Chapter Seven
Anya gingerly opened the door, wrapping her faded shawl tighter about her. Whoever had come, they had done so at the wrong time.
Framed in the golden afternoon glow stood Ivan 'Volkyushka' and his father, the pelt trader.
Volkyushka's father cleared his throat.
„I apologise for what happened this morning. I think you know what I am referring to," he added. Anya noticed that as he spoke, his deep-set eyes were glaring at his son. For once in his life Volkyushka was embarrassed and, therefore, meek and quiet.
„I appreciate your apology," Anya replied, an intentionally cool edge to her voice, as unspoken law demanded. However, with her eyes she reassured the merchant that she bore no grudge to his family, and that it was only his son that she was angry at. Volkyushka's father, whose name his son Ivan wore, silently thanked the girl for her understanding of the situation.
„I have brought Ivan over as I believe he has something to say to your brother." His intense, disdainful glare once again focused on the stocky boy, who lowered his head silently.
„Well," was all that Anya found as a reply. She opened the door wider and Ivan Volkyushka, head still down, stepped inside hesitantly.
„Step lively, boy, or you'll catch it," his father growled. With a start, Volkyushka began walking faster.
„I'd like to apologise to Ivan," Volkyushka said in an almost inaudible whisper.
Anya nodded silently and, stepping aside meekly, pointed to the ladder which led to the loft.
Volkyushka started climbing up it, reluctantly enough, as anyone could see. With a smile, Anya saw Volkyushka's father off. Ivan the Father tipped his fur hat to her winningly and stepped out, shutting the door behind him softly.
Anya turned, cautiously, back to Volkyushka just in time to catch the dangerous glimmer of resent in his icy eyes.
Ivan started as his door swung loudly open. In the doorway stood – Volkyushka!
„What are you doing here?" he choked.
Volkyushka's face was set and unreadable, save for the sneering shine of his eyes. „I'm supposed to apologise to you," he slowly answered.
Ivan's eyes widened with fear. He could swear his bruises began to throb more vividly the second Volkyushka stepped in room.
„I don't want your apology," he finally replied, cupping his hands more tightly together, hoping against hope that Volkyushka had not seen Oleg. „Just – just go."
„Do you really think I just can, simple as that?" Volkyushka hissed, his voice lowered. „My father is harder to please than a tsar. He shall not be contented if we do not go down together, I to say I am sorry and you to forgive me."
„Do I look like I care?" Ivan retorted, savouring every word. „Just leave my room, now, go down and tell your donkey of a father that I forgave you. Because in truth I never shall."
Volkyushka's lips were tight with suppressed rage. „Don't you dare insult my father, you scum," he spat.
„Oh, you really are the smart one, you know," Ivan thoughtlessly continued. „If you think that the way to get someone to apologise to you is to - "
„I don't really, I'm just in a hurry," Volkyushka whispered. „I don't have time to get you to 'forgive' me the polite way, so I'll do it the quick way." Without another word, Volkyushka yanked at Ivan's wrist and effortlessly pried his hands open. Ivan gasped in horror as Volkyushka sneeringly dangled Oleg in the air.
„What's this? Little Ivana has gotten herself a pet caterpillar," he exclaimed, his whispers burning with contempt. „Repeat after me, Ivana: I forgive you. Out loud, loud enough for Anya to tell hear you and tell my father, so he can be satisfied. Or else I will squash your little worm, Ivana."
Ivan froze, dismay clouding in his brain. All he felt in that moment was pure, effortless hate for Volkyushka. But there was nothing to do now, he realised. How could he let his personal pride get in the way of his friend's life? Sure, Volkyushka was a low-life, and Ivan had no reason or means by which to forgive him...but Oleg was more important.
His frantic mind drifted back to last night, when he had so deftly stated that love and friendship were the greatest treasure. Well, compared to the treasure Ivan had found in Oleg, his pride was like a rusted old coin.
„I forgive you," Ivan loudly said. His thin voice sounded out surer and clearer than he had expected to, and it surprised him as much as it did Volkyushka. He even almost smiled.
If only, if only he had known what old Mistress Fate had in store for him only one second ahead in his life, he would never have even thought of smiling.
Sometimes, even when it seems you've done it all right, when it seems you've cleared every problem away, when it seems you've won the battle for that which you love, one circumstance, all on its own, can bring your fortress of hope crashing down like a child's tower of blocks. And then, like the child, all that you're left with is your tears.
„Oh, thank you, Ivan!" Volkyushka sweetly replied.
And then, as if in slow motion, he let Oleg fall from his grip onto the floor. Then he lifted his boot-clad foot and, with a swift, downward motion, stamped on Oleg, sliding his foot back and forth to make sure he was really truly mashed.
„What..." Ivan said, dumbfounded. Volkyushka smiled innocently at him, opened the door of Ivan's spacious loft and, with a last wave, half-climbed, half-jumped down the ladder.
Unbelieving, Ivan stared at the stomach-turning remains of his caterpillar, ingloriously smeared across the wooden floor of his attic. He sank to his knees on the floor and, face buried in his heavy woollen blanket, began to cry noiselessly.
As his muffled sobs jerked painfully through his already-aching body, Ivan could hear, distorted and quietened, Anya's soft voice saying, „I'm glad you've apologised to my brother. He's a very kind boy, I'm sure he's already forgiven you."
All Ivan could feel was his heart aching and the soaked bedcover pressing into his tear-stained face.
