The Impossible Journey

  “I’m turning in now,” he said. I was thinking with relief how we would soon be off, when he added with a sly smile, “I have no pillow, so I’ll just take one of your knapsacks to ease my head. The other one will cushion my arm.” Before I could reach for them, he snatched the two knapsacks and lay down with his arm around Georgi’s knapsack and his head on mine. In a moment he was asleep.

  I couldn’t keep my worry to myself. “Georgi,” I whispered, “I think we have to run away from that man, but we can’t leave without my knapsack.”

  “Or mine.”

  Georgi was not as troubled as I was, for in no time he was asleep, but I lay there watching Old Savoff as he turned and twisted. He grumbled even in his sleep, as if his dreams held further reasons for complaint. It was long past midnight when he shifted his body and his head eased onto the ground, freeing my knapsack. His arm was still tangled in the straps of Georgi’s knapsack. I decided we could leave without it. Because Georgi was small, I had carried nearly everything. Georgi’s knapsack held nothing but his globe and a few clothes he could do without. Hastily I snatched my knapsack and shook Georgi awake, putting my hand over his mouth so that he would be quiet.

  “We are leaving at once.”

  He sat up, still groggy, and looked about. When he spied his knapsack still wrapped around Old Savoff’s arm, tears came into his eyes and his lower lip stuck out. He shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “I won’t leave my little cottage with the snow.”

  In a whisper I begged, “Georgi, the man is evil and means us no good. We have to escape, and this is our only chance. Tomorrow we will be prisoners in his house.”

  Georgi put his hands over his ears.

  I took his hands away and in an angry whisper I threatened, “If you don’t come with me, I’ll leave you.” With that I got up, swung my knapsack onto my back, and began to walk away.

  I went a short distance and looked around quickly to see if Georgi was following me. He was sitting where I had left him, his face scrunched up, tears streaming down his cheeks. He had not moved an inch.

  After that I returned and settled hopelessly beside Georgi, who soon fell asleep. I stayed awake for a long while, but Georgi’s knapsack stayed where it was. At last I closed my eyes.

  I was dreaming that Old Savoff had a whale on the end of his fishing line and would not let it go, making our little boat capsize. I awoke to find Old Savoff shaking me.

  “It’s five o’clock already,” he said in an impatient voice. “Are you going to lie there sleeping all day?”

  After a mouthful of bread and cheese we were on our way. Almost at once the bank, which had been a grassy field, became stone and then rock and steep cliff. Through the sun had come out and the day was warm, I shivered. Suppose we had run away in the night? We would soon have come to the rocks and cliffs. How would we have scrambled over them? We would have had to return to Old Savoff or perish. And what would he have said if he had found us gone only to have us return?

  The cliffs turned into rocks and then once again into fields. We passed small villages with their wooden houses and always a deserted church. The villages were inviting, but our boat was in the middle of the river, so there was no escape. Georgi busied himself with watching the flocks of migrating ducks and geese that settled on the river in a rush of flapping and then were off again in feathery arrowheads pointed north.

  Old Savoff shook his fist at the flocks of geese. “They’ll try to gobble up our seed corn and eat the new wheat, but my rifle will be too much for them. Last fall when they passed our way, I put an end to half a hundred. We’ll have as many geese on our table as we can eat.”

  I was very hungry, and the thought of a roast goose was pleasant, but I only wanted one goose, not fifty.

  The air was filled with birds flying north, tiny brown warblers with patches of yellow, eagles and hawks, and brightly colored birds I had never seen before. I sighed as I thought how in only a few days the birds would be with Mama, while as long as we were in the hands of Old Savoff, we might never see her.

  Just then a barge passed us heading north. It was unlike the other barges, with their loads of supplies for the northern cities. This barge was built to hold people. The decks were crowded with men and women—there must have been a couple of hundred packed together. At first I thought the barge a passenger boat, like the steamships, but when I looked more closely, I saw that the people were surrounded by soldiers with guns, and the guns were pointed at the people. The barge passed close enough for me to see the miserable men and women.

