by Jason Graff
“Do you mean to keep it that way?” Aberama asked as he raised his fists.
“I mean to do what’s best for the girl,” Rye replied. “She is my child in every way that matters.”
Wearily, Rye slid from the bench but refused to raise his hands. In a calm voice, he protested that they were both too drunk and would regret their foolishness should they fall into brawling. The past, he wanted left in the past, he said.
Aberama turned with a shrug, then spun back around with an elbow for Rye that knocked the smaller man to the ground. He quickly leapt to his feet, and they began to grapple. Over the table they went, spilling mugs of wine and sending food flying to the ground. Papa and some of the others jumped in to separate them. It took three elders to keep hold of Aberama for he was fearsome when full of wine.
Though he looked as much animal as man with a crooked nose and sloped brow, Aberama had known and even laid down with many of the women in our kumpania. He had once even vied with Papa for Mama’s hand. Their rivalry had grown so intense that, as the story went, it was decided the dispute could only be settled by our kumpania’s oldest and, if I may say, most barbaric customs. The two suitors, along with the camp elders, went to a designated spot far from camp, nearly a day’s hike. Along the way, the two were repeatedly encouraged to attempt to talk out the misunderstanding, but no words were exchanged between those two that day. With the matter still not settled by sundown, they then stood at either side of a circle formed by the other men and prepared to exchange blows. Papa, who I had always known to be firm but gentle, was said to have felled the muscled brute with first a blow to the midsection, which robbed Aberama of his wind, then a large swinging right hand that shattered his nose, leaving him with the crooked beak that marked him for the rest of his days. From then on, the two men gave each other as wide a birth as close living in a kumpania such of ours allowed.
By the time the other elders had pulled Rye and Aberama apart, Papa was dragging me away from the banquet table back down the path that led to camp. At first, I dragged my feet, trying to resist, but he proved still too strong for me. As we walked on, I spotted a dark-headed figure whom I knew at once to be my Fifika, wandering up a path that led into the mountains.
Even from the hundred or so yards that separated us, I could clearly hear her singing a song to herself, for my true love has always possessed the kind of voice that travels well. Feeling a stronger dose of the same sensation that I had experienced back in Jofranka, I wanted to call out to her. The experiments love performs on a young heart are strange: one moment they make a boy feel as though he could burst into song, only to even more quickly turn him into a cowering mute, unable to utter a single intelligible syllable. Having lapsed into the latter condition, I could only watch as Fifika disappeared up into a narrow path, into the shroud of air that seemed to lay eternally upon one part or another of the mountains and valleys of that land no matter the time of day.
Not much later, as evening approached, I heard the elders gathering near our vardo, murmuring in sharp breaths. By the time I made my way near their circle, they were breaking up. Papa told me that a girl had gone out to pick flowers and was now missing. He and the other elders were forming a search party to look for her. When I asked if I could go, he didn’t reply.
“But I saw her, I saw her on the mountain path,” I said.
“Did you?” Papa asked, bending down to look me in the eyes.
“Yes, when you were taking me home. I wanted to break free and follow her but…”
“I told you not to go on those paths alone.”
“I know, Papa.”
“They are dangerous. This land is…is…unknown land to us.”
“I know Papa, I know.”
“Show us,” he said and pulled me by the arm over to the party of men waiting at the edge of the camp.
“He can’t come,” said Aberama, pointing at me. The scowl he had worn during his altercation with Rye had not gone away.
“He saw where the girl went,” Papa said. “He might be able to lead us to her.”
“You should leave your knives here,” I said to Papa, spying an ivory handle peeking over its leather sheath.
“Wolves prowl these lands, boy,” Rye said. “We are not going up into that cursed mist without protection.”
“But the count said…”
“The count can go to the devil,” Aberama said, then gazed up at the moon, which was only but a sliver, glowing ghostly in the late afternoon sky. A strange expression came over his face, he began to shake a little and brought his hands to his face as if to feel at his teeth. “And so can you lot. I have better things to do than parade up into the twilight like so much wolf bait.”
“Just as I suspected, when he is drinking, he is everyone’s father,” Rye said. “But give him the chance to actually act like a man, to be a father and protector, and he suddenly has better things to do.”
“You know nothing,” Aberama said and approached Rye again with his fists raised.
“Enough,” said Papa, stepping between them. “This won’t show the way to the girl.”
Papa gave them a look that I was unaccustomed to seeing. His jaw slid forward and sat trembling; his nostrils flared and blew hot steam into the heavy air. Aberama appeared unimpressed, smiling at Papa, showing his broken, black teeth. He let out a kind of growl through his clenched teeth and slipped away.
Some of the fog had lifted by that time and in the twilight, we were able to pick our way along the trail at a fairly good clip. There was some grumbling from the men that we should be moving faster. Papa made no reply to these demands but instead laid a gentle hand on my shoulder and encouraged me to keep leading.
