He Lover of Death, page 4
The porters with their leather aprons and their badges (that meant they were from the station, so the gent must have arrived by railway) carried all sorts of stuff into the building: bundles of books, some wheels with rubber tyres and shiny spokes, a shiny copper lamp, pipes with hoses.
Standing beside the Chinee, or whoever he was, was a man with a beard, obviously the landlord of the apartment, watching politely. He asked about the wheels: what did Mr Nameless need them for, and was he a wheel-maker by any chance?
The Oriental didn’t answer, just shook his fat face.
One of the drivers, clearly fishing for a tip, barked at Senka and Mikheika: ‘Hey, keep out of it, you little cretins!’
Let him yell, he’d never be bothered to get down off the box.
Mikheika asked in a whisper: ‘Speedy, what shall we nick? A suitcase?’
‘A suitcase? Don’t be daft,’ Senka hissed, curling up his lip. ‘Take a gander at the tight hold he’s keeping on that stuff.’
The Chinee was holding a travelling bag and a little bundle –chances were they were the most valuable things, which couldn’t be trusted to anyone else.
Mikheika hissed back: ‘But how do we get it? Why would he let go, if he’s holding on so tight?’
Senka thought about that for a bit and had an idea.
‘Just don’t you start snickering, Night-Owl, keep a straight face.’
He picked a small stone up off the ground, flung it and knocked the Oriental’s hat straight off his head – smack! Then he stuck his hands in his pockets and opened his mouth – a real angel, he was.
When Slanty-Eyes looked round, Senka said to him, very respectful, like:
‘Uncle Chinaman, your hat’s fallen off.’
And good for Mikheika – he didn’t even twitch, just stood there, batting his eyelids.
Righto, now let’s see what this pagan puts down on the step so he can pick up his hat – the travelling bag or the bundle.
The bundle. The travelling bag stayed in the servant’s left hand.
Senka was at the ready. He leapt forward like a cat pouncing on a sparrow, grabbed the bundle and shot off down the lane as fast as his legs could carry him.
Mikheika set off too, hooting like an eagle owl and chortling so much he dropped his cap. But it was a rubbishy old cap anyway, with a cracked peak, he wouldn’t miss it.
The Chinee stuck with them, though, he didn’t fall behind for a long while. Mikheika soon darted off into a gateway, so the Oriental had only Senka to chase after. He obviously wasn’t going to give up. Those little wooden benches kept clacking along the roadway, getting closer all the time.
By the corner of Sretenka Street, Senka felt like flinging that damn bundle away (he wasn’t feeling quite so bold without Mikheika), but then there was a crash behind him – the Chinee had caught one of his stupid sandals on a bottle and gone sprawling flat out.
Oho!
Senka carried on, dodging and twisting through the alleys for a while, before he stopped and untied the bundle to see what precious treasures were hidden inside. He found a set of round green stones on a string. They didn’t look like much, but who could tell, maybe they were worth a thousand.
He took them to a dealer he knew. The dealer fingered them and tried gnawing on them. ‘Cheap stuff,’ he said. ‘Chinese marble, jade stone it’s called. I can give you seventy kopecks.’
Senka didn’t take the seventy kopecks, he kept them for himself instead. The way those little stones clicked together was much too dainty altogether.
But never mind the blasted stones, we were talking about Death.
So, Senka was mooning around in front of the house, still trying to think of a way to lure Death to the window.
He took out the string of green beads and clicked them together –clack, clack, clack, they went. Like little china hammers, he thought, but what kind of hammers could you make out of china?
Then suddenly something clicked inside his head – clear and crisp just like those beads. Right, that’ll catch her eye! Dead simple.
He looked round and picked up a piece of glass. Then he caught a ray of late summer sunlight and shot a bright beam in through the gap in the curtains.
And who’d have thought it? Less than a minute later the curtains parted and Death herself glanced out.
Senka was so dazzled by the suddenness of it all, he forgot to hide the hand that was holding the piece of glass and the patch of sunlight started dancing about on Death’s face. She put her hand over her eyes, peered out and said:
‘Hey, boy!’
