Blood and Salt Page 7

  Taras loves this horse, not as much as his mother or father or Halya, but close.

  He comes out of the trees, reins in the horse and looks down at Radoski’s sprawling house and grounds. An old man tends the lawn; its close-clipped blades catch the morning light. Beech and birch show fresh new leaves and a few flowers already bloom. In the distance a motor growls and moments later an Austrian army staff car races up the road in a cloud of dust. The old man jumps back, startled. A dog barks and is hushed as the car skids to a stop. The pahn comes out his front door, dressed in an ancient officer’s uniform, now bursting at its seams.

  The driver jumps out and opens the door for a man in the blue uniform still worn by many older officers. This is the man Radoski brags about in the village. “My brother-in-law, you know – General Loder.”

  Radoski puffs out his chest as he lunges for the general’s hand and kisses the general’s cheek. Everyone knows Loder is not exactly his brother-in-law. Their wives are cousins. In the village there were rumours that Sophie Radoski’s family tried to prevent the marriage. Taras can’t imagine what she could have seen in him. Pahns must have been thin on the ground then. People also say his mother promoted the marriage. Now that she’s long dead, though, others question whether Radoski had a mother at all.

  With another badly executed bow, the pahn ushers the general into the house. Now, why has the general bothered to come all this way for an awkward handshake and a kiss on the cheek? Can this be where the garrison soldiers are practising their skills?

  Taras turns Imperator back into the woods.

  CHAPTER 6

  A horse like living smoke

  The next evening Taras’s friends grab him right after supper and let him know they wouldn’t object to hearing a little more of his story. So he tells them about Imperator and about the pahn, and then stops. Myroslav urges him to continue.

  “All right, if you want. The next part is about Batko going to the tavern.”

  “Were you there?” Yuriy asks. Taras shakes his head. “How can you tell us then?”

  “From what my father, Mykola, told me. I’m making a story about it.”

  Yuriy’s not satisfied. “But if you weren’t there?”

  “I can see it all very clearly. Still, if you don’t want to hear...”

  “I don’t know about all of you,” Tymko says, “but I could sure as hell use a story to take my mind off this place.” They nod agreement, Yuriy included.

  Mykola walked to the village tavern, a plain wooden building down the hill from the church, with his friend Yarema Mykytiuk, a man in his forties with a smooth, round face and blue eyes. His brown hair was carefully trimmed, his clothing neat. He had an agreeable look.

  In the lane, laughter and lamplight spilled into the dark.

  “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Yarema said. “We won’t be able to hear ourselves talk.”

  “That’s all right, they won’t be able to hear us either.” Mykola threw open the door.

  About twenty drinkers sat around a half-dozen wooden tables. Mykola and Yarema found a small table beside an old poster they’d seen countless times, advertising Cunard Lines ships and the Canadian Pacific Railway. And the advantages of moving to Canada.

  Isaac Stern, the owner, walked by with a tray of beer and they followed his steps to a nearby table where Halya’s father Viktor sat with a man from the next village. Andriy Kondarenko was a tall, taciturn fellow about Viktor’s age, known as a capable farmer and a man to be avoided if you had a choice. Now how had they wound up together? Viktor didn’t normally come here, in part because no one ever wanted to sit with him, and also because he hated to spend money unless it made him look important.

  Isaac placed the beer on the table and Viktor took out his purse.

  “Viktor Dubrovsky is buying Kondarenko a drink,” Yarema said in mock wonder.

  “Who says miracles don’t happen nowadays?” Mykola replied.

  Two men at the next table overheard him and laughed, slapping their thighs. Pavlo and Lubomyr Heshka, twin brothers in their thirties who shared the small holding they inherited from their parents, looked more than a little drunk.

  “Pavlo!” Lubomyr almost choked on his drink. “Who ever thought we’d be present at a miracle?”

  Pavlo crossed himself. “Pavlo and Lubo, a couple of peasants. We are blessed.”

  Viktor saw them laughing. He couldn’t have heard their words, but he gave them a dirty look on general principle. The laughter died down, and for a moment Mykola and Yarema could make out the carefully lowered voices of Viktor and Kondarenko.

