Child Thief (43 page)

And then the darkness moved. The shadowy edge of a large tree peeled away and stepped out into the clear for just one moment.

I closed my left eye and saw him through the scope. I stopped breathing. I stopped thinking. Now there was only the small circle of the world I could see through the lens, and there he was, captured in that single moment, stepping out from the shadow. Not the Baba Yaga that had clawed into my mind when the screams came on that first night of the hunt. For the first time he was not a ghost that could come and go in the darkness without leaving a trace. But a man. The man who had murdered my son.

The cross hairs were fixed squarely on the child thief's chest, as if it had been his intention to step into my sights. I had no time to shift it. No time to aim anywhere else. And as the child thief stepped into the light, he stopped as if he sensed my aim was on him. As if the cold had frozen him right there where he stood.

He held a rifle in his right hand, resting it across the crook of his left as if he was incapable of holding it properly, and I knew I must have injured him when I fired at him across the lake. He stood hunched, his head jutting forward, and he turned to look in my direction, his face clear in the magnification of the scope.

And I knew him.

My finger froze on the trigger.

Thoughts rushed into my empty mind, jostling for space, crying out for attention. Images and words stumbled over one another and I grabbed at them as they passed, trying to fix on just one. This man was not the child thief. He couldn't be. I knew this man. We had spent time as comrades in hardship, locked up together in the church in Sushne. I had not warmed to his insistent questioning about the war, but I had shared some of my darkest moments with the man who now turned to look at me in the magnification of the scope. But at the same time I knew he was the one. I saw it in his eyes. An instant of realisation and then indecision. The wide expression of a man who has been caught, followed by a sudden change as if he were torn between facing up to it or pretending once again to be something other than he was. And now I understood why this man had hidden among the other prisoners when Viktor and Petro had rescued us. I understood why Yuri had wanted to move on alone – because Dariya would have recognised his face.

Yuri Grigorovich stared, and I knew he was thinking he had only two options. He could no longer pretend to be anything other than what he was. I had seen that look on his face; I had seen his true nature. The child thief's only choice now was to either raise his rifle and shoot or try for the cover of the closest tree. But he was injured and tired, and neither option would be easy for him. His game was over.

And when he began to turn, to raise his rifle at me, I shot him once in the chest.

I looked up as I ejected the cartridge, pushing the bolt back home, driving another into the chamber, and I saw Yuri fall back, losing his grip on the rifle. He went down, nothing more than a
dark mark on the snow, and I sighted on him once more, ready to fire again, but there was no sign of movement.

I lay in the snow for many heartbeats, watching the shape through the scope. And when it moved, I tightened my finger on the trigger once more.

Yuri drew one leg up so his knee was pointing to the sky, and he brought his arms to his sides, pressing down to push himself up. But the effort was too great, and each time his head rose, his muscles and his strength deserted him. Each time he half sat up, his arms buckled and he collapsed again.

I watched him for longer still, letting him suffer. Then, keeping the rifle pointed at his shape, I struggled to my knees, working against the now dull pain in my back as I crossed the distance between us. My feet dragged through the deep snow, and I came to where Yuri lay.

I kicked his rifle away, touching the barrel of my own to the thick material of Yuri's coat, and I stared down at him.

Yuri was still alive. I could see where the bullet had hit him, piercing the right side of his chest, and I guessed from the laboured breathing that his lungs were damaged. He was probably bleeding into them, slowly flooding them with the one thing that was supposed to keep him alive. He was drowning in his own blood.

He made a shallow rasping with each intake of cold air, and each exhalation was accompanied by a wet bubbling sound. His eyes were wide open and I could see fear in them. After everything he had done, Yuri was afraid of dying.

Blood came into his mouth and touched his lips, spilled from the corner and ran down his chin.

‘It was always you?' I said.

Something like a smile passed Yuri's lips.

I glanced back at the first man I'd shot, then turned and went to him. I rolled him over and saw he was one of the soldiers who had been guarding the column of prisoners. Anatoly, he had called himself. The young man who could hardly remember the face of his own wife.

