‘Well, if you say the kolkhoz is behind you,’ I cast about in exasperation, ‘what about if she veered in this direction? Where does this track lead?’
The old man shook his head. ‘Into the forest. Look, take my advice, and go home before it gets dark. You’re endangering yourself; you will never find her.’ He had already lost interest and was walking away.
I wished Tatta was here. He would know what to do, but it would be dark before he returned from work. I couldn’t abandon her. Wouldn’t I be desperate for someone to find me? I stood alone on the empty track. The wind swept across the river, catching the powdered snow, lifting it here and there. I was sure now Lodzia had taken a wrong turn, and I knew where it might have happened – where those two rivers converged back there.
Backtracking, another path veered to my left, and I followed it, the trees thin and reedy, the Vaymuga visible to my right. Lodzia could have come this way, and it was easy to see how she could have got muddled. ‘Lodzia,’ I called again. ‘Lodzia, are you there?’ I pulled my hood away from my ears and listened before I ventured a little further into the forest.
Calling her name, I carried on searching, as much for a body as her cries for help. I skirted around the trees in as straight a line as I could, avoiding the brambles and thicket that grew everywhere. The wind came as a wall, only to open up and allow me passage through, curling around me, urging me on. It wasn’t long before I became uncomfortable having come this far. I stopped. Cupping my hands, I yelled again. ‘Lodzia, are you there?’ I listened, and shouted louder, but heard nothing. I half turned and called in another direction – still nothing, and yet again in another direction. Nothing. It was as if my words were bouncing back at me.
A wave of panic engulfed me when I turned around. I could no longer see the Vaymuga. My heart quickened as I spun a full 360 degrees and tried to regain my bearings. Snowflakes were blowing into my face; oh no, it was snowing again. It wasn’t ordinary snow either, here it poured out of the sky like an upended bag of goose down.
My breath rolled from me in short, frosty puffs, as I stood to wonder how to get out of here. I tried to remember how many times I had turned around, then headed back in as straight a line as I thought I’d entered the forest, but floored trees which hadn’t been there before, lay spread across my path. Many of them had soil clods around their splayed roots; the craters they left behind, filled with snow, pine needles, cones and debris.
I didn’t know whether to veer left or right; the trees were pressing in on me from all sides. I turned around once, and then again. They all looked the same. I plunged through a gap and stumbled on, thinking I was heading back to the river. With my view choked off, I felt tiny and muddled, as would a lost child amongst a crowd of strange legs, my hands cold and painful.
Panting frozen breath, I picked my way through the thicket and then stopped because it looked different again from this direction. The forest was thick and oppressive here. I turned once more, my arms flaying, and my head craning up to the chink of light at the top of the trees, I had absolutely no idea where I had come from. I stumbled on; heartened when the trees grew sparser but, as quickly, they were denser again. No good looking at the ground; the snow had already hidden my tracks. The sound of rushing water somewhere made me listen more keenly. However, it wasn’t water; it was more of a crashing sound when the wind shifted and dislodged snow from the treetops, sending it plunging to earth.
My fingers were going numb. In a spasm of panic, I cupped my hands and bellowed, ‘HELP.’ It was then I remembered Natasha’s warning about watching out for swamps and wished I’d taken the old man’s advice and gone home. I felt vomit rise in my belly knowing I’d done wrong, but I hadn’t a clue how to remedy that, and it wouldn’t go away.
The light was already diminishing and patches of shadows were forming everywhere. I caught my foot and crashed into the snow, scratching my face on undergrowth as I went. Winded, I rolled over onto my back.
I lay for a moment, gripped with fear. Saucer-eyed, I listened to the sounds of the forest, to the sighs and fidgets of the wind. The howl of a wolf pierced the semi-darkness, and I wondered if it had already smelt my fear and was summoning others to join in the waiting feast.
Sobbing now, I scrambled to my feet. A litany of incoherent whines and pleadings mixed with saliva dribbled from my lips as I blundered forwards; my nose ran, and I couldn’t see where I was going through my tears. Confused, and incapable of logical thought, I pressed on, the cold biting into my bones, but I knew I had to keep moving or I would freeze to death.
The wind rose, howling through the trees as if wailing for the dead. My muscles ached with the effort of pushing on, and I felt the sweat trickling down my chest and back, soaking my garments. Was this how it felt to die? The heat seeped into my fingers, while frigid air pressed against my sweaty outer clothes; I knew I’d had it – no one would ever find me now.
Branches slapped back into my face, and I slumped against a tree to catch my breath. My eyes darted around at the sight of the mounting darkness and my body now trembled with cold. I had no idea how long I had been walking, or if I had been going around in circles. It would be so easy to lie down and stop fighting.
In moments of silence, I could hear the blood throbbing in my ears. The snow had almost stopped, and sometime later the gale blew itself out, taking the clouds with it.
The heavens were full of stars; those in the east where the sky was darkest were vibrant, almost pulsating with energy – those in the west still faint pinpricks.
I dragged the heel of my hand under my nose and almost missed the fleeting memory that came unbidden. The other day, when I was looking out of the shack window, the sky to the west was looking lighter than in the east. The Vaymuga lay to the east, yet my instinct beckoned me towards the light. I was still aware enough to know I had to follow the darkest sky and the brightest stars, even though I was becoming too weary and wanted to rest; above all, I needed to pee. I sniffed away my snot and tears and blundered forwards into the encroaching night.
Was I hallucinating or had I stumbled finally upon a wide snow-covered gash in the forest? Was this a river?
The moon rose beyond the trees, but I didn’t recognise the landscape; no shacks, no people, nothing other than the sounds of the forest, the mournful animal yowls. It had to be the Kenga River upstream – or was it the Levashka River, which joined the Vaymuga on the opposite side of the camp? Perhaps I had stumbled on the mighty Northern Dvina?
I looked up at the moon. What was it telling me? Nothing. I was too cold to think about its significance. Which way, which way should I go? I turned left and stumbled along what I assumed to be the riverbank.
The moon shone brighter now. What was that ahead – shacks? Yes, they were shacks, but they didn’t look as if they belonged to Vodopad. There were only three of them and a more significant building beyond.
I staggered to the first one, banged on the door, and passed out on the porch.
14
I was lying on a straw paillasse and the room was warm. My first thoughts were, I’m still alive. Where am I?
I didn’t recognise my surroundings: two chairs, a crude cupboard with shelves, and a curtain at the window, strung up on a piece of sagging twine. My coat was slung over a rope near the stove, and my valenki stood drying beside it.
A voice said, ‘She’s woken up.’ Three people came over to look at me.
I didn’t recognise the man and the woman, but the third person I had seen somewhere before; it was the old man in the fufaika who told me to go home on the riverbank. I struggled to my elbows. ‘Where am I?’