One Crow Alone (7 page)

“How much?” he said.

“I don't know. They told me to take the paper. That's all.”

Stopko folded it up and put it inside his jacket. Pulled on his hat and got up from his chair.

Magda reached out for his arm. “Please. You will help me?”

“Look, Magda, I am sleeping in a room with five other men. What can I do for you?”

“Please, Pan Stopko. I have no one else. You cannot leave me here.”

“But I don't have anywhere for you to stay. You can't share a room with five men.”

“Then help me get to England?”

“Listen to me, girl.” He pointed his stubby finger at her. “In Morochov I knew everything. Here I am just another hungry man from the countryside. I don't understand it any better than you. But something has changed. They talk about war. We're not the only ones without electricity or food. They say troops are moving east. They have taken eastern Kazakhstan. Some say the Russians won't stop until they cross the border into Poland.”

“But why?”

“The only thing I know is that there are soldiers on every road from here to the Ukraine. You won't get back to the village, much less to London.”

“What will I do then?”

He turned and stared out the window. “I will give you half the money for the pony. I owe it to you.”

“Is that all?”

Stopko put up his hands. “I can't do anything else, Magda. I'm lucky enough to have a bed. And work that buys me a bit of food. If I could go back home, I would go back yesterday.”

“You are just going to leave me here?”

Bogdan Stopko was regretting his promise to give Magda half the money. She was, well—not quite nothing to him. But times had changed. Nevertheless, some part of his conscience stirred.

“Listen. The other men have gone to the coal mines at Zory for their week's shift. Tonight there is a bed and I will let you sleep and eat for one night. You can queue for the money. But after that I'll be gone to Zory too. You'll have to look after yourself.”

*   *   *

Before they left, Bogdan Stopko had to sign a paper saying he had taken her. He did not want to do it. He had to write his address. His cheeks became red. The woman opened the book for him. Showed him where to write. His writing was like a child's.

*   *   *

“It's a long walk. Can't afford a bus for two,” he said when they were out on the street.

Magda pulled her hat down. Slung her small bag over her shoulder. “I don't mind a walk,” she said quickly.

“Hmm. Well, don't bother me if you get tired.”

A small minibus loaded with people sloshed past them, spraying dirty snow from its wheels. The people inside were packed like mushrooms in a jar, bodies squashed against the steamy windows with bulging bags heavy on their laps.

“Come on. This way.”

Stopko stepped out onto the road and strode across it with his square-fingered hands in his pockets and his big square neck deep in his collar. And she slogged along behind him.

 

9

Bogdan Stopko was right. In Morochov he had been someone, and here he was just another man from the countryside. The city people, if they looked at all, looked distrustfully at the stocky man, and the thin country girl trotting at his heels.

At last, they crossed the river. Tramped the cobbled pavements with houses leaning over them on every side. Stopko halted at a shabby building with a wooden door. He opened it with a key on a string in his pocket. From a dingy stone-flagged hallway he scuffed wearily up the creaking stairs, his short, dirty fingers clenching the dark banister. At the top of the landing he opened a door.

“This is it.”

Magda stepped inside a stale-smelling room, and Stopko let the door fall shut behind them.

Ill-sorted beds were pushed against the walls. A large iron radiator under the window was covered in damp woolen socks. In the corner was a bathroom sink, an unframed mirror above it, a brown stain on the enamel under the taps. A melamine cupboard, attempting mahogany, clung lopsided to the wall. Underneath it on a small table was a battered kettle with a grimy handle, an empty vodka bottle, and several dirty mugs. From under the covers on one of the beds a large shape was snoring loudly. Stopko waved at it. “Don't worry. Tomasz wouldn't wake up if you lit a fire on his head.”

Magda looked around the room.

Well. It could be worse.

She remembered what the priest had said about Stopko,
Good men don't grow like brambles, Magda. He has two fields a tractor and a pony
—

She looked at Bogdan Stopko. He sat on the bed, wearily pulling off his wet boots—leaning them against the radiator. Brambles indeed. He saw her looking at him.

“You don't like it, huh?”

“No, no. It's not that. Just—”

“Just what?”

“Nothing. Nothing, Pan Stopko. Shall I make you a tea?”

“Yes. If there's electricity.” He reached over and put his hand on the radiator. “There's heat so maybe there's power.”

Magda put her bag down in the corner and took off her coat. Stopko waved at the door. She hung it on an overcrowded peg there. Went to the sink, filled up the kettle. “The tea, Pan Stopko?”

“In the saucer.”

Magda looked down at the dirty table. There was an old saucer with a couple of used tea bags squashed onto it. The kettle started popping and crackling.

“Make one for yourself,” Stopko said. “There's bread and sausage in the cupboard too.”

They sat at each end of the bed and ate their meal. “I need to sleep,” said Stopko, slurping at the tea. “I have to work tomorrow.”

“But the paper. The money for the pony?”

“Yes. Yes.” He dug the paper from his pocket. Held it out to her. “Half and half. Like we agreed.”

She pulled it from his fingers. “But where do I take it?”

“The administrative building on the corner of Spinka Street. It's not far. Just ask.” He leaned toward her, grasped her shoulder. Narrowed his eyes like a horse trader. “You come back with the money!”

“Of course, Pan Stopko.”

“Mmm.” He released his grip. “Take some food too. You'll be there all day.”

“Pan Stopko. Do you—do you know where I can find Ivan?”

“Who?”

“The boy who told you where I was. Do you know where he is?”

“No.”

“How did he find you?”

“I don't know, Magda. Now let me rest. I could sleep for a week and still be tired.”

And with that he lay down, pulled the blankets over his head, and turned to the wall.

*   *   *

At the administrative building, Magda took a number from a roll of tickets and stood with the jostling crowd. She peered down at the ticket. Two hundred and ninety-three.

God in heaven.

At the far end of the room was a counter with one woman behind a window. One by one she shouted the numbers out. People squabbled. There was a din in the cold, airless room, a din and the smell of unwashed bodies. A mobile phone rang. Someone shouted into it above the noise. A mother with two children tried to push to the front. An old woman with deep lines in her yellowing skin screeched angrily. The children cried.

*   *   *

At the end of a long day, Magda received three thousand zloty for Bogdan Stopko's dead pony. She folded the worn notes and stuffed them into her jacket. Pushed her way through the crowds.

Outside, it was dark already. She rested against a wall. Her feet, still damp from her long walk across the city, were frozen and aching.

There weren't many people about now. There were no lights. Shutters were closed.

A Jeep crawled along the icy street, its windows darkened. A fat woman, bottle in hand, stumbled about in the middle of the road, slipped onto her knees, gulped from the bottle.

Magda slunk quickly through the shadows. It wasn't far to Stopko's building. Her heart beat fast.

“Psst.”

She jumped.

“Magda.”

She peered into a gloomy doorway.

“Magda. It's me. Ivan.”

“Ivan!”

“You have the money?”

“What?”

Ivan stepped out of the shadows. “The money for the pony?”

“Yes. But—how do you know? I mean, how did you know I would be here?”

“I've been following you. I followed that oaf Stopko to Nova Huta too. I'm freezing. You've been in there for hours. How much did they give you for the pony?”

“Three thousand.”

“It's not much. But maybe it will be enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“To get out of here, you foolish girl.”

“You came to take my money?”

A smile cracked across Ivan's face in the shadowy doorway. He reached out and pulled Magda toward him. His hands were strong.

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.”