Senka took offence: I ain’t a boy, he thought. I ain’t even dressed like one: with my shirt and my belt, corduroy pants, these fancy new boots and a decent cap too, I took it off a drunk just two days back.
‘You can stick your boy up your . . . joy,’ Senka hissed back, although he didn’t like rude words, and almost never used them –they used to laugh at him for that. But this time the phrase just slipped out by itself – he was so blinded by the sight of Death, as if she was the one taunting him with the patch of sunlight.
She didn’t get embarrassed or angry – no, she just laughed.
‘Well, we’ve got a real Pushkin here. Do you live in Khitrovka? Come in, I’ve got a job for you. Come in, don’t be afraid, it’s not locked.’
‘What’s to be afraid of?’ Senka muttered, and set off towards the porch. He couldn’t rightly tell whether he was dreaming or awake. But his heart was hammering away.
He didn’t get a proper look at what Death had in her porch. She was standing in the doorway of the sitting room, leaning against the doorpost. Her face was in shadow, but her eyes still sparkled, like the light glinting on a river at night.
‘Well, what d’you want?’ Senka asked even more rudely, he was feeling so nervous.
He didn’t even look at the lady of the house, just stared down at his feet or glanced around.
It was a fine room. Big and bright. With three white doors, one across from the entrance and two more, one on each side. A Dutch stove with tiles, embroidered doilies all over the place, and the tablecloth was covered in fancy needlework too, so bright it was almost dazzling. The pattern was amazing: butterflies, birds of paradise, flowers too. Then he took another look and saw that all the butterflies and birds, and even the flowers, had human faces – some were crying, some were laughing, and some were snarling viciously with their sharp teeth.
Death asked him: ‘Do you like it? That’s my embroidery work. I have to do something with my time.’
He could feel her looking him up and down, and he desperately wanted to take a look at her from close up, but he was afraid – even without looking at her he was feeling hot one minute and cold the next.
Eventually he got up the courage to raise his head. Death was the same height as him. And he was surprised to see her eyes were black all over, like a gypsy girl’s.
‘What are you staring at, freckle-face? Why did you shine sunbeam light in through my window? I spotted you ages ago, hanging around outside. Fallen in love, have you?’
Then Senka saw her eyes weren’t completely black, they had thin rims of blue round them, and he guessed her pupils were open wide, the way his uncle’s favourite cat’s eyes went when they gave him valerian to drink for a laugh. And that eerie black stare was really frightening.
‘Yeah, right,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you.’
And he twisted his bottom lip up into a sneer. She laughed again.
‘Ah, you’re not just freckly, you’re gap-toothed too. You don’t want me, but maybe you wouldn’t mind some of my money. Just run an errand for me, I’ll tell you where to go. It’s not far, just the other side of Pokrovka Street. And when you get back, I’ll give you a rouble.’
Senka was so shaken, he blurted out:
‘I don’t want your rouble either.’
He was petrified, or he’d have come up with some smarter answer.
‘Then what do you want? Why are you skulking around outside? I swear to God, you’re in love. Come on, look at me.’ And she took hold of his chin with her fingers.
He slapped her hand away – don’t you paw me!
‘I ain’t in love with you, no way. What I want from you is . . . different.’ He had no idea what to come out with, and then suddenly, like an inspiration from God, it just slipped out. ‘I want to join the Prince’s gang. Put in a word for me. Then I’ll do anything for you.’
He was really pleased with himself for saying something so smart. For starters, it wasn’t anything shameful – and she’d been going on and on: ‘You’re in love, you’re in love’. And what’s more, he’d shown he was someone to be taken seriously, not just some young scruff. And then – what if she really did set him up with the Prince? Wouldn’t Prokha be green with envy!
Her face went dead and she turned away.
‘That’s no place for you. So that’s all the little beast wants!’