‘And the other one?' I said, going back to Yuri. ‘You killed him?'

Yuri blinked hard.

‘I don't understand. Why would you do it? Why would you do any of it?'

Yuri opened his mouth further and attempted to form words, but his voice was quiet.

‘What? You want to say something?'

He nodded, so I crouched closer to him.

‘You were the best,' he said.

‘What does that mean?'

Yuri closed his eyes. ‘The last one was good, but you were better.'

‘What does it mean? Why did you do this?'

‘Don't you miss it?' Yuri whispered. ‘The excitement of hunting another man? Fighting? Killing?'

‘No.'

‘Liar. It was in your actions when you followed me. In your voice when we were prisoners together. I see it now in your eyes.' He stopped, his chest rising high, trying to take a breath into lungs that were drowning. ‘Being arrested was bad luck for me.' His words caught in his throat and he coughed. A weak, wet sound.

‘Why did you go to Sushne? Why not stay in the hut? Why not wait for me?'

‘The soldiers.'

‘What about them?' Then I understood. ‘You went home to rescue your own belongings. The man you killed, the one who came to the hut, he told you they were there. He knew you and he told you what was happening, so you murdered him and went to the village to get your things. But they caught you.
They
caught
you
.' I shook my head at him. ‘After all that time, everything that happened, you were arrested by boys dressed as soldiers. You must have hated that.' I laughed at the irony of it, let Yuri hear the mockery in my voice. ‘All those tricks meant
nothing. Your clever game was broken by communist boys. All of it was for
nothing
.'

‘Not nothing. First the girl was in the village. Then you.' Something like a smile came to his face. ‘I
knew
. I knew who you were but you knew nothing. And after. Among the other prisoners. You and her. It was … exciting. Knowing.'

‘Exciting? Torturing a little girl? That's exciting to you? How many other children did you murder?'

‘Many. But she was going to taste so good.' He turned his head away from me.

I stood and looked down at him, hating him. Then I kicked him, and it felt good, so I did it again, using whatever strength I had left. It was like kicking a sack of dirt, but it gave me release so I kicked him again and again, just as the villagers from Vyriv had kicked the stranger before they lynched him. I insulted him, shouted at him, and then I stopped and spat on him. ‘You killed my son.'

I put my rifle to Yuri's forehead and looked into his eyes. ‘You killed my son.'

Something like a smile came back to Yuri's lips. His breath rasped. ‘Kill me.'

‘Of course I'm going to kill you.' I began to tighten my finger on the trigger, bracing for the kick of the rifle, for the loud report, for the result of shooting this animal in the head.

Yuri closed his eyes and smiled.

I stayed my finger on the trigger. ‘It's what you want.'

He opened his eyes.

‘You want me to kill you.'

‘Yes.'

I took the rifle away. ‘It's too good for you. Too quick. Maybe I should shoot your knees. Put bullets through your hips.'

I squatted beside Yuri and took out my knife. I used its keen edge to split his trousers from cuff to crotch and then leaned right in so my mouth was close to his ear. ‘Maybe I should strip the flesh from your legs, how about that?' I shifted so that I could look into Yuri's eyes. ‘Or I could scalp you.' I put the blade
against his forehead and pressed hard enough to bring blood. Isn't that what you like to do to those poor children?' I drew the knife across his skin. ‘You used them as bait in your dirty game, and when the fun was all finished, you scalped them and butchered them.'

Yuri blinked hard, squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them.

‘But I won't do that.' I took the knife away, wiping the blood on Yuri's coat. ‘I'm not like you. I'm not a monster. But I
am
going to let you drown in your own blood. I'm going to let you die slowly. In pain.'

I sat down beside Yuri and took the packet of cigarettes from my pocket. I lit one and took a long drag. I put my head in my hands for a moment and thought it strange that I felt no satisfaction Yuri was going to die. I felt only sadness for those who had suffered at his hands. And there was a great emptiness in my heart that had once been filled by my son.

