Comrade Cowgirl

by Yolanda Wallace

  “Who needs a horse when I have this?” he asked.

  “I know he’s right proud of his little toy car,” Shorty said after he descended the porch steps and set his suitcase and saddle in the back of the ATV, “but tell him nothing beats a good horse. Unless this thing has an outboard motor hidden underneath the chassis, it can’t cross a swollen river. A horse can swim. This thing would sink like a stone.”

  Laramie and Shorty slid into the back seat, leaving Anastasia no choice but to sit next to Yevgeny. She made sure she was out of striking distance when she told him what Shorty had said.

  Yevgeny’s eyes glinted mischievously as he absorbed Shorty’s words. “In the stables, there are six horses for him to choose from. But can any of them do this?”

  He shoved the ATV into gear and stomped on the gas. Anastasia hurriedly fastened her seat belt to prevent herself from flying out. Laramie did the same, but Shorty refused to take the extra precaution. Instead, he braced his arms against the back of Yevgeny’s seat as Yevgeny drove in a tight circle.

  Anastasia closed her eyes as dust, dirt, and debris began to make its way into the seating area of the ATV. “I think you’ve made your point,” she said, but Yevgeny kept driving in tighter and tighter circles.

  “I want to hear him say it.”

  She didn’t have to tell Shorty what Yevgeny had said in order to provide an answer. “He is too proud—and too stubborn—to give you the satisfaction. Now stop this madness before someone gets hurt.”

  Yevgeny made one more lap, then eased off the gas as he turned the steering wheel toward the bunkhouse. Anastasia felt two of the oversized wheels lift off the ground. She held her breath, fearful the vehicle was about to tip over.

  “I was just having a little fun with our new friends,” Yevgeny said. He stopped the ATV and let the engine idle. “Tell him he has five minutes to put his things inside. If he isn’t back by then, I will start the tour without him.”

  Anastasia chose to deliver a different message. “He says he will wait here until you return.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure he did.” Shorty climbed out of the back seat and grabbed his belongings. “I didn’t come all this way to get into a pissing contest,” he muttered as he strode toward the bunkhouse.

  “Since you’re already in it,” Laramie called after him, “make sure you don’t lose.”

  “Roger that.”

  After Shorty pulled the door open, Anastasia peered inside the bunkhouse. The interior looked like a dormitory. Eight cots were lined up along the walls of the narrow structure, four on each side. A metal storage locker stood sentry next to each cot. A combination lock kept the possessions inside safe from prying eyes.

  Anastasia had grown up in a room like that. She shuddered as she remembered the lack of privacy and the sliver of hope in her chest that grew smaller and smaller each time one of her dorm mates was adopted. Each time they were chosen to have homes and families of their own and she was left behind, waiting in vain for her turn to be picked. To be wanted.

  “Okay, let’s get this show on the road.” Shorty returned carrying a thick pair of work gloves. Laramie had a similar pair tucked in the back pocket of her jeans.

  “Are you planning on getting your hands dirty?” Anastasia asked.

  “It never hurts to be prepared,” Laramie said. “As we say in America, it’s better to have something and not need it than need it and not have it.”

  “We have saying in Russia, too: man is born to live and not to prepare for life. Americans prepare for the unexpected and Russians take life as it comes. That explains difference between our countries, no?”

  “Not all of them, but that’s certainly a good place to start.”

  * * *

  The soil, Laramie noticed, was black and rich, perfect for pastureland. The land was dry now, but when the fall and winter rains came, there would be plenty of water for the cows to drink and plenty of grass for them to graze on, lessening the need for store-bought food.

  “They’re skinny,” Shorty said as Yevgeny slowly drove through the herd, “but they’ll do.”

  Though Laramie was glad the cattle seemed to be in good physical shape, she still had some concerns.

  “I need to see their immunization records to make sure they’ve had all their shots. I don’t see ear tags or brands on them. How do you tell them apart?”

