Dan Smith - The Child Thief

Standing in the shadow of the trees, I watched the road. It lay silent across the country. Not a cart, nor a horse, nor a single traveller. The only marks upon it were those created by Dariya’s feet. I looked both ways, scanning as far as I could, knowing I’d have to go after her but reluctant to move out into the open. Something wanted to hold me from rushing out. But Dariya was close, perhaps just a short way along the road, and I had to go to her. I was so close. I had to find her and bring her back. I had made a promise and I was going to keep it.

I stepped out from the cover of the trees and crossed the open ground to the road, still watching both ways, and turned in the direction Dariya had taken. But I had travelled no more than a short distance on the road before there came a heavy, muted thumping from behind.

My first reaction was to get off the road, but the land was flat and open on either side. It was close to fifty metres back to the line of the trees.

The thumping grew louder.

I froze, calculating the possibilities, considering options, trying to identify the sound, all at the same time. Rhythmic. Steady. As it grew louder, closer, the sound faltered, became irregular, as if there were two sounds competing, crossing over one another, falling in and out of step with each other, and I knew what it was. And with that realisation came the knowledge that I was trapped. There was nowhere for me to go. The road was too open at either side, the forest too far for me to reach. I cursed my luck. If I’d stayed just a few minutes longer in the trees, I would have been safe.

Behind, the sound stopped and I turned to see two riders in the road, both of them with rifles raised. For a second I wondered if I could unsling my rifle and kill those two men, shoot them right off their horses before they could react. They wouldn’t expect it. They would expect me to stand down.

From where I was, I could see they were young, probably inexperienced. They wouldn’t have seen much action and they would be nervous – as surprised to see me as I was to see them. But their youth would give them quick reactions. And they would not be tired and hungry like I was.

‘Stay where you are,’ one of them called out. ‘Stand still. If you move, I’ll shoot you.’ The words he used were spoken in Russian.

I put my hands out to the sides and glanced at the place where I’d emerged from the forest, trying to guess where Viktor and Petro might be. When I’d entered the woods, they’d been at the crest of the hill, which meant they hadn’t been too far behind. If they’d moved more quickly than I had, perhaps they were already through the forest. They might even be there now, watching, wondering what to do, crouched in the shadow with their sights trained on the two men.

The soldier who had called out, spoke to his comrade without taking his eyes off me. His comrade nodded and shifted in his saddle as if to find a more comfortable shooting position, then the other one took the reins of his horse with one hand, keeping his heavy rifle held at waist height. He nudged his ride forwards and came closer.

‘Put the rifle on the ground,’ he said, pointing his weapon down at me.

I stepped back and took the rifle from my shoulder. I bent to lay it on the ground, then straightened and looked the soldier in the eye. A young man in his early twenties, he was wearing the uniform of a Red Army soldier – tunic and trousers, a heavy long coat. His leather boots almost reaching his knees, the earflaps of his budenovka broadcloth helmet unfurled and fastened together under his chin. The red star sewn onto the front was clean. He had the beginnings of a moustache on his upper lip, but it was soft and boyish.

‘Please,’ I said. ‘I’m looking for my—’

‘Speak Russian.’

I hadn’t used my own language for a long time. I barely even used it in my thoughts any more. ‘I’m looking for my daughter,’ I said, thinking the man would be more sympathetic if he thought I had lost my own child.

‘Where did you get that?’ The soldier shifted his eyes to glance at my rifle. ‘You steal it?’

‘No. I’m looking for a little—’

‘Answer my question. Where did you get the rifle?’

‘I took it from a German soldier.’

‘When?’

‘ When ?’

‘It’s not an unreasonable question. Where are these German soldiers?’

‘No. It was a long time ago. In Galicia. But please, I’m looking for a little girl. My daughter.’

The young man paused, looking me up and down. ‘You’re a soldier?’

‘I was.’

‘Ownership is restricted.’

I nodded, biting my lip.

‘It’s a crime to own a rifle.’

‘I’m a soldier. It’s unnatural for me not to have a weapon.’

‘Which army?’

‘Which army was I in?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve been in many armies. The Imperial Army…’

The young soldier made a tutting sound, sucking his tongue against his teeth. ‘Tsarist.’

‘…and the Red Army,’ I continued. ‘I fought against the central powers for your safety and then I fought a civil war for our revolution. I am a communist, not a tsarist.’

‘Don’t be petulant.’ He took a deep breath. Beneath him the horse shifted impatiently, shaking its head and blowing out into the cold. ‘So you’re Russian?’

‘I am.’

‘Then what are you doing in this shit hole?’

I looked around, wondering what would make a man describe this beautiful land as a shit hole. But of course the soldier saw nothing of the land. He was blind to the forests and the steppe and the mountains and the fields. He saw only the villages that he moved into. He saw only the squalor and desperation of people whose belongings are taken from them; whose families are ripped apart; whose lives are invaded by greed and malice and poison. He saw men begging for their livelihood, women crying for their lost sons, streets filled with the walking dead.

I held on to my anger, fought the desire to reach out for the barrel of his rifle and pull him from his horse. ‘This is my home now,’ I said. ‘I live here. And I’m looking for my daughter. Please, I need to—’

‘Take off your satchel and put it beside the rifle.’

I hesitated, once more allowing myself a quick glance to the treeline, before doing as he instructed. The young man shifted as his horse moved and he spoke soothing words to calm it. Then he hardened his look. ‘You’re not from Sushne. I would know you. I’d remember. Not from Uroz either. What village are you from?’

‘I don’t live in any village,’ I said.

‘You have to live somewhere.’

‘In the hills.’ I inclined my head towards the line of trees, the hills beyond. ‘I have a small hut.’ It was a risk. If they made me show them, they’d find the body of the child thief, but I couldn’t betray my own village; my own wife and daughter. They’d find it eventually, but not yet. And not by my word.

‘What do you grow?’

‘Grow?’ I forced a smile. ‘I don’t grow anything. I sometimes work, but I don’t grow anything. I’m not a farmer. I have nothing.’

‘But you have a rifle.’

‘For hunting. I shoot rabbits, sometimes deer or wolf. You’re a soldier; you understand I need a rifle.’

‘Take off your coat.’

‘What?’

‘Take off your coat.’

‘In this cold? I’ll freeze.’

The soldier lifted his rifle so it was pointed directly at my face. ‘I could shoot you right here. Your choice.’

I nodded and started to unbutton my coat.

Without taking his eyes off me, the soldier raised his voice and called to the second man. ‘Andrei, get over here and take this man’s coat.’

Andrei lowered his weapon and trotted his horse over. When he reached us, he swung his leg over and dismounted, coming close, waiting for me to remove the coat and hold it out. Without looking me in the eye, without speaking, Andrei took it and put his hands into the pockets. He pulled out the revolver and held it up for the other man to see.