She grasped her shoulders in her hands, as if she was feeling chilly, although it was warm in the room. She stood like that for about half a minute, then turned back to Senka and pleaded with him, even took hold of his hand.
‘Go for me, will you? I’ll give you three roubles, not one. Do you want five?’
But by now Senka had realised he was the one in charge here, he had the power, although he didn’t have a clue why. He could see Death wanted something from Pokrovka Street very, very badly.
He snapped back:
‘No, you can give me a twenty-five note, and I still won’t go. But if you whisper in the Prince’s ear, I’ll be there and back in a flash.’
She pressed her hands to her temples and twisted up her face. It was the first time Senka had ever seen a dame wrinkle herself up like that and still look beautiful.
‘Damn you. Do what I tell you then we’ll see.’
And she told him what she wanted.
‘Go to Lobkovsky Lane, the Kazan boarding house. There’s a cripple with no legs at the gate. Whisper this special word to him, “sufoeno”. And don’t you forget it, or you’ll be in big trouble. Go into the boarding house and let them take you to a man, his name’s Deadeye. Tell him quietly, so no one else hears: “Death’s waiting, she’s desperate”. Take what he gives you and get back here quick. Do you remember all that? Repeat it.’
‘I’m no parrot.’
Senka stuck his cap on his head and dashed out into the street.
And he set off down the boulevard so fast, he even overtook two cabs.
HOW SENKA CAUGHT DESTINY
BY THE TAIL
It was a good thing Senka knew where that Kazan lodging house was, or there was no way in hell he could have found it. There was no sign, nothing. The gates were locked tight shut, with only the little wicket gate slightly open, but you couldn’t walk straight in, just like that. Right in front of the iron bars there was a crippled beggar perched on his dolly, with empty trousers folded up where his legs ought to be. He had big broad shoulders, though, and a red face like tanned leather, and the arms sticking out of the sleeves of his sailor’s vest were covered in coarse red hairs. He might be a cripple, but a smack from that mallet he used to push his dolly about would knock the life clean out of you.
Senka didn’t go up to the man with no legs straight off, he took a good look at him first.
The man wasn’t just sitting there doing nothing, he was selling bamboo whistles. Shouting his wares lazily in a hoarse bass voice: ‘Roll up now, if you’ve any brains in your heads, bambood whistels, only three kopecks a time.’ There were little kids jostling round the cripple, sampling his goods by blowing into the smooth yellow sticks. Some of them bought one.
One boy pointed to the little brass pipe hanging round the invalid’s thick neck and said: ‘Let me try that whistle, mister.’ The cripple flicked the boy’s forehead: ‘That ain’t no toy whistle, that’s a bosun’s pipe, it ain’t meant for snot-nosed kids like you to blow.’
That told Senka everything he needed to know. This sailor was only plying his trade for show, of course, he was really a lookout. It was a smart set-up: any sign of trouble, and he’d blow on that brass whistle of his – it must make a loud piercing sound – and that was the signal for the others to look sharp and clear out. And the magic word that Death had told him, ‘sufoeno’, that was ‘one of us’, only back to front, like. Since olden times the bandits and thieves in Moscow had always mangled the language, so outsiders wouldn’t understand: they added bits onto words or swapped them around, or thought up other tricks.
He walked up to the lookout, leaned right down to his ear and whispered the word he’d been told to say. The sailor gave him a sharp glance from under bushy eyebrows, twitched his big ginger moustache and didn’t say a word, just shifted his dolly away from the gate a bit.
Senka went into the empty yard and stopped. Was this really the place where the Prince and his gang had their hideout?
He pulled his shirt down and brushed one sleeve across his boots to make them shiny. He took off his cap, then put it back on. At the door of the building he crossed himself and muttered a little prayer –a special one about granting wishes that a certain good person had taught him a long time ago: ‘Look down, O Lord, in Thy mercy, heed the prayers of the humble and meek and reward me not according to my deserts, but according to my desires.’
He plucked up his courage and tugged at the door – it was locked. So then he knocked.