  I turned to Old Savoff. “Who are they?” I whispered.

  “They are prisoners being shipped to the camps in Noril’sk and Dudinka. Stalin knows how to handle people who are enemies of the revolution. The ones who don’t starve in the camps will freeze, and it serves them right.”

  I cried out, “That’s a terrible thing to say. How do you know those people aren’t innocent?” All I could think of was Mama and Papa.

  Georgi was as angry as I was. He kicked at Old Savoff and would have bitten him if I hadn’t pulled him away.

  Old Savoff gave us a shrewd look. “So that’s how it is. You are running away because your parents were arrested. No doubt the authorities would like a word with you.”

  The sight of the prisoners and the sound of the word authorities so frightened me, I couldn’t say a word. After that Georgi and I were very quiet, and Old Savoff kept looking at us as if we were two chickens he was fattening for the pot.

  It was early evening when Old Savoff began to pull the boat toward shore and a small cluster of wooden buildings. A young man stood on the bank, his hands on his hips. He was short and stocky, with black hair cut in the shape of an upside-down bowl. His eyes were nearly hidden under bushy brows. The corners of his mouth were turned down. He appeared unhappy to see Old Savoff. He called out, and a woman came running out of the hut wiping her hands on her apron. She was thin and worn like a handkerchief that has been washed until it is threadbare. I thought it must be Fenya, and the young man the stepson, Vadim.

  Old Savoff shouted, “Vadim, you lazy dog, why are you standing there? Get the rope to tie the boat. Fenya, you better have something hot on the table or you’ll be sorry.”

  After a surprised look at us, the woman hurried back into the hut. The stepson, walking with deliberate slowness, picked up a coil of rope and sauntered down to the landing. All the while the boat was being made secure with rope, Old Savoff shouted at Vadim.

  “After all this time you have no more idea than a dog of tying a proper knot,” he scolded. “Do you want the boat to drift off? If I find the plowing has been left for me to do, I’ll turn you inside out.”

  Vadim paid no attention to the threats but stared at Georgi and me.

  Old Savoff gave a nasty laugh. “See what I’ve brought you? A little brother and sister to keep you company. They’ll show you what work is. When the boy gets a little older, I’ll have no need for your help.”

  Vadim gave us a hateful look.

  We were herded toward the hut, where Fenya was hastily ladling out soup. I saw with relief that places had been set for us. Hungrily we spooned up the soup. Old Savoff was so busy eating, he had no time for complaints. The soup, a fish stew with onions and potatoes and a kind of mushroom I had never tasted, was the best I had ever had.

  Fenya hardly took the time to sit down but hovered over us like a mother hen, filling our bowls and cutting more bread when it was needed. I saw that her fine cooking had its purpose, for all the while he was eating, Old Savoff was silent. The moment he came to the end of his food, the grumbling began again.

  “Well, Fenya,” he said with a wicked smile, “no more excuses about not doing your share of work in the field because you must keep house. Here is a housekeeper for you. She will wash tonight’s dishes and sweep up the house. You can go with Vadim to the woods and help him load the firewood. I’ll stay and keep an eye on our guests.”

  He turned to Ge
orgi. “You, boy, don’t think you can sit and do nothing. I’ll give you a fishing pole. If you don’t catch fish, you won’t eat.” With that he took Georgi to the landing.

  There was no water in the house for dishwashing, so first I had to fill two pails from the river. I found Georgi sitting with his fishing pole in his hand.

  In a proud voice he said, “Old Savoff showed me how to put the worms on the hook, and I don’t mind anymore if they wriggle a lot and feel slimy.”

  It was late in the evening by the time I had finished the dishes, swept out the hut, and brought in wood to feed the stove for our breakfast. Georgi was still sitting at the landing. When I went down to see him, I found him in tears.

  “My arm is tired and I’ve used up all the worms and I didn’t get any fish.”

