Andrei and the Snow Walker

by Larry Warwaruk

  “I told him we had no money. He said not to worry. He said to pay when we can. If it takes one year, two years. Maybe the cow will have a heifer calf. He could take the calf, he said.”

  Once inside the buda, Mama asks questions. “How much money did you bring? You didn’t buy a plough? What good is an ox without a plough?”

  “We spent it all. Don’t you remember Sam Zitchka? I still owe him. He sold us the team and wagon. And two more bags of flour. This took all our money. Is there anything to eat?”

  Andrei, Tato, and Dido sit around the big chest that serves as their table.

  “Off with your elbows,” Mama says, and she lifts the lid, reaching inside for a loaf of bread. “Cream, Marusia. Go to the well. And cottage cheese...”

  “I might get a horse,” Andrei says. “Wasyl Kuzyk’s favourite mare has a colt. You should see it, Dido.”

  “Oh?” A mosquito buzzes in circles over Dido’s forearm. He waits until it lands, watches for a moment, then swats it. “A magnificent horse? Fit for a Cossack prince?”

  “A colt?” Tato asks. “And how will you pay for it? We don’t need a fancy horse. Now, a draft horse would be something else.”

  “I worked for Mr. Kuzyk,” Andrei says. “Marie and I can go back later at harvest time to stook.”

  “Marie?” Tato asks.

  “She changed her name. She doesn’t want to be called Marusia. She wants to be more Canadian.”

  “Oh? And you say Wasyl Kuzyk wants the both of you at harvest time? Who will help Mama?”

  “What’s to harvest?” Andrei says. “Vegetables. The only grain is one small plot of wheat and barley, to save the seed for next year.”

  “Mr. Kuzyk comes here often,” Mama says. “He is rich like a pahn landlord.”

  “Dido and I will be going back to Klassen’s for harvest. Maybe then I can buy the plough. Maybe pay the rest of our debt to Sam Zitchka. Wasyl Kuzyk’s cow might have to wait.”

  “Mr. Kuzyk’s in no hurry for money,” Mama says. “And look what your daughter is serving you.”

  Marie sets down a bowl of moose jerky stewed with mushrooms, cream, and green onion tops. She serves cottage cheese, bread and butter, and a pitcher of thick sour milk. Andrei watches as Tato takes mouthful after mouthful of stew. He observes the slight trace of a smile on Tato’s lips.

  “Give Dido a piece of the dry meat,” Andrei says. “Remember Gabriel the wagon driver? He came hunting here. We shot a moose. We cut it up. We made a smudge fire here in the yard to smoke the meat and dry it.”

  Dido chews and chews. He doesn’t have many teeth, making his lips, chin, cheeks, and moustache roll around in circles. Finally he swallows.

  Andrei wants to know about Dido’s horse. It’s not much of a horse...more like a plug when compared to Kuzyk’s colt.

  “Where did you get that horse?”

  Dido dips a piece of bread into his plate of mushrooms, mopping the food to his mouth.

  “I got it from the Mennonite. I put new shoes on four of his draft horses and he gave me Frank.”

  “Frank?” Andrei asks. “That’s a horse’s name?”

  “Frank. That’s it,” Dido says.

  “How old is he?”

  “Old enough. Just like your Dido.” And he sops up more of his mushrooms.

  “How long are you home for?” Mama asks. “Will the house get built before winter, or will we have to live in this cave?”

  “We have until stooking time,” Tato says. “Three weeks. We can start squaring logs. When we leave, you and the children can square some more. Can’t you, Marie?” Andrei’s sister can’t help but grin at the sound of her new name coming from Tato.

  “Marusia has something to ask you,” Mama says.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Marie? Marusia?” Tato turns his head toward his daughter, who is standing in the dark corner by the clay stove, as far away as possible.

  “She has the opportunity to be a pahnia.” Mama wipes crumbs from the table, under their very noses.

  “Kuzyk?” Tato says. “He gave us a cow.”

  “You have to pay for it,” Marie says.

  “That’s true. If not now, some time in the future.”

  “Some time in the future he could even be dead. He’s always coughing. By his looks, he must be older than you are, Tato.”

  “But a cow...?”

