Andrea Bennett - Two Cousins of Azov

‘Hey!’ Tolya tried again, whispering fiercely and prodding Yuri’s leg with the poker. ‘Are you a moth? Just say!’

‘Moth! Moth… moth,’ repeated the boy in his husky voice, not looking at Tolya, but instead leaning down to peer at the fire in the stove.

‘He is a moth! He said so!’ Tolya shrank back from the other boy as Baba clucked indifferently. Still Yuri’s hands shivered and flapped around his face as he smiled.

‘Tolya, come help me with these bowls. Yuri!’ She waited for the older boy to raise his head. Out of the corners of his eyes he scanned the table, Baba and the bowls, back and forth. ‘Here’s some broth for you. Come to the table! Come now!’ She spoke loudly, beckoning with her hands.

Yuri pressed himself to the warmth of the stove for a second, and then shuffled over to the rough wooden bench, opposite Tolya’s place. Baba was still ladling out soup when his hands curved around the nearest bowl and he raised it to his lips. Tolya stared in disbelief.

‘Hey! Steady boy! You’ll scald your gullet! Use a spoon, boy, use a spoon!’ Baba’s words shot around his head and Yuri looked dazed, the bowl still in his hands, half-way to his lips. He smiled.

‘Spoom,’ he repeated, voice thick and eyes blank, and then, with recognition, ‘Spoom!’

‘Spoo n ,’ said Tolya, forehead creasing. ‘The word is spoon!’

‘Like this!’ Baba bid Tolya demonstrate. He lifted the spoon to his lips and noisily sucked up the soup.

A laugh erupted from Yuri, loud and uncontrolled, full of joy.

‘What is he laughing at?’

‘They don’t use spoons where you come from then, eh?’ Baba chuckled, ignoring Tolya’s question.

‘Where does he come from, Baba?’

‘Shhh!’

‘But why is it funny?’

The boy picked up a spoon and, with great concentration, dipped it into the broth and then manoeuvred it to his mouth. He did it twice more. Soup splashed around the table in puddles as he slurped and coughed, barley grains showering the air. He laughed and choked with a gurgle, soup shooting out of his nose.

‘Eh, Yuri, maybe your way is better for you? Just wait until it’s a bit cooler.’ Baba took away the spoon. Again, he went to lift the bowl to his mouth and Baba laid her hand on his arm to slow him down.

‘No!’ he shrieked, pulling free, his eyes on her, round and defiant, before they returned to the bowl in front of him.

‘You were going to hurt yourself!’ Baba shook her grey head and clucked her tongue, but she hadn’t taken offence. Tolya frowned into his broth as Yuri licked the spillage from the table, strange yelping noises of enjoyment, half animal, half human, escaping him as he did so.

‘Ha! He’s a fine one, this Yuri,’ Baba tutted to herself as she went to fetch a cloth. ‘You’ll get splinters in your tongue that way! You won’t like that!’

Tolya gazed at the boy, his eyes narrowed. Yuri began to flap his hands in front of his face.

‘You shouldn’t do that. We have good manners in this house. And we like quiet!’ Tolya looked down into his broth, and saw his face reflected there, all big nose and little bug eyes. Why had Baba invited him into their home? It was all strange, all wrong. He swilled the broth around, the grains twirling and floating like leaves on the wind, and tried not to cry.

‘I don’t like you,’ he said quietly, looking up at the boy across from him. Yuri’s gaze fell on him briefly, and he smiled. He didn’t seem to care whether Tolya liked him or not.

‘Well Yuri, you’d better be off now. You’ve warmed up and had a bit to eat, and Tolya and I have to finish our jobs before we get to our beds.’ Baba was heaving about under the big bed, trying to reach something stored there. Dust swirled in the air around her.

Yuri wiped his fingers around the inside of his bowl and sucked them clean. Then he stood up from the table and nodded, shifting from one foot to the other, flicking his fingers. The tapping and twitching was making Tolya cross. He couldn’t wait for this Yuri to leave.

‘You can take this with you. We don’t need it.’ Baba handed him an old padded jacket, patched many times, and bursting white wadding like foam along one arm.

‘But that’s for me, Baba!’ yelled Tolya indignantly, dropping his spoon and leaping to his feet. ‘Papa promised it to me! When I’m grown up! It’s mine!’

‘Tolya, you have years to grow into it, and Yuri needs it now. We’ll make you a new one when the time comes. Let Yuri have this, eh?’ Her tone was firm, and the other boy was already at her side, grinning.

Tolya sat down with a thump and kicked his legs under the table as Yuri took off his own frayed rags and put on the new coat. He stretched out his big, toothy grin and laughed. ‘It’s good! Mmm!’ He wrapped both arms around himself and rocked from side to side. ‘Good!’

‘That will help you on your way.’ Baba stood back and looked at him, patting him on the arm. ‘Good travels now then, Yuri!’ She led him to the cottage door. ‘Goodnight!’

She stood and watched as he made his way across the moon-silvered yard, over the fence and out into the undulating forest beyond, disappearing into the darkness as his footsteps crunched on the grass and fallen leaves. It was a cold night.

‘You gave him my jacket,’ glowered Tolya as he stood to take his bowl to the bucket, once Baba had bolted the door. ‘That was my jacket, and you gave it to some… some boy who can’t even speak properly, or use a spoon!’

‘He needed it more than you, son. It’s cold out there, and he has so little.’

‘But why has he got so little? Maybe he doesn’t need anything, Baba? Maybe he’s a wood spirit and he doesn’t need our clothes, or our food? Maybe he’s moth boy, and he doesn’t need to come in here and sit by our stove!’ Tolya shouted, hands clenched.

‘For the last time,’ Baba rolled her eyes as she rinsed the bowls, ‘he’s not a spirit, he’s a boy. I don’t know why he has nothing, and I’m not going to ask.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because sometimes it is better not to know! Now enough!’ Baba turned and raised her hand above Tolya’s head, as if to strike him.

He backed away, surprised and panting. ‘I don’t like him!’ he shouted, ‘and I don’t want him in my house!’ He thumped the log wall with his small, angry fists.

‘A fine Communist you’re turning out to be,’ said Baba, shaking her head.

‘Stalin would hate him too! He’s weak and thin and stupid and laughs at nothing and steals things that are mine!’

Baba stood by the bucket picking barley grains out of her hair, her movements jerky and swift. She stopped and looked up. ‘Not everyone can be equal, Tolya: not everyone is the same. Some have no family, no friends: they are weak. We must look after those people. It is our duty.’

‘No! He took my coat! He’s stupid and dirty and I don’t want to do my duty!’

‘You have no choice, eh? It’s the right thing to do. Your conscience will tell you. And you’ll have a new coat, when the time is right.’

Tolya spun away from her and leant his forehead on the musky-smelling wood of the wall. He shut his eyes as Baba put away the bowls and swept under the table. He poked his fingers into the knots of the wood and sniffed. She didn’t understand the feeling he had, in the pit of his stomach, gnawing at him. It told him Yuri did not belong. It told him to be afraid.

‘Come, be a good boy, and don’t sulk. It’s been a long day, and you’ve worked hard in the yard. Help me with the bedding, and wash your face and hands. That’s it!’

She smiled as he peeled himself away from the wall and, silently, came to help her with the bed.