One Crow Alone Page 6

  Maybe he is going to steal the money—

  But Ivan Rublev leaned close and tried to kiss her.

  “Get off!” Magda pushed him away.

  He held her at arm’s length, laughing.

  Magda kicked at him.

  “Hey, little horse thief. Have mercy!”

  Magda snorted. Her face flushed. Still tight in his grip.

  “Don’t call me that again! Let me go!”

  “Listen. I’ve found a way for us to get to England. Maybe.”

  “England?” Magda stopped kicking at him and he let her go.

  “Yes. That’s where you want to go, isn’t it? Find your mother?”

  “How?”

  “There are people. We pay them. They find a way.”

  “But half of the money is Bogdan Stopko’s.”

  “You’re going to give half of the money to that square-headed oaf?”

  “It was his pony. I promised him.”

  “His pony! He left it to starve. If you hadn’t taken it, he would never have thought about it again.”

  “But I promised him.”

  Ivan grabbed her shoulder. “Listen.” She tried to pull away. “Do you really think Stopko will even give you half? Hmm?”

  “I—I—”

  “The first night he will buy a woman—”

  “How can you say such things?”

  “—The first night he will buy a woman and a bottle of vodka—and in the morning they will all be gone. The woman, the vodka, and the money.”

  “But isn’t it better to do what’s right?”

  “Fine. Take your money. Give it to Stopko. And then you can start praying. You’ll need your prayers then!”

  Magda looked at her feet. She thought of Babula safe in her grave. Of her mother.

  “But why do you want to go to England, Ivan? What is there for you?”

  “A job. I will get paid. Either you come with me or you don’t. Your choice.”

  “And the money?” She clasped at her pocket.

  “You still think I’ll steal it? I told you before. I gave you my word in the forest.”

  “But you took half my food.”

  “Only half, Magda. Remember that.”

  The bundled zloty were burning a hole against her breast. Was this the right thing?

  A police van trundled into sight at the end of the street. Ivan pulled her back into the shadows, his arm warm around her chest.

  She thought about Stopko, happy to leave her in Nova Huta. Of his pony, left in the barn. Of its blood on the snow. And the dog. Stopko hadn’t even asked about his dog.

  The crow was not really a crow, Magda—Babula tapping a finger on the side of her nose—but only the girl could see a light behind those beady eyes.

  “Yes, Ivan,” Magda said, turning her head against him and looking up. “I will go to England with you.”

  10

  There was a small pile of handguns on a low table. Three dark-haired men slouched on a sofa. One of them played with his mobile phone. The other two sat bored, fiddling with the large gold rings on their fingers, shoeless feet stretched out on the patterned carpet. In the corner a music video played silently on a television. Girls gyrated on the screen. The room was thick with cigarette smoke. Coming up through the floor was the boom boom of music from a club downstairs.

  Comfortably filling a heavy armchair was a fat man with dark stubble on his cheeks, a large belly stretching the seams of his immaculate suit.

  The man stood up, smiling, opened his arms. “Parev, Ivan! Kak ti?” He had a big voice, and his confident smile flashed a row of gold fillings.

  Sitting on the arm of the chair, a thin blond girl picked at her fingernails. The fat man waved at her. “Tanya—” She got up with a blank face and left the room. “Ivan. So. What have you got for me tonight?”

  “Greetings, Valentin—” Ivan clasped his hand. They embraced.

  Magda stood quietly like Ivan had said she should.

  * * *

  “Don’t speak, Magda. Let me do the talking.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Some friends. They can help us.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Armenians, from the Ukraine.”

  “Armenians?”

  “I can’t go to the Albanians with a girl. Just let me do the talking—and hide five hundred in your belt.”

  * * *

  The fat bandit looked at Magda. Magda shifted uneasily.

  “It’s about the job,” said Ivan. “I want to take it.”

  “Ha!” The fat man laughed. “How much money have you got?”

  “Two thousand.”