  “I’ll need a few days. I have to borrow some of it.” Kondarenko.

  “Make it quick. I don’t have a lot of time.” Viktor.

  The twins were listening too. “What’s Dubrovsky selling?” Lubomyr asked.

  Pavlo grinned. “Whatever it is, you know who’ll come out ahead. He’d cheat his best friend.”

  “Viktor has no friends,” Lubomyr said. They nearly fell out of their chairs laughing.

  “Never mind friends, then. He’d cheat his own mother.”

  “His mother’s dead.”

  “She was lucky to get away,” Pavlo said. He saw that his beer was almost gone and that this would be a good time to go home. “God, nothing ever changes in this place.”

  Lubomyr noticed Mykola and Yarema reading the railway company poster.

  “Yarema,” he asked, “what do you think? Should we all go to Canada?”

  “Why not? They say the streets are paved with gold.” But Yarema looked skeptical.

  “I could have almost as much land as Radoski,” Lubomyr said. “I’d have respect. I’d be a new man.”

  “New man!” Pavlo said. “Are you crazy? What are you going to do with the old one?” He laughed as only a drunk person who’s made a little joke, and is pleasantly surprised that he’s been able to manage it, can laugh.

  The twins kept getting louder and Viktor was getting annoyed. He drained his beer and pulled back his chair. “We’ll talk again. Right now I want to get out of here. I’m going where I won’t have to drink among fools!”

  Pavlo and Lubo heard, as they were meant to. “At least we’ve got friends!” Lubo said, then wondered for a moment if that was really true; they always sat alone in the tavern.

  Viktor spoke in a low voice to Kondarenko. “Let me know. Soon.”

  Lubomyr checked to see if Isaac was watching – not that he’d care – and took down the tattered handbill. He rolled it up and tucked it away under his vest.

  “In Canada,” he said again, “I could be a new man.”

  Viktor saw the poster vanish and a look crossed his face, a mix of startled outrage and a desperate need to keep silent. Mykola saw it all, wondered what it meant. Yarema too.

  Now why did Viktor care about that poster?And what was he selling Kondarenko?

  “I don’t understand,” Yuriy says. “Why was Viktor in the tavern if he didn’t like going there?”

  Ihor looks thoughtful. “I think there was something going on that he didn’t want his daughter to know. Or Natalka.”

  “Is there more?” Tymko asks a little impatiently.

  “There could be, I suppose,” Taras says. But he’s willing to stop. It’s not as easy as they seem to think to organize all this stuff in his head. He could just stop and smoke.

  “I’m curious about that horse,” Ihor says. “I sure don’t like to see a good horse ruined. What happened there?”

  Taras smiles. “All right, I can tell you that part. The day after my father went to the tavern I was working at the smithy, getting ready to take Imperator back to the pahn. When I had him saddled, I couldn’t put it off any longer and I led him into the lane. At that very moment, an officer from the Chernowitz garrison happened to ride through the village on a bay mare –”

  “What? You remember the horse he was riding?” Tymko asks in disbelief. Tymko is clearly not a horseman.

  “Of course, doesn’
t everybody?” Taras asks innocently.

  “Can’t we let Taras continue?” Myroslav says. “I’d like to know more about this officer.” Tymko makes a sort of huffing sound, but he shuts up.

  “Dobre. Well, the officer reined in the mare right in front of me, blocking my way.”

  “What did he look like?” Tymko wants to know. Probably so he can tell what political class to assign the officer to.

  “Reinhard Krentz,” Taras settles in to the telling, “was a well-groomed man, tall and muscular, with an air of command. He wore the pike-grey Austrian uniform, and his hat was a kepi, a flat-topped cap with a visor. His blonde hair was smooth, his moustache carefully clipped. He greeted me in accented but decent Ukrainian.

  “So what does a peasant need with such a fine horse?”

  “He’s not my horse,” I answered. “And don’t call me a peasant.” All right, I didn’t say the last part, but he could probably see me thinking it.

  “Good. I want him.”

  “He belongs to Pahn Radoski. You’ll have to speak to him, Colonel.” I had a feeling Radoski might not be one of his favourite people, although he was sure to have met him.

