Andrei and the Snow Walker

by Larry Warwaruk

  It’s such a nice time after harvest. Mama says that families will come to the festival even if they won’t have a priest there. They will prepare baskets of fruit, vegetables from the

  gardens, even if there won’t be a priest to give the blessings.

  The Bayda garden has produced. They have been truly fortunate. They have a milk cow, and the thirteen chicks that hatched in May are already laying eggs. But Mama has been wondering if there will be grain enough to last the winter for them. Surely there will be. The garden plots of barley and wheat produced enough seed to plant at least one or two acres next spring. They’ll be pushing it to have two acres ready for planting. There should be enough extra grain to feed fourteen chickens through the winter.

  This time of year it’s not even that bad to be out in the bush clearing the land. The mosquitoes are gone. So why shouldn’t the Bayda’s feel like celebrating? On top of everything else, the highbush cranberries are ripe for the picking.

  Late in the afternoon, Gabriel Desjarlais rides into the yard. He’s brought a haunch of venison. Brovko runs in circles around the horse, barking, and sniffing at the meat.

  “Stop it!” Andrei says to the dog.

  “Where is everybody?”

  “I was in the field picking roots,” Andrei says. “Dido’s still out there.”

  “Where’s your mother?”

  “She’s berry picking, and Tato’s gone to Kuzyk’s to see about borrowing the plough.”

  “I’ve brought you some meat,” Gabriel says.

  “Marie’s in the house...she can cook it for supper. I’ll take it to her.”

  “Here,” Gabriel says, handing it down to Andrei.

  Brovko jumps. “Quit it!” Andrei says, pushing at the dog. He takes the meat inside, then runs to join Gabriel by the barn.

  “Do you think he’ll grow as tall as Raven?” Andrei says. Vityr’s inside the corral and he approaches the rail, rubbing noses with Gabriel’s horse.

  Andrei continues with his question. “Don’t you think he’s growing?”

  Gabriel pats Vityr on the neck. “I’m sure,” Gabriel says, “he’ll be as big as Raven.”

  Andrei plants his foot on the bottom rail. “Are you busy on Saturday?” he asks.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “We’re having a festival,” Andrei says. “Marie’s going to be in a play. She wants you to be in it too.”

  Gabriel starts to laugh. He slaps his knee, asking questions and laughing, each question louder than the first. “You want me to be in a play? A festival? A Ukrainian festival? Marie wants me to act in a play at a Ukrainian festival?”

  Marie is standing in the doorway of the house a hundred feet away, a knife and a half-peeled potato in her hands.

  “What are you saying?” she shouts. Gabriel turns to face her.

  “You want me to be in a play?”

  “I never said anything of the kind,” Marie says, and she throws the potato in Andrei’s direction and stomps back into the house.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Gabriel smiles at Andrei, and they walk to the house. Before he gets there, Marie’s back in the doorway.

  “I baked some buns,” she says. “Come inside. And you, Andrei. Maybe I’ll give you one, even if you don’t deserve it.”

  They sit around the big trunk in the middle of the east room. They shouldn’t be eating in here. The east room is to be used only for special occasions. It will be used for Christmas and Easter, and when visitors come. Gabriel’s a vistor, but Mama might not think he’s any special kind of visitor, like Mr. Kuzyk and his mother, or like a priest. But Mama might invite Gabriel to this room. She would be thankful for the meat.

  “The last thing I want to do,” Marie says, “is act in Dido’s play.”

  “Will you, if I go in it?” Gabriel asks.

  “You?” Marie stares at him. “You’d actually take a part in a Ukrainian play?”

  “Why not?”

  “Sure, why not?” Andrei asks. “And Dido has a part for Chi Pete. At our festivals we have music, and dancing too. Dido plays his flute, and he wants the Smuk boys to dance.”

  “I’ll ask Uncle Moise to come. He plays the violin. You haven’t seen dancing until you’ve seen the Red River Jig, and heard Uncle Moise play.”

  “Dido will tell us what he has in mind. He’s been planning all week. After supper we can start practicing.” Andrei finishes a second bun. “How long until supper?” he asks Marie. “I have to tell Dido when to come in from the field.”

  “Tell him in one hour. Go back out and help,” Marie says. “I don’t want you under my feet when I have work to do.” She smiles at Gabriel.

