Andrei and the Snow Walker

by Larry Warwaruk

  “Of course not,” Andrei says. It’s less than a year they’ve been in Canada, and already, Petrus’s floppy hat with its colourful band seems so strange. Andrei picks it up, brushing off snow.

  “I bet that Mother will have the Christmas Eve supper waiting for us,” Andrei says.

  Gabriel points to the big rock. “You see that, Petrus? The Cree people, the people who were always here, see it as a shrine. A place of retreat. A place where the Great Spirit lives.”

  “Just a minute,” Andrei says. “I have to do something. It won’t take long.” He slides down the drift of snow into the depression at the base of the rock. He takes the brass button from his pocket, walks to the west end of the rock, and inserts the button into the crevice where he found it in the spring, a time that seems ages ago.

  Chapter 22

  Mr. Kuzyk’s team stands hitched to a tree in Bayda’s yard. Andrei runs to the barn to see if Vityr’s there for sure, then hurries to the house. Mama’s at the doorway, her hands clutching her apron to her bosom. “Come in, come in,” she says. Andrei hugs his mother, then runs by her into the storeroom, to the entry of the east room, the special room for guests and holidays. He can’t believe his eyes. Seated with the others in the room are Tekla Holochuk, and Petrus’s sister Martha.

  “Oi, oi,” Mama says, her eyes filling with tears. She rocks from one leg to the other, as if uncertain what to do do first... express her joy for the return of Andrei, or announce to his rescuers the arrival of the unexpected company.

  Mr. Kuzyk rises from a bench at the side of the Christmas table. It’s the Bayda trunk, resting in place against the east wall, under the Holy pictures. The trunk is a shrine now at Christmas, the centre-piece of the room, covered with linen, candles, and food. Mr. Kuzyk’s mother and Martha Shumka remain seated. “Christ is born,” he says.

  “Glorify Him,” Petrus says, and he waves to everybody in the room.

  Mr. Kuzyk approaches Petrus, and a silence fills the room. Mrs. Kuzyk’s hands rise to her face. Andrei can see that her son’s head appears to sink even further into his neck, as if attempting to bury itself between his shoulders.

  “You made it here,” Mr. Kuzyk says, then glances at Marie, and then at Petrus’s sister, Martha, and from her eyes seems to gain the courage to speak more. “I’m sorry I sent you north. I didn’t know that a storm would come. I am so ashamed. So much so, that I wouldn’t even have had the strength to come here today, had it not been to deliver Tekla and your sister. I am Wasyl Kuzyk,” he says, and he holds out his hand.

  “And I am Petrus Shumka.” They shake hands.

  Marie breaks the stillness. She runs up to the entry and hugs Andrei.

  “We were so worried...we thought you would die in that storm.” Then she turns to Petrus.

  “Christ is born,” she says, voicing the Christmas greeting. She lowers her eyes and her complexion gets rosy.

  “Glorify Him,” Petrus says again. He steps toward her, then all at once, Tekla shoots up from where she’s sitting, on Tato and Mama’s bed made into a bench on the north wall, close to the iron stove. Quick as a flash she’s at Marie’s side...a half-step ahead, in fact. At this moment another voice is heard.

  “Christ is born.” Dido appears from the other room. On his head he wears a wool knit cap that hides his braid. He wears his white linen shirt, embroidered at the neck and down the sleeves, and his wide Cossack trousers. Dido wobbles. Both hands shake, gripped to a walking stick. Mama meets him and settles him down to sit near the stove. He coughs, then wipes spittle from his lips with his sleeve. Andrei comes to him, arms wide, Dido raising his, both arms shaking, and they embrace.

  “The golden cup?” Dido asks.

  Mama stands between them, holding a bowl of chicken broth for Dido. “Our boy was lost in the blizzard,” she says, “and you’re asking him for things from the Devil?”

  Dido doesn’t answer her. Either he can’t hear, or his illness has weakened him both in body and mind; as if his thoughts have strayed as far back as to the Holy man Skomar, and the Cossack hillside of his homeland.