  “He says they’re cows, not people,” Anastasia said. “Why would he need to tell them apart?”

  Laramie pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers. She couldn’t tell if Yevgeny was being intentionally obtuse or if he truly had no idea what his job entailed.

  “Each cow in the herd needs to be fitted with an ear tag, white for bulls and yellow for heifers. The number helps us keep track of each animal and chart its progress. If you don’t have any tags, you need to get your hands on some as soon as possible. We’ll need one tag for each head of cattle plus an extra box or two to maintain a working supply.”

  “He says there is no need for him to waste Sergei’s money. Andrei used to be butcher. He is able to recognize each animal by sight. He has even given each beast a name and they come to him when called.”

  Laramie reminded herself to let Andrei know the animals shouldn’t be considered pets. If he or any of the other ranch hands got too close to the cattle, their sentimentality would make it exponentially harder if not impossible for them to be able to do their jobs when it was time to take part of the herd to market.

  “That’s all well and good,” she said, “but if Andrei up and quit tomorrow, all the knowledge he has would walk out the door with him. No matter what the expense, we need those tags. If they’re fitted with a radio frequency device, they would help us locate the cattle if any of them were to get lost.”

  “Yevgeny says he will place order tomorrow.”

  “That’s not good enough. Tell him to place the order today and have the tags sent overnight.”

  “Why so fast?”

  “We’re already behind. I want to start catching up.”

  As Anastasia relayed the message, Laramie silently celebrated her hard-fought victory. Hopefully, the subsequent battles wouldn’t prove nearly as difficult.

  Yevgeny pulled out his cell phone. He spoke for a few minutes, then ended the call.

  “Order has been placed,” Anastasia said. “The delivery fee was double, but tags will be here before noon.”

  “Excellent. If we work fast, we might be able to get through most of the herd before dark. What time does the sun set around here?”

  “Around eight thirty during the summer months. In winter, it gets dark before five.”

  “Just like home.”

  “Do you think Godoroye will ever feel like home for you?”

  “In some ways, it already does.”

  “And in others?”

  “Let’s just say the welcoming committee hasn’t been as hospitable as I’d hoped it would be.”

  Laramie meant the comment to be a joke, but Anastasia obviously didn’t take it that way.

  “I apologize if my efforts have not met your expectations. If there is anything you would like me to do differently, please make me aware what that might be and I will do my best to improve my performance.”

  Anastasia must have thought her job was on the line. Laramie felt like kicking herself for causing her unnecessary concern. She placed her hand on Anastasia’s arm.

  “You’ve been great. Don’t change a thing.”

  Anastasia’s expression slowly changed from panicked to relieved. “Spasibo.”

  “How do I say, ‘you’re welcome’?”

  “Pozhaluysta.”

  “Poz what?”

  Anastasia laughed and slowly repeated the word again and again until Laramie was finally able to say it correctly.

  “Gesundheit,” Shorty said like he always did when he heard a foreign word or phrase he couldn’t pronounce.

  “Wrong language,” Anastasia said, “but you have very good Ger
man accent, Mr. Johnson.”

  “Must be all the bratwurst we cook up back on the ranch.”

  “Must be.”

  Anastasia regarded Laramie’s hand. Laramie pulled away, realizing she had allowed the contact to linger several moments too long. She reminded herself to be more careful with her actions so she wouldn’t upset the conservative societal norms. She also vowed to be more careful with her words so she wouldn’t keep tripping over the language barrier. She thought it might be best if she kept her mouth shut and her hands to herself. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be able to get much work done that way.

  They rode in silence for a while. Then Laramie heard the distinctive sound of a calf in distress. She pointed to a rise off to the right.

  “Tell him to head toward that ridge.”

  After Yevgeny topped the hill Laramie had indicated, she noticed a group of men crowded around a hole. The hole must have been filled with water at some point, but most of the water had evaporated, leaving thick black mud behind. A calf, about nine months old by the looks of him, was struggling to free himself from the mud. A cow, most likely the calf’s mother, lingered nearby. The pair lowed at each other constantly, their calls sounding more plaintive by the minute.