A ways up the path, we came upon a wolf cub who appeared to have been separated from its mother. It was frightened, its eyes deep and wanting. Its weary attempt at a howl was more pathetic than a yelp from the scrawniest camp dog. Rye and another of the elders approached it, daggers drawn, but I threw myself between them and their prey. Papa reached as if to pull me away, but I flashed him a hard look that mimicked the same one he’d just given Aberama. He nodded at me as though accepting my determination and came to stand by my side.
“What do you think you are doing?” I asked.
“Killing that dangerous animal before it gets its teeth into the girl, if it hasn’t already,” Rye said.
“But it’s just a cub. It wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“The boy thinks he can read the mind of a beast,” Boval scoffed. “A cub too soon becomes a wolf.”
“Step aside, boy,” said Rye, moving closer and brandishing his dagger.
“He sounds like a wise young man,” the count said, stepping through the mist as though appearing from behind a curtain.
“Dear Boyar,” Papa said, leading the men in the bowing of their heads, “we seek a young girl who was last seen somewhere along this path.”
“A young girl, you say?”
“Yes, Count.”
“Does she have dark hair? Hair the color the underside of a nighthawk’s wings and bright eyes?”
“Yes,” said Rye. “Tell us, dear Count, have you seen her?”
“I believe you will find that the child has returned home with some wildflowers for her beloved mother.”
“How could that be?” Rye asked. “She would have had to pass us either at camp or somewhere here along the trail.”
“Those who are unafraid of them can move best in the shadows,” replied the boyar, who then disappeared back into the mist.
With Rye now in the lead, the men raced back down the path. I had to hurry to keep up with them. When we came to Rye’s vardo, we found Fifika and her mother sitting on the wagon steps, the girl braiding wildflowers into her mama’s hair. She had the slyest of grins on her face.
“Fifika,” Rye hissed. “We were all up there searching for you. We risked our lives to find you. Ungrateful whelp!”
“I wasn’t lost, old man,” she said, her eyes not lifti
ng from the task at hand.
“And you,” he said to Fifika’s mother, “how could you let your own daughter out on her own like that?”
“She did not wander away. She went with my blessing to find wildflowers,” her mother said. The bangles about her wrist shimmered as she waved him away.
C
hapter Three
A couple of days later, Fifika’s mother paid us a visit. She came to thank me for escorting the search party, although she laughed again about how unnecessary it was. She told me that Fifika was my duty now, that her husband said he would be relieved if I were to check in on her daughter from time to time. Their oldest son would be helping in moving earth from beneath the castle of the boyar and could not, therefore, look after the girl in a manner that would satisfy Rye.
I could not believe my luck. The very girl I had been searching for since we had fled Jofranka was now in my charge. Taking my duty seriously, I puffed out my chest and went to check on Fifika the very next day. I found her lying beneath her family’s vardo. One hand pushed a book into the grass while the other supported her head. Her skirt was bunched up under her a bit, revealing a tantalizing peek of her legs. Unable to do anything for a moment but stare at the milky perfection of her flesh, I felt a flush run hot over my entire body. My mouth watered from dryness, and I felt dizzy.
Luckily, she did not notice me, giving me time to steady myself. Grinding my newfound feeling of excitement into the ground, I crawled like a snake to lie next to her. Her dark eyes made me tremble inside my bones. The flush I had felt rising to my skin a second ago was replaced by goosebumps. My love has never lost that look, that ability to make a man shiver simply from the black ice of her glaze. I pretended not to notice and lay there on my belly glancing from her to the boots of the men passing by.
“What are you doing?” she asked, finally.
“Your mother thought I should come watch over you.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirteen. How old are you?” I replied, hoping it was a sign that the conversation had turned friendly.
“Thirteen as well,” she said. “I should be watching you.”
“Don’t you mean that since we are the same age we should watch over each other?”
“No, I meant what I say. Girls become wise much faster than boys.”
“How’s that?”
“Men are stupid well beyond the time a girl is wise,” she said. “I am now a woman, and you but a boy. So while we might be same number of years, we are not the same age.”
“I will soon be a man,” I said, a declaration undone a bit by an embarrassing crack in my voice that broke the word “soon” in two.
“Soon. I can see,” she laughed. “My brother, Chik. You know him?”
“Yes,” I said. “I know the name.”
“Twice your age, Chik’s twenty-six, and two nights ago, he got drunk and decided to go wolf hunting because he thought men would respect him more if he wore wolf pelt. He came home cold and bloodied and lucky to be alive.”
“Our kumpania should not bother the wolves,” I said. “That way they will not bother us.”
“Chik is less wise than even you,” she said. “We should not fear them. They mean us no harm. Did you see that wolf cub when you brought that group of old men to find me?”
“Yes,” I said. “Did you?”
“I couldn’t miss her,” Fifika replied with a tone that seemed mocking. “Were you afraid of her? Be truthful.”
“No.”
“You lie. You were, at first. I know.”
“How?” I asked.
She smiled at me then turned away.
“It was testing its own limits,” she said, “to see how far it could get from its mother before it felt fear.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“The same way you know that they won’t bother us if we don’t bother them.”
“I’m not sure I know that, I just…”
“Know what the boyar told you? No, you know. Don’t be afraid.”
