"Better than the thin water soups in the penal colony,” he cheered himself up as he chewed the first bites. The taste was a little weird, but he'd get used to it over time. It was definitely nutritious. If nature did not ally itself against him, he had a good chance of remaining strong.
Mischka lolled comfortably over the warm fire and watched the red evening sky and its reflections on the surface of the lake. The birds had already gone to rest. Only one owl screamed her "Huh, Huuh" in the twilight of the night, while numerous frogs on the lake shore began their evening singing.
◆◆◆
"Your examining magistrate is absent today. So, I've been instructed to acquaint you with the prosecutor's warrant."
The memory of the words of the magistrate ripped Mischka from his dreams and brought him back to reality. He had been taken out of lectures at the Archaeological Institute of Moscow University before the eyes of all the students. The two KGB officials had taken him away like a criminal.
He knew the charges well enough by now. In the interrogations of the secret police, he was accused of making statements critical of the regime. He is a collaborator and henchman of Western espionage organizations. This is ridiculous. They just couldn't take an open word. Abuses had to remain in the dark, and anyone who dared to express a critical word in public was silenced: exclusion from the Komsomol, the communist youth association of the USSR, then loss of the university place and expulsion from the university; finally, penal colony, if the first two measures did not silence the critical admonisher.
In his case, they had taken immediate action. His last name revealed that he had German ancestors. It was therefore obvious to the political commissioners that Michail Wulff was a subversive element, and therefore had to be removed from Soviet society.
The magistrate began to read the charges. Mischka's thoughts digressed again. They did what they wanted anyway. The verdict had been in place for a long time. Today's pretrial was just an alibi. He wondered if he could see his friend Aljoscha again. Aljoscha had to tell his aunt that he had been arrested. The authorities certainly wouldn't do that.
Oh, Aunt Lena, he thought wistfully, you raised me after the death of my parents at great sacrifice. You did everything you could to help me study. I was like a son to you. You wanted to give me faith in communism, hope for a better society through the teachings of Marx, Engels and Lenin. Now I've disappointed you. But I've seen too many grievances, too much misery. That's why I couldn't keep quiet.
“Citizen," Mischka heard the deputy judge say, "sign that you have been informed of the prosecutor's sanction!" He awoke again from his thoughts.
"Does it make any sense that I sign this document? It doesn't change my arrest or the sentence you've already passed."
The magistrate was embarrassed and silent. He knew these negotiations well enough. In none of the cases was the accused spared the journey to Siberia or, even worse, to a special psychiatric clinic. Mischka then became more courageous and asked: “Will you allow me to see my friend Aljoscha again, who is waiting outside in the corridor?"
"You can't go out anymore, but we'll let him come in,” the officer agreed.
That's how it starts, Mischka thought, they let me feel that I no longer have any rights, but am now a prisoner.
Aljoscha appeared in the doorway. The otherwise so cheerful and frolicsome fellow student, with the pitch-black hair and the moustache seemed serious and worried. Mischka stood up and grabbed his friend by the shoulders: "I was actually arrested, Aljoscha. I'm sure they'll send me to Siberia. Critics in this country are regarded as enemies. I don't know when I'll be back. Ten or twenty years from now, maybe. The trial will determine that. Maybe Siberia will be my destiny, too."
Aljoscha swallowed. He was so excited he couldn't find the words. He just squeezed his friend's hand.
"It was an exciting and beautiful time, our youth, Aljoscha,” continued Mischka. "I will always keep it in my heart."
A militia lieutenant appeared at the door. "Who shall I take away?"
The magistrate pointed to Mischka.
"This one!"
The officer grabbed the young man by the arm. "Let's go!" he said concisely and used to orders.
"Aljoscha, say hello to all our friends and write to Aunt Lena that I have been arrested, that I love her and that I am grateful for everything,” Mischka shouted over his friend's shoulder, "Don't forget: I will be free in spite of everything!"
Then the door closed.