  The four men surrounding the hole seemed to be debating the best approach to free the trapped animal. Based on their gestures, one seemed to be in favor of looping a rope around the calf’s neck in order to pull it free. Another indicated the animal’s front legs. The other two men stood by the wayside, shouting encouragement, advice, or both.

  “Tell him to pull over,” Laramie said.

  While the men continued their lively debate, she and Shorty went to work. Shorty grabbed a shovel and jumped into the hole to see if he could dig the calf free. Laramie rubbed the calf’s nose to calm it as clots of mud began to fly past its head.

  “It’s no use,” Shorty said a few minutes later. “This stuff is like quicksand. The more I dig, the deeper he sinks.” He grunted as the nearly six-hundred-pound animal leaned its weight against him. “Easy there, little fella. We’ll find a way to get you out of this mess.”

  “I’ve got an idea.” Laramie grabbed the two lengths of rope lying on the ground and handed them to Shorty. “Loop them under the calf’s belly. I’ll tie the ends to the ATV. I don’t see a winch, but it should have enough horsepower for us to be able to pull him out.”

  Shorty shifted his eyes in Yevgeny’s direction. “You think our friend will be nice enough to let you play with his toys?”

  “I don’t plan on giving him a choice.”

  Shorty chuckled. “I knew Thad raised you right.”

  After Laramie tossed him the ropes, Shorty plunged his arms into the mud and worked the ropes under the calf’s belly. Shorty fished the ropes out of the mud and tossed them to Laramie so she could tie them to the hitch on the back of the ATV.

  “Shove over,” she said, signaling for Yevgeny to get out of the way.

  He grumbled but acquiesced. As he angrily puffed on a cigarette, she turned the key in the ignition and gingerly pressed on the gas pedal. Feeling resistance as the ropes tightened around the calf’s body, she gave the ATV a little more gas. Not too much, though. She didn’t want the ropes to press too tightly into the trapped animal’s flesh. She would have preferred using tow straps for this maneuver, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  “Easy now,” Shorty said. “Easy.”

  Laramie couldn’t tell if his words were directed to her or the calf, but she backed off the gas nevertheless.

  “There we go. He’s coming.”

  Laramie watched as the calf’s body slowly began to rise from the hole.

  “That’s it. That’s the way. Hold up.” Shorty held up a closed fist, signaling for Laramie to hit the brakes. “You got him.”

  Laramie put the ATV in Park and shut off the engine as the exhausted calf sank to his knees. After she untied the ropes, she motioned for the men to clear out of the way. The calf’s mother slowly made her way over to him. She nudged his head with her muzzle, then gave him a few cautious licks. After he had time to catch his breath, the calf clambered to his feet. The men applauded as he scampered off in his mother’s wake.

  Laramie pumped her fist as she watched the happy reunion. “That’s what I call a good day’s work.”

  A man with short black hair and the doughy body of someone with no apparent interest in counting carbs led the cheers. “Yay, Piotr,” he said. “Yay, Lesya.”

  Hearing him address each cow by name, Laramie pulled off her gloves, walked over to him, and stuck out her hand. “You must be Andrei Dolgopolov,” she said as Anastasia provided translation. “I’m Laramie Bowman. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Yes, I am Andrei.”

  He shook her hand with a wary look on his face. As if he feared he were being singled out because he had done something wrong. The three other men looking on appeared nervous, too. Laramie kept forgetting how different things were here. Back home, everyone longed for their moment in the sun. Their fifteen minutes of fame. Here, people wanted to go about their business without being noticed. Because any attention they received might result in negative consequences. She rushed to set Andrei’s mind at ease.

  “I hear you know your way around the herd. I’ll need your help telling who’s who. Can I count on you?”