I gave her a look, one that that was so serious that I felt as though my soul stirred in my eyes. She smiled again, but this was the smile that I would later learn was reserved for those who tried too hard to assure her of things she already knew.
That night, I sat up listening to the wolves braying at the full moon, thinking of Fifika. The notes of love hidden in the songs of those noble beasts stirred me greatly. For the first time, Mama’s whimpering at their calls made me a little sick with pity for her and her senseless fear.
Even though it was apparent that Fifika didn’t want me or anyone to keep watch over her, I went back to do just that the very next day. Again, I found her reading a book while lying in the soft clovers beneath her family’s vardo. This time when I went to lay next to her, however, Fifika squirmed from beneath the wagon. I kept crawling until I had traversed the distance and was, too, on the other side of it, the side that faced the black cliffs of the Carpathians.
“You say you are not afraid,” she challenged and tossed her book to the side so she could retie the gold ribbon that held back her hair.
“Afraid?” I asked, feeling the wind rush down the mountain and through me.
“Afraid,” she said. “Afraid of this place, afraid of the wolves, afraid of…” Here, she swept her hand towards the mountains and cocked her head to glare at me. “Follow me, if you truly do not feel fear.”
I did, as I have done for most of my life since, exactly as she instructed. I tried to keep up. It was not until we were there at the side of the cliff that the moss-covered path disclosed itself. She did not turn to see if I would follow, but instead began climbing even more quickly, for she knew that route well.
Sometimes, the path was narrow, and I had to put one foot in front of the other as though I was attempting to walk a wire. Higher and higher we climbed, soon coming to a place where the fog gathered and rolled itself into one thick cloud that was floating down onto the land. I bit my tongue to keep from calling her name and asking her to wait. I knew my voice would be too full of the childish anguish that was causing my heart to race and causing me to doubt my own bravery. I managed not to bother her with even the slightest complaint the entire hike. My reward for being so brave and fighting every instinct creaking in my young bones, for only flinching at the wolves, who began to bray as we climbed down the path in the quickly fading twilight, was to be invited back for more of the same the next day.
We soon made a habit of those rambles into the mountains. Fifika was always searching for ways to go higher than we had before. Over time, I became less and less afraid, feeling strong and invulnerable with that angel leading me. My nerves even stopped jangling quite so much; my bones creaked less and less. Bravery, in the presence of my love, began to prove easy to summon.
One day, later in the spring, we set out on our usual route in hopes of finding a path that might lead us to the top of the great black mountain that sat directly behind the count’s castle. Its peak was eternally shrouded as though endeavoring to keep secrets from the land. Our childish logic did not allow for the likely fact that it was miles away, for we felt certain each path was connected to another, all interlocking so that the range of black rock far in the distance must have been a part of the same dark puzzle as that which surrounded us.
How foolish the dreams I concocted of us arriving at that desired peak proved to be. For in them, I allowed myself a sense of conquest and would take Fifika in my arms and lay upon her lips the kind of kiss that would convince her that I was a man. In such fantasies, I was always so bold and brave. Back on the firm ground of reality, I simply followed her and tried to not complain too much. For hours, we picked our way along the narrow mountain path. Though my legs grew weary and almost numb, I had trained myself so well against complaining by then that I grew irritated at my own body for bothering me. The path grew narrower with every step we took until there was no path at all. Whenever I came close to fooling myself that we w
ere approaching our goal, the fog would lift, revealing that the great mountain was still far off in the distance, no closer than last night’s dreams.
Only the sort of iron-willed determination found in the hearts of the young allowed us to keep going. Up we went, Fifika and I, on what we were sure was not just a new path but the path. A trail of gray pebbles cut through a wall of black rock. She hurried ahead while I tried to be sure of my footing. Very close ahead, I heard some rocks spill away; a few came rolling down the path toward me. Then, my ears were punctured by Fifika crying out in a way that I never thought her capable. Headlong, I rushed into the fog until I could see the ink of her hair and the waifish form of her figure propped against a rock.
“Are you hurt?”
“Just a twisted ankle,” she said.
“Here, let me help you.” I offered my hand.
“I can walk,” she said, giving my hand a swift slap. She limped away from me, but the pain must have been great, for she allowed me to slip my arm around her waist and help her along.
“We should go back down,” I said. She did not reply but only leaned into me all the more. I felt as though my insides were glowing. Keeping an idiotic grin from spreading across my face was difficult but imperative if I wished to avoid another slap from my wounded one.
“You know the way to go?” she asked, when we came to the spot where two paths branched off in either direction.
I did not, but in my maddening desire to show her how brave and strong and smart I was, I took a path without asking. Holding her close to me, I plunged ahead into the near darkness. When she said nothing, I took it as a sign that I’d guessed correctly. Onward we went, me half-dragging my future love along. Though she was in pain, I felt nothing short of bliss. Every time her hot breath tickled my neck, my heart beat even more assured. The curious heat stirring inside of me made me want to pull Fifika closer. I kept my arm flexed around her, hoping she’d mistake me for a strong man and not the skinny boy I was.