Tom Smith: Child 44

Please. Please. Please.

The cat sprang forward, opened its mouth and grabbed the bone. Timing it perfectly he tugged the string. The noose caught around the cat’s paw, the front leg was snared. Pavel leapt up, yanking the string, tightening the noose. The cat tried to run but the string held fast. He pulled the cat to the ground. Screeching filled the forest, as though a creature far larger was fighting for its life, thrashing in the snow, arching its body, snapping at the string. Pavel was afraid the knot would break. The string was thin, frayed. As he tried to edge closer the cat pulled away, keeping out of reach. He cried out to his brother:

— Kill it!

Andrei still hadn’t moved, not wishing to make another mistake. But now he was being given instructions. He jumped up, ran forward, immediately tripping and falling face down. Lifting his nose out of the snow, he could see the cat up ahead hissing and spitting and twisting. If the string broke, the cat would be free and his brother would hate him for ever. Pavel shouted, his voice hoarse, frantic:

— Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!

Andrei staggered up and without any clear idea of what he was doing bounded forward and threw himself on top of the cat’s thrashing body. Perhaps he’d hoped the impact would kill it. But now, lying on the animal, he could feel the cat was alive and wriggling underneath his stomach, scratching at the grain sacks that had been stitched together to make his jacket. Keeping himself flat on the cat to stop it escaping, Andrei looked behind him, his eyes pleading with Pavel to take charge.

— It’s still alive!

Pavel ran forward and dropped to his knees, reaching under his younger brother’s body only to come in contact with the cat’s snapping mouth. He was bitten. He jerked his hands out. Ignoring his bleeding finger he clambered to the other side and slid his hands under again, this time arriving at the tail. His fingers began creeping up the cat’s back. From this line of attack the animal had no defence.

Andrei remained motionless, feeling the struggle play out underneath him, feeling his brother’s hands nearing the cat’s head, closer and closer. The cat knew this meant death and began biting at anything — his jacket, the snow — crazed with fear, fear which Andrei could feel as vibrations in his stomach. Imitating his brother Andrei cried out:

— Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!

Pavel snapped the animal’s neck. Neither of them did anything for a moment, just lying still, breathing deeply. Pavel rested his head on Andrei’s back, his hands still tight around the cat’s neck. Finally he pulled his hands out from underneath his brother and stood up. Andrei remained in the snow, not daring to move.

— You can stand up now.

He could stand up now. He could stand side by side with his brother. He could stand proud. Andrei hadn’t disappointed. He hadn’t failed. He reached up, took his brother’s hand and got to his feet. Pavel couldn’t have caught the cat without him. The string would’ve broken. The cat would’ve escaped. Andrei smiled and then laughed, clapping his hands and dancing on the spot. He felt as happy as he’d ever felt in his entire life. They were a team. His brother hugged him and the two of them looked down at their prize: a scrawny dead cat pressed into the snow.

Transporting their prize back to the village unseen was a necessary precaution. People would fight, kill for such a catch, and the screeching might’ve alerted someone. Pavel refused to leave anything to chance. They’d brought no sack with which to conceal the cat. Improvising, he decided to hide it under a pile of sticks. If they encountered anyone on their way home it would appear as if they’d been collecting firewood and no questions would be asked. He picked the cat out of the snow.

— I’m going to carry it under a pile of sticks, so no one can see it. But if we were really collecting firewood you’d be carrying sticks too.

Andrei was impressed by his brother’s logic — he would never have thought of that. He set about gathering wood. Since the ground was covered in snow it was difficult finding any loose sticks and he was forced to rake through with his bare hands. After each sweep he rubbed his fingers together, blowing on them. His nose had begun to run, snot collecting on his top lip. He didn’t mind though, not tonight, not after their success, and he began to hum a song his father used to sing, sinking his fingers back into the snow.

Experiencing the same shortage of sticks, Pavel had moved away from his younger brother. They would have to separate. Some distance away he saw a fallen tree with branches protruding at all angles. He hurried towards it, placing the cat in the snow so that he was free to snap off all the dead wood from the trunk. There was plenty here, more than enough for both of them, and he glanced around, looking for Andrei. He was about to call out when he swallowed his words. There was a noise. He turned sharply, looking around. The woods were dense, dark. He shut his eyes, concentrating on that sound— a rhythm: the crunch, crunch, crunch of snow. It was getting faster, louder. Adrenaline shot through his body. He opened his eyes. There, in the darkness, was movement: a man, running. He was holding a thick, heavy branch. His strides were wide. He was sprinting straight towards Pavel. He’d heard them kill the cat and now he was going to steal their prize. But Pavel wouldn’t let him: he wouldn’t let their mother starve. He wouldn’t fail as his father had failed. He began kicking snow over the cat, trying to conceal it.

— We’re collecting…

Pavel’s voice trailed off as the man burst through the trees, raising the branch. Only now, seeing this man’s gaunt face and wild eyes, did Pavel realize that he didn’t want the cat. He wanted him.

Pavel’s mouth fell open at more or less the same time as the branch arched down, the end slamming against the crown of his head. He didn’t feel anything but he was aware that he was no longer standing. He was on one knee. Glancing up, head cocked at an angle, blood streaming into one of his eyes, he watched as the man lifted the branch for a second strike.

Andrei stopped humming. Had Pavel called out? He hadn’t found that many sticks, certainly not enough for their plan, and he didn’t want to be told off, not after he’d done so well. He stood up, pulling his hands out of the snow. He stared into the forest, squinting, unable to see even the nearest of trees as anything more than a blur.

— Pavel?

There was no reply. He called again. Was this a game? No, Pavel didn’t play games, not any more. Andrei walked in the direction he’d last seen his brother but he couldn’t see anything. This was stupid. He wasn’t the one who was meant to find Pavel, Pavel was meant to find him. Something was wrong. He called again, louder this time. Why wasn’t his brother answering? Andrei wiped his nose on his coarse jacket sleeve and wondered if this was a test. What would his brother do in this situation? He’d follow the tracks in the snow. Andrei dropped his sticks and knelt down, searching the ground on his hands and knees. He found his own footsteps and traced them back to the point where he’d left his brother. Proud of himself he switched to his brother’s footsteps. If he stood up he couldn’t see the footprints so, crouching down, with his nose only an arm’s length from the snow, he carried on, like a dog chasing a smell.

He arrived at a fallen tree, sticks scattered all around, footsteps everywhere — some deep and large. The snow was red. Andrei took a handful, crushing it between his fingers, squeezing it and watching it turn to blood.

— Pavel!