"All right," said Ksyusha, looking around. She could still see the path behind them, but ahead it was completely lost under the fallen pine needles and rotting leaves. The forest had suddenly become gloomy and menacing. Nothing at all like it was near the village where their mother had rented their summer dacha, an old house that no one lived in anymore. They'd better turn back, before it was too late. As a caring older sister, Ksyusha realized that. "Let's go home, or Mom will give us a scolding."
"A doggy," her brother said suddenly. "Look, a doggy!"
Ksyusha turned around.
There really was a dog standing behind her. A large, gray dog with big teeth, looking at her with its mouth open-just as if it were smiling.
"I want a doggy like that," Romka said without stumbling over the words at all and looked at his sister proudly.
Ksyusha was a city girl and she'd only ever seen wolves in pictures. And in the zoo as well, only they were some rare kind of Sumatran wolves…
But now she suddenly felt afraid.
"Let's go, let's go," she said in a quiet voice, tightening her grip on Romka's hand. "It's someone else's doggy, you can't play with it."
Something in her voice must have frightened her brother, frightened him so badly that instead of complaining, he clutched his sister's hand even tighter and followed her without a murmur.
The gray doggy stood still for moment, and then set off after the children at a slow, deliberate walk.
"It's f-following us," said Romka, looking back. "Ksyukha, is it a w-wolf?"
"It's a doggy," said Ksyusha. "Only don't run, okay? Wolves bite people who run."
The doggy made a sound like a cough-as if it were laughing.
"Run!" shouted Ksyusha. They set off at random, forcing their way through the forest, through the prickly bushes that grasped at them, past an incredibly huge anthill as tall as a grown-up, past a row of moss-covered tree-stumps where someone had once cut down ten trees and dragged them away.
The dog kept disappearing and appearing again. Behind them, on the right, on the left. And every now and then it made a noise like a cough… or a laugh.
"It's laughing," Romka shouted through his tears.
The dog disappeared. Ksyusha stopped beside an immense pine tree, clutching Romka tight against her. Her little brother had rejected any sissy stuff like that a long time ago, but this time he didn't struggle, just pressed his back against his sister, put his hands over his eyes in fear, and repeated quietly over and over again, "I'm n-not afraid, I'm n-not afraid. There's no one there."
"There's no one there," Ksyusha confirmed. "And you stop that whining. The wol… the doggy had puppies here. She was just driving us away from her puppies. All right? We're going home now."
"Let's go!" Romka agreed happily and moved his hands away from his eyes. "Oh, the puppies!"
His fear disappeared instantly the moment he saw the puppies coming out of the bushes. There were three of them-gray with big foreheads and foolish eyes.
"P-puppies…" Romka exclaimed in delight.
Ksyusha jerked to one side in panic. The pine she was standing against wouldn't let her go-her little calico dress was stuck to the resin on its bark. Ksyusha tugged harder and the cloth tore with a crack and came unstuck.
And she saw the wolf. The wolf was standing behind her, smiling.
"We have to climb up the tree…" Ksyusha whispered.
The wolf laughed.
"Does she want us to play with the puppies?" Romka asked hopefully.
The wolf shook its gray head with the dark patches. As if it were answering: No, no. I want the puppies to play with you…
And then Ksyusha started shouting-so loudly and piercingly that even the wolf took a step backward and wrinkled up its gray muzzle.
"Go away, go away!" Ksyusha shouted, forgetting that she was already a big, brave girl.
"Don't shout like that," she heard a voice say behind her. "You've woken up the entire forest…"
The children turned around with renewed hope. Standing beside the pups was a grown-up woman-a beautiful woman with black hair, barefoot, and wearing a long linen dress.
The wolf growled menacingly.
"Don't be silly," said the woman. She leaned down and picked up one of the pups-it dangled limply in her hands, as if it had fallen asleep. The other two froze on the spot, too. "Now who do we have here?"
Paying no more attention to the children, the wolf moved sullenly toward the woman.
