The Winter Horses(15)

Max sighed and shook his head. “It’s true. And I know to my own cost that when people are afraid, they can be very cruel.”

“The Germans bring that out in people,” she said. “You are taking a risk, having me here; you know that, don’t you? It might cost you very dearly.”

“You let me be the judge of that, Kalinka.” Max shrugged as best as he was able, with his neck the way it was. “Besides, if charity cost nothing, the world would be full of philanthropists.” He poured her some more tea—only this time, he put an extra teaspoonful of jam in it.

“That’s what my grandfather used to say, too.”

“I like the sound of him,” said Max.

Kalinka was quiet for a moment, and Max could see that he’d upset her by the mention of her grandfather again, so he quickly changed the subject.

“Look here, it seems obvious to me that you should live here at Askaniya-Nova,” said Max. “For as long as you want. My wife disappeared or ran away a long time ago—I’m never quite certain which—and we never had a daughter of our own, although she should have liked one. Since you no longer have a father, or even a grandfather, it seems to me you’re quite free to choose a replacement. I know I’m not much to look at, Kalinka. But looks aren’t everything, they say. I should be more than honored if you were to live with me. For a spell, at least. Until you decide what you want to do.”

Kalinka looked around the little cottage and thought for a moment. “But is it safe? I thought you said there was a German officer who stopped by here to water his horse sometimes. I doubt he’s going to believe it if you tell him your niece has turned up to live with you. I have no papers. Suppose he asks for them. He’d be suspicious.”

“That’s true. Actually, I was thinking that I could hide you in an old waterworks nearby that was built by the old baron—he’s the man who used to own the land around here—years ago, long before you were born. You and the horses, come to think of it. We’ll have to hide them as well, won’t we? That is, if they’ll stay put. You, I think, we can trust to lie low, but about them, I’m not so sure. They’re wild animals, after all, and don’t like being in an enclosed space. I’m not at all sure those two—Temüjin and Börte—will still be in that stable in the morning.”

“They’ll stay. I’m sure of it.”

“You seem to have made friends with them very quickly,” said Max. “All my life I’ve known these horses. And they never followed me anywhere. What’s your secret?”

“No secret,” said Kalinka. “I suppose they trust me the way I guess I trust you. By instinct. And because we had something in common, I imagine. After all, we were all three of us hiding from the Germans.”

Max nodded and smiled as Kalinka finished her hot, sweet tea noisily.

“This is good,” she said.

“Have some more.”

“I won’t say no.” As Max refilled her glass from the samovar and sweetened it with more jam, she asked him to tell her about the waterworks.

Max shook his head. “At one time, I contemplated living there instead of here myself. The place is large and quite dry, and it’s nearby. I’ll take you all there in the morning. No need to decide until then. Ask about your neighbors and then buy the house. That’s what I always say.”

“By the way,” she asked. “Why do you call those horses Temüjin and Börte?”

“Ah. Good question. Well, it’s simple, really. Temüjin has always been the dominant stallion among the Przewalski’s horses, which more recently hail from Mongolia. Genghis Khan was a famous Mongol chief whose birth name was Temüjin, and Börte was his queen. And suddenly that name seems much more appropriate than I ever supposed it would be.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Before Temüjin became the great Genghis Khan, he was hunted by a neighboring hostile tribe and forced into hiding. Here, have some more bread and butter. Poor child, you must be ravenous after all the walking you’ve done. Three hundred and fifty kilometers? It doesn’t bear thinking of. I’m quite sure Moses himself couldn’t have walked as far.”

Max threw some logs on the fire and boiled a kettle for the hot-water bottle.

“Tell me, Kalinka. When did you last sleep in a bed?”

“Probably it was September.” She shrugged. “There was a department store on Karl Marx Street where, during the day, I hid in a closet for several weeks; at night, I slept on a bed on the shop floor, before the cleaners found me and raised the alarm. But it’s not so bad sleeping outside in summer and autumn.”