  “I got it,” Andrei answers him, “but it’s gone.”

  “Gone?” With one hand Dido takes the soup from Mama, and dismisses her with the other. Dido and Andrei sit together, side by side.

  “I fell through the ice with it,” Andrei says. “On the river. I threw it. The cup is at the bottom of the river.”

  “You fell through the ice? Like me? How did you get out? How did you stay alive in that storm?”

  “The Indian medicine man, Dido. He turned himself into a black bear, and he dragged me from the water.”

  “You mean that Snow Walker you talk about?”

  “Yes, Dido.”

  For several moments Dido glances about the room. Every-one is silent.

  Finally Mama says something. “Come inside and shut the door,” she says to Gabriel. “Come inside. You don’t have to take off your moccasins. Wipe the snow off with a rag. Come in. Everybody sit down. Everybody must be hungry. It won’t be long and we will eat.”

  “Snow Walker saved me,” Andrei says.

  “How come you didn’t freeze solid? Look how sick I got.”

  “You are old, Dido. And it wasn’t really that cold. Just the snow and the wind. And then the wind came warm. Something kept me moving. Snow Walker took me to the warmth of his cabin. I gave him your pipe, Dido.”

  Andrei’s grandfather feels in his pockets. His eyebrows pinch and his moustache rotates with the working of his lips. “Turned himself into a bear?” he asks, more to himself than to Andrei. He reaches, pointing for Andrei to pass him his flute. He takes it and rolls it round and round in his fingers as he would the clay pipe.

  “The Snow Walker saved your life as a Cossack would have done,” Dido says. “He saved your young life that you may grow into a man in this new land. Here there are heroes other than Cossacks. There can be heroes of all colours and races in a land of all colours and races. Here it is not like in our old Ukraine, where our Cossacks had enemies in every direction...Turks, Poles, Russians. And what did it get us? Great horsemen. Blood shed with sabres. Has that kept our Ukraine alive? No, Andrei, it is our poets who keep Ukraine alive.” He plays a few notes of the song of the Hetman Bayda.

  “Here, Andrei, in Canada, it’s only your old dido who’s still a Cossack. Here the people will be mixed together. Already you have a friend, Chi Pete. Let the cup sink into the river sand.”

  Mr. Kuzyk coughs louder than normal, as if to call everyone’s attention to him, and away from Dido.

  “Andrei,” he says. “So you went out in the storm to look for your friend?”

  “It wasn’t storming when I left the yard,” Andrei says.

  “You took Vityr with you?”

  “Yes,” Andrei says.

  “You could have been killed,” Mr. Kuzyk says.

  “Vityr made it back to the barn,” Andrei says.

  “I wasn’t worried about Vityr. A horse can survive in a blizzard.” Everyone nods, and for the third time the room is silent. “It was my fault that your life was in danger.”

  “Please don’t worry any more, Mr. Kuzyk. I’m fine. Every-thing is fine.”

  “But you have done even more than a fine thing, Andrei. And because of it, I want you to have the colt. I want you to have Vityr. He is yours.”

  Andrei hears it and he’s numb. What else can happen? There’s nothing he can say, only that he’s happy, happy, happy. Nothing he can do, nothing but what Petrus did – the honourable thing – and hold out his hand, shake the hand of Wasyl Kuzyk. Shake the hand of a good and generous man who only made a mistake because he wanted nothing more in life than a good wife to be his companion.

  “Christ is born,” Andrei says, and he shakes Wasyl Kuzyk’s hand.

  Andrei walks over to sit down on a bench by the trunk. I am home, he thinks, and I have Vityr. Here I am safe in this house at Christmas, here safe in this country, and after my danger in the river, s
afe from frightful visions.

  “Come, the rest of you, and sit down!” Mama says. “Come, Petrus. And you Gabriel. You don’t have to stand. Look, Petrus, your sister has come. See her helping already with the supper.” Martha Shumka slices the decorated Christmas bread and arranges it on a tray. Mr. Kuzyk watches her. When she glances at him, her face turns a deep red.