  “Dobre, it’s as good as done.”

  “Maybe not, Colonel. The pahn doesn’t like to give up anything he owns.”

  “Very well, we’ll see.”

  I gave him a pleasant nod, mounted Imperator, rode around the mare and trotted down the lane. Krentz waited a moment, then followed me on the bay. I pretended not to see.

  At the crest of the village hill, I saw a dark grey horse in the distance, glowing in the sunlight, tail feathered by the wind. Imperator reared high and when I looked again, the grey horse was gone. I galloped Imperator down the hill. Imagining things. Daydreaming. What would Batko say? I took the trail through the forest and was soon in sight of the pahn’s yard.

  I rode up to the house and dismounted. Radoski appeared in the doorway, smiling in a sneering sort of way. He wore an embroidered vest over a linen sorochka and billowing trousers. Sometimes he liked to amuse himself by wearing Ukrainian things. The village women hated making them, but they always needed the money.

  “So, young man, what do you want at my house?” He knew very well. “Have you finally finished training my horse?”

  “Yes, Pahn, your horse is ready.” I remembered what my father had said and imagined for a moment not getting paid. But I had to stay strong, because I needed his money if I wanted to get married. “Please give me my money.”

  “Not so fast. How do I know he’s properly trained?”

  “Let me show you.” I prepared to remount.

  Radoski grabbed my arm. “I’ll see for myself. Give me a hand.”

  I helped him mount. Radoski yanked the reins, dug his heels hard into Imperator’s flanks. This was as bad as Viktor spitting on the peech. He must have thought he’d spook the horse and then make a big show of bringing him under control. The great rider. He galloped across the lawn, turned back to the house and pulled hard on the reins to stop short. I could almost feel the bit dig into my own mouth. Imperator snorted and pawed the ground.

  “He still needs to know who his master is.” Radoski dismounted, laughing as though he’d made a clever remark. I felt sick, and there wasn’t a single thing I could do. I knew he was planning to say I hadn’t done a good job training Imperator – so he could pay me less.

  Then I saw a man riding up the road. Krentz, of course, on the bay mare. He came right up beside Imperator. As he dismounted, Radoski waved his hand at me like I was some bothersome fly. “Go away. We’ll talk another time.”

  “Dobre dehn, Pahn,” Krentz called out.

  Radoski looked startled at being greeted in Ukrainian. Of course, he was wearing Ukrainian clothes, so what did he expect?

  “That’s a fine horse you have there.” Krentz sounded like the perfect Austrian officer, respectful but sure of himself even in the company of a pahn.

  Radoski puffed up with pride. “Look at that noble head.” He said this in German. “This is a horse a prince would be proud to ride. Or a general. Or an emperor!”

  “Indeed,” Krentz said. “And he’s well trained?”

  “Oh, uh yes. Reasonably so.” I was still standing nearby, so he didn’t like to say any more. Otherwise how could he argue for paying me less?

  “May I?” Krentz took the reins from Radoski, mounted and rode away over the grass. Led the stallion through turns and stops without visible movement. Took him through various gaits and jumped him over an ornamental pool, then walked him back to the house.

  All this time Radoski kept trying to shoo me away, but I pretended not to notice. If the pahn wanted to treat me like a stupid peasant, maybe I’d decide to be deaf, too.

  “Trained?” Krentz said. “A little girl could ride him.” He slipped off the horse.

  “You ride extremely well.” Radoski almost choked on the compliment.

  “I try to ride like a gentleman.” The pahn’s head jerked. Had he just been insulted?

  “Now, I need a horse and I haven’t seen one I like better. Is he for sale?”Krentz took out his purse.

  Radoski turned purplish-red, as if he was trying to pass a hard turd. I could see he wanted to keep this horse so much he could barely breathe. At the same time, he looked longingly at Krentz’s purse because he was always short of money, being, as everyone knew, a bad manager. And he always liked to lick the boots of anyone high up in the army.

  “I, uh, suppose we could talk.” As soon as the words came out, Radoski looked like he wanted to bite off his tongue.

