by Jason Graff
“Better speak up now, scoundrel,” Boval said, stepping inside and taking him by the collar of his filthy tunic.
“Sometimes the soul stirs,” Aberama said, gently slapping the hand away, “as the mind slumbers.”
“While your mind slumbered, a wolf got hold of Chik and ripped him to shreds,” Papa said.
“Come up with us. Come up into the mountain and we’ll show you a slumber but not a peaceful one,” said Boval.
“A wolf got him?” Aberama asked.
“It looks that way,” Papa said.
“Chik,” Aberama chuckled, “it was always going to be him or the wolves in this land.”
“It wasn’t only him,” I said, stepping forward from Papa’s side. “It got Fifika, too.”
“The girl?”
“You know well who she is,” Papa said.
“The girl is home sleeping, I’m sure. Peaceful as a lamb,” he said, then strutted toward the broken end of the wagon. “Friends, I do not think this will hold me anymore. Can we say, I’ve learned not to speak so freely of ca…ca…curses?” Laughing, he jumped out of the open end.
I did not stay to learn what happened next, for I was like the wind to Fifika’s wagon. The door rattled against my urgent knock. My eyes wanted to weep from relief when she opened the door.
“Fifika,” I said and took her in a crushing embrace.
“What?” she asked pulling herself from my grasp.
“I saw you wandering the camp in the moonlight, then you were gone, and a wolf began howling and I thought…” said I, who ceased to speak once her sweet finger pressed against my lips.
“It was Chik, wasn’t it?” she asked, to which I replied with the deepest, most solemn of nods.
For a moment, a tear brimmed in her eye. I pulled her to me, feeling her soft body against mine. She allowed me to see this before quickly turning her head. After she made a couple of efforts to push me away, I released her. Though, she said nothing, I knew I had to leave her there to mourn her brother in her own way.
I closed the door softly behind me and made a slow walk back to our vardo. Mama met me halfway into my journey. Mustering more strength than I would’ve thought her capable, she squeezed me to her in a way that I hadn’t allowed her to in years. I felt almost as though my chest would shatter.
“You are not ready, you are not ready,” she cried to the heavens. “Forgive me, my boy is not ready to leave my home and be a man.”
“Mama,” I pleaded and shoved her away, squirming against her heavy chest until she released me. “Enough. Quit that. I am fine. It is Chik, one of the older boys who has done something foolish. Something I would never do.”
“Many a normal thing can be turned foolish here. You are not to leave my sight until we leave this land. I do not care what your Papa says. Digging, indeed. Digging is no work for a boy of your age.”
“I will not.”
She slapped me but I remained defiant. Her blows had long since lacked force enough to bring me pain or even truly correct me.
“I will not be tied to your apron strings, Mama.”
She made to backhand my cheek again but this time I caught her wrist. I applied just enough pressure to make her eyes grow wide. An anger surged within my strength, and I felt capable of crushing her hand.
“I will not,” I said and released her.
We finished the walk back to the wagon in silence, side by side. Mama occasionally shot me a wounded look and rubbed her wrist. But I cared not; we now had two burials to prepare for, and I meant to be there, standing strong for my Fifika.
My love looked like a queen of the night in a heavy black mourning dress of silk with a veil covering her face. The men dressed in their finest black suits, complete with black “city” shoes and tall hats. Death, not uncommon among my people, was time of great ritualized sadness, when we all came together as one, all dressed alike, all readying the same sorts of tears.
Rye and Chik were laid side by side in holes that were as deep as could be dug in that rocky terrain. I kept glancing at Fifika and her mother across the burial circle from where I stood among the elders. My young heart wanted them to cry so that I could join them in weeping and without looking weak. Their dry eyes, their unmarked cheeks, their expressions of weary resignation filled me with a sadness for Fifika that has never really left me. And though life and knowledge have changed its shape, I can still feel that sadness now, jabbing at me sometimes, making me take my love in embraces that she does not always welcome and has only lately come to tolerate.
So fixated was I on trying to draw some tears from my love that I did not notice the boyar standing behind her. He was dressed in a long, black cloak with a hood that hid all of him save the tip of his nose and the rapier-like ends of his mustache. I could sense, though, as I rested my eyes upon the darkness that hid his face, those opal eyes of his, watching all intently. He waited until the funeral words had been spoken and the bodies covered with earth before he spoke.
“My friends,” he said, “I express to you my gravest sorrow for what you have suffered. This land, like all ancient lands, has known more sorrow than happiness, and it pains me to see such industrious people added to that history. I understand one family has been touched by these twin tragedies. Is that the case, my child?” he asked and laid his bone white hand upon Fifika’s shoulder.
“Yes,” Fifika replied. “Mama and I have lost our men.”
“I am so very sorry,” the boyar said, now laying the other hand on Fifika’s mama. She did not turn around but instead dared to reach up and touch the master. Many of our kumpania let out tiny gasps when he allowed her to do so.
“You are so kind to come, good Sir Count,” she said.
“As a way of making some small recompense for your loss…”
“We do not wish for your treasure, Boyar,” Fifika’s mama said. “We will take no blood money for that which fate has thrown up before us.”
