I Kill Monsters: Fury (Book 1) (33 page)

Maleva had spoken of the evil eye once when
she regaled us with her fables. None of us truly understood the
evil eye, but we knew it was supposed to visit misfortune and woe
to the one upon which it was cast. As Mina would later recount,
Gerald, Ezra and Symeon were barring the road before my family. No
doubt Gerald hoped Leonid would offer some demurral, which Feigl’s
eldest could conflate to some prevarication for whatever abasement
he already bore in mind.

It was Sasha who responded first. She stepped
forward, hands fisted on her small hips, head cocked, eyes locked
on their tormentors. Gerald and Ezra laughed at what he must have
considered Sasha’s impudence. Symeon chortled because his older
brothers did. He had his hand in his pocket and was stimulating
himself.

And just like that Sasha, with one eye
lidded, tendered the evil eye. Ezra, being younger and more prone
to the fears instilled by superstition, ceased his laughter first.
Gerald was brought up short when he realized his brother had
quieted. Symeon laughed for some moments afterwards until he
noticed his brothers standing stock still in the road, regarding
the little girl posturing before them with a mixture of uncertainty
and disquiet. Sasha held her ground, and as she did so their unease
gave to timidity and this to discomposure. Without a word, Gerald
turned and stalked off to his father’s cottage, his brothers in
tow. Only the little misshapen one glanced back, not quite
comprehending what had transpired, angry that his attention had
been diverted from his trousers.

Early in the afternoon following their
disappearance, Symeon reappeared. There was a cry from the road as
a peasant woman ran past. Her babushka had come undone. Men,
including my father, came in from their fields immediately to
investigate. They did not have to proceed far down the road to
discover what had frightened her.

Some wretched creature had dragged its broken
body down the road. The woman had stumbled upon it and been scared
half to death. I overheard my father describing its appearance to
some other men later that day. The beast was naked and covered in
mud and bracken. It was near death and bore wounds that told of a
savage attack. A hunk of meat had been ripped from its shoulder and
neck, revealing the tendons of the throat and its breastbone. Large
chunks of flesh had been torn from its ankles. Smaller bites
peppered its limbs. These latter looked like the gnawing of some
canine animals. The thing has been gelded.

It
was
only
by
some
miracle
, Maleva surmised, standing with the
group looking down on the miserable creature,
that
this
thing
has
lived
long
enough
to
creep
into
the
village
.

The boyars appeared with Feigl and shouldered
their way to the front of the small crowd encircling the bedraggled
thing.
Some
monstrosity
from
the
swamp
, pronounced Feigl, and—even I felt some fleeting
emotion like sadness for the Ashkenazi as my father recounted this
part—a look of consternation crossed his face. He squatted down to
study the beast, which was reaching out with one small hand, what
passed for its fingers bent and broken in different directions.

Zol
Got
mir
helfen
, Feigl was beyond distress.
Oi
gevald
!
He collapsed on his knees besides the thing, touching it gingerly.
Even this slight probe caused it to bleat in pain, such was the
punishment visited upon its body. Feigl’s wails joined those of
this expiring swamp thing, a dissonant chorus echoing to the blue
skies. And then, at last reunited, the thing shuddered, a death
rattle spiraling up out of its maw. Whereupon it promptly rolled
over, dead.

Symeon
! Feigl cried,
oy
-
oy
-
oy
! This thing was his youngest.

The boyars led the search of the swamp. They
had not scoured long before they happened upon the corpses. An
atrocity in the bog. Dozens of bodies, wrapped in muslin. I did not
see them myself, but I heard the men of my village discuss their
condition in hushed tones, their faces pale. Great affliction had
been visited upon these corpses. The bodies were mutilated and
drained of blood. Under the cover of the night, it was surmised,
wolves had ventured to the swamp and eaten from the remains,
further desecrating the bodies.

Under
the
cover
of
the
night
. That evening I lay in bed awake
for some time, anxious, my mind spinning thoughts and their
ramifications. My brothers and sister had not ventured to the
stream, such was the terror that had gripped the land. The boyars
had uncovered the victims of some fell plague none could comprehend
but left it to the village folk to dispose of the butchered
remains.

In bed I listened to the sounds of the night,
my father snoring, crickets chirruping outside the window.
Somewhere, far off, a wolf. I thought of the tumbrel and its
midnight sojourns, of a horse steered by no driver. There was no
doubt in my mind as to the cargo transported. I pondered the
implications of my own complicity in this scheme. I was nine, but I
knew the bodies were those of the itinerants I had sent to the
manor house. I felt responsibility, yes, but no guilt.

I imagined Symeon, lured with his brothers to
the manor house, taken within its confines. I hoped they had
suffered greatly, all of them, before succumbing. The brothers,
carted off to the swamp, their bodies dumped in the mire. Symeon
alive still, bled out at the ankles, most of his shoulder gone from
his body. He would have lain there in the dark, cold and afraid,
only to feel the wolves champing on his extremities. How he must
have struggled to drag himself from the swamp and along the road to
the spot where he was found.

I could not feel bad for him. He, Ezra and
Gerald had gotten what they had deserved. Though I could not
foresee the particulars when I had set the events in motion, I had
hoped for some similar outcome.
The
weak
and
the
botched
shall
perish
, Fritz had
proclaimed as the first principle of our charity.
And
one
should
help
them
to
it
. It was apparent, I felt with some satisfaction, that
Symeon at least had suffered greatly before dying. Good for him. I
only hoped Ezra and Gerald had as well.

It took me some time to sleep that night.