◆◆◆
He couldn't forget Aljoscha's picture. His friend stood helplessly in the room with hanging shoulders and tears in his eyes. With one blow the carefree youth time was over. Everything had changed because young people were not allowed to say what they thought, even if it was well meant.
Mischka stared thoughtlessly into the embers of his fire. A grim smile suddenly played around his mouth. "My friend,” he said in low voice, "if you could see me now! You would believe again that you cannot rob a people of freedom for all time."
The last sunlight had faded by now. Countless stars shimmered on the blue-black firmament, giving Mischka the feeling of floating in the vast, boundless universe, free from the limitations of the earth and the domination systems with which its inhabitants were enslaved.
◆◆◆
With the first sunbeams Mischka awoke. He shivered a little. Despite dry clothes and the embers of the campfire, he had woken up again and again in the night because he was cold. With a few branches he lit the fire anew every time. But that wasn't the answer. For the next night he had to come up with something better. Moreover, the morning dew had soaked his clothes so that he felt uncomfortable now.
Mischka jumped on his feet and tried to animate the stiff limbs with gymnastics. Then he collected an armful of beech and birch branches and ignited the embers of the nocturnal campfire into new flames. The warmth did him good. Huddled together, he waited until the sun had warmed the air and the earth. Nobody drove him. He had plenty of time. That's why he took the new day slowly.
For breakfast he cooked himself the same stew as the night before. Afterwards he took an extensive bath in the cool lake and did some gymnastic exercises until he was dry. He brushed his teeth with a soft plant stalk. He didn't want to take any chances. Severe toothache could make his life hell out here. In addition, he did not want to run wild, but to try to take care of himself as well as possible. He needed firm principles and habits if he did not want to sink to the level of vagrants.
After hanging up part of his clothes to air and dry, he set out to search for edible plants and roots. The knowledge of nature he had acquired in Komsomol helped him as much as the unusual recipes of his Aunt Lena. During the war years she had learned to bring a tasty meal to the table every day with the help of wild plants. Even later, when all the basic food staples were available again, she brought salads and vegetable soups to the table, which consisted only of wild plants, or of weeds, as the neighbors used to call them mockingly.
Mischka discovered a field with chickweed, dug out burdock and calamus roots and harvested some tufts of dandelion, whose roots he wanted to debitter and cook like asparagus, while the leaves were to be processed into salad. He also collected Icelandic moss, which first had to be debittered by cooking and rinsing, in order to produce a nutritious, pasty mash. He was prepared for the next few days, but he always wanted to have a little supply with him to be prepared for all cases. Next he built a dense, forward open shelter over his sleeping hollow from branches, grass and leaves, which would protect him not only from dew but also from rain showers. Finally he wanted to stay at this lake until his feet were healed and his joints no longer hurt. This would certainly take two weeks.
He spent the afternoon swimming and lazing around. For dinner he cooked himself a vegetable soup of chickweed and burdock roots, which he again seasoned with a little salt and bear's garlic. He discovered that the mosquitoes did not like the smell of garlic and therefore mostly left him alone. He spat out th
e dandelion salad, which was to enrich his lunch, because he did not like the bitter taste. The stinging nettle salad with bear's garlic, on the other hand, was something of a delicacy. Of course he was only allowed to eat the young leaves and had to crush them vigorously, so that no nettle hairs could burn his mouth.
After dinner, he built a caterpillar fire around the outside of his refuge: four branches were laid over a horizontal piece of wood. At their end came another piece of wood lying horizontal, on which Mischka laid further branches. So, he built a six yard long wooden caterpillar. If he lit it at one end before going to sleep, the fire would slowly eat its way along it and permanently protect him from mosquitoes and cold. He could also light his morning campfire with the embers of the end of the caterpillar without having to sacrifice one of the precious matches.
Before going to bed Mischka additionally distributed the embers of the campfire in the sleeping hollow and covered it with a thick layer of sand. Dry grass and moss that he had stuffed into his shoulder bag had turned into a comfortable pillow in the afternoon. This time he was well prepared for the night, and fell asleep quickly on his warm camp.