  Krentz nodded in my direction. “Why is this young man standing about?” he asked pleasantly.

  “He’s from the village. An ill-bred fellow. I’ve told him to go.” Radoski was obviously trying to think of a quick and simple way to kill me without anyone noticing.

  “I’ve come to be paid, Pahn. For training the horse.” I edged closer. I brushed Imperator’s forehead to show him how well we got along, and the stallion touched his face to mine.

  “Can’t you see I’m busy?” Anger was making Radoski sweat a lot. He had beads of moisture on his forehead and dark patches on the embroidered vest. But he couldn’t take the time to make me go. Krentz was after Imperator, but Radoski wasn’t sure he wanted to sell.

  “Your price would be what? Perhaps...” Krentz named a generous figure.

  “That would be...uh...excellent.” Radoski struggled to look as though he would have suggested the same figure himself, but it was clearly more than he’d have dared to ask.

  “Good with horses, are you?” Krentz chatted to me, while Radoski was thinking.

  “I hope so, Colonel.”

  Krentz turned to Radoski and fingered his purse. “Of course, if there are charges outstanding –”

  “Don’t worry,” Radoski said. “There’s nothing this oaf can do.”

  “Perhaps not. But as an officer of the Imperial army, I must be seen to respect the law.” Krentz turned toward the bay mare.

  “No, wait.” Radoski pulled out his own purse and counted money into my hand. “Now get out of here.”

  I waited, my hand still out. “The price we agreed on...” With an evil look, Radoski gave me the rest. I imaged Halya watching, saw her smile.

  “Douzhe dyakuyiu, Pahn. Dobre dehn, Colonel.” I nodded to each man and began to walk away, very slowly. When I thought Radoski had forgotten me, I stopped and watched.

  Krentz opened his purse. “Very good, Pahn. Now, I’ve taken a liking to your horse, and you’ve said my offer is ‘excellent.’ I think we have a bargain.”

  “What?” Radoski cried. “That was before I paid that lout.” He noticed me watching. “Get out, I tell you, or I’ll set the dog on you!”

  I moved off a little further, but I could still see and hear everything.

  “I’m sure the pahn would never go back on his word.” Krentz looked grave.

  Radoski’s face got so red I thought his head might explode. �
��No, of course not.” He seemed to be grinding his teeth. He was losing his horse, and looking bad in the bargain.

  Krentz counted out the money into the pahn’s hand. Radoski seemed to be trying not to cry. Krentz took hold of the bridle, stroked the horse’s mane.

  “You’re mine now, my beauty.” Krentz led the bay mare up to Imperator and the stallion edged closer to her, nuzzling her neck. Holding her reins in one hand, Krentz mounted Imperator and took him into an easy walk as the mare kept stride. Called over his shoulder, “Doh pobachenya, Pahn.”

  I began to climb the hill above the house, but I couldn’t resist looking back one last time as the pahn watched his wonderful stallion walk out of the yard. If I could ever have felt sorry for him, it would have been at that moment. But I couldn’t. I admit I enjoyed it. And having the colonel speak to him in Ukrainian must have been the last straw. He kicked at a clump of dirt and smacked his big toe on a rock instead. He waved the toe in the air, holding back curses until it sounded like he was sobbing and cursing all at once. Still I felt no pity.

  “My saddle!” Radoski almost strangled on the words. Krentz hadn’t paid for the saddle! He looked around for someone to take it out on and saw his gardener.

  “Sava!” he yelled.

  I had walked almost up to the forest when Krentz caught up to me and asked if I wanted to ride the mare as far as the village. Naturally I said yes.

  “I forgot to ask,” he said, “what’s my new horse’s name?”

  “Pahn Radoski called him Imperator.” I tried not to let on that I thought it was a stupid name.

  “Doesn’t do him justice. Still, if that’s what he’s used to...”

  We walked the horses through the trees, enjoying the warm sunshine. Back at home, I slid my money between two layers of backing behind the portrait of Shevchenko. Money that would help Halya and me when we got married.

  “Douzhe dobre,” Tymko says. “It’s always satisfying to see a pahn thwarted.”