Samuel climbed into the carriage, huddling next to Mikhail, and fell asleep at once. Irina woke them up after a couple of hours.
Mikhail was hungry and Samuel also had some more to eat before climbing up into the driver’s seat, although he was worried by Irina’s cough.
“It was foolish to let you stay out of the carriage. You shouldn’t do it anymore.”
“Yes, yes, I will. I won’t offer to drive the coach because I know it will draw attention to us, but I will do everything in my power to help. We need to leave Russia as soon as possible, and for that we need both our efforts.”
And there, in the loneliness of the snow-covered fields, as he drove the carriage that would take them to freedom, my father said his farewells to Russia, convinced that he would never see her again. He had been a fool to think that they could get rid of the tsar. Neither could he get his father’s last words out of his head: “Jerusalem . . . Jerusalem.”
He said to himself that he had stopped being a Jew, and had not gone back to the synagogue since his Bar Mitzvah, the ceremony in which boys become members of the community. He had broken off relations with God ever since his mother was murdered. He had removed him from his life because he was unnecessary. Why should he want a God who had allowed his mother to be killed, his brother and sister, his grandmother? He hadn’t done anything to save his father either. So, if God had turned his back on him, then he would do the same. So, what sense was there in going to Jerusalem? His father had been a good Jew, had always carried out the word of God, dreaming, in silence, of one day going to the Promised Land. However, he had not taken the necessary steps. The Bible had filled him with the desire for Jerusalem, the city of God, but in fact his father was Russian and only Russian. He thought, he felt, he loved, he cried just like a Russian. And he knew that very well.
Irina and Mikhail fell ill. They could not stop coughing, and a fever had taken hold of both of them. Even so, Irina insisted on looking after the horses and the carriage during the few hours that Samuel was able to rest. They kept avoiding the inns, even though they had very little food for themselves or for the horses.
Irina divided the food between Samuel and Mikhail, and she herself barely ate a mouthful. She was aware that Samuel needed all his strength to get them out of the country. As for Mikhail, he was an unexpected child to whom she would have to devote the rest of her life. She knew that this was what Yuri would have wanted. She had had no option other than to tell the child that his father had died, and that if anyone asked he was to say that Samuel was his father and she was his mother. If not, then he would be taken away forever.
One day Samuel said that he thought they were in Finland.
“It doesn’t matter if we’re in Finland or not, we’re still inside the empire,” she replied.
“Yes, but we’ve come a long way. As soon as we’re in Sweden we will be free.”
Samuel was exhausted after so many days of driving the carriage over frozen roads, far from towns and villages. He scarcely slept, only a couple of hours each night. He was keen to reach Sweden as soon as possible, not just to be free of the threat of the tsar’s forces, but also because he was worried about Irina even more than Mikhail. He knew that she tried as hard as possible to avoid letting him hear her cough, but even though he was not a doctor, she couldn’t fool him. He knew she was sick and that she needed to rest.
He wasn’t so worried about Mikhail. He was a strong child. He scarcely coughed anymore, and his fever was down. Mikhail reminded Samuel of himself during that long trip from Paris to Warsaw with his father. He had coughed and run a temperature as well. That journey had stayed in his memory, for how could he forget reaching home and finding his mother murdered?
Samuel saw some snow-speckled cabins between the trees. They looked like woodsmen’s huts, and he decided to steer clear of them. But luck was not to be with him that day.
Dusk was falling; he must have nodded off for a moment and the coach must have hit a stone. He lost control of the horses and the coach tipped over on its side.
By the time he realized what was happening he was on the floor feeling an intense pain in his head, and he was almost unable to move one of his legs. He heard the horses breathing heavily; and Mikhail’s sobs brought him back to reality. He tried to stand up, but he couldn’t.
“Irina! Mikhail!” he called. He could scarcely see where they were.
Neither of them replied. He dragged himself as best he could to the carriage and, by holding on to the running board, managed to pull himself upright and try to open the door that wasn’t buried in the snow and ice. At first he couldn’t, but then he realized that someone was trying to open the door from inside. It was completely dark when he finally opened the little door. Irina was unconscious and bleeding from a wound on her head. It was Mikhail, sitting by her side, who had been trying to open the door.
“Can you walk?” he asked the little boy.
Mikhail said yes, and he gave his hand to Samuel so that he could help him out of the carriage. The effort made the two of them fall into the snow. Samuel hugged the child and asked him not to cry.
“Listen, Mikhail, we need to get Irina out of there, and if you cry I won’t be able to. I need your help.”
The little boy burst out crying and ran to Samuel’s arms.
“She’s not talking,” he said of Irina.
“She must have hit her head, but don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen to her, the worst will be a bump, like you get when you fall over.”
Samuel was making a superhuman effort to hold himself together, because the pain in his head and his leg was unbearable.
Suddenly all his nerves tensed up. Someone was coming. He could hear firm, solid footsteps, which seemed to break through the ice that covered the ground all around. And he saw a light moving in rhythm with the footsteps. To keep the child safe, he held Mikhail tight without really knowing what he was doing. Suddenly a blinding light shone in his eyes and stopped him from making out the shape of the man in front of him.