The next morning he only woke up when the sun was already high in the sky. He had slept deep and dreamless, and felt fresh and full of energy. After his morning toilet and a breakfast of moss porridge with tiny wild strawberries, he set off to explore the course of the creek.
◆◆◆
Lieutenant Colonel Wdowetschenko had done everything he could to recapture the fugitive, but no reports of success were received. Discontented, he squatted at his desk and sucked on a cold cigar. Until his men drag this Michail Wulff through the camp gate again, all free spirits in the colony would get a boost. Further escape attempts would be inevitable. Only hard measures and deterrent examples could keep this bunch of criminals in check.
The political officer had interrogated all prisoners with whom the refugee had had contact. But they remained silent as a grave. Only Nikita laughed and asked the unsettled officer: "Do you think Michail Wulff is so stupid that he would announce his escape route? He knows that you heroes of socialism squeeze everyone like a lemon. No, Michail hasn't been a gossip. He kept his mouth shut. To catch him again, you'll have to get up earlier. He's got more brains than all of us together!"
Wdowetschenko angrily threw the cigar butt into the ashtray, stood up and stared through the smeared panes of the barrack windows. Outside some men shuffled past, who were responsible for order and cleanliness in the camp. They did not seem to be motivated, nor did their work show any success.
For whatever reason, Wdowetschenko thought, they have no incentive for enthusiasm and care. Why should they be motivated?
He needed a tracker, a real bloodhound, who knew his way around the wilderness and was smart enough to predict the next steps of the hunted. This Litschenko had made an honest effort, he had to admit this reluctantly, but this man was too inexperienced and simple-minded to take on such a clever head.
Lieutenant Colonel Wdowetschenko punched the wooden wall of the barrack with his fist. That's it, that's it! Chrapow had to come! Chrapow was the man he was looking for. With three steps he hurried to the door, opened it and shouted to the outer office: "Lisa! I really need Olejnik Chrapow. He must be here in three days at the latest, even if he has to be flown in from the furthest corner of Kazakhstan. Get on the phone now and find him. We're in a hurry!"
Lisa nodded submissively and picked up the phone immediately. She knew her boss and his tendency to irascibleness. When he gave his orders in this tone, there was nothing more important in the world than to obey his order immediately. She sighed and turned the dial. Hopefully she could find Chrapow soon. She didn't have a thing for overtime, at least not with that lousy pay.
Wdowetschenko returned to the window. Chrapow was his man! Born in a small village on the Adytsscha River at the foot of the Tschersky Mountains, he was a nature boy and hunter who no one could match. The man was a legend even in his lifetime. It was told that he had lived in the wilderness of Siberia for a year without weapons and fire and could survive outside at minus forty degrees even in winter. He's a tough guy! Once he was on a trail, he wouldn't give up until he caught his victim. He was a predator, ruthless and merciless. Chrapow would track down this Michail Wulff, Wdowetschenko had no doubts about that, and he would send this loser Litschenko to Chrapow's hard school. A little swamp and mosquitoes wouldn't hurt him.
Chrapow was also the stepbrother of Pankratow, one of his best men, who was unfortunately seriously injured in an accident a few weeks ago. Wdowetschenko wasn't quite sure anymore. Was it really an accident? As much as he remembered, Pankratow had broken his lower jaw and nasal bone in a fall when he was alone with Michail Wulff. They hadn't been able to pin anything on this prisoner back then. Nevertheless, he would give Chrapow the impression that the escaped man was to blame for Pankratow's injuries. That would motivate the hunter even more to hunt down his victim!
Lieutenant Colonel Juri Wdowetschenko dropped back into his desk chair. His bad mood was gone. Satisfied, he lit a new cigar, inhaled deeply and poured out the smoke in small, round clouds.
