Songs My Mother Taught Me; A Collection Of Short Stories

Konstantin

I was scared then. Perhaps Baba Yaga was real after all and this was a trap she was laying for me. I was completely torn between the notion of grasping my traps or running back towards the village. I was just trying to fight the tide of fear that was threatening to overwhelm me when Masha decided to act of her own accord. She snuffled around in the snow for a moment or two before her hackles rose and snarl danced along the edges of her lips. I realised what she was going to do a split second before she did it, but I wasn't fast enough to stop her darting past me and running away from the stream, into the woods.

Stupid, stupid dog. I can't leave her out here, Deda would tan my backside red raw if I ever deserted Masha.

I hoisted the gun strap further up my shoulder as I crept slowly forwards. The snow was completely pristine, aside from the churned up path Masha had created. I walked in the trail she had made and even then, the snow was knee deep, but soft and fluffy.

I kept the gun clutched to me, just in case Baba Yaga and her chicken-legged house was waiting for me. The worst thing was that I couldn't even call Masha, I didn't know what would be watching me through the gloom of the forest and I didn't want to draw attention to myself. Instead, all I could do was give a series of soft, low whistles that Deda had taught me. They might work for him, but they never have for me.

By now fear had really crept up into my chest. It fluttered like a bird in my ribcage behind every tree I fancied I saw a bear or the hungry eyes of Baba Yaga. I had almost decided to leave the stupid dog altogether, when a strange noise ahead of me caught my ear.

A low, pained groan, followed by a series of sobs, coupled with a long, menacing growl.

I crept up slowly, pulling the old leather strap of my gun taunt as I crept ahead.

The blood was the first thing I noticed, thick red patches of it that stained the snow.

The second thing was Masha, leaning forwards and growling.

I think the man spotted me at the same time I spotted him, laid as he was on the ground, clutching his leg as Masha towered over him;

"Please, for the love of God, call off your dog!" His voice was scared, high pitched. Somehow, this reassured me. If the only thing he was afraid of was stupid old Masha, then things weren't as bad as I'd thought.

"Please! He has bitten me badly on my leg, I am afraid he will bite me again!"

To my surprise, Masha responded to my low whistle by edging backwards towards me, growling the whole time.

"Who are you?" My question sounded more hostile than I intended, but strangers in the vast forest could not mean good news.

"I need your help." He grunted in pain and I could see panicked beads of sweat tracing his forehead. "The bite is quite bad, I need you to help me tie a knot over it." He unwound his scarf with shaking hands and held it towards me, tsking with impatience at my obvious reluctance.

The blood from his leg mushed the snow into a ghoulish pale pink, the colour of the sky at sunset.

As I knotted the scarf above his kneecap, I studied his face from the corner of my eye. He didn't look particularly threatening. His beard was patchy and stubbly on his cheeks and I thought perhaps he should think about shaving. Katya always says that men with beards are lazy. His eyes were odd too. Grey and luminous, as though all the colour had been drained from his irises and been replaced with a dim light. His skin was whitened to a paleness that matched the snow around us and his lips were chapped into dry, white scabs.

"What's the nearest village?" He murmered as I wound the knot tightly above the pulsing wound the dog had made. I noticed that his eyes flicked between myself and Masha rapidly and somehow his fear of my silly old dog made me feel safe. His accent was very strange. Long, soft and heavy on every word that passed his lips. He dragged vowels as though they were stuck at the back of this throat.