Andrei and the Snow Walker

by Larry Warwaruk

  It howls again. Somehow it’s different, but with Dido snoring, Andrei can’t be sure. Then he hears something from across the room. It’s Marie. She’s climbed out of her bed. She’s by the fireplace where she wraps the poppy seed roll in a cloth. He hears the shuffle of her sheepskin, the careful creak of the door into the storeroom. She goes outside. Andrei scrapes frost off the window. Moonlight shines on the snow, and Marie steps a path across its whiteness. Andrei thinks he hears the jingle jangle of harness chains, but he’s not sure. One thing he knows, it won’t be Mr. Kuzyk.

  Andrei dreams. He’s digging into a pile of potatoes and pulls out the gold cup. Each potato is a cup, each with a vision of fire blazing from its ruby centre. A red horse chases Andrei across a meadow. Vityr shouldn’t chase him, or is the colt running with him away from the wolves? It’s not wolves, it’s a bear, and it swipes at their backs. “Faster!” Andrei says, and they run to hide in the forest. But from deep in the trees, all at once Snow Walker comes at them. Vityr’s gone. Andrei stumbles, branches snapping at his face. Snap! Snap!

  He wakes to a clatter coming from the storeroom. Sticks of wood are falling on top of each other. Marie is bumping and stepping on pieces of Dido’s loom. She creaks open the door, tiptoes in the dark across the floor to her bed.

  “Marie?”

  “Shhh.”

  “You saw Gabriel?”

  “Shhh. Go to sleep. I’ll tell you in the morning.”

  “I had an awful dream, Marie.”

  “Shhh, don’t wake Mama.”

  But a moment later Mama enters the room. Andrei pretends to be sleeping. Her candle flickers as she proceeds to Marie’s bed. Andrei watches, his feather tick tucked to his chin.

  “Can you sit up?” Mama says in a whisper. “I heard you come in. Where were you?”

  Marie doesn’t answer. All that Andrei hears is Dido’s snoring.

  “Where were you? You think I’m deaf that I can’t hear you sneaking in?”

  “I went to the toilet.”

  “Do you have to lie to your mama?” She pulls the cover back on Marie’s bed. She sees the red skirt, and a buckskin vest.

  “Oi, Marusia. Where did you get that vest? Where were you? You are leaving us, Marusia?”

  Marie swings her feet to the floor. She grabs hold of her pillow, clutching it to her lap. “Marie. My name is Marie, and if you have to know, I was at a dance.”

  “Where at a dance?”

  “At Fish Creek.”

  “There is no hall at Fish Creek.”

  “At Uncle’s Moise’s house.”

  “Since when is he your Uncle Moise?”

  “Gabriel’s Uncle Moise.”

  “You don’t know what you are doing, Marusia. You’re still young with a full life ahead of you. Please stop and think a little. Think of your future.”

  “Future? Here? Mama, I don’t want to marry Wasyl Kuzyk.”

  “If you really don’t want him, maybe think about Petrus. He is coming here. Petrus is a nice Ukrainian boy. You have your family, Marusia. Don’t turn your back on your family.”

  Andrei thinks that Marie has already made up her mind.

  December

  Chapter 19

  Evenings are getting longer. In less than two weeks, it will be the shortest day of the year, and then Christmas. Tato sits on the floor by the fire, a wood mallet in his hand, grinding a cup of poppy seed. Mama sorts kernels of wheat, choosing only the finest. Honey, wheat, and poppy seed will be cooked together for the first dish eaten on Christmas Eve.

  “Do you suppose Petrus will arrive in time for Christmas?” Andrei asks.

  “Maybe he will,” Tato says. “Maybe he won’t. But what will you tell him, Marie?” She doesn’t answer.

  “She’ll have to tell Petrus,” Mama says. “That’s all.”

  “What can she tell him? That she has her eye on Gabriel?”

  “Gabriel? You know better than that. I’m hoping that Marusia will tell him about Wasyl Kuzyk. Without Wasyl Kuzyk, where would we be? He gave us the cow, the hen. Andrei hopes one day to own a fine colt.”

