by Philip Kerr
In the flickering firelight, Kalinka decided the painting was pretty good—so good that she started painting another running horse almost immediately.
While she was working, Temüjin came into Kalinka’s water tank to see what she was doing; his sense of another horse like him was so keen that he had felt its presence even though it was only a painting on a stone wall. The stallion stared at the picture for a full two minutes: like a cat looking at a mirror, he was fascinated with this image of himself.
Before long, Kalinka had created not just several horses running around the walls but also a reasonable imitation of a real prehistoric cave. When she compared her own efforts with the pictures in Max’s book, she felt that she had exceeded her own expectations.
“Not bad,” she said. “Not bad at all. Even though I say so myself. Perhaps, deep down, all painting is the same: no one ought to or can teach you how to paint the wall of a cave. It’s something you can or you can’t do.”
Looking at her work now, Kalinka felt she had a new understanding of those ancient cavemen. She thought it was only too easy to imagine that outside her little shelter, on the windblown steppe, it was a primordial world of unimaginable harshness and severity; and in a way, of course, it was just such a world. Perhaps it was worse than that, for even at its harshest, Stone Age life was never as nasty, brutish and short as life on the Russian front. No saber-toothed tiger, woolly rhinoceros, mammoth, cave bear or Neanderthal man had ever witnessed the cruelty Kalinka had seen.
But a new thought now presented itself to her inquisitive young mind.
“You know, Taras, I wonder if it was cavemen who painted these pictures at all. Everyone assumes it was them. But why? Why couldn’t it have been cavewomen? After all, it’s usually the women who fix up a place and try to make it look nice. That’s how it was for us back in Dnepropetrovsk. My papa was out working all day, and my mama was the one who stayed home cooking, cleaning, putting up curtains, hanging pictures and making everything neat and tidy. My papa was generally too tired to lift anything but a newspaper or his tea glass when he came home at night. It’s hard to think of his Stone Age equivalent painting pictures on the walls of his cave after a day of hunting mammoth.”
She shrugged.
“Either way, I can’t wait to see what Max thinks of my cave. You know, it’s a pity he’s coming tomorrow morning, because I think these paintings look so much better at night and in the firelight. It’s almost as if the horses are actually moving around the walls. If you half close your eyes, the flames seem to create the illusion that they’re really running. It’s a bit like going to the cinema theater. Except that these moving pictures are in color, of course. I’ve only ever seen movies that are in black and white.”
Temüjin nodded his appreciation and allowed Kalinka to hug his back fondly, which was not something he had allowed before. Neither of them could have known that the girl’s pictures were almost prophetic, and that within a matter of hours, Temüjin and Börte would be running for their lives.
Kalinka’s heart skipped a beat when she heard footsteps outside the jagged stone door of the disused water tank.
“Max? Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me,” he said dully, appearing in the doorway. Bearded and swathed in frosted furs, he didn’t look so very different from a caveman himself.
Kalinka threw her arms around the old man and squealed with delight.
“I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow,” she said.
“I—er—changed my mind.” He held up a coat. “I brought you a coat, which used to belong to my wife. To help keep you warm when you go outside.”
“Thank you,” she said, pressing the fur on the collar to her face. “It’s nice.”
“It’s an Astrakhan coat. I’d almost forgotten that I still had it. It’ll be a bit big, probably. But I expect you’ll grow into it.”
“You smell different,” she observed.
Max winced. “I had a bath, that’s why. Before going to dinner. And it wasn’t even my birthday.”
Kindly, Kalinka didn’t ask him about dinner. Just by looking at his face, she could tell that the old man hadn’t enjoyed it very much. She put the coat down on the floor for a moment and lifted the lantern.
“Look,” she said. “I’ve decorated my cave.”
Max glanced around and felt his own jaw drop with amazement. “Well, I never,” he said. “It’s incredible. They’re the most beautiful paintings I think I’ve ever seen. And that includes the painting in my cottage that used to belong to the baron. It’s wonderful what you’ve done in here, child. Wonderful.”
He walked around the water tank, nodding his appreciation and muttering kind words of admiration. Finally, Max let out a loud laugh of delight.
“I feel just like one of those ancient cavemen seventeen thousand years ago. Whatever prompted you to do such a wonderful thing, child?”