  “I was so worried about Andrei,” Mama says. “What was I to do about the supper with him lost out there somewhere in the snow? Thank God you found him, Gabriel.” She crosses herself.

  “All in all, it might even have been a little of a good thing,” Mr. Kuzyk says, “that Petrus walked north to Batoche. See how he brought Gabriel to find Andrei. Glory be to God!”

  The room is silent again for a moment, but Martha Shumka lowers her eyes and smiles at Mr. Kuzyk.

  “And look what I found today,” he says. “Mama made me take her all the way to Rosthern this morning just to see if any Christmas mail had arrived. And there standing on the station platform were these girls, Martha and Tekla, looking lost on the platform. I asked them their names, and who they were looking for.” He beams at Martha. “And they said they had to find the Baydas. Mysterious are the Lord’s ways that I would be there to bring them here.”

  “Look Andrei. At Tekla’s headscarf,” Marie says. “Natasha did the embroidery. She made it for a going-away present.”

  “Oh,” Petrus says. “Natasha! You should see how she’s grown over the summer. She’s become a fine young woman!”

  Everybody looks at Andrei.

  “Ah,” Andrei says to Chi Pete. “Just a girl I used to know in the Old Country.”

  Petrus laughs, then tells how he got separated from Martha and Tekla on the journey across Canada.

  “I left the girls,” Petrus says, “at, what was it...Winnipeg? A cousin of Tekla’s was there to meet us. ‘You stay,’ I said. ‘I’ll go and you come later.’ I didn’t expect them this soon.”

  All this time, Andrei notices that Marie has been watching Petrus. He sees too that Mama notices. She talks to Mrs. Kuzyk.

  “Marusia,” Mama says to the old woman, “and Petrus...” Mama smiles. “They used to be childhood sweethearts. Of course, a lot has happened since we moved to Canada. She has met other boys.” At this point Mama pats Mr. Kuzyk’s shoulder. Mrs. Kuzyk smiles in return and nods her head.

  “Petrus,” Marie says, glaring at Mama, then smiling at him, “can I talk to you?” From where she sits, Tekla Holochuk glowers at Petrus. He flinches, then shrugs, rises from the bench and follows Marie into the storage room. By its entry, Andrei listens and watches. Petrus and Marie stand beside the loom, facing each other, but avoiding each other’s eyes.

  “I have something to tell you,” Marie says. She fiddles with the patterned flower embroidered on the sleeve of her blouse.

  “No,” Petrus says. “Don’t tell me anything! A lot has happened since you left the village.” Marie peeks upward just for a moment, her eyes locking on the bobbing of Petrus’s Adam’s apple.

  “You see,” Petrus says, “Tekla and I...”

  “Tekla?” questions Marie. “What do you mean, Tekla? You have an interest...?”

  “I’m sorry,” Petrus says.

  “No! No, that’s quite all right. I don’t mind. You see, I don’t mind.”

  “You don’t?” Petrus stares at her. “You don’t? You don’t?” and then his face lights up in a smile. “You can be Tekla’s bridesmaid...”

  “You’re getting married? Oh, Petrus...”

  “You just said you don’t mind...”

  “Of course! Of course!” Marie says, herself smiling. “Of course I can be bridesmaid.”

  “And you said in your letter that Mr. Kuzyk wants a man to cut bush for him this winter. I came here to do that. In the spring Tekla and I plan to marry, and we can start on a homestead. I already have the land papers.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful, Petrus. I’m so happy for you. Really, I am.”

  They step back into the east room. Marie walks over and sits by Gabriel, taking his hand. Petrus joins Tekla. Mama turns this way and that in the centre of the room, finally approaching Mr. Kuzyk and his mother. Mama’s hands are extended open, low at her sides. Her head bows as if apologizing.