  “And he gave me Brovko,” Andrei says, trying to be helpful. Would Mama force Marie to marry him? She might run away. Andrei wonders if Petrus would fight Gabriel, and who would win? He’s not sure whose side he’s on. He likes Gabriel a whole lot, and even if he is of a different people, what difference should that make? Ukrainians have to change their ways here in Canada and not be so stubborn. Petrus would understand. Besides, he’ll be so busy with a homestead for himself, he won’t have time to even think about Marie. And then if the Holochuk family comes to Canada, there will be more than enough girls to worry about.

  “We have to face facts,” Tato says. “She doesn’t want Kuzyk. The Gabriel fellow is not that bad a catch, even if he’s not Ukrainian. Don’t you think so, Dido? And didn’t a Skomar run off with a Gypsy two hundred years ago? So what if Marie chooses a cowboy instead? But what are we going to tell Petrus?”

  “And Wasyl Kuzyk?” Mama asks. “What will we tell Wasyl Kuzyk? And I wish you’d stop calling Marusia that name.”

  Mama thinks that if the family wants to get ahead, it’s better to start with something, not just empty pockets. “All the things Kuzyk did for us,” Mama says, “and this is how Marusia shows her gratitude.”

  “Don’t be so hard on her,” Tato says. “Canada has all sorts. And if we still lived at our village, would you object if our daughter married a rich Pole?”

  “And what would a priest have to say?” Mama asks. “He would say to live by the laws of God. He would say as the Bible says, that in marriage it is best ‘not to go unevenly yoked.’”

  Marie clears the supper dishes as if nothing has happened. Andrei knows that she’s stubborn, and he’s certain she’s set on Gabriel.

  But now that it’s winter the Baydas have other concerns. They had previously only heard stories about Canadian winters. Now they are getting it first-hand. The temperature remains below freezing, and even before December the river was frozen over. The morning after Tato ground the poppy seed, they set out on the river ice to fish.

  •••

  Dido falls through the ice. He and Tato are setting the net when Dido steps through a muskrat breathing hole and falls into the river. He’s soaked to the waist in the ice-cold water. Tato pulls him out, and they run with him, urging him to keep moving, Andrei and Tato each holding a hand, sometimes dragging Dido on the trail home. The horse, Frank, is pulling a sleigh, but they can’t let Dido ride. Sitting on the sleigh, he’ll freeze before he gets home.

  By the time they’ve covered the three miles to the homestead, Dido’s clothes are frozen solid. For the last mile they’ve had to let him ride. He was encased in his clothes and couldn’t move. When they finally get to the house, Tato carries Dido and lays him on a bench in the east room, smack in front of their new metal stove. Mama loads it to the brim with dry split wood. His teeth chatter as Tato helps him remove his clothes. In a few moments he’s wrapped in a feather-filled bed covering, shivering and thawing out in front of the roaring stove. From there he’s moved to the other room and his sleeping platform over the clay stove.

  Every night and day after this, all Dido does is lie on his warm bed. He coughs and coughs. He eats hot bread and garlic cloves, and Mama rubs his chest with goose grease from the Kuzyks. She covers his chest with mustard plasters, and still Dido coughs. One night Mama boils vinegar in the fireplace, sending the fumes to rise up to Dido atop the clay stove. Andrei sees creases on Mama’s brow.

  “Might Dido die?” Andrei asks.

  “I don’t know,” Mama says.

  Never before has Andrei heard Mama say, “I don’t know,” when someone was sick.

  •••

  It’s been weeks since they’ve seen the Kuzyks. Everyone’s happy, finally to have company. Even Marie smiles when these neighbours stop in on their way back from Rosthern, just two days before Christmas Eve.

  “Christ is born,�
� Mr. Kuzyk says, wiping frost from his moustache.

  “Christ is born,” his mama repeats, unwrapping a wool scarf from her face and neck.

  “He is indeed,” Tato says. “Come in. Come in.”

  He leads them through the door to the east room. Andrei lights the candles on the linen-covered table. The iron stove glows red hot. Tato, Andrei, and Marie sit on rug-covered benches. The Kuzyks sit on the bed, made over to a special couch for day use, perched like statues facing the Baydas. Mama darts back and forth from the kitchen, serving tea, Christmas bread, poppy seed cake, and a small bowl of oranges. They hear Dido coughing from the other room.

  “Dido’s sick,” Mama says.

  “Something contagious?” Mr. Kuzyk asks, coughing himself, and covering his mouth.

  “He fell through the ice at the river,” Tato says. “We were fishing.”