  “She’ll get you peeling potatoes,” Andrei says as he leaves.

  Chapter 17

  There’s a surprise. The bishop has come all the way from Winnipeg. Mr. Kuzyk found out just three days ago that it was possible for the bishop to come for “The Blessing of the Fruit.” The people were to spread the word throughout the district. Get them to come from Alvena. Even as far away as Wakaw.

  This is a special occasion. The bishop can’t stay long... only five hours. He’s on his way to Hafford. It will have to be a Low Mass, and not a High Mass with all the singing. He can baptize seven babies, and stay just long enough for a noon dinner instead of the dinner they had planned to have later in the day. But even if they have the bishop only for five hours, still they can celebrate. Dido can be a Cossack for a day.

  The word has got around. Men on horseback appear, wearing fez caps they’ve dragged out of somewhere, wooden swords, and sashes tied around their waists. They lead the bishop and the banners and all the people in Procession up the trail and three times around the church. Baskets filled with fruit and vegetables, candles, and braided bread covered with white cloths, are strung in two long rows on the grass, as edges for a walkway into the church. Andrei had hoped that Gabriel would ride Raven in the Procession, but he declined. “I’m Métis,” he said, “not a Cossack.” The men dismount, Dido, Mr. Kuzyk, and the others, and they lead their horses away, tying them to trees. The bishop leads the throng into the church.

  •••

  After the Mass, they have half an hour to prepare. The play is set to start at two o’clock. Mr. Kuzyk engineers the removal of the Holy pictures.

  “Stack them carefully,” he says, “behind the altar where nobody can see them.”

  Even Tato helps take them down. In ten minutes the church is no longer a church. It is temporarily something else, much like their house was in Zabokruky, where it seemed to lose its home feeling once the pictures were down. With the church walls bared and the bishop gone, the building is now something else, a building suitable for Dido’s play.

  Andrei climbs the staircase, following three white-sheeted girls dressed as angels. He has St. Michael’s banner wrapped around the flagstaff, and he points it straight ahead and above, half crawling in the narrow passage up into the choir loft. He’s left Chi Pete and Gabriel outside in the bell-tower shed where they await their entries, Chi Pete as a Scythian warrior, Gabriel, a buffalo hunter.

  People are crammed in even here in the choir loft. Andrei worms his way through bodies, passing the wrapped up banner of St. Michael over heads to the girls, fighting his way to the balcony rail. He needs air, and he’s sweating hot.

  He leans over the rail, grateful for the space. Below him Dido Danylo taps an old lady on the back. She’s on her knees, crossing herself and touching her forehead to the floor. He’s attemping to keep the aisle open. They need the space for the play. There is no space anywhere else.

  The pews are full. The makeshift plank benches behind the pews, and more of these same benches at the front, all the way to the altar, are full. Dido hoped to have the play staged where the altar sits, but it was too wide to get out through the door. People are jammed in shoulder to shoulder, their backs against the wall all the way along both sides of the church.

  Dido elbows his way to the front. He raises his
arms and begins talking. Andrei can’t hear a word. Dido holds both hands high and forward, then pushes down three times as if trying to cram the noise into a box. Andrei concentrates on the lines he’s memorized for the play, running them over and over in his mind. And then his stomach tightens as he tries to remember when he’s supposed to say them.

  “Hey,” someone says. Then, “Hey, hey.” Here and there a “Shhh, shhhh.” Finally the noise dies. Dido thanks the people for coming. He says everyone should thank God for the good harvest. He thanks God and the bishop for letting them use the church. Thanks to Canada for inviting Ukrainians here to farm. Thanks for rain. Thanks for sunshine. He tells the people they should start collecting money to build a hall. He says that after the play the collection plate will be passed around. He welcomes all the Cossack horsemen, thanking them for escorting the bishop in Procession. He scratches his head at the base of his topknot.

  Feet begin to shuffle. Someone sneezes. A baby cries.

  “Let’s have the play,” a man’s voice calls.

  “Yes, yes,” Dido says. “And now...” he shouts above a growing din, “the play begins.”

  He struts down the aisle, flute to his lips, the notes of a melody flitting him out the door.

  An old lady whispers. “He plays that thing in a Holy church? It is a sin to play a musical instrument in a Holy church.”