  “Georgi,” I pleaded, “come into the house. It’s late, and you’ll get fish tomorrow.”

  He wouldn’t move. “No. Old Savoff will beat me.”

  Nothing I could say would make him leave the fishing pole and come with me. I went to meet Fenya, who was returning from the woods, thinking she could help me convince Georgi to come to bed.

  “Poor boy,” she said. She looked over her shoulder. “Let’s hurry and talk with the child before Old Savoff comes.”

  Georgi was slumped over, fast asleep. The fishing pole had slipped from his hand and fallen into the water. Luckily it had not floated away but was caught in a little clump of reeds.

  We heard Old Savoff running toward us. He pushed us aside. “Wake up, you lazy fellow. Just see what you did.” He was shaking Georgi. “You get in that river and get my pole. Quick now.”

  “He can’t swim,” I pleaded. The current was fast and the river deep. I waded into the water, wondering how I would get to the pole without drowning, for I couldn’t swim either. Someone pushed me roughly aside. It was Fenya. In a moment she was swimming toward the reeds as smoothly as an otter. She grasped the pole and swam back, scrambling onto the bank. Shaking the water from her clothes like a dog, she handed the pole to Old Savoff and, picking up Georgi, headed for the house.

  In no time she had changed her clothes and was laying two quilts on the kitchen floor, putting a protesting Georgi to bed. “Not another word,” she hushed him. “Marya, you go to bed as well.”

  Gratefully I sank down on the other quilt, and in seconds I was fast asleep. The last thing I heard was Old Savoff scolding Fenya.

  Early in the morning his boot prodded me awake. “Make our breakfast, girl. We should have been in the fields long since.”

  In spite of Old Savoff’s protests, Fenya helped me with the fire when it would not start and reminded me to stir the kasha to keep it from burning.

  We all ate standing up. When Vadim tried to pull a chair up to the table, Old Savoff snatched it out of his hand.

  “If you had your way, you would lounge about all day and leave the work to me and your mother.”

  I meant to escape with Georgi the moment they were off to the fields, but Old Savoff was too smart for me.

  “The two of you can come as well,” he ordered.

  On the way to the fields I whispered to Fenya, “I thought all the farms had been taken over by the state.”

  Fenya shrugged. “Old Savoff pays off the Party chief in the next village to forget about our farm. Anyhow the state doesn’t bother us much here. They think Siberia is only a place to send prisoners.” She gave me a long look and I wanted to tell her our story, for I felt she was kind, but Vadim was listening to us and I didn’t trust him.

  Our first task was to spread manure over the field.

  “Take off your shoes to save them,” Fenya said. Barefoot, with the muck oozing between our toes, we spread the manure with pitchforks. When the manure was spread, Old Savoff attached the plow to Vadim’s back, and the plowing began with grunts and groans from Vadim and cries of “Can’t you move a little faster?” from Old Savoff. I was sure that if he’d had a whip, he would have used it on Vadim.

  Fenya and I walked along the furrows, carefully placing the seed corn, three to a hill.

  Old Savoff kept an eye on us. “Fenya, you will ruin me. You are putting the seeds too close together. Girl, watch yourself. You dropped a seed.”

  Georgi was put to work chasing the crows that had spied the seed corn and were settling down on the fields with hoarse barkings and coughings. Georgi laughed as he ran at one flock and then another. He flapped his arms and shouted to the crows to leave the seed be.

  At noon we ate bread and cheese while Old Savoff told us what a poor job we had done. Though he scolded Fenya as much as he did the rest of us, I saw that she paid him no attention. His angry words were like so many drops of rain slipping away on a window. She must have some power over him, I thought. I began to wonder if so miserable a man could still have room in so sour and shrunken a heart for a crumb of love.

  It was early evening before we returned to the cabin for our supper. I could hardly stay awake. My hands were blistered, my back ached, and my face burned from the sun. While I helped Fenya with the dishes, Vadim and Old Savoff walked about outside, talking in low tones. From time to time they looked our way.