“Are you alright?” It was a robust male voice that spoke to him.
“Yes . . . Well, we had an accident . . .”
“I heard a loud noise, and the horses whinnying,” the man replied.
“I think I’ve broken my leg, and . . . my wife, who is in the carriage, has lost consciousness. Could you help me get her out?”
The man came closer and put his lantern on the ground. Then he asked them to stand to one side and quickly climbed into the carriage. A few minutes later he climbed out with Irina’s body in his arms.
“My hut is very close, only a hundred yards. If you want I can take your wife there, and then I’ll come back for you.”
“Thank you,” Samuel replied with relief.
As the man disappeared into the darkness, Samuel reminded Mikhail about what he had to tell strangers.
“Don’t forget what I told you: Irina is your mother and I am your father. If you say anything different they could hurt us and separate us.”
The man came back, and Samuel leaned on him as if he were a crutch.
There were two women in the hut, looking after Irina, whom they had laid on a straw mattress near the stove that warmed the whole room. A child not much older than Mikhail observed the unknown visitors from a corner.
“My wife and my daughter will look after your wife,” the man said.
“Thank you,” Samuel replied.
“I should splint your leg,” the man said.
“Do you know how to?” Samuel asked.
“There are no doctors here. We live and die alone.”
It didn’t take him long to find a couple of pieces of wood and split them down, then he asked his daughter for a piece of clean cloth. Natasha, for that was the girl’s name, obeyed at once, while her mother carried on cleaning the blood from the wound in Irina’s scalp.
When Samu
el was able to go and have a look at Irina he saw that the cut was very deep and that it would be best to sew it up. The peasant must have thought the same, and he asked his wife for a needle and some fine thread. Then, carefully, he sewed the split flesh together, watched anxiously by Samuel, who realized with anxiety that he had no other option than to trust this man.
It took quite a while for Irina to regain consciousness, and when she did so her eyes were glassy with fever and she couldn’t stop shivering. Samuel realized that she was sicker than he had thought. He asked the woman to heat some bricks in the fire, and then he wrapped them in furs and placed them on Irina’s chest. Meanwhile, the man came back in (he had left the cabin quite a while ago).
“The horses are safe, although one of them has a broken leg, but I’ve put it in a splint, like yours. I’ll look after the carriage tomorrow. You can stay the night here, but there’s no comforts available for people in your state,” the man said.
“What are you all called?” Samuel wanted to know.
“I am Sergei, and this is my wife Masha and my daughter Natasha. My grandson is called Nikolai, like our little father the tsar.”
“I am very grateful to you, Sergei, and I accept your hospitality. My wife is not well and needs to rest.”
“She is sick in her chest and I think that she will die.” The peasant’s words shocked Samuel.
“No! She’s not going to die. She is sick, yes, but she will recover. She only needs to rest.”
Sergei shrugged and started to brew some kind of herbal infusion on the stove. When it had finished boiling, he gave it to Irina.
“These herbs will help her and make her stop coughing.”
“You know how to make medicine out of herbs?”
“My father did, and his father before him, and his father’s father . . . We take advantage of what the woods offer us, but we cannot always cure people, sometimes we can only lessen their suffering. And now you should eat something before you go to sleep, we don’t have much but it’s enough for everyone.”
Samuel could not contain his curiosity and asked Sergei about the herbs he used. Then they ate in silence. Mikhail fell asleep before he had barely eaten a mouthful.
The sun had been up for hours when Samuel awoke. It took him a few seconds to remember what had happened and where he was. He felt calmer when he realized that Mikhail was by his side, and that Irina was sleeping by the stove.
Masha, Sergei’s wife, was in a corner of the hut peeling turnips. Natasha and her little son were not there, and neither was Sergei.
“I’m sorry . . . I think I have slept too much,” he said as he tried to sit up.
The woman smiled as she helped him to his feet.
“Sleep cures all things. Don’t worry, your wife is better. I made her eat some bread and she’s had a cup of tea as well. The wound on her head will heal up well.”
“And your husband?” he asked anxiously.
“He’s trying to fix your carriage. The wheels are broken, but he’ll do what he can. And he’s fed the horses. Ah, and here is your luggage, he took it out of the carriage; people don’t usually come by here, but it’s best that you keep it close and then no one can steal it.”
“And your daughter?”
“Natasha is helping her father and my grandson is out in the stable feeding the rabbits.”
“I don’t know how to thank you for all you have done for us.”
“God sees everything, so we try to act as he would wish.”
“God?”
“Of course, do you doubt this? If we didn’t help you, he would remember this when we were called into his presence.”
“So you do good to keep God happy.”
The woman looked at him in shock, unable to imagine things being any different.
“There is a jug of water in the corner if you need to refresh yourself.”
Sergei had left a crutch for Samuel. He had improvised it out of a branch he had cut. Hobbling, with the crutch to help him, he walked to the edge of the road where the carriage was.