Dense wolf's thickets dark with fear,
There's no way you can hide in here…
… the woman chanted. The wolf stopped.
The truth and lie I both can see,
Now, who do you look like to me?
… the woman concluded, looking at the wolf.
The wolf bared its teeth.
"Ah-ah-ah…" said the woman. "Now what are we going to do?"
"Go… a… way," the wolf barked. "Go… a… way… witch."
The woman dropped the wolf cub on the soft moss. As if they had suddenly woken from a trance, the pups dashed across to the wolf in panic and jostled under its belly.
Three blades of grass, a birch-bark strip,
And one wolfberry from a branch,
A drop of blood, of tears a drip,
And skin of goat, of hair a lock:
I have mixed them in my crock,
Brewed my potion in advance…
The wolf began backing away, with the pups following.
You have no strength, you have no chance,
My spell will pierce you like a lance
… the woman declared triumphantly.
Then four gray bolts of lightning-one large and three small- seemed to flash from the clearing into the bushes. Tufts of gray fur and shreds of skin were left swirling in the air. And there was a sudden sharp smell-as if a whole pack of dogs were standing there, drying off after the rain.
"Lady, are y-you a w-witch?" Romka asked in a low voice.
The woman laughed. She walked up to them and took them by the hand. "Come along."
The hut wasn't standing on chicken legs, like the one in the fairytale, and Romka was disappointed. It was a perfectly ordinary little log house with small windows and a tiny porch.
"Have you got a b-bathhouse here?" Romka asked, turning his head this way and that.
"Why do you want a bathhouse?" the woman laughed. "Do you want to get washed?"
"F-first of all you have to heat up the b-bathhouse really hot, then f-feed us, before you can eat us," Romka said seriously.
Ksyusha tugged on his hand, but the woman didn't take offense-she laughed.
"I think you're confusing me with Baba Yaga, aren't you? Do you mind if I don't heat up the bathhouse? I haven't got one anyway. And I'm not going to eat you."
"No, I don't mind," Romka said, relieved.
The inside of the house didn't look like a place any self-respecting Baba Yaga could live either. There was a clock with dangling weights ticking on the whitewashed wall, a beautiful chandelier with velvet tassels on the ceiling, and a little Philips television standing on a shaky dresser. There was a Russian stove too, but it was heaped up with all sorts of clutter, and there could be no doubt that it was a very long time since any bold young heroes or little children had been roasted in it. The only thing with a respectable and mysterious look to it was a large bookcase full of old books. Ksyusha went over to the bookcase and looked at the spines of the books. Her mom had always told her that the first thing a cultured person should do in someone else's apartment was to look at her host's books, and then at everything else.
But the books were worn and she could hardly make out the titles, and she didn't understand even the ones she could read, although they were all in Russian. Her mom had books like that too: Helminthology, Ethnogenesis.. Ksyusha sighed and walked away from the bookshelf.
Romka was already sitting at the table and the witch was pouring hot water out of a white electric kettle into his cup.
"It is g-good," Romka confirmed, although he was more concerned with dipping hard little bread rings into honey than drinking his tea. "S-sit down, Ksyusha."
Ksyusha sat down and politely accepted a cup.
The tea really was good. The witch drank some herself, smiling and looking at the children.
"Are we going to turn into little goats when we've drunk our tea?" Romka suddenly asked.
"Why?" the witch asked in surprise.
"Because you'll put a spell on us," Romka explained. "You'll turn us into little goats and eat us up."
He clearly did not trust the mysterious rescuer completely yet.
"Now, why would I want to turn you into smelly little goats and then eat you?" the witch asked indignantly. "If I wanted to eat you, I'd eat you as you are, without turning you into anything else. You shouldn't watch so many of Row's fairytales, little boy!"
Romka pouted sulkily, nudged Ksyusha with his foot and asked in a whisper, "Who's Row?"