"The game is far from over, Michail Wulff,” he hissed as he watched the pale blue smoke circles, ”Chrapow will soon be sticking to your heels, and then you have nothing to laugh about. Nothing more!"
The creek was knee-deep and after about fifty yards it became so wide that one could float comfortably on a small raft. Mischka was seized by hunting fever when he saw a silver shadow gliding through the water below the embankment. He couldn't catch fish with bare hands, and he didn't have a fishing rod either. So, a trap had to be built.
He looked for an armful of branches and rammed them into the bottom of the stream, so that a "V" arose, the tip of which lying downstream from the creek had an opening six inches wide. He reinforced this construction with stones so that it could withstand the pressure of the dammed water. At intervals of about one yard he erected two more of these constructions.
Mischka then wove a basket-like cage from the flexible branches of a birch tree, hung it in front of the opening of the last trap, weighed it down and wedged it with pebbles. Satisfied, he looked at his work. All fish swimming downstream would now be sucked into the cage system by the artificially increased current. Few would find their way back. The success of the hunt was therefore pre-programmed and dinner secured.
Mischka wandered away from the brook into the forest to look for edible plants. He wanted to leave as few traces as possible on the watercourse to make it more difficult for pursuers to search for him if they had to comb this forest area.
He removed the brittle outer skin of some birch trunks and cut large pieces of the fine layer of bark underneath. Later he would also try the barks of Willows, Aspens, spruces and beeches. But today he wanted to cook himself some birch Bark Noodles. He was curious about its taste.
He had already discovered that some plants had an unpleasant effect on his body. After eating young stinging nettle or dead-nettle leaves, for example, his urge to urinate increased. It was therefore better not to consume too much of it, if he did not want to get a bladder infection.
"And then our natural healers claim that herbal or natural medicines have no side effects,” Mischka thought out loud. He was almost shocked by his own voice after not talking to anyone for days. "But I'm sure they're just trying to make us believe that their cures are better." A plant probably has no side effects, if it has no effect at all."
He dug out the roots of thistles, harvested a little grass seed and picked a handful of blueberries, which he ate on the spot. Returning to the stream, he cut off several clumps of sea grass and covered the cut surfaces with sand and stones to cover the tracks. Dried, the sea grass was a nutritious food for the journey. He wouldn't be able to stay long at this paradisiacal lake. The search for him was certainly in full swing. He therefore had to be prepared to continue on his path at any time.
A hundred yards downstream, he discovered
a layer of clay. Mischka was pleased to dig a large amount of this precious material out of the ground and camouflaged the excavation site as best he could. The tin can was his only pot so far. But now he could make more bowls and pots for himself. There was always something to do out here in the wild. That's why he didn't suffer from loneliness and boredom.
In the late afternoon Mischka returned to the cage. In fact, two fish were caught in it: a shiny silver Roach, about ten inches long, with orange-red fins, and a fifteen inch long Perch.
Mischka held one hand in front of the opening of the cage and tilted it with the opening upwards. Then he reached in and threw the two fishes, one after the other ashore. It took him some effort to kill the fishes. The Perch was an especially pretty animal. They certainly loved freedom and life as much as he did. Mischka didn't want to think any further before stunning the fish with a stone, to slaughter and gut them afterwards. He buried the innards on the riverbank.
Back at the camp, he cut part of the birch bark into fine strips and threw them into boiling water. Then he hung the seaweed on the line to dry and fried the two fishes on two sticks skewered over the campfire. In the meantime, the birch bark spaghetti had swollen in the pot and could be poured off. After Mischka had seasoned them with a little salt, he could still afford this luxury, he started eating the pasta dish with appetite. It tasted better than he had imagined. Only the tomato sauce was missing. But he could accept that in his situation. The search for food had made him hungry, so he ate half of each of the two fish. The Roach tasted not bad, but had many bones, while the Perch fortunately had very little of it. Mischka had hoped to be able to catch even more of these fish and take them along smoked and dried as travel provisions.
The Trace of the Wolf Page 4