  “It’s all right,” Mr. Kuzyk says. “All right. Martha is coming to our home. We need help with the housework. You are coming, aren’t you, Martha?”

  Petrus’s sister, Martha Shumka, lowers her eyes again, for how many times Andrei doesn’t know, and she blushes and nods.

  “You see?” Mr. Kuzyk says. “And then in the spring...”

  Mrs. Kuzyk pats herself on the lap with her plump hands. “A long time ago I was married in the spring,” she says. “A lovely time for a wedding...all the green just coming. Might there be another? Hey, Wasyl.” Martha Shumka blushes all the more.

  “Anybody want to play cards?” Mr. Kuzyk says.

  “Not today,” his mother says. “Nobody wants to play cards on Christmas Eve.”

  Dido takes up his flute and plays a few notes. He sets it down again and hums to the tune of the Hetman Bayda.

  “All is settled then?” Tato asks. “Go, Andrei. Watch in the sky for the first star. Then we can partake of our meal for Christmas Eve.”

  Andrei and Chi Pete will watch for the Christmas star. It’s dusk, and very soon the star will appear. Andrei takes two slices from the tray of Mama’s Christmas bread.

  The ground cover of snow has taken on the shadows of early evening. The boys walk to the barn. Raven stands, still hitched to the sleigh, eating from a pile of hay that Gabriel has placed on the snow. Andrei gives Chi Pete a slice of the bread for Raven and takes the other piece into the barn. Brovko wags his tail. He’s curled up beside the oxen, in a pile of hay at the far end of the barn.

  Andrei’s face to face with Vityr and nuzzles him cheek to cheek, arms around the colt’s neck. Andrei repeats the embrace on the other side of Vityr’s long nose, like two old men would hug, but for Andrei this hug’s not ritual, but one of joy that they are home safe together. Andrei feeds the colt the Christmas bread, then leads Vitryr out of the barn.

  The two horses nibble at the hay. The boys stand beside them, watching the sky.

  Acknowledgements

  My research for this book coincided from start to finish with its writing. Two days before the disk went to those at Coteau Books who prepare the galley proofs, I was phoning for the detail on ferry boats to Allister Bishop in Lucky Lake, whose father in the early days ran the Riverhurst Ferry. My extended year as Writer-in-Residence in the Quill Plains had me sounding off chapters to students in sixteen schools, had me composing scenes for the book during the writing workshops. Taras Bayda (with the title hetman on his license plates) toured me through the setting of the story. John Zrymiak, my long ago school teacher when I was Andrei’s age, helped me now with Ukrainianisms. The late Kokum Stella from the Fishing Lake First Nation, told me (among other things) how her people referred to the third stomach of a moose as the bible. Maria Campbell told me how Snow Walker might dress, and she described his rattle. From my writing group, Margaretta Fleuter informed me of Aboriginal nuances she learned during her tenure teaching at Montreal Lake. Also from my writing group, Sharon MacFarlane taught me pointed lessons on clarity and truth in the text. Lois Meaden and Ted Perrin told me of horses.

  I thank Mavis and the children for putting up with my writing habits.

  And above all, I thank my editors, Barbara Sapergia and Geoffrey Ursell. They were with the writing from the beginning. Like badgers they hung on, and like Pied Pipers they led me in new directions. I was privileged. To use Prairie parlance, they were there from the get-go.

  About the Author

  Larry Warwaruk is the author of the novels The Ukrainian Wedding and Rope of Time, and the non-fiction book Red Finns of the Coteau. His works have also been published in Grain and NeWest Review and broadcast on cbc Radio. He is a founder of the Snake Bite Players communi
ty theatre group in Beechy, Saskatchewan, and has received several Best Director awards in Saskatchewan Community Theatre competitions.

  Born in Regina, Larry Warwaruk grew up in southern Saskatchewan, took education degrees at the University of Regina and the University of Oregon, and was a teacher and principal in central Saskatchewan for many years. He currently lives with his family in Outlook, Saskatchewan.