  Another lady taps her on the shoulder, then points up to the walls. “The Holy pictures are put away,” she says.

  •••

  Marie’s draped in a flowing red blanket. She wears a crown of purple and yellow flowers. Her thick braid tied with a pink ribbon falls forward down her shoulder. She stands in the aisle, cradling a sheaf of wheat.

  The angels sing. From a side room at the front of the church, three boys’ heads poke out the doorway, one on top of the other, their faces streaked with charcoal whiskers. Three wooden forks painted black dart in and out from behind the heads.

  They race, crawling through people’s legs, on their hands and knees under benches. Robbin’s rear end pokes into the aisle and he swings his hemp rope tail round and round. Or is it Dobbin, or Bobbin? A rear end appears again, and another, then all three ducking like barn kittens, back under the benches. Around and around they go. In and out.

  All at once, from behind the altar, the big devil appears, meeting Marie in the centre of the aisle. Mama has made his costume. She dyed Tato’s old underwear a bright red and sewed on a tail. Mr. Kuzyk is twice as thick in the chest and stomach as Tato is. The underwear bulges like a sack of barley ready to split. Mr. Kuzyk’s rope tail droops between his legs, dragging on the floor.

  “Fair maiden,” Mr. Kuzyk says. “Uh, uh...”

  “What brings you to my gates?” Dido whispers from outside the back door.

  “What brings you to my gates?” Mr. Kuzyk sweeps his arm in a broad gesture toward the altar, then quickly draws his fingers to his mouth, peering up to Andrei on the balcony.

  “I am the maiden of bountiful harvest,” Marie says, “and I bring food for poor children.”

  “No, no,” Mr. Kuzyk says, “let the children starve. Then no one will believe in God. Share your wheat with me, instead. Feast with the devil and...and...?”

  “Feed my greed,” prompts Dido.

  “Feed my greed.”

  “I must save the children!” Marie stomps her foot. “Stay away, Devil! Stay away from the children!”

  “Yes?” Robbin asks, poking his head out from under a bench.

  “Yes?” says Bobbin.

  “Yes?” says Dobbin.

  “Ahh,” Mr. Kuzyk says, “my offspring come to help me.” He reaches for the sheaf.

  “Wait! Wait! Wait!” Andrei yells from the choir loft. “I am St. Michael, the Archangel. I will send a Cossack to rescue the maiden. A Cossack to give food for all the people.”

  Dido enters with sabre drawn. He wears his heavy winter sheepskin with a sash at the waist. A tightly-curled fur cap perches on his head and sweat rolls down his cheeks. He’s face to face with the red-faced Mr. Kuzyk and the three Smuks, all of them poking their forks. Dido chases them to the foot of the altar. Robbin, Bobbin, and Dobbin form a line in front of Mr. Kuzyk.

  “Charge!” say the Smuks, and the chase reverses.

  “Oh,” says Marie, as Dido pushes her to the side for safety. Andrei waves the banner of St. Michael over everybody’s heads. The sabre strikes Robbin’s fork, then Bobbin’s, then Dobbin’s, or the other way around. The three little devils flee to the side room.

  Only the big devil remains. He gazes up to Andrei’s banner, then thrashes his way to Dido, his fork knocking Dido’s sword from his hand.

  “I am defeated,” Dido says, flat on his back in the aisle, the devil’s pitchfork inches from his throat.

  “Not defeated,” Chi Pete says at the entry. He wears buckskins and moccasins and he wields a wooden sword in one hand, and a knife in the other. A syrup pail is jammed on his head. Andrei couldn’t think of anything better for a Scythian helmet. Chi Pete rushes, but stops short at Mr. Kuzyk’s roar. He scurries out the door in defeat.

  A moment later, Gabriel enters. He stands face to face with the foe, Wasyl posing with his pitchfork aimed at Gabriel’s neck. Gabriel shoves forward, armed with a six-foot pole. They feint with their weapons, cutting and thrusting. Marie’s at their side, bobbing and weaving with the thrusts. The fighters battle to a standoff, dropping their weapons to the floor, wiping their brows.

  “And such is our life,” Dido says in the form of an epilogue, rising to his feet to stand between the spent combatants. “Each of us has his own battle within himself. We struggle back and forth with good and evil. Praise God.”