“I understand, my dear. You, all of you have a kind of nobility too often misplaced in this modern world,” the boyar said. “I must more humbly search for a way to repay you. Would you, madam, permit your daughter to come to my castle and learn English customs and language from my tutor, Mr. John Harker?” he asked, which caused both Fifika and her mother to turn and face him. “Their ways are indeed strange, but I fear it will be the way and manner of the future for all of Europe, even perhaps the wider world.”
“Oh my, Boyar, we are humbled,” Fifika’s mama said and took his hand to kiss. “But my daughter is a young woman now, and I leave it up to her to decide.”
“Well, my child?” He knelt down before Fifika. “What do you say?”
“I would be honored,” replied Fifika.
“Very well. Bring a friend, as well, if you wish. My castle is large, and I do not wish you to be lonely. Mr. Harker is a fine tutor, but not much of a conversationalist, I’m afraid. He seems apt to strange fevers which give him cause to see things.”
“Will my daughter be safe with such a person minding her?”
“Madam, you have my most fervent guarantee that she and whomever joins her in scholarship shall be safe inside the walls of my family home.”
Fifika gave me a smile. Mama could only manage a scowl, first at me then a deeper one at Fifika. She knew to deny such a generous offer would have risked insulting our master. Many stopped to pay tribute to the boyar by taking his hand and bowing as they left the burial. My poor mama could only cry and nod at him. Papa made up for her slight by thanking the count profusely. The count must have recognized something in the look Fifika passed me as he laid a gentle hand upon my head as I passed.
It was hard to keep excitement from speeding my feet along as we returned to the vardo. It would not have paid to be too enthusiastic about the opportunity. Lamentably, my people do not respect book learning to the extent they should. It is considered unmanly compared to physical labor; work more for a woman than a man. I expressed my desire to keep digging with the men. Mama sat silent wit
h the choices before her, neither of which would keep me at home, within her smothering grasp. Papa thought it important to keep the boyar happy and not risk offending him by refusing such a kind favor. He even pointed out to Mama that she had protested me digging earlier that very day.
“Better he dig than journey to that accursed place with…” she began, but then papa raised his hand to her and she flinched.
“I’ve warned you against speaking ill of our employer. Besides, you’ll frighten the boy. Do not fill him with your superstitions,” he said and then turned to me. “Will you go then with the girl to see this man the count employs?”
“If I must. I will do whatever is best for our people,” I said, staring at the ground, a hidden smile shining from within.
They seem convinced enough by the angle at which I held my head. There had been a time, not long passed, when my only wish had been to join the men in their labors. One day of doing so proved more than enough for me. It wasn’t so much that I had been frightened by what had occurred, though seeing Rye die was not pleasant. The truth was I found the activity tedious.
It seemed to me that a man’s work was not so much noble suffering as a waste of time to be endured. I realized and accepted what might have been seen as a childlike need to explore. In the mountains with my Fifika, I was more than a mere boy or even a man, I was a spirit breaking new ground. I expected the inside of the boyar’s castle would offer me more opportunities for even greater adventures, even if I had no idea what those might be.
C
hapter Six
The next morning, I set off early to meet Fifika. A fire had been set in my soul by the prospect of what awaited us. The sun had just risen, and the fog glowed a golden orange. I had to wait some time out in the cold before she emerged from her vardo. When she first appeared, her hair was loose and fell about her in all it luxuriant beauty. I wanted to bury my face in it and devour her smell. Out in the cold, her cheeks took on a bit of color. I told her how beautiful she looked but she pretended not to hear me. In fact, she spoke not a word to me. She walked almost as though she were in a trance. The castle drew her forward with a pull that verged on the irresistible. I once again found myself following her: a puppy who tried not to yap too much.
Fifika now carried with her a much graver air than the young woman who had led me on rambles along the trails. The death of her father and brother had, so suddenly, aged her it seemed. The most terrible of the tolls life takes had visited her twice that week. I wanted to comfort her but it was as though we were walking in two entirely different worlds.
It gave me the feeling that we were about to embark on a sacred and important task. Adjusting my bearing, I walked more upright and ceased staring at her as a hungry dog would a bone. I bowed my chest and felt as though I was now a man. After all, I had spent a day working among them digging dirt. I had even seen a man die. Surely, Fifika would no longer look at me as her overeager tagalong. If only I could’ve gotten her to look at me at all.
Upon entering the boyar’s splendid home, I noticed a chilly draft that whistled up from the cracks between the stones of the floor and walls like a decrepit crone muttering a curse. We stood for a time in the antechamber, listening to the great silence of the main hall. The count soon appeared to give us a tour of his home. Such was his joy at seeing us that he seemed to float towards us with the sound not of a man taking steps but a light breeze.
“Children, I am pleased to bid you welcome to my humble dwelling,” he said. “It has been some time since youth has visited here, especially such youth as yours which contains so abundant a vitality and…promise,” he said. Following where his eyes held their focus gave me the distinct impression that he was talking more to her than me.