  “Two thousand! That won’t cover it. How do I know you will deliver?”

  “Come on, Valentin. I need your help. We can take a truck, a container. Anything.”

  “Mmm. Two thousand is nothing, Ivan. You have papers?”

  “No.”

  “But without papers … How do I know you won’t get caught when you get there?”

  “I won’t get caught. You know me.”

  “Maybe. But the girl. It’s not enough money. You know it.”

  “Maybe I can find another five hundred,” Ivan said.

  “Why not stay here, Ivan? There’s money to be made. There are a million girls.” He rubbed his stomach. “I can use you here.”

  “But I need the money now.”

  “Money,” said the fat man, grinning again. “If I was you, I’d head east. That’s where the money’s going. But why the girl?”

  “She helped me. It’s a debt—of honor.”

  The man sat down heavily, twisted the gold watch on his wrist. “Mmm.” He leaned forward with his hands on his knees. “But I want three thousand—call it my insurance against your return. It’s an important job. And I won’t be happy if you don’t deliver.” His eyes were hard black pinpricks in the dim light of the room.

  “Two and a half, Valentin.”

  They stared at each other.

  The fat man slapped his hands on his thighs and laughed. “You are a wolf, Ivan. A real Ukrainian wolf!”

  “It’s a deal then?”

  “I will see what I can do.”

  “We want to go soon.”

  The man stabbed his pudgy gold-encrusted hand into his chest. “I say when.”

  “But soon?”

  “Maybe.” He coughed heavily. “Now, the money.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now.” He clicked his fingers. “Nazar.”

  One of the men on the sofa looked up, stopped playing with his phone.

  Ivan pulled out the zloty from his coat. The man slowly counted the notes, passed them to Valentin.

  “Two and a half, boss.”

  “Okay. Listen to me, little wolf,” said Valentin. “I have a truck going to a place in London, to someone I know. From there you will have to find your way to Liverpool. It is a town in the north. Go to the Armenian church, the Holy Trinity, and ask the priest there for Tony Gulbekhian. Gulbekhian will take the package from you. You will get your money back when you return to Krakow. Plus another four thousand for your work. In yuan.”

  “Only four thousand?”

  “In yuan, Ivan. That is the deal.”

  “And how will I get back?”

  “Gulbekhian will arrange it. If you do this job well, I will find other things for you. More money, little wolf.” The fat man’s mobile started buzzing on the table. “I’ll send Nazar. Don’t let me down, Ivanchik. With a pretty girl like that to distract you.” He waved his hand toward the door and answered his phone. “Da!”

  * * *

  “How did you know he would accept two and a half?” Magda said when they were clear of the flashing doorway and back down the street.

  “I know these people, Magda. I know how their minds work. If there wasn’t something in it for Valentin, he wouldn’t have helped.”

  “What package have you got to take?”

  “Fake passports.”
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  “Why passports?”

  “People want to get east. They are valuable documents.”

  “Why does he trust you?”

  “Why do you, Magda?”

  * * *

  She followed him through the darkened streets of Krakow, the hard wedge of remaining zloty rubbing against her breast. She did not know where she was going and—she did not know why she trusted him.

  Bogdan Stopko will be waiting. He will be sitting on his bed with a dark crease on his forehead thinking that he has been robbed. Robbed by Agnieszka Krol’s granddaughter.

  Even though Ivan had spoken words that seemed to live with a certain truth, about Stopko and his money and how the pony would have died forgotten in the village anyway, even so—

  In her mind there was only one truth. And she had given her word to Bogdan Stopko. Ivan had twisted her thoughts.

  “How will we know when we can leave?” Magda asked.

  “They’ll tell us. Don’t worry.”

  “You already gave them Stopko’s money. How do you know they won’t cheat us?”

  “Stop punching yourself about that oaf Stopko. He wouldn’t expect any less.”

  “But he would! You don’t know how people live in our village. He would not expect me to cheat him.”