  Mr. Kuzyk stands up and waves for the Smuk boys to join him. The actors in the aisle bow to each side. Andrei and the other angels bow to the people below. Everyone claps.

  “And now,” Dido says, “after the collection, we have something really special. Our visitors from Batoche will entertain us outside.”

  •••

  The young women of the community join hands, singing and dancing in a circle, just as they do in the spring during Easter Celebrations. Here they are dancing to the unfamiliar music of the Red River Jig. Gabriel’s Uncle Moise, limp arm and all, performs sitting on a stump inside the circle. Uncle Moise bobs his head, topped with his stiff-brimmed hat. He bows and sways to the motions of his violin.

  Gabriel glides across the centre of the circle. His feet, clad in laced-up deerskin moccasins, seem unattached, sliding back and forth like Moise’s violin bow, making a music in the swishing of leather on grass. His hands are poised on his narrow hips, his back is straight and erect, his head tall, as if only his feet move. His hat, like Uncle Moise’s, is black with a wide stiff brim, and the tassels of his red knitted sash twirl at his waist.

  Marie dances. Her feet arch, first one, then the other, toes pointing to the ground marking a spot, daring. Her hands poise on her hips, her chin raises, and she twirls twice around, her shirt flaring. Gabriel removes his sash, snaking it through the air as he circles her. They circle each other, wary, their feet thrusting in and out, back and forth, swishing in the grass to the music of the Red River Jig. People are clapping, even Mr. Kuzyk, but his face is red.

  Gabriel dances in a wide sweep to the edge of the circle. Chi Pete hands him a branch and he dances back to Marie, his feet always the same, the swish, swish, swish. They face each other. He bows, as does she, in the way of a lady, her knee bent and to the side, her back straight and her skirt spread wide. Her hands leave her skirt and come together as Gabriel presents her with the branch of red cranberries.

  November

  Chapter 18

  The potatoes are safe in the cellar, as are the carrots, turnips, and beets. In the narrow centre room, bunches of poppy seed pods hang from the ceiling, along with onions, garlic, sacks of dried mushrooms. Six bags of flour are stacked. Pieces of Dido’s half-finished loom lean against the wall.

  Th
e east room’s cold and dark. Tato has just lit a fire in the iron stove, because he and Mama sleep in the east room. Right now, as they do every evening, the whole family congregates in the west room. Supper’s done and outdoors the sky darkens. Snow sweeps by the lone window. Flames flicker in the fireplace of the clay stove, adding to the dim light of candles. Marie stands at a table in the centre of the room, dusting flour on dough. On a bench at the north wall, close to the clay stove, Mama leans toward the firelight, mending Dido’s fishnet. On the floor beside the table, Tato uses a drawknife to strip bark from willow, crafting Andrei’s sled. On his bed against the room’s west wall, Andrei braids rope to make a harness for his colt. Dido’s stretched out on the clay platform over the stove, for a rare occasion smoking his white clay Cossack pipe.

  Andrei’s glad it’s snowing. Tomorrow morning he’ll hitch the colt to the sled. He’ll snare rabbits; their trails are easier to find on the snow.

  “Don’t watch me!” Marie says. She sprinkles more flour, sinks her knuckles into the dough, then rolls it flat into a sheet.

  “Who’s watching you?” Mama asks.

  “All of you!” She flips the sheet of dough, slapping it on the table. She sprinkles poppy seeds, then rolls the dough into a round cake. She will bake it in the clay oven, along with Mama’s bread, the unbaked loaves covered with a cloth, set aside on a bench across the room from Mama. This bench too is close to the stove, where the loaves can rise with the warmth of the fire.

  •••

  Late into the night, Andrei lies still. The aroma of baked bread lingers. Dido chokes and sputters, snoring where he sleeps. Mama and Tato have long ago gone to sleep in the other room. Outside, a wolf howls. It stops, then howls again. Andrei’s heard wolves before. Mama has always said to watch out for them when he’s in the bush. How would you do that? Gabriel says that a wolf would never attack a human, but when Andrei’s been out there and he’s heard a wolf (or was it coyotes?), the sounds have made him shiver. He’s wondered what to do if he comes face to face with a wolf. It’s happened with a bear, and that was probably more dangerous.