  “And the colt,” Andrei says. “He’s more than four months old. Mr. Kuzyk says that whenever I have time I can be training it. He says by Christmas time I might teach it to pull a sled. By next spring I can take a thirty-foot rope and run the horse in a circle. He might even grow big enough by then for me to get on his back.”

  Tato wipes his moustache and laughs out loud, all at the same time. “That would be some trade. A young bride for Kuzyk in return for a horse. Who knows what this Kuzyk might do? If we hold out, he might toss in a breaking plough.”

  In her dark corner, Marie curls down to the floor. She buries her face in the folds of her apron and sobs.

  “Don’t cry,” Tato says. He reaches out to her, but she shrinks from his touch. “Oh, Marie. You never know. Maybe Petrus Shumka will sail to Canada. Maybe he will buy a horse and ride into our yard like a Cossack prince. He will sweep you into his arms and race away.”

  “A Cossack,” Dido says. He takes up his flute. Stroking it once, he puts it to his mouth and plays. He sounds the notes to an old song, making the music light and happy. Then he sets the instrument down and sings these words to the tune of the Hetman Bayda:

  Petrus I love, love him so well

  But I’m afraid, afraid to tell!

  Oh, the trouble he gives with eyes so bright,

  Black moustache and skin so white!

  Marie wipes tears, glancing up at her grandfather.

  “Don’t be so silly, Dido.” And then she pouts with her lips, sticks out her tongue, and finally smiles. Even Mama smiles, and out in the yard, Brovko barks and yips.

  “Someone’s here,” Andrei says, and he rushes to see who it is. Standing out by the shallow well is the black horse Raven. He neighs, tossing his head up and down. Gabriel Desjarlais pats him on the neck and dismounts.

  Chapter 10

  “It’s Gabriel.” Andrei holds the door open. “Dido! Tato! Gabriel is here. He hunts moose, and he showed me how.”

  “How many times have you told us already?” Tato says. He sits at the table with Mama standing at his shoulder. Marie backs off to a dark corner where Dido sits on a stump, carving something from birchwood.

  “Come in, come in,” Tato says. “Close the door, Andrei. Before the mosquitoes eat us.”

  “Humid,” Gabriel says. “You could cut the air with a knife. Nothing better, for mosquitoes.” He holds his wide-brimmed hat in his hand.

  “Sit. Sit down here,” Tato says. “Hey, Marie. Bring a dish of mushrooms for Gabriel. You’d like a small drink, maybe?”

  “I could rub it on my face to keep the mosquitoes away.”

  “Or make them drunk. Come on,” Tato says, “a drink to your health.”

  “A little one,” Gabriel says.

  Mama takes the sealer of whiskey down from the shelf and sets it on the table. Tato pours a small glass.

  “To God,” Gabriel says. He drinks then coughs into his hand.

  “To God,” Tato answers, as he pours half a glass for himself. “How is the ferry business? I didn’t see you this morning.”

  “We’re selling our place at Fish Creek.”

  “Selling it? Why would you sell?”

  “My father is selling it. He wants to be closer to our people. Even Uncle Moise has moved north. He’s running the ferry now at Batoche. I shouldn’t say this, but he thinks there are too many of your people coming to Fish Creek. He wants to be closer to the French at Bellevue.”

  Marie’s hand shakes as she pours tea into tin cups. Mama slices more bread. “Go ahead,” she tells Gabriel, pushing the pitcher of sour milk toward his plate. “Eat! Ea
t! And some of your moose meat.”

  “So what brings you here to our mosquitoes?” Tato asks.

  “The day we were hunting,” Gabriel says, smiling at Andrei, “I promised your son I’d take him to the fair, to the St. Joseph Celebrations at Batoche. Two weeks from last Sunday.” Gabriel glances at Marie. “As a matter of fact, maybe your daughter might like to come along with us.”

  Mama swipes up crumbs. “St. Joseph’s Day? Isn’t that in the spring? At our village church, St. Joseph’s Day was celebrated early in the spring.”

  “Louis Riel changed it,” Gabriel says. “All the people are at the Batoche celebrations every year on the twenty-fourth of July. Mr. Letendre’s birthday.”

  “Who is Mr. Letendre?” Tato asks.

