Dan Smith - The Child Thief

‘Do you think she’s all right?’ he asked. His voice was muffled behind his scarf and he spoke quietly so Dimitri wouldn’t hear.

‘I hope so,’ I said. ‘I can’t do anything more than that.’

Petro was quiet for a moment.

‘There’s something on your mind?’ I asked, shifting the weight of my rifle. The strap was catching on the shoulder of my coat, pulling it to one side.

Petro looked at me. ‘Does Dimitri blame me?’

‘Blame you for what?’

‘For what’s happened?’

‘Why should he blame you?’

‘Because I brought Lara home but left Dariya to play.’

‘No one blames you for anything. And I don’t want you to blame yourself. No one is to blame but whoever took her. No one.’

‘And you really believe we’ll find her?’

‘Yes, I really believe that.’

‘And this man. Or whoever it is…’

‘Yes?’

‘What will you do?’

‘What would you do?’

‘I don’t know.’

Petro and I were alike in many ways – many more than I understood – but this was something that made us very different. Petro didn’t know what he would do. I, on the other hand, knew exactly what I would do. I would take whatever weapon was to hand, whether it was my rifle or my fingers, and I would take the man’s life from him. I would punish him for what he had done to the two children I buried yesterday. I would punish him for taking Dariya. And I would punish him for turning the people of Vyriv into frightened animals.

Petro lowered his head to watch his feet. ‘I hope she’s all right, Papa.’

I shifted my rifle again and stared ahead.

When we came to the edge of the trees and emerged onto the open steppe, the first thing I noticed was the red stain on the ground. It lay there like an insult. A single splash, no bigger than a man’s fist, surrounded by spots that had sunk just below the surface of the disturbed snow. It was striking, the bright red against the bright white. Like the bold red of the communist flag flapping against a white winter sky.

From this spot, the land sloped up for a short distance, coming to a ridge, concealing the rest of the steppe beyond. There were tracks moving up the ridge, but there was also a mess of tracks running off to the right, along the line of the trees.

I held up a hand to stop the others from coming closer, waving them to one side, showing them not to disturb the tracks.

‘Is that blood?’ Dimitri asked, stepping forward.

‘Stay back.’

‘Is it blood?’ he asked again.

‘Yes, but it’s not much.’ I moved closer for a better look. The ground was a mess here, much like it was back at the shelter.

‘Is it Dariya’s?’ Dimitri said.

‘I don’t know.’

‘You think she tried to get away again?’ Viktor asked.

‘Maybe.’ I studied the area. ‘But if she did, that’s good. It means she’s still strong.’ I looked up at Dimitri. ‘She’s a strong girl. The more I see, the more I know she’ll be fine. I think—’

‘You’re enjoying yourself.’

‘What? Not this again, Dimitri.’

‘I can see it in your eyes,’ he said. ‘This is thrilling for you. That could be my daughter’s blood and it’s exciting you. If you could see yourself…’

‘I’m just trying to find Dariya.’

‘But it makes you feel alive, doesn’t it? Being a farmer could never be enough for you. For God’s sake, how many times did you change sides in the war? Imperial, revolutionary, anarchist. You were looking for excitement.’

I wasn’t sure what to say. There was truth in his accusation. There were times when being a farmer wasn’t enough for me. It was a very different life from the one I’d had before coming to Vyriv, and, as much as I hated to acknowledge it, I sometimes craved the exhilaration of adrenalin, the closeness to danger and the camaraderie that had carried me through the worst of times. There was no bond like the one between men who had fought together; no other experience could sharpen and focus you the way combat did. But it was more like a drug than anything else. My rational mind wanted to distance itself from those things, to think only of family and duty, but a part of me needed that stimulation.

‘You’re wrong,’ I said. ‘I joined the revolution because I believed in it, but when I saw what they did to their own soldiers, I couldn’t be a part of it.’

‘Don’t expect me to feel sympathy for you…’

‘I don’t.’

‘…or to respect you…’

‘I don’t care what you think.’

‘…and don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this. Hunting. The excitement. You’re enjoying it. I can see it in your eyes; hear it in your voice.’

‘Then make the most of it,’ I said, remaining calm. ‘Take advantage of what I know and what I can do. Stop moaning and let me find your daughter. Or do you think you could do it alone?’

Dimitri stared.

‘Now, instead of wasting time with this, have a look that way.’ I pointed north along the line of the trees. ‘See if you can find anything else. Viktor, you go with him.’

‘And me?’ Petro asked.

‘You stay with me.’

Dimitri stayed where he was. ‘This isn’t a game.’

‘Do you want to find Dariya or not?’ I asked him.

‘Of course.’

‘Then go that way and look for her.’

Dimitri hesitated, shook his head once, and turned away. I watched him and Viktor move off before I went back to looking at the marks in the snow.

‘What the hell’s wrong with him?’ I said.

‘Maybe he feels inadequate,’ Petro suggested.

‘Inadequate?’ I crouched, took off a glove and felt the tracks, put my finger on the place where the boot sole was damaged, as if I were making a connection with the man who wore it.

‘He doesn’t want to rely on you. He wants to be able to do this himself.’

‘He’s a farmer.’ I stood and shifted my rifle and pack. ‘He grows potatoes.’

‘He’s a proud man. And he’s Dariya’s father. He wants to be able to do what you can do, but he hates you, and that makes him angry.’

I looked at Petro, not sure if I understood what he was saying. ‘I’m doing everything I can to find Dariya. It should be enough for him.’

‘He’s always treated you with disrespect and now he needs you. I think he’s ashamed he had to ask for your help.’

‘He has a lot of things to be ashamed of, but that isn’t one of them.’

‘Maybe you’re too hard on him, Papa.’

For a moment I thought how grown-up my son sounded. Almost like Natalia, trying to understand why people did the things they did. ‘I’m not hard on him. Not hard enough.’

‘You—’

‘He killed a man,’ I said. ‘He and the others, they hanged a man right in the middle of our village, and that’s why he’s angry – because this is his fault. While he was murdering the wrong man, the real killer stole his daughter. That’s why he’s ashamed.’

‘I suppose they were afraid.’

‘That’s what your mother said, but she knew it wasn’t an excuse – just like you know.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Men like Dimitri are cowards. They stir people’s thoughts, swell their anger, and when the mob does something wrong, they distance themselves from it and say it wasn’t their fault.’

‘He wasn’t alone.’

‘No, but he whipped those people into a frenzy. What happened was his fault, and that man they hanged deserved better.’ I stared at the blood in the snow. ‘You know, I once saw a mob of revolutionaries turn on their officer in Galicia, and it wasn’t much different from what they did to that stranger.’

‘What happened?’

I thought about telling my son what I’d seen. My own unit was refusing to march because the committee hadn’t yet made a decision, so our officer had climbed up on an ammunition box and tried to reason with us. When that didn’t work he tried threatening us. I could see what was happening – the men beginning to taunt the officer, throw pieces of bread at him, insult him, spit at him – and I told him to go while he still could. The officer refused, so I dragged him down from the box and told him to run, but the men misread my actions and they cheered as the officer stumbled. They moved closer, jeering, pushing him to the ground. I tried to stop them, just as I’d tried to stop Dimitri, but when the first man put his bayonet in him, the others followed, and I could only stand by and watch, as helpless as I had been in Vyriv two days ago.