“These old walls were a bit gray,” she said. “I never liked gray all that much. And I like it a lot less since the Germans came to Ukraine. I thought that if I was going be hiding in here for a while, then it would be nice to make things a little more bright and colorful.”
“Well, you’ve certainly done that,” said Max. “You’re full of surprises.” The old man tried to make his smile last awhile longer, but knowing what he knew now, this was proving to be difficult.
Mistaking his melting smile for a lack of genuine enthusiasm, Kalinka said, “I know they’re a little crude. But I’ll get better, and when I paint the walls of the other water tank—which is the important one—then I’m sure I’ll get it just right.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Max. “I think you’ve done a marvelous job.”
“No, this was an experiment,” said Kalinka. “To work out my technique. The other cave is where I’m going to do the proper work. You see, I really want to make Temüjin and Börte feel like they are outside on the steppe, with all their old friends—the horses who were shot. I might even try a few bison, too. Just like in the books you lent me.”
“Well, that’s very kind and thoughtful of you, Kalinka.”
Temüjin nodded his affirmation of this project. He hadn’t seen a lot of art, but he knew what he liked. He put his nose in Kalinka’s hand for a moment, breathed warmly on the palm of her hand and then went next door to check on Börte.
Max picked up a piece of wood, dropped it onto the fire and then sat down on the floor with a heavy sigh.
“What is it, Max?” said Kalinka, sitting down beside him. “Did something awful happen when you went to see Captain Grenzmann?”
“Yes,” he said. “You could say that.”
“And here was I, chattering away about my stupid paintings. I should have remembered that you’d be feeling bad after—well, after, you know.”
“No, it’s not that,” said Max. “Although that was quite bad enough. I don’t think I’ve ever had to eat anything quite as bad as—”
Gradually, Max explained some of what had happened in the baron’s old study at the big house. He did not mention that the SS men at the house were probably the same men who had killed her family.
“But what does it mean?” she asked.
“It means that bloody Captain Grenzmann won’t be satisfied until he’s found this place and satisfied his own curiosity that it is what I told him it was,” said Max. “A ruin of no importance. It means that he might well come here as soon as tomorrow morning, when he’s out riding. And I think we can guess what will happen if he finds you here. It means, my dear, dear girl, and my only true friend, that you will have to leave this place tonight. Right now. You have to go away somewhere safe. To our own Red Army lines, southeast of here.”
Kalinka winced as if Temüjin had bitten her backside.
“Oh, Max,” she said. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure. And I sincerely wish I wasn’t.”
“I see,” Kalinka said sadly. She’d been so happy in her little cave.
“Since you’re without parents and without identity papers, Kalinka, Captain Grenzmann will assume you’ve escaped from a camp or another special action group, and possibly shoot you at the same time as he shoots Temüjin and Börte.” He sighed. “It’s too bad, but there it is.”
Kalinka nodded. In all other circumstances, she might have cried, but she could see Max was right and there was no point in moaning about it. Escape was now her only option.
“All right,” she agreed. “Of course, I can see the sense in what you’re saying. I’ll go tonight.” She frowned. “But look here. There’s no point in me leaving here on my own. Why don’t I take Temüjin and Börte with me? You said yourself, he’ll shoot them if he finds them here.”
He nodded. “Yes, he will.”
“Think about it, Max. If they don’t come with me, the breed will be extinct.”
“I can’t argue with that, Kalinka. But all the same, your plan is founded on the assumption that the horses will do what you say. That they’ll follow you. Will they follow you? They’re wild animals, after all.”
“If I ask them, I think they’ll come,” she said. “I seem to have developed a bond with them. I’m not exactly sure why. But as I said before, I think it’s because we have something in common. We’re all refugees.”
“Perhaps it’s that, yes.” Max nodded. “But I think they sense something unique in you, Kalinka. And so do I. It’s a very wise head you have on very young shoulders.”
“You’re wiser.”
“It might seem that way, Kalinka, but no, I’m not. Wisdom is found inside the head, not in the silver beard.” Max turned away. “Now, I’d better go and get some things for your journey. You stay here and see if you can work your magic with those horses and persuade them that they have to leave with you. All right?”
“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 morni
ng.
EVEN 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.