  “Listen, Magda. You have eyes in your head. Look about. Doesn’t everything look different to you? Hasn’t it all changed?”

  Fear had stripped Magda’s certainty away. She felt it melting from her bones. She did not know what would be left when it had gone. What bit of her would remain standing.

  “Come on.” He pulled his hat down. “It’s going to be a cold night. We’ve got to get to the railway lines. I have somewhere we can sleep there.”

  A couple with two children turned the corner. As they passed, the smell of warm bread came from a large paper sack the man clasped against his chest.

  Magda closed her eyes. The smell of the bread.

  The man stopped, the wife clinging to his arm and watching Magda with narrow eyes.

  But he reached into the bag and tore off a large crust and gave it to Magda. His children looked up with open mouths, pale faces like moons inside a bundle of hats and scarves.

  * * *

  Magda and Ivan shared the bread as they walked.

  “Why are you helping me, Ivan?” Magda asked through a mouthful.

  He laughed.

  It seemed that Ivan Rublev laughed a lot. Magda could not see so many things to laugh about.

  “Just the money then?” she said.

  “You helped me, Havemercy.” He tore another chunk of crust. “And, besides, you’re pretty enough—for a foolish country girl.”

  He put his strong arm over her shoulder.

  In the dark she blushed. “Ivan, look.”

  Ahead of them, an old man shoveled snow from the steps of a church.

  “I want to go in.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can light a candle for my grandmother.”

  “There isn’t time. We’ve got a long way to walk still.”

  “I will be quick. I promise.”

  He stopped his chewing. Shook his head. “Well, don’t be long.”

  * * *

  Sitting here and there along the wooden pews people bowed their heads in prayer. At the altar a priest lit the candles. He moved slowly beneath a statue of the Virgin Mary, which towered above the nave.

  Magda pulled a note from the rolled bundle of money under her belt and pushed it into the collection box. She took a long, thin candle from the table, dipped it in a flame, and placed it among the others burning on a sand-filled tray.

  Forgive me, Babula, for nailing your coffin with a shoe.

  A priest was making his way back among the pews. Magda waylaid him in the shadows.

  “Father, I want to make a confession.”

  “Yes.” He held up a bunch of candles. “I am just replacing the candles. This way.”

  She followed him to a darkened alcove at the back of the church. The priest sat wearily in his seat, crossed himself. Magda knelt at the lectern. Bowed her head.

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

  Magda thought about what her sins had been.

  “I begrudged Brunon Dudek a bag of potatoes for helping to lay out my grandmother. I took a pony from Bogdan Stopko and then I stole his money. I was jealous when parents came for the other children. I am sorry for these sins and all the sins I can’t remember—”

  “Is that all, girl? Is there nothing else?”

  “I nailed my grandmother’s coffin with a shoe.”

  Silence. “A shoe?”

  “I was afraid of the forest spirits. I was alone and I had no hammer.”

  “There are no spirits in the forest. That is superstition. But why did you steal a pony?”

  “To get to the next village and find help.”

  “You did not act in bad faith when you took the pony then?”

  “No. I believe I did not.”

  “You must return the money you stole from this man.”

  “But I can’t, Father. It is gone now.”

  “Then you must pray for forgiveness.”

  “There is one more thing, Father.”

  “Yes.”

  “A boy kissed me.”

  “Did you want him to?”

  She hesitated. “I cannot stop myself thinking about it.”

  “Only God can look into your heart,” said the priest. “Your sins are forgiven.”

  Magda rose. She did not feel that they were.

  Ivan was waiting impatiently on the steps outside, stamping his feet. “What took you so long?”

  * * *

  The walk across the city continued long and cold. Ivan’s destination was a scrap of land beside a disused railway siding. They ducked in through a broken fence. A dog trotted homeward on the other side of the triangle of land. The smell of smoke drifted up from a rickety chimney pipe sticking out of the roof of a rusting container. They made their way across the snow and Ivan banged on the ribbed metal doors.

