thought of this happening to you.”

“I’ll be fine. He thinks he’s my friend, remember? Give me the compass.”

Max showed her how to read the compass and then gave it back to her.

“Now listen to me: you should always be going southeast, toward the Reds,” he said. “There’s plenty of moonlight, so you won’t have any problem reading it tonight. To the north are Captain Grenzmann and his detachment of SS—not to mention Dnepropetrovsk; and to the west is the whole German army. So above all, steer clear of northwest. If you lose the compass, just walk toward the rising sun. Clear?”

Kalinka restrained a yawn and then nodded.

“I know you’re tired,” said Max. “But there’s no time to lose sleeping. Besides, the cold will wake you up. You and the horses need to put as much distance as you can between yourselves and this place before morning. And then to keep going all day if you can, before resting. Don’t worry about the horses. They’re tough as nails and can walk forever. Just remember that. If they stop, it will only be because they think it’s you that’s tired.”

Max and Taras and Kalinka and the two Przewalski’s went outside the water tank, along the brick passageway past the pumping room, and through the hidden entrance to the outside, where the wind on the open steppe took her breath away.

Max knelt down beside Taras in the snow and hugged the dog for a moment.

“Go with her, Taras,” he said. “Go with Kalinka and see that no harm comes to her.”

Taras barked his obedience and stood next to Kalinka. Max rose stiffly.

“Max, no,” she protested. “I couldn’t take your dog.”

“He’s getting fat and lazy, staying here with me,” said Max. “Aren’t you, boy? You’d be doing him a kindness to take him with you, young lady. He’s a borzoi—a wolfhound. Wasn’t bred to be a pet, which is what he’s become. This is just what a dog like him needs. A proper steppe-sized adventure. Like something from a great novel by Gogol. He won’t get that if he stays here with an old man like me at Askaniya-Nova. He’s a good dog. You only have to tell him anything once, and I’ve told him now—to go with you, Kalinka—so there’s no going back on it and that’s an end to the matter.”

“God bless you, Max,” she said, and embraced him. “I shan’t ever forget you. Not if I live to be a hundred.”

Max kissed her forehead and then walked quickly toward his cottage. There was much to do before morning.

E
VEN INSIDE HER BIG
black Astrakhan coat, Kalinka felt bitterly cold; the wind was from the north and behind her. Temüjin and Börte, following in her footsteps, managed to screen the girl from the worst of the bora wind, but even so, the night was soon in her bones, as if she had fallen through a sheet of ice and into the dark water of a freezing lake. The tattered lining of her coat was made of red silk, and she found it almost funny that she could be swathed in red and yet still feel blue with cold.

“If we can keep up this pace until dawn,” said Kalinka, “then maybe we stand a chance. I know we’re leaving a trail in the snow that’s going to be very easy to follow, but there’s not much we can do about that. And if we hear motors coming after us, then you horses should run in opposite directions. Have you got that?”

From time to time, she brought out the little brass compass and took a bearing in the way that Max had shown her—just to make sure that they were headed in the right direction. The strange quartet made good progress, for the snow was only a few centimeters deep on the steppe and the ground was more or less flat. After a couple of hours, she guessed they’d walked at least ten kilometers.

The bread and cheese felt good in her pocket, and she decided to put off eating them for as long as possible; experience had taught Kalinka that she was never as hungry if she knew there was food she could eat than when she had no idea of where her next meal was coming from.

At first, Kalinka spoke to the dog and to the horses to try to keep up her spirits, but every time she said something, she saw her hot breath appear before her face in a little white cloud of steam, and she soon realized that talk was an easy way to lose body heat. And so, after a while, she said nothing at all. Besides, it was easier to hear things when you weren’t talking.

Not that hearing things was always a good thing.

Once, she heard what sounded like a lion roaring in the distance, and it was several heart-stopping moments before she managed to remember that there weren’t any lions in Ukraine and that what she could actually hear was the sound of a European bison bull bellowing his heart out. All the same, she was glad there wasn’t much
light and that she couldn’t see the bison and that he couldn’t see her.