  “One of our leaders,” Gabriel says. “His nickname, Batoche. And the settlement is also named Batoche. So the celebrations are held on his birthday. And then Louis Riel must have thought, why not celebrate St. Joseph’s Day when all the people are already there? Louis Riel was a very religious man.”

  “And he could change the dates for the Holy Days of the Church. Just like the Roman calendar does with Pentecost,” Mama says.

  “Don’t forget Easter,” Tato says.

  Mama frowns and directs Marie to clear the dishes from the table.

  “There’s even a midway,” Gabriel says. “Prince Albert Fair was on Saturday. They had an outfit from the States and it’s coming to Batoche. Monkeys and everything.”

  “Can I go? Can I go?” Andrei asks. “Dido, say it’s okay.”

  “Why are you asking Dido?” Mama says. “It’s not up to him.”

  “I can be here to get them,” Gabriel says. “In twelve days. At dawn Sunday morning. We want to be on time for Mass and the procession of the banner of St. Joseph. The Adoration of the Holy Sacrament. In the afternoon there’ll be horse races and foot races.” He turns his full attention to Marie. “They have craft displays...crochet work, embroidery, hooked rugs, sashes...” Then he takes notice of Dido Danylo in the corner by the clay stove, still carving on his piece of birch. “They have tug-of-wars, firearm shooting, arm wrestling, music,

  and dancing.” Gabriel stands and walks to the door. “I can’t stay long. We’re not finished putting up hay. So what do

  you think? In twelve days?”

  Tato shrugs his shoulders and glances at Mama.

  “We have no money to spend playing games,” she says. “No money for monkeys.”

  “They don’t need money,” Gabriel says. “Who knows, Andrei might even win some at the foot races.”

  There is no stopping Andrei. He can’t sit still. He will beg until his parents have to give in. He will run off without permission. He will go to work for Wasyl Kuzyk and nobody can tell him what he can or can’t do.

  “It would be an adventure,” Dido Danylo says. “I might even jump on Frank and go see for myself.”

  “We are squaring logs,” Mama says. “For the new house tomorrow, remember?”

  “Marusia,” Tato asks, looking at her, then over to his wife, “do you want to go?”

  “It might be fun,” she says. “I haven’t been anywhere. I hilled the potatoes yesterday...”

  “The cranberries have to be picked,” Mama says.

  “Mama,” Marie says, “for goodness sake! Have the cranberries even finished blooming?”

  “But two weeks from now?”

  “Green,” Tato says. “Highbush cranberries are better picked after a frost in the fall. You know that, Paraska.” She has to nod her head, only slightly, but she has to nod all the same. Highbush cranberries are not something new to her. Not new to anyone who comes from Ukraine. She’s even said in teasing that highbush cranberry trees and mushrooms are the only good reasons a person has to stay in this godforsaken land.

  The awaited Sunday morning arrives. Now that they’re finally on the trail, the scent of poplar both calms and excites Andrei. He rides in the back of the Desjarlais buggy, Raven harnessed to the traces. High up in the trees a slight breeze and fresh clean sunlight alter the leaves from green to silver.

  “The Cree call these trees noisy leaf,” Gabriel says. He wears a buckskin jacket with fringes on the sleeves, and five brass buttons. Down the front on each side of the buttons runs a beadwork flower. The long stems are black, with green leaves sprouting the whole length, and coloured petals, some red, some a light blue. Another flower with the same colours is beaded on his breast pocket. Andrei’s glad that his sister has dressed up.

  She wears a red skirt embroidered white, green, yellow, and black in a broad strip along the bottom...squares and stars, flowers and wavy lines. Her black half-apron is tied at the waist with a knitted sash of white, black, and grey. Her full-sleeved white blouse gathers at her wrists and at the neck, and is embroidered just below each shoulder. Five strands of coral beads drape to her bustline. On her head is a black velvet tight-fitting cap embroidered all over with red flowers, and bordered all around with a silver-grey ribbon. Marie’s complexion, tanned from working in the garden, has a golden-brown hue somewhat like Gabriel’s. Her face is round and full, with red lips and straight white teeth, deep brown eyes the colour of her hair, and out on this adventure she wears a smile that makes her all the more beautiful.

  But best of all her apparel are the moccasins, red-dyed soft leather, that ride halfway to her knees. Gabriel brought them this morning as a gift. His mother makes them. She boils the bark of red willow to give the leather its colour. She wins prizes for her work and she will have moccasins, beaded deerskin coats, and sashes on display at the fair.