  “Not a good time for swimming,” Mr. Kuzyk says.

  “I hope he recovers soon,” Mrs. Kuzyk says.

  “He’s not a young man anymore,” Tato says.

  “Not like my Wasyl,” Mrs. Kuzyk says. She takes a moment to gaze about the room, showing admiration for the Holy pictures hanging on the walls. “You know,” and here she looks directly at Marie, “January is a good time for a wedding,”

  “You think so?” Tato says. “Marie, go to the cellar. Bring the Christmas wine for the Kuzyks.”

  “January,” Mr. Kuzyk says. “Or the end of December. But for sure not the best time in this country for a cow to have a calf.” He laughs, slapping his knee. “How is the cow?”

  “I worry about it calving this time of the year,” Tato says. “The worst time there could be for a calf to be born.”

  “Christ was born on Christmas Day,” Mr. Kuzyk says.

  “In Israel, where it’s warm,” Tato says.

  “She’s been a good cow,” Mrs. Kuzyk interrupts. “Never any trouble.” She keeps her eyes on the doorway Marie walked through to get to the cellar, then pokes her son in the side. “Wasyl has something to ask of you, Mr. Bayda.”

  Wasyl runs his fingers along his collar, rubbing his neck.

  “It’s time for me...” he says, then pauses. Mrs. Kuzyk raises her head and smiles to everyone in the room. She beams at her son, placing her hands crosswise on her bosom.

  “Aah, aah...” Mr. Kuzyk hesitates. He smiles awkwardly at his mama. She pokes again at his side with her elbow.

  “I tell you, Stefan...aah...” and then he blurts out all at once, “your boy has worked hard with my colt. Maybe by next Christmas I’ll let Andrei try to ride him. If it wasn’t such an expensive horse, I would give it to Andrei, but you know how hard it is to keep your head above water in this farming business.”

  “I’ve taught Vityr how to pull a sled,” Andrei says. He jumps to his feet and grabs an orange. He takes a slice of poppy seed cake, shoving all of it into his mouth. A third time Mrs. Kuzyk elbows her son. He stands up and walks to the table, takes an orange, and then sits back down on a bench against the wall by the stove. Mama frowns. The oranges cost thirty-five cents for twelve. She’d scolded Tato for squandering money on something she’d never seen before. “It’s Christmas,” he’d told her. Andrei wonders if there will be any left for Christmas Eve tomorrow. Mr. Kuzyk sucks on the orange. He lifts his head and stares across the room, above the candles to the Holy pictures.

  Once more he blurts. “I would like the hand of your...”

  At that moment Marie comes up from the cellar and into the room. The wine jug slips from her grasp but she catches it with her other hand. She stands in the middle of the floor, everyone watching to see her reaction to Mr. Kuzyk’s request. She swallows, then blurts out a question.

  “Did you see Petrus Shumka at Rosthern?” she asks. “He was to arrive on the train today. He said in his letter...”

  Mr. Kuzyk’s face turns red and he sweats from the heat radiating off the stove.

  “There were so many at the station,” Mrs. Kuzyk says.

  That’s strange, Andrei thinks. Mr. Kuzyk knows very well that Petrus is coming to Canada. Everybody in the district knows.

  “You must have seen him,” Tato says. “There wouldn’t be that many immigrants arriving this time of the year.”

  Mrs. Kuzyk frowns at her son and then smiles at Mama. “Your poppy seed cake is delicious, Mrs. Bayda.”

  Mama looks back and forth from Mrs. Kuzyk on the couch to Wasyl by the hot stove. “Were there many, or weren’t there many?” she asks.

  “Frenchmen,” Mr. Kuzyk says. “I think they were all Frenchmen going to Bellevue.”

  “If they were going to Bellevue,” Tato says, “they would get off the train at Duck Lake.”

  “Was there one young man?” Marie asks. “Dressed like a Ukrainian?”

  “More than one young man,” Mrs. Kuzyk says. “How would we know how they dress?”

  “Can’t you see?” Marie asks. “Petrus said he would be here today. If he didn’t come today, he might come tomorrow.”

  Mr. Kuzyk sucks once more on his orange. The next moment he starts to cough. His face turns redder and his whole body shakes. Tato hurries to him with a glass of wine. He drinks, wipes his brow, and hands back the empty glass.