  Fenya watched them, a worried expression on her face. Finally she said, “They mean you and the boy no good.”

  I was too tired to care. I didn’t see what more they could do to us. We could work no harder than we had, and we could not be more miserable than we were. I thought we would never find Mama. Georgi must have sensed my discouragement, for he fell asleep hanging on to my dress.

  It seemed as if I had been asleep only a moment or two when someone shook me. I thought it was Old Savoff and did not know how I could move, much less go out into the fields again.

  I opened my eyes to find Fenya bending over me. “Get up quickly,” she said. “They have taken off, and you don’t have much time.”

  Still half asleep, I tried to understand what she was telling me.

  “Get up,” she repeated. “Old Savoff and Vadim are on their way to the village to see the Communist Party chief. They have guessed your parents have been arrested. We see a lot of that here. They are anxious to get on his good side by turning you in.”

  “What will they do to us if they catch us?”

  “They will send you to one of the prison camps and Georgi to an orphanage.”

  At the sound of his name Georgi awoke, just in time to hear the word orphanage.

  “Don’t worry,” Fenya told him. “Your sister will watch over you.”

  Her words reminded me of my mother’s charge to care for Georgi, and I could not keep tears from my eyes. Throwing on my clothes, I asked Fenya, “Won’t Old Savoff be very angry with you?”

  She shrugged. “I can handle the old man. He needs me more than I need him. But where will you go when you leave here? You can’t wander about Siberia.”

  At that I told her our story, but I did not trust her enough to tell her we were going to walk a thousand miles. Instead, I named a village two hundred miles north, for I was beginning to believe our journey might take years, not months.

  She shook her head. “Two hundred miles! That’s a long way.”

  “We have the whole summer.” What would she say if she knew the truth?

  When we were ready to go, Fenya stuffed our knapsacks with bread, cheese, hard-boiled eggs, and dried apples. “Here,” she said, handing us a bag of bones. “This is not for you but for the dogs of the village.”

  It was early morning when Fenya led us outside. She smoothed over a piece of earth and drew a picture with a sharp stick. “Just here the road leaves the river, for the riverbank is nothing but swamp. Then here the road leads to the village where Old Savoff and Vadim have gone. You must stay clear of that village.”

  She took up the fishing pole that was propped against the hut. “You can’t carry a pole through the woods, but take the line. A branch will make a pole, and I’ll give you some hooks. You can find bait under any log.” She patted Georgi’s head. “You will
see, you will become a fisherman and the river will feed you.”

  We both hugged her and clung to her until she pried us loose and sent us on our way. When we looked back, she was wiping away her tears with her apron.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE RIVER

  It was midday when we came to the swamp where the road left the river.

  “Look, Marya!” Georgi turned an excited face to mine.

  The puddles and pools of the swamp were crowded with birds. There among the reeds and rushes were ducks with brilliant green feathers and ducks with red crests and ducks as black and white as a printed piece of paper. There were geese and long-legged cranes, and here and there stately swans with arched necks. It was as if all the cages in the world had been opened. As soon as one flight of birds landed, another took off. The geese were busy cropping the new grasses while the ducks turned tail up to search the ponds for fish. I would have given anything for the paints I’d had to leave behind.

  Georgi and I stood still, holding hands as if we were afraid that in all that soaring, one or the other of us might find ourselves in the sky with the birds. At last we left the swamp to follow the road to the village. The road led though a dark forest filled with cedar trees and another kind of tree whose name I didn’t know but whose needles were soft as feathers. At each turn I was afraid we would bump into Old Savoff and Vadim, but we had the road to ourselves. When we heard the dogs bark, we knew we were near the village.

  In the distance we could see a row of is bas, the little wooden houses of Siberia. “Hurry,” I urged Georgi, pulling him along. “We have to get by the village quickly before Old Savoff sees us.”

  We had passed the road that led into the village, and I thought we were safe, when a pack of snarling dogs came after us. In the distance a man looked curiously in our direction.