  When they reach Fish Creek, they follow the trail which runs north along the river. For most of the way, the deep green billows of shrubs and walls of poplar forest block Andrei’s vision, but once in a while the foliage breaks away to open stretches of grass. Here he sees far down to the winding blue ribbon of water. Across the river, the lush green pillows of forest roll up the west bank. A grey haze shimmers through these green banks. In these moments of open prairie and far horizons, Andrei’s spellbound. In his village he could look away to the foothills of the Carpathians, but here the landscape spreads forever. Even the mosquitoes are bearable, but Gabriel has a smudge pail ready just in case.

  Closer to Batoche the open spaces are more frequent. Poplar forest spreads about in clumps, dotting here and there among the stretches of hilly grassland. Andrei sees more of the river, and soon the silver glint of the Batoche church steeple rises behind a cover of trees. A bell rings.

  “Marie Alberta Julianna calls us,” Gabriel says.

  “Marie?” Andrei asks.

  “The church bell. There used to be another one. Marie Antoinette.”

  Marie smiles. “Why two? And why both named Marie?”

  “The English stole the first one. There was some fighting and the English took Marie Antoinette from the church.” He points toward the river to the white crosses of a graveyard. “Many were killed in the fighting. You will see bullet holes in the church. I was three years old and I remember Uncle Moise coming home, his shoulder bleeding from the gunshot.”

  Andrei stares back to the crosses.

  Carriages and two-wheeled carts pulled by horses and oxen fall in from three directions heading for the church. Teams are tied in the shade of trees and people funnel into the church. Andrei can see the bullet holes on the wall. People assemble together in crowds along this wall, and out front. A man in a black suit and black leather boots waves to Gabriel from the steps.

  “That’s Uncle Moise,” Gabriel says. “He’s found room for us inside.”

  “He doesn’t look the same,” Andrei says.

  “Dressed up for church,” Gabriel says.

  The pews are packed with people. Moise leads Gabriel, Marie, and Andrei in a line, close to the front. He points with his good arm, flicking the fingers of his hand, and three boys Andrei’s age, one of them Chi Pete, step over legs and squeeze themselves forward out of the pew into the aisle. Chi Pete sh
rugs his shoulders and waves, then bumps into the black iron stove as wide as a coffin sitting five feet from the communion rail. Its pipe rises ten feet straight up, bends to the middle of the church, then rises again, straight up through the roof. The uncle whispers in Chi Pete’s ear, then pulls him by the shoulder out the door.

  Andrei glances at Gabriel.

  “You’ll catch up with him later this afternoon,” Gabriel says. “At the fairgrounds. Right now he has to help with the Procession.”

  The mass lasts for two hours. On the way to Batoche, Gabriel had said that everything but the sermon would be in Latin. The sermon would be French. He said that they wouldn’t want to hear Father Moulin anyway. All he ever preached about were the evils of liquor, dancing, fiddle playing, cards, and pool.

  Many things are familiar to Andrei. Holy pictures adorn the walls. Candles burn on the altar. The priest dresses in a golden robe and he makes the sign of the cross, maybe not always repeated three times in a row like Ukrainians do, but still it’s the sign of the cross. What is most familiar is the incense. The priest carries the brass burner on a chain, and he swings it every chance he gets.

  He parts the golden curtains on the centre of the altar. Out of the tabernacle comes a golden cup. He lifts a white wafer out of the cup and holds it in his fingers above his head. He lays it on a silver plate and three times swings the incense burner. He walks to a side table and comes back holding a brass sunburst. He opens the small, round glass door at the centre of the sunburst, placing the wafer inside. He sets it on the altar and again wafts incense, from the left, the front, and from the right.

  Uncle Moise comes to the front holding a silver crucifix mounted on a five-foot pole supported on a belt around his waist.

  “In spite of his bad arm,” Gabriel whispers, “Uncle Moise will play the fiddle tonight. After all these years, he’s got some feeling back in three of his fingers, though he still can’t lift the bad arm above his head.”

  Another man follows Moise, carrying the banner of St. Joseph. Four boys, including Chi Pete, stand ready with lighted candles. Finally they are going outside to the fresh air.