  “I talked to someone,” Mr. Kuzyk says. “I think he might have said he came from district Horodenka.”

  “Horodenka?” Mama asks.

  “Said he was going to find somebody’s place. I don’t know if he might have said Baydas. Mama was in a hurry. I didn’t listen.”

  “Did he ask where to go?” Tato stands over Mr. Kuzyk, his hand and empty glass bobbing slowly up and down.

  “He came with us as far as the river. Maybe he said Bayda. Aren’t there Baydas north of Fish Creek? I told him to go north.”

  “You did what?” Tato asks. “He could get lost up there!”

  “North?” Marie says. “North? Why would you tell him that? This isn’t Horodenka. Here there are miles and miles of nothing but bush. Petrus could be lost. He could freeze before he’d find anybody.”

  “That’s on the way to Batoche,” Andrei says. “Maybe Petrus will run into Chi Pete.”

  “Wasyl,” Tato says, pointing a finger at Mr. Kuzyk, standing over him where he sits red-faced. Mr. Kuzyk coughs, glances over to his mother, peeks at Marie, then peers down at the floor.

  “To go north is not miles and miles of nothing,” Mr. Kuzyk says. “There are French people along the river all the way past Batoche. Gabriel’s people are there. If it is this Petrus, he might even find some work to do there. Something temporary. What’s wrong with that? Who here among us can afford to feed someone all winter?”

  Mr. Kuzyk’s face keeps getting redder and redder. He glances from his mother to the door.

  “I have chores to do at home,” he says.

  “Yes,” Tato says. “You better go.”

  Chapter 20

  More snow has fallen through the night. The morning sky looms high and clear, tinged a metallic blue-grey. The air is absolutely still. A woodpecker rattles on a tree somewhere near. A mouse runs a ridge through the snow, on top yet not on top, a rolling line on its way to the trees and disappearing. Andrei takes a frozen fish from the crate stored in the buda and calls for the dog.

  “Here, Brovko! Here, Brovko, Brovko!” He calls several times. Finally the dog appears straggling from the barn, hair over his eyes, head low to the ground, ears laid back, tail dragging, wagging feebly through the snow, as if the dog knows something is going to happen. A change in the weather. Something dangerous. It takes the fish in its mouth and scurries back to the barn.

  Andrei will take Vityr with him to go look for Petrus. The venture will at least help take his mind off Dido’s sickness. The spirit of Christmas is dim. Before Dido got sick, everyone so looked forward to Christmas in Canada. But now it’s constant worry. Last night Mama scolded, “We’ve had things too good.” She even scolded Tato. “When we left our comfortable home, you thought we were going to a land of milk and honey. He
re we don’t even have a graveyard.”

  Christmas has made everybody a little bit lonely for the old homeland. And now Dido might die. Andrei has always gone with questions to his dido. The two of them share the secret of the cup, and Andrei wants his dido with him to learn more of its magic. What could Andrei possibly do all by himself?

  Last night Dido’s cough gurgled, and he spit blood. Mama killed one of the young chickens and made a broth for him. She tried the ancient remedies; prayed as she melted wax into a cup of water held over his head. Nothing worked. She said that misfortune was fully upon them. She had looked forward to seeing Petrus, to hear first-hand news from the home village, and now where was he? Probably lost somewhere in the bush. Mama heated a bag of damp barley in the oven. She gave it to Andrei to lay over Dido’s throat. She thought the added heat might break his fever.

  Dido’s head turned to Andrei’s ear. “The cup, Andrei.”

  •••

  This morning Andrei’s draped in Dido’s sheepskin coat.

  “Where are you going?” Mama asks from the doorstep as he follows Brovko’s tracks to the barn.

  “Vityr and I are going with the sled. There’s lots of snow for a good ride. I’m going to check the rabbit snares.” He doesn’t mention the cup.

  “And look for Petrus?” Mama asks. “Do you think you should go? Don’t you think Petrus will find somebody who knows where we live?”

  She sweeps snow from the step, then peers up at the sky, and at the white snow all around. She asks again, “Do you think somebody will tell him where we live?” The creases on her brow are more pronounced than ever.

  •••

  An odd snowflake falls. The blue-grey dome of sky seems a shade darker. Bundled in the heavy sheepskin, and with the black and white and grey leafless trees hovering on each side of the narrow trail, Andrei feels closed in.