  “It’s me.”

  The door swung open a crack, rusted hinges creaking. An old woman’s head appeared. She looked Magda up and down.

  “You can’t have a girl in here! Go on!” She shook her fist at Ivan. “For shame. Go out in the snow like the dogs.”

  “Quiet down, Grandmother. I have some candles. She’s just a friend.”

  Ivan pushed his way past the old woman. There was coughing. Inside, an old man lay on a bed made of pallets. In the corner a fire made from an old oil drum pumped out a ferocious heat. A stubby candle smoked on a pair of planks that sufficed for a table.

  Ivan took the pack off his back and pulled out a handful of candles.

  The candles from the church!

  “Here,” he said.

  The old woman grabbed them without a word. She looked up at Magda with narrow eyes, tutting loudly.

  “Let her be,” Ivan said, throwing himself onto an old mattress on the other side of the makeshift room. “You can sleep here, Magda.” He handed her a blanket.

  “You shouldn’t be out on your own with that boy. No good will come of it,” said the old woman.

  The old man coughed violently and she pinched his foot. Hard.

  Ivan pulled his hat over his eyes. “We’ll be gone tomorrow, Grandmother, so keep your thoughts to yourself.”

  The old woman humphed, but snuffed out the candle and said no more.

  And Magda lay in the dark with her eyes wide open.

  11

  Daung. Daung. “IVAAAN!”

  Magda lifted her puffy-eyed head over the blanket. The old woman was awake—feeding pathetically small sticks into the stove.

  There was more impatient banging.

  Ivan got up and stumbled blearily to the door. Pulling on a sweater, he opened it a crack. Weak morning light spilled across the rough planks of the floor.

  One of the men from the nightclub stood out in
the snow with hunched shoulders and his dark-stubbled chin stuck deep in his collar. “It’s today. Valentin says you come now,” the man said, shifting from side to side on his cold feet. His hands stuffed tight into the pockets of a thin leather jacket.

  Ivan nodded and closed the door. “Get up, Magda. We’re going.”

  * * *

  At the edge of the wasteland a brand-new Jeep with blackened windows idled on the icy road. They followed the man as he walked across the snowy ground in unsuitable leather shoes.

  Magda had never been in such a car. She climbed up inside. It was warm. Russian rap music blared. The driver sat silent in his seat.

  Nazar leaned over into the back and held out a package. “Here is the delivery.”

  Ivan took the package. Removing his coat, he stuffed the package into one of the deep pockets sewn into the lining.

  The driver turned the car in the road, the big gold rings digging into his fingers as he clutched at the gear stick.

  * * *

  They pulled into a high-walled yard filled with broken trucks and untidy piles of split logs. A hungry-looking Rottweiler was chained to a rusting forklift. A Turkish container lorry was parked by a dilapidated warehouse and the fat bandit was talking to the driver.

  They got out. Valentin came over and put his big arm around Ivan’s shoulders. He held him tight and grinned his gold-toothed grin. But it didn’t look too friendly.

  “What about food?” Ivan said.

  Valentin snapped his fingers. Nazar went to the Jeep and came back with a plastic bag. Ivan looked inside it. Handed it to Magda. There were two large plastic bottles of water, apples, bread, and sausage.

  “Not exactly a feast.”

  “You’re not paying that sort of money, my friend. But here—” Valentin pulled a small bottle of vodka from his jacket. “A little present.”

  The truck driver opened the high front hood and, climbing up onto the wheel arch, he leaned over and poked a flaming rag down into the engine block.

  Magda followed Ivan to the open doors at the back of the lorry. The container was filled with bundles of fur pelts. Great big bundles the size of straw bales. They came halfway up the inside of the lorry. Ivan climbed in and pulled Magda up behind him.

  “How do we know it won’t get searched?”

  “Don’t worry, little wolf.” Valentin laughed. “At least you’ll be warm.”

  “And we go straight to London?”