Another time, she heard a strange whooping noise, and it was the next day before she was able to connect this strange sound with some zebras, the sight of which was unnerving to her, because she was certain that zebras existed only in Africa, like lions, and it occurred to her that if there were zebras at Askaniya-Nova, then there might just as easily be lions, too.

Strangest of all was the noise of a llama—another animal she was sure existed on a different continent. This sounded exactly like someone laughing his head off, and she almost thought it might be a hyena, until she saw the llama, which was as white as the snow and, in the bright moonlight, resembled a creature from a fairy tale.

All of these noises were made less alarming to Kalinka by the fact that Taras, the dog, and Temüjin and Börte seemed not in the least bit bothered by them. And the only time the three animals stopped and pricked up their ears was when they heard what Kalinka was quite certain was a wolf howling in the distance.

Now, as anyone will tell you, a howling wolf is a wonderful sound, but only if you are inside a warm house with a lock on the door. It is not a sound you want to hear when you are standing in the middle of an open steppe in winter—especially, as on this occasion, when the wolf’s plaintive howl received a swift reply from another wolf.

“Wolves,” whispered Kalinka. “Max didn’t say there would be wolves, Taras.” She made a fist inside her coat pocket. “This is a good start to our journey.”

Taras stayed silent; he was too busy listening to bark at the girl. And besides, he hardly wanted to give their exact position away to the wolves, although he had a good idea that they had already picked up their scent—not that this was difficult. There wasn’t one of them—the girl included—who didn’t smell as strongly as a nest of mice.

“Perhaps I should light a fire,” whispered Kalinka, fingering the box of matches in her coat pocket. “Wolves don’t like fire. Not that there’s wood or anything else to put a match to.” She thought for a moment. “Perhaps if I gave them the bread and the cheese? No, I thought not. A hungry wolf is hardly likely to make do with a cheese sandwich, is he?”

Taras glanced at her impatiently; then they heard another yowling howl, and this time it seemed much, much closer. Taras looked at Kalinka uncertainly. He was sure the horses could defend themselves, but about the girl he was much less sure. Without a doubt, she was the weakest in their group, and her soft white flesh would look all too inviting to a leaping wolf. If only the old man had thought to give her a walking stick, then at least she might have used it to hit something.

“I wish dear Max was here with his gun,” she whispered. “Better still, I wish I was back in his little blue cottage.”

A minute passed, and none of the animals beside the girl moved or made a sound. All Kalinka could hear was the cold bora wind moaning over the snow-covered grass and her own nervous breathing. The silence was even more unnerving than the howl of the wolves, for she realized that it meant something ominous now.

Slowly, Taras turned around to face the direction where they’d heard the wolf’s howl coming from; so did Temüjin, and Kalinka sensed that something was about to happen that only the three animals who were her companions actually understood.

“Are they going to attack, do you think?” she asked the dog. “I’ve never even seen a wolf, and I don’t know what to do. Should I crouch down? Should I play dead?”

Taras lowered his tense body, growled and pinned his small ears back so that he resembled a wolf himself. He was a big dog: at the shoulder, he was as high as a man’s waist, but the girl doubted he was equal to a contest with a pack of wolves. And even though Taras was a wolfhound, she had the idea that when borzois hunted wolves, they did it not on their own but in pairs. Besides, he had such a gentle-looking face, it was hard to imagine him fighting anything.

Meanwhile, the stallion lifted his furry tail and his head, showed his big yellow teeth to the moon and let out a strange noise that was part snort and part growl—a blustering sound that was full of aggression and determination to stand his ground against whatever the night now threw at him.

Bright eyes shifted in the dark like fireflies. Kalinka’s chest felt so tight, she could hardly breathe. There were at least two wolves circling them, patiently looking for the weakest one of the four travelers to attack. That is how it always is with wolves. Stealth and patience and, above all, a ruthless drive to kill; in that respect, at least, they reminded Kalinka of the Nazis. She swallowed her fear and tried not to let it show, for she had an idea that wolves can smell terror. She was right. Taras pushed out his chest and barked fiercely at the bright eyes, and for a moment, they disappeared.

Kalinka had discovered the special fear of wolves. Everyone has it. It’s a fear that goes right back to the time when man lived in caves and painted horses on the walls by firelight and very sensibly avoided the forests and open steppe at night.