I looked at Yuri, watching the movement of his body as he drew breath and exhaled it. Drew and exhaled. Drew and exhaled. The rattle in his throat continued. The rasp of his approaching death.

When I next spoke, the smoke wafted through my teeth and from my nostrils. ‘I'm going to watch you die. I'm going to watch the life drain out of you, and then I'm going to bury my son.'

Close by, the crow alighted on a branch, growing more used to our presence. It called its harsh call and turned its head this way and that as if studying us.

‘And when you're dead, the crows will eat your eyes. You'll be a blind man in hell.'

34

I watched Yuri's laboured breaths until he was still. He didn't speak again, and when he was dead, I left him exactly as he was, open-eyed and slack-jawed.

I buried Petro in the place where he had fallen to the child thief's bullet and spent the night in a rough shelter, close to my youngest son for the last time.

At dawn I headed home to Vyriv, following the tracks of Viktor's horse, coming to the rise overlooking the village, where among the trees I found my living son. Aleksandra and Dariya stood close to him, but there were others there too. Evgeni, Dimitri, and those who had been freed from the column of prisoners.

I spoke to none of them. I came into the trees and walked among them, going to Dariya. I got down on my knees in front of her and put my hands on her shoulders.

‘He's dead,' I said. And I pulled her to me and held her for a long time.

35

We remained hidden until the sun was gone and the moon cut an opening in the clear sky. We lit no fires. We gave no sign we were there. And in the darkness, I walked to the top of the slope and stood, looking out at Vyriv. The collection of houses was nothing more than a muddle of dark shapes in the night. There were one or two lights, but not many.

Viktor came to my side, along with Evgeni and Dimitri, who were holding the rifles they'd taken from the soldiers.

‘We're going to make it, aren't we, Papa?'

‘Of course we're going to make it,' I said. ‘I'll get your mother and Lara – Svetlana too – and we'll leave.'

‘
You'll
get them?' Viktor said. ‘You mean
we
will.'

I knew Viktor would protest, but there was no way I would let him come into Vyriv. However Viktor tried to persuade me, I was already determined not to give in. ‘It's better if I go alone. I'll be quicker and quieter that way. You can stay up here and cover me with this.' I took the child thief's rifle from my shoulder and held it out to my son.

‘You'll need it,' Viktor said.

‘Not down there.' From Viktor's belt I pulled the pistol with the red nine carved into the handle. ‘This will be better.'

‘I'm not letting you go down there on your own,' Viktor said.

‘You have to. I can't risk another son.'

‘It's not a risk. You might need me, and—'

‘What I need is for you to watch me from here.' I pushed the rifle into Viktor's hands. ‘If I'm followed, I'll need you right here
to shoot at anyone behind me.' I looked at Dimitri and Evgeni. ‘All of you.'

‘I won't stay,' Viktor protested. ‘I'm coming with you. I can't cover you from here, it's too dark for the scope, and you can't see any of the village centre. You have no idea how many men might be down there.'

‘They won't notice me if I'm alone.' I stepped closer to my son so our noses were almost touching. I lowered my voice and spoke through tight lips. ‘I already have to explain to your mother that I lost one son; I won't let that be two. Do as I ask, Viktor. Please.'

‘Your father's right,' Evgeni said. ‘You should stay.'

‘It's none of your business,' Viktor snapped, but I grabbed his shoulders and shook him, forcing him to look into my eyes.

‘Think what would've happened if we'd all been taken to Sushne. We'd be on our way to a labour camp now, or shot dead and lying in a ditch. But you were there to stop it from happening. So we can't both go down there. We just
can't
. Because if we do, who will be left to help us?'

Viktor stared at me.

‘No one,' I said. ‘There'd be no one.' I released my grip. ‘And there has to be someone here for Dariya.'

‘She has Aleksandra.'

‘It should be you.'

Viktor watched me, searching for any sign that I might change my mind, but saw none, so he turned his back on me and took a few steps away before stopping. ‘An hour,' he said. ‘One hour and I'll come looking for you.'