Ksyusha didn't know and she hissed, "Drink your tea and be quiet! Some wizard or other…"
They didn't turn into little goats, the tea tasted good, and the bread rings and honey tasted even better. The witch asked Ksyusha all about how she was doing in school. She agreed that fourth grade was absolutely terrible, not like third grade at all. She scolded Romka for slurping when he drank his tea. She asked Ksyusha how long her brother had had a stammer. And then she told them she wasn't a witch at all. She was a botanist. She collected all sorts of rare herbs in the forest. And, of course, she knew which herbs the wolves were terribly afraid of.
"But why did the wolf talk?" Romka asked doubtfully.
"It didn't talk at all," the botanist-witch retorted. "It barked, and you thought it was talking. Isn't that right?"
Ksyusha thought about it and decided that was the way it had really been.
"I'll show you to the edge of the forest," said the woman. "You can see the village from there. And don't come into the forest anymore, or else the wolves will eat you."
Romka thought for a moment and then offered to help her gather herbs, only she would have to give him a special herb to keep the wolves away so they wouldn't eat him. And one to keep bears away, just in case. And she could give him one to keep lions away too, because the forest here was just like in Africa.
"No herbs for you," the woman said strictly. "They're very rare herbs, in the Red Book of threatened species. You can't just go pulling them up."
"I know about the Red Book," Romka said, delighted. "Tell me, please…"
The woman looked at the clock and shook her head. Well-mannered Ksyusha immediately said it was time to go.
Each of the children received a piece of honeycomb to take with them. The woman showed them to the edge of the forest-it turned out to be really close, the paths seemed to run under their feet.
"And don't you set foot in the forest again," the woman repeated strictly. "If I'm not there the wolf will eat you."
As they went down the hill toward the village, the children looked back several times.
At first the woman was standing there, watching them walk away. But then she disappeared.
"She is a witch really, isn't she, Ksyusha?" Romka asked.
"She's a botanist!" Ksyusha said, taking the woman's side. Then she exclaimed in surprise: "You're not stammering any more!"
"I am stam-stam-stammering!" said Romka, playing the fool. "I didn't really need to stammer before, I was just joking!"
Chapter 1
Where do we get the idea that milk straight from the cow tastes good?
It must be something we do in first grade. Some memorable phrase from the textbook Our Native Tongue, about how wonderfully tasty milk is straight from the cow. And the naive city kids believe it.
In fact milk straight from the cow tastes rather peculiar. But after it's been left to stand in the cellar for a day and cooled off- now that's a different matter. Even those poor souls who lack the necessary digestive enzymes drink it. And there are plenty of them, by the way: As far as mother nature's concerned, grown-ups have no business drinking milk-it's children who need it…
But people usually don't pay much attention to nature's opinion.
And Others pay even less.
I reached for the jug and poured myself another glass. Cold, with a smooth layer of cream… why does boiling make the cream so smooth, the tastiest part of milk? I took a large swallow. No more-I had to leave some for Svetka and Nadiushka. The whole village-it was quite a big one, with fifty houses-had only one cow. It was a good thing there was at least one… and I had a strong suspicion that the humble Raika had Svetlana to thank for her magnificent yields. Her owner, Granny Sasha, already an old woman at forty, had no real reason to feel proud. As well as Raika, she owned the pig Borka, the goat Mishka, and a gaggle of miscellaneous poultry without any names.
It was just that Svetlana wanted her daughter to drink genuine milk. That was why the cow never caught any illnesses. Granny Sasha could have fed her on sawdust and it wouldn't have changed a thing.
But genuine milk really is good. Never mind the characters in the ads-they can arrive in a village with their cartons of milk and that jolly gleam in their eyes and say "the real thing!" as often as they like. They're paid money to do that. And it makes things easier for the peasants, who were long ago broken of the habit of keeping any kind of livestock. They can just carry on abusing the politicians and the "city folk" and not worry about pasturing any cows.