In the main sitting room, all of the windows were of a dark stained glass dressed with curtains of velvet brocade that showed an intricate design of black vines as though the walls were trellises for the cultivation of some dark fruit. The furniture was covered in a lush velvet of darkest black. The whole room was like the setting for the deepest of dreams, from which one would awaken to find himself grown old and the outside world much changed. The count told us that he used to entertain the noblest royalty of the Eastern world in that room but then said in voice flecked with unmistakable sadness, and despite his evident good cheer, that it had been some time since any such personages had visited him.
“This land is now sadly considered the outpost of outposts by those that ply their trade in the so-called civilized world,” he said.
Pictures of the count’s ancestors hung on every wall of the drawing room. Looking at the faces down through the decades or even centuries, it was not hard to see where the count got his unusual looks, as they were all striking in the likeness to one another, almost like the same man in different sets of clothes who had not aged one day through the decades. A large oaken table like the one we had dined upon when our kumpania first arrived sat in the middle of the room. There, several candelabras gave off a ghostly orange glow and cast strange shadows of the wall. They looked like the figures of shapely women moving about, but when I turned my eyes to find their source, there was no one there.
“One can see in those faces the pain and hopes of lifetimes burning behind the eyes,” the count said, still looking up at the paintings of his departed. “If I were to weep for one of them, I would have to weep for them all, and I wish not to delay you any further in beginning your studies.”
Our boyar proved a most gracious host, giving us time to examine all that lay inside his magnificent home until we reached the far wing of the castle. There, the hall stood dark. From the wall, the blackened torches smelled of smoldering as though they had been snuffed out just before we had come upon that part of the castle.
“I must ask you,” the count said in a voice ringing deep in the ominous air, “never to enter any of these rooms. They are filled with old memories of a time when life in this place…” he lost himself for a moment, his head drooping, that sadness again creeping into his voice, “…meant something different—a time I want to see locked away, for a place as ancient as this contains more woe than joys.”
“Why?” I asked, as though shocked an adult could feel such an emotion.
“It is only the past, my young friend,” he said. “You are too young to understand its power, but the longer its shadow grows, the darker one’s life becomes beneath it.”
In that hall, the count stopped still. His crimson robe billowed about as if to swallow him. His eyes twinkled in the darkness, searching for what, only he knew.
“This is why I have brought Harker here. To help me escape all of this and cross that ocean of civilizations to my beloved who has been waiting for me through the centuries,” the count whispered.
“What did you say, dear Boyar?” Fifika asked, stepping into the darkness, closer to him. “What about this Harker?”
“He is a learned man, tutoring me, as I said, in the strange customs of the English. An education that you, my children, will no doubt benefit from.”
“Englishmen seem so…” I began.
“Strange?” the boyar asked, smiling to himself. “You are thinking of Mr. Renfield. His problems were of a…personal nature that are only partially the result of his being English. Be not afraid, my young friend. Mr. Harker seems to me an altogether different sort of man.”
From there, we were taken to the study. It was the warmest room in the castle with a fire that burned ever brighter, even as its fuel began to diminish. The shelves in that great room were made of the sturdiest dark oak and held more books than I had ever seen in my life, rising from the floor almost to the ceiling. Fifika squealed with delight at the sight of so much bound paper and began to recite to me those great men’s names from the books’ spines. She knew so many of them that my neck grew weary from nodding along. I tried to seem as though I had heard of some of them.
On a lectern in a dusty corner sat a thick Christian bible, covered by cobwebs. I dared not tou
ch it because the edges of its pages were black, making it appear as though it had been leafed through by fingers of flame. I backed away from it and held my breath, as it seemed the merest exhalation of bad air would cause it to crumble away.
“The Apocrypha,” Fifika gasped. She too approached it carefully, so obvious was its fragile condition. “I’ve only read about this.”
I was spared having my ignorance further revealed by the approach of our tutor. We heard and smelled John Harker coming long before he entered the room. From down the hall, the many religious medallions he wore around his neck clanked together like a dog’s chain. And the smell was most potent from the wreath of garlic around his neck, making him look like King Goulash. His eyes held the same wild light as Renfield’s. He carried with him no books or papers. There was very little about him that suggested he was the learned man of whom the count had spoken.
All that we really learned during that first tutoring session was that Harker was as superstitious as the most cowed washwoman of our kumpania. He jabbered on about curses just as Aberama did before he had to be confined to the Flower Pot. The sharp-sided apple of his throat bobbed up and down as he spoke of them. When I returned home that evening, Mama and Papa were seated on their bunk, waiting for me. Mama was crying into Papa’s arms and could not look at me at first. I began to tell them of the castle and all the books and things I was sure to learn there. The real excitement as having again been with Fifika, I kept close to my heart where it smoldered like the dying embers of a fire that had been raked over and given new life.
“What have we done?” Mama wailed loud enough to silence me.
“Shhhh,” Papa said, trying to calm her. “We cannot risk angering our master.”
“He belongs to the boyar now,” she said.
“It is only book learning,” I said and laid a gentle hand on her knee. “Do not cry, Mama.”
“You belong to him now,” she said and spat at my feet.
“Please, Mama,” I said, as she moved her knee from my touch. “Do not be so upset. It’s only that I am to be tutored and learn from…”