He was surprised to find it upright, as only a giant could have set it right again, but then he remembered that Sergei was almost two meters tall, was broad shouldered, and had the largest hands Samuel had ever seen. Also, he had had the help of a mule, which Natasha had held steady for him.
Samuel insisted on helping them, but Sergei barely paid him any attention.
“Have you repaired a lot of axles?” the peasant asked without irony.
“No, I haven’t, but I want to help you.”
“The carriage needs to be repaired. Not just the wheels. We’ll have to find something to cover the windows so that the cold doesn’t get in, and then we’ll see if we can repair the dents in the right-hand side, the side that hit the ice.”
“We need to get going immediately.”
“Why such a hurry?”
“My wife’s mother is very ill. She wants to be with her.”
“Well, it won’t be at once, I can’t perform miracles. It will take some time to repair the carriage. I’ll have to go to the village and buy a few parts.”
Samuel tried to keep Sergei from noticing the anxiety that these last words had provoked.
“No, there’s no need. Please, do what you can to repair the wheels; as for the rest of the carriage, the dents don’t matter . . . My wife will never forgive me if we don’t get to her mother in time.”
Sergei looked him up and down incuriously and then shrugged his shoulders.
“Every man knows his own business best. I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise to be finished before nightfall.”
“We can’t delay any longer . . . ,” Samuel begged.
The rest did Irina a world of good, or maybe it was the herbs that kept her sleepy and almost free of her cough. Masha made her eat, and managed to get her to try some vegetable soup and a piece of roasted rabbit. Mikhail played with the little boy, sliding around on a rudimentary sled that Sergei had made.
Samuel tried to keep an eye on all the members of the family, worrying that they would go to the village and say that they were looking after some strangers who had had an accident. But Masha seemed too busy taking care of the family and Irina, and Natasha never left her father.
“When I die, someone will have to do what I do. I don’t have any sons and Natasha doesn’t have a husband, so she will have to learn to look after herself, and take care of what little it is that we have, the cabin, the hut . . . If she learns to understand the woods, they will provide her with everything she needs to live.”
Sergei worked all day on the carriage, but he had to stop as soon as the light began to fade.
“I will finish it tomorrow,” he said to Samuel.
“Thank you very much, we are prepared to leave as soon as the carriage is ready.”
They all sat round the fire; Irina lay very close to it on the straw mattress that Natasha had lent her. She still had a temperature, but she was coughing less thanks to Sergei’s infusions. As for Mikhail, he seemed happy to share his toys with Nikolai. The boy was exhausted after traveling for so long, and he appreciated this pause in the journey. Even Samuel acknowledged that he felt stronger because of the chance to rest and Masha’s hot soup.
He was worried about Irina; her cough seemed to come from deep down in her lungs, and her temperature was a good indication that she had an infection. He did not lie to himself about the diagnosis: pneumonia. He was certain. On his trips with Oleg Bogdanov to the hospital in Saint Petersburg it had not taken long to learn to distinguish the symptoms of various illnesses. This was how he knew that it would be best for Irina to stay for a few weeks in the cabin, with a warm stove and Masha looking after her. But if they remained, then sooner or later the news would get out that there were travelers staying in the house of Sergei the woodsman, and it would not take long for
this news to make it to the ears of the tsar’s men. They had to leave, even if this put Irina’s life at risk. Anyway, Samuel knew that she would rather die free than live in an Okhrana jail cell.
At dawn, when he awoke, neither Sergei nor Natasha were in the cabin. He went over to Irina, who was sleeping peacefully. He was shocked not to see Mikhail. Masha and her grandson Nikolai were not there either.
He stepped out of the cabin and the wind almost pushed him over. It was snowing so vigorously that he could scarcely see anything. He walked until he saw Sergei who, with Natasha’s help, was just finishing the repairs to the carriage door.
“I’m sorry, I overslept, I should have come to help,” he said to Sergei.
“You didn’t need to, Natasha’s help is enough. The wheels are ready. You can help us set them on the axle. But this door . . . Natasha has covered the windows with some old leather, but it’s not enough to keep the cold out.”
“It doesn’t matter, we’re wearing fur coats.”
“Your wife fell ill even while wearing a fur coat . . . I don’t think you should leave yet. She’s not well.”
“We can’t stay. What about my son?”
“He’s in the hut, my wife is feeding the animals and my grandson and your son insisted on helping her.”
Samuel prepared the inside of the carriage as best he could to make Irina as comfortable as possible, and took a couple of furs out of the chest that they were carrying.
Masha insisted they eat something before starting the journey.
“There isn’t another inn, and with the snow here . . . I don’t want to insist, but your wife would be better off here,” Masha suggested.
“Hold your tongue, woman, men know why they make the decisions they make,” Sergei snapped.
Once they had Irina and Mikhail installed in the carriage, Samuel gave Sergei a hug goodbye. He wanted to pay him for all that he had done, and even took some of his father’s money out for this purpose, but the woodsman rejected it.
“We weren’t looking for any payment from you. You don’t owe us anything. Go in peace, and we will stay in peace.”
Shoot Me, I'm Already Dead Page 14