I woke a few hours later, the sun paling the
window in the eastern wall. After a days’ labor, after a meal of
porridge and stale bread, Leonid, Mina, Viktor and Sasha left our
cottage and set out on the road to the stream. I stood outside the
cottage and watched them go, resigned.
Go
with
them
,
lubyj
. My father spoke from behind me and I
turned. He was standing in the doorway to our dwelling, the jug of
vodka in one hand.
Go
with
them
, he invited
me, gesturing after my brothers and sisters.
Go
.

I will always remember my father in that
moment. His image, there in the door, the jug in one hand, his
shoulders narrow and sloped from hard work, an image etched into my
memory. Life had not been kind to him, but he had somehow managed
to remain decent in the face of a million little indecencies. Even
in the grips of his alcoholism. I thanked him and ran off after my
siblings, hailing them.

We made merry on the way to the stream,
reunited again, not having to fear the calumnies and abuses of our
former tormentors. We passed the manor house, august in the
twilight. We passed the Boyar encampment, alive with activity and
fire. At the stream we laughed and cavorted, kicking its icy waters
at one another. There was still snow on the tops of the mountains
and the water was frigid, but what a reprieve from the heat of the
day. Sasha was careful to remove her shoes and place them away from
the waters. We laughed as we had not laughed in a long while, as we
would never again laugh any of us.

When the moon had risen in the sky, full and
white, we dried off and headed back home to father. The boyar camp
was still, and though the night was well lit, none of us noticed it
was empty. Where a candle shone from within Maleva’s cottage,
Feigl’s home was dark. In the distance a din became audible to us.
What
is
it
brother
? Mina begged Leonid,
who looked uneasy. When the road turned we confronted from a short
distance the origin of the bedlam. A crowd had gathered in front of
our cottage, a mass composed of our peasant neighbors and the
boyars. The group was armed, from the elaborate weaponry of the
boyar to the torches and pitch forks of the farmers. And this crowd
faced my father, who was alone in the doorway of our cottage.

Come
children
! Maleva had
appeared beside us.
You
must
go
! The old Roma
tried to usher us back the way we had come.
Our
father
--,
What
is
the
meaning
of
this
?--, Mina and Leonid protested.

Not
now
,
children
, there
was fear in Maleva’s voice.
I
fear
I
have
—she kept looking towards the cottage and the throng
about it. No one there had seen us, intent as they were on my
father. Above the steady din of the mob came Feigl’s voice, loud
and hoarse, screaming at my father, condemning him, damning
him.

Father
! Leonid tore away from Maleva,
away from us, and sprinted towards our father. The look on Maleva’s
face. She knew my eldest brother was lost to us. She grabbed Viktor
and Mina by their arms and pulled them away. Sasha, gripping Mina,
went along. I stood there in the road and watched, transfixed.
Maleva called me a fool or some such, but I was riveted on the
scene and did not take heel to heed her warnings.

Leonid disappeared into the crowd and there
was a rumble. He burst from the gathering, appearing disheveled,
and stood next to my father in the doorway. Feigl’s shouts rose in
intensity and the crowd shimmered, advancing a step. My father put
a hand on Leonid’s shoulder and looked down into his son’s eyes. I
watched as the mob surged forward, their sheer numbers driving my
brother and father back into the cottage even as torches were
tossed through the doors and windows and upon the thatched roof. I
watched in disbelief as flames licked up from the only home I had
ever known, as the crowd circled the cottage and thrust lance and
pitch fork towards the door and windows, trapping those inside.

Stop
! I screamed, but my words were
useless against the blood thirsty mass. Useless, yes, but not
unheard. I rubbed the tears from my eyes with my fists to find
Feigl staring at me, across the distance. He spied me under the
moon and when he recognized me he reached out and tugged on those
around him, shouting and gesticulating. I turned and bolted.

She was an old woman leading three children
and I caught up to Maleva quickly.
Brother
, Mina cried,
where
are
father
and
Leonid
?
Maleva looked at me. She knew I had knowledge of what had been done
to Leonid and my father. Behind me, pricks of light jutted up and
down, the torches of our pursuers bobbing.

It
is
Feigl
, Maleva
attempted to explain events adults would have trouble comprehending
to children.
He
blames
the
little
one
for
the
disappearance
of
his
boys
. She spoke of Sasha, my
dushka
. I
thought back to that day on the road of which I had only heard, of
Sasha eyeing Gerald and his brothers following their latest
indignity. My people were a superstitious people. They would
believe a five-year-old girl could draw down a curse.
You
must
run
,
children
, Maleva gasped as she led
us,
you
must
run
and
head
to
the
mountains
.
Do
not
look
back
,
do
not
stop
. Maleva
led us past the manor house, past the stream and the swamp, into
the night. Finally she stopped. Back towards the village came the
plaintive cries of hounds.
They
have
dogs
, the
Roma breathed.
Run
now
children
,
run
as
you
never
have
!
May
god
have
mercy
on
your
souls
!

To the mountains and the forests did we flee,
my brother and sisters and I. We were frightened and we were
grieving our father’s and Leonid’s demise. As dusk fell across the
land, the howls of wolves sent chills through our little bodies.
Sasha clasped my hand more firmly. Viktor cried out, a forlorn cry.
He stood looking back, transfixed upon whence we had come. Behind
us, on the plane, the torches pulsed in the dark. The torches were
unnecessary; the waxing gibbous moon illuminated all.

I remember now, looking back on that line of
infernal flame pursuing us, there were dozens of torches, pinpricks
of light on the plain. Ever so many more than were necessary to
hunt four little children to the earth. But these men and women of
my village, and the boyars, were in the grips of a blood lust that
would only be sated with our apprehension and execution. Their
delirium would prove their undoing.