One
The boy watched as his home burned. Sparks swirled in the wind so the sky looked as if it was full of tiny fire birds. He stared wide-eyed as flames leapt and danced and changed colour. Even at a distance, he felt the heat of the blaze warming his skin. Fire licked windows until they cracked, peeled the paint from wood like bark curled away from the silver trees. The house was one gigantic firework, though not as beautiful as the ones he’d seen last year in the city. It had been his fifth birthday and he’d thought those fireworks had been for him. His mother had laughed, told his father what he’d said and he’d laughed too, then clipped his ear and called him stupid.
He flinched as a hand landed on his shoulder and turned to the man standing next to him.
“Gotov idti?” the stranger asked.
The boy nodded. Yes, he was ready to go. He lifted his hand to wipe away the itchy blood at the corner of his mouth. His father had made him bleed. He was in the house. Others too. The boy was glad he wasn’t in there with them, melting in the flames, dancing in the sky, even as a fire bird because even fire birds turned to ash.
When the man walked away, the boy followed him into the woods, wondering why he wasn’t heading for the lane that led to the main road.
“Mogu li ya pokazat’ vam dorogu?” the boy asked. Can I show you the way?
The man chuckled. “Da.”
The boy knew these woods. They were his playground. The trees had sheltered him, looked after him, given him a place to cry where no one could see or hear him. Somewhere to hide from the shouting, from the looks that were wrong, from the fists and kicks aimed in his direction. Just for a while.
Outside was safer than the house. He loved exploring, seeking out the places where the sun shot rays of light through the trees, where he could stay warm. When the rain fell in sheets, the trees kept him almost dry. When snow clung to the branches and sometimes fell on him, it made him laugh as if the trees were playing a trick, and he hardly laughed at anything. He always hoped to make friends with the squirrels or foxes but they never came near. Nor did the birds, even after he fed them his bread. He’d never seen elk, wild boar, sable, wolves or lynx but he’d been told they were there. His mother said they were animals that would tear him apart. He wasn’t afraid. People were more dangerous.
He glanced back at the man. Leaving the woods was hard but now the house was burning there was no food or clothes. He was only six but he understood he needed help to survive. This stranger offered hope of a different future. A chance he couldn’t turn down.
They were almost at the far side of the trees when the man said, “Stop.”
The voice was soft but the boy obeyed at once. He always tried to do as he was told, although being obedient didn’t mean he wouldn’t be hurt. But he wanted to start off in the right way with this stranger. To please him. The boy watched as the man moved forward cautiously to the road and looked around before beckoning him.
Moments later, the boy sat in the passenger seat of a black car. He’d never been in the front seat before. The man fastened his seatbelt for him, being careful not to touch his arm. He handed him a box of tissues, opened a bottle of water, helped him drink, then gave him chocolate before he set off.
“I’ll sort out your arm as soon as I can.”
The boy nodded. It didn’t work properly, but the pain wasn’t as bad now. The man’s Russian was good but he wasn’t Russian.
“How did it happen?”
“He threw me at the wall.”
The man exhaled noisily.
It wasn’t long before a fire engine came racing towards them, its sirens blaring, lights flashing, and he shivered. “Too late?”
“Yes.”
The boy risked a tiny smile. Maybe this man would be his safe place. But hope was dangerous, disappointment almost as painful as being hit.Yes, you can have cake. Yes, you can watch TV. Yes, she’ll read you a story.When the truth was always no cake, no TV, no story.
“Are we going to like each other?” the man asked.
He nodded. He’d try.
“My name is Thomas.”
“I’m Ge—”
“Not any longer. You’re Jack.”
The boy practised the name in his head.
“We need a story to tell people. You have to remember it. I’m your uncle. Your mother died and you’re coming to live with me in Belarus. I need to make some arrangements, then we’ll fly to your new home.”
He’d never been on a plane. But maybe this was another disappointment waiting for him. No plane, no new home.