It was a few moments before it opened, and even then it was only by a crack. An eye glinted in the darkness.
Just to be on the safe side, Senka repeated: ‘Sufoeno.’
Someone behind the door asked: ‘What do you want?’
‘I’d like to see Deadeye . . .’
At that the door opened wide and Senka saw a young lad in a silk shirt with a fancy belt and Moroccan leather boots. He had a silver chain dangling out of his waistcoat pocket with a little silver skull on it – you could see straight off he was a real top-notch businessman. And he had that special kind of glance, like all the businessmen did: quick and piercing, it didn’t miss a thing. Senka felt really jealous: the lad was the same age as him, and not even as tall. Some people have all the luck!
‘This way,’ the lad said, and walked on in front, without looking at Senka any more.
The dark collidor led to a room where two men were playing cards, slapping them down hard on a bare table. Each of them had a heap of banknotes and gold imperials lying in front of him. Just as Senka and his guide walked in, one of the players flung his cards down and yelled:
‘You’re cheating, you whore’s tripes! Where’s the queen?’ And he punched the other man smack on the forehead.
The other man got up from the table and fell backwards. Senka gasped – he was afraid the man would smash the back of his head open. But as he fell, he turned a backward somersault, just like an acrobat in the circus big top, then jumped up smartly on to the table and lashed the man who had hit him across the kisser with his foot! ‘You’re the cheat!’ he shouted. ‘The queen’s been played!’
Well, of course, the one with the boot in his face tumbled over. Gold went rolling and jangling across the floor, and paper money went flying in all directions – what a sight!
Senka was scared, he thought someone was about to get killed. But the other lad just stood there grinning – he thought it was funny.
The man who had started the fight rubbed his cheekbone.
‘The queen’s been played, you say? Why, so it has. All right, let’s get on with the game.’
And they sat down as if nothing had happened and gathered up the scattered cards.
Senka looked a bit closer and his jaw dropped in amazement and his eyes almost popped out of his head. Looking closer, he saw the two players had the same face, you couldn’t tell them apart. They both had snub noses, yellow hair and thick lips, and they were dressed exactly the same. It was incredible!
‘What’s your problem?’ his guide asked, tugging on Senka’s sleeve. ‘Let’s go.’
They walked on. Another collidor, and another room. This one was quiet, with someone sleeping on a bed. He had his kisser turned to the wall, all you could see was a fat cheek and a jug-ear. The great hefty hulk was stretched out, snoring away with his boots still on.
Senka’s guide took small steps, walking quietly on the tips of his toes. Senka did the same, only quieter.
But, as the hulk went on snoring, one hand stuck out from under the blanket, and a black gun barrel glinted in it.
‘It’s me, Lardy, it’s me,’ the young businessman said quickly.
The hand went back down, but the sleeper still didn’t turn towards them.
Senka took off his cap and crossed himself – the wall was covered with icons, just like the icon screen in a church. There were holy saints, and the Virgin, and the Most Holy Cross.
A man was sitting by the opposite wall with his long legs stretched out, and his feet propped up on a table in shiny bright half-boots. He had specs and long straight flaxen hair and he was twirling a sharp little knife, no bigger than a teaspoon in his fingers. He was dressed neatly too, like a gent, even had a string tie. Senka had never laid eyes on a bandit dressed like that before.
Senka’s guide let him go ahead and said:
‘Deadeye, the ragamuffin’s to see you.’
Senka gave him an angry sideways glance. He could have thumped him for that word, ‘ragamuffin’. But then the man called Deadeye did something that made Senka gasp: he flicked his hand, and the little knife flashed across the room in a silver streak and stuck dead in the eye of the Most Blessed Virgin.
And that was when Senka spotted that the eyes had been gouged out of all the saints on the icons, and the Saviour on the Cross had little knives sticking out where there ought to be nails.
Deadeye took another knife out of his sleeve and flung it into the eye of the Infant Jesus, as he lay in Mary’s arms. And after that he turned to look at Senka, who was stupefied.