  Andrei nodded enthusiastically after Anastasia translated what she had said. Then he released a rapid torrent of Russian. Laramie turned to Anastasia to see what he was saying, but he was speaking so fast even Anastasia seemed to be having a hard time keeping up.

  “He says it would be his pleasure to help you. He enjoys looking after the animals and can already tell which will fetch highest price at market. He was butcher for twenty years. He knows all about best cuts of meat.”

  “Tell him I’m glad he’s on our team.”

  After Andrei stepped back, the rest of the men crowded around to introduce themselves, too. They spoke simultaneously, making it hard for Laramie to tell which name belonged to which man. She repeated their names and pointed to each man to make sure she had attached the right name to the right face. Vladimir Myskin, a former history teacher. Fyodor Kafelnikov, a one-time plumber. Ivan Rublev, an erstwhile baker.

  She remembered the information she had read about them in their personnel files, but she set that aside. What was written about them didn’t matter. She needed to see how they performed.

  “If you’re done making friends, I’ve got news for you,” Shorty said. “Your day ain’t done.” He tried to climb out of the hole, but the mud held him fast. “Get me the hell out of here.”

  Laramie had wondered why he hadn’t been in on the exchange of handshakes. Now she knew why. She reached for one of the ropes so she could use the same technique she had utilized on the calf in order to pull him out. Fyodor and Ivan stepped forward before she could toss Shorty the rope.

  Fyodor pointed to the rope while Ivan moved his hands like was turning a steering wheel.

  “They would like to try,” Anastasia said.

  “I gathered that.”

  Laramie hesitated. The men needed to learn the proper techniques to perform the various chores around the ranch, but she didn’t want to risk Shorty getting hurt.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Shorty said, “but I ain’t a piece of fine china. I don’t break easy. Give the boys a chance.”

  Laramie handed Fyodor the rope. Grinning, he knelt in front of the mud hole and looped the rope under Shorty’s arms the way Shorty had secured the calf. Ivan, meanwhile, slid into the driver’s seat of the ATV and gunned the engine.

  “Whoa now,” Shorty said. “I think he’s been watching too much NASCAR.”

  “Formula One,” Anastasia corrected him. “He says Lewis Hamilton is his favorite driver.”

  “In either case, I think I’d better hold on to my hat.”

  Shorty placed both hands on his Stetson and braced himself as Ivan shifted the ATV into gear. The mud that ha
d held the calf fast was obviously unwilling to release its grip on Shorty as well. As Ivan eased the ATV forward, he pulled Shorty right out of his boots. Everyone laughed as he stood before them, mud covering nearly every inch of him except for his thick white socks.

  Vladimir fished around in the mud hole until he located Shorty’s boots. A cheer went up as he brandished them over his head. More laughter followed when Shorty began to dump out the mud that had pooled in his boots.

  Shorty shook each of their hands. “Thank you, fellas. I always like starting my workday with a good mud bath. It’s good for the complexion.”

  Andrei said something and slapped him on the back.

  “He says you should try sauna,” Anastasia said. “Is good for the pores.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Laramie didn’t know if Shorty had earned the men’s respect, but he definitely seemed to have earned their goodwill. That was a positive sign.

  “I don’t want to hear you say nothing about me being no smarter than a farm animal,” Shorty said as he stepped into his muddy boots.

  “I promise you won’t hear me say it, but that doesn’t mean I won’t think it.”

  Chapter Ten

  Laramie and Shorty were so filthy Yevgeny refused to allow them to get back in the ATV. He drove alongside them as Shorty, Laramie, and Anastasia finished the tour on foot. Andrei, Ivan, Fyodor, and Vladimir trailed behind, listening intently to what was said, but not interrupting with questions of their own.

  “No skin off my nose,” Shorty said. “The way he drives, I’d rather walk anyway.”

  Though Anastasia didn’t provide a translation, Vladimir chuckled as if he understood the meaning of Shorty’s words. He had taught history at a small university just outside Moscow. Anastasia asked him if he had picked up some English during his own studies.