I put down my empty glass and sprawled back in a hammock hung between two trees. The locals must have thought I was a real bourgeois. I arrived in a fancy car and brought my wife lots of funny foreign groceries, spent the whole day lounging in a hammock with a book… In a place where everybody else spent the whole day roaming about, searching for a drop of something to fix their hangovers…
"Hello, Anton Sergeevich," someone said over the top of the fence-it was Kolya, a local alcoholic. He might have been reading my thoughts-and how come he'd remembered my name?
"How was the drive?"
"Hello, Kolya," I greeted him in lordly fashion, not making the slightest attempt to get up out of the hammock. He wouldn't appreciate it in any case. That wasn't what he'd come for. "It was fine, thanks."
"Need any help with anything, around the house and the garden, or you know…" Kolya asked hopelessly. "I thought, you know, I'd just come and ask…"
I closed my eyes-the sun, already sinking toward the horizon, glowed blood-red through my eyelids.
There was nothing I could do. Not the slightest little thing. A sixth or seventh-level intervention would have been enough to free the poor devil Kolya from his hankering for alcohol, cure his cirrhosis and inspire him with a desire to work, instead of drinking vodka and thrashing his wife.
And what if I had defied all the stipulations of the Treaty and made that intervention in secret? A brief gesture of the hand… And then what? There wasn't any work in the village. And nobody in the city wanted Kolya, a former collective farm mechanic. Kolya didn't have any money to start 'his own business'. He couldn't even buy a piglet.
So he'd go off again to look for moonshine, getting by on money from odd jobs, and working off his anger on his wife, who drank as much as he did and was just as weary of everything. It wasn't the man I needed to heal-it was the entire planet Earth.
Or at least this particular sixth part of the planet Earth. The part with the proud name of Russia.
"Anton Sergeevich, I'm desperate…" Kolya said pathetically.
Who needs a former alcoholic in a dying village where the collective farm has fallen apart and the only private farmer was burned out three times before he took the hint?
"Kolya," I said. "Didn't you have some kind of special trade in the army? A tank driver?"
Did we have any paid professional soldiers at all? It would be better if he went off t
o the Caucasus, instead of just dropping dead in a year's time from all that fake vodka…
"I wasn't in the army," Kolya said in a miserable voice. "They wouldn't take me. They were short of mechanics here back then. They kept giving me deferments, and then I got too old… Anton Sergeevich, if you want somebody's face smashed in, I can still do that all right. Don't you worry, I'll tear them to pieces!"
"Kolya," I asked him, "would you take a look at the engine in my car? I thought it was knocking a bit yesterday…"
"Sure, I'll take a look!" said Kolya, brightening up. "You know, I…"
"Take the keys." I tossed him the bunch. "And I owe you a bottle."
Kolya broke into a happy smile. "Would you like me to wash your car too? It must have cost a lot… and these roads of ours…"
"Thanks," I said. "I'd be very grateful."
"Only I don't want any vodka," Kolya suddenly said, and I started in surprise. What was this, had the world turned upside down? "It's got no taste to it… now a little bottle of homebrew…"
"Done," I said. Delighted, Kolya opened the gate and set off toward the small barn I'd driven the car into the evening before.
And then Svetlana came out of the house-I didn't see her, but I sensed her. That meant Nadiushka had settled down and was enjoying a sweet after-lunch nap… Sveta came over, stood at the head of the hammock and paused for a moment, then she put her cool hand on my forehead.
"Bored?"
"Uh huh," I mumbled. "Svetka, there's nothing I can do. Not a single thing. How can you stand it here?"
"I've been coming to this village since I was a child," Svetlana said. "I remember Uncle Kolya when he was still all right. Young and happy. He used to give me rides on his tractor when I was still a little snot-nose. He was sober. He used to sing songs. Can you imagine that?"
"Were things better before?" I asked.
"People drank less," Svetlana replied laconically. "Anton, why didn't you remoralize him? You were going to-I felt a tremor run through the Twilight. There aren't Watch members here… apart from you."
"Give a dog a bone and how long does it last?" I answered churlishly. "I'm sorry… Uncle Kolya's not where we need to start."
Twilight Watch Page 13
