We couldn’t hear anything from where we were. They were talking together for quite a long time. Suddenly the man pulled on the horse’s bridle and tried to turn it around to head back up the road from where he’d come. Pavel took a step back, grabbed his rifle and aimed it at the man, who let go of the bridle.
30
WE CROSSED THE field back towards the station. Kyabine wanted to ride the horse first. He held on tight to the creature’s mane and stared straight ahead. He looked very serious. He made a few attempts to stand up in the stirrups so he could see farther ahead. But each time he almost lost his balance. Sifra was holding the horse’s bridle and the Evdokim kid was carrying Kyabine’s rifle and coat.
All of a sudden Kyabine shouted, as though it was something extraordinary: ‘I see the station!’
And then, as if spotting the railway station had been the objective of this little horse ride, he called out: ‘Stop, Sifra!’
Sifra brought the horse to a stop and Kyabine passed one leg over the animal’s hindquarters. He slid down to the ground and took hold of the bridle. ‘Your turn, Sifra!’ he said.
Sifra handed his rifle to the Evdokim kid and I helped him up onto the horse. Sifra started to tremble. I held his ankle for as long as I could. Then, gently, I let go, and he climbed on top of the horse.
‘Are you all right?’ Kyabine asked. ‘Holding on tight?’
Sifra whispered yes.
Kyabine pulled on the bridle and the horse started to walk. Sifra gripped the horse’s mane with all his strength and begged Kyabine to go more slowly.
So Kyabine slowed down and Sifra carefully sat up on the horse. Finally he turned to us and smiled.
And let me tell you, at that moment, I looked at the confident smile on Sifra’s face, because Kyabine was leading the horse at the right speed. And I watched Kyabine’s slow, reassuring gait, and Pavel was there too, walking next to me, and suddenly I was filled with emotion because each one of us was in his place and also because it seemed to me in that instant that each of us was far away from the winter in the forest. And that each of us was also far away from the war that was going to start up again because the winter was over.
I looked away, I looked at the field and the sky, and Pavel kept on walking by my side.
31
IT WAS MY turn to ride the horse, but I was unlucky. Kyabine was holding the bridle and Sifra was holding my foot. I hoisted myself up but the horse suddenly lurched forward. Kyabine let go of the bridle and I fell to the ground. Then Kyabine ran after the horse. The two of them disappeared. Some time later, Kyabine came back, covered with sweat, without the horse, looking miserable.
We told him that it wasn’t his fault, that nobody was strong enough to hold back a horse, and we headed towards the pond.
Around noon, Kyabine and the Evdokim kid went back to the camp to fetch our meals. We played dice while we waited for them. We didn’t gamble though. We just tried to make complicated combinations.
Kyabine and the kid returned from the camp with the meals. The kid was carrying our mess tins and our cutlery, Kyabine the big dish that he’d carved from a tree stump over the winter. He was excited when he reached the pond. He asked us if we knew what we were going to eat. We guessed straight away. It was the pig, of course. And there were old potatoes too, and beans. It was a nice stew, and it was still warm because Kyabine and the kid had hurried back. We ate everything and sucked the bones.
Miming compassion, Pavel said: ‘There are two lads from the Shuyski regiment who are dreaming of going home so they can eat pork.’
‘Poor lads,’ I said.
‘They’ll get to eat chicken,’ Kyabine said. ‘The woman at the farm had a chicken.’
We stood up and threw the bones in the pond. We were expecting loads of fish to swarm all over them. In fact only two came and swam calmly around the bones.
Pavel and I lay down again. Sifra took off his boots and waded around the edge of the pond. Kyabine washed the big dish, then went into the water and used it to try to catch fish. He slowly lowered it into the water until it was full and then quickly pulled it out, checking to see if there was a fish inside.
The Evdokim kid went to sit on the grass behind us. We heard him take out his notebook. After a while, without turning around, Pavel asked him: ‘So tell me, who do you write to if it’s not your mother?’
It was as if the kid had been expecting this question, because he answered very fast and enthusiastically: ‘To myself.’
Pavel raised his eyebrows at me. But what could I say?
Then, still without looking at him, Pavel asked the kid what exactly it was that he was writing.
But it was Kyabine who replied. We thought he was absorbed in his fishing. But he was listening. He said to Paveclass="underline" ‘Yesterday he wrote that I won at dice.’
‘Shut up, Kyabine!’ said Pavel.
Kyabine burst out laughing.
Pavel asked again: ‘So what is it exactly?’
The kid said: ‘Things that I see.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Pavel, shaking his head. ‘Everything you see in a day!’
Suddenly we couldn’t believe our eyes. Kyabine was crouching in front of us, holding the big dish on his knees, and inside it swam a fish so small it could have fitted twice over into the palm of his hand. Kyabine looked at us. He couldn’t seem to believe it either. He shouted to Sifra, who was on the other side of the pond: ‘Hey, Sifra, come over here, quick!’
‘Why?’
‘I caught one!’
Sifra came over. He looked at the fish and congratulated Kyabine.
Kyabine wanted to cook and eat his fish, and he wouldn’t listen to anyone who tried to dissuade him. Even Sifra joined in: ‘There’ll be nothing left of it by the time you’ve cooked it.’
‘Why will there be nothing left?’ Kyabine asked.
He put the big dish down in front of him, got to his feet, and went to fetch some stones from around the pond. He made several trips, arranged them in a circle, and put a flat stone on top. But the problem was that there was no wood nearby. So he went into the field and returned with his arms full of half-dried grass. He took the fish out of the water, banged its head against the flat stone and laid it on top. He picked up a handful of grass, set fire to it, and slid it between the stones in the circle. It gave off more smoke than flames and quickly burned up. He took another handful and put it inside the circle of stones. He did this at least a dozen times.
The flat stone started to warm up and the fish started to sizzle and smoke. But Kyabine was almost out of grass. He ran into the field and came back with another armful. He stuffed more of it into his little fireplace and blew on the grass. We could smell grilling fish now. He picked it up by the tail and turned it over.
Ever since he’d started doing this, Kyabine had not even glanced up at any of us. All the attention and intelligence he possessed had been focused exclusively on the task of cooking his fish. He had none left for anything else.
We knew this and we were paying attention. We sat there, observing him without moving.
The Evdokim kid had put away his notebook and joined us when he saw the smoke beginning to rise.
Kyabine was lying on his front. His pile of dried grass was close by and he kept digging into it. The pile was getting smaller and smaller. Suddenly there was none left and the fire was out. Kyabine sat up, looked at his fish, grabbed it between his finger and thumb, dropped it in the water in the big dish to cool it down, and ate it in three mouthfuls — head, bones and all — with a thoughtful look on his face. After that, without looking at anyone, he went over to the pond to wash his hands, then came back and lay down next to us.