Into the Deep Wood

Val tried to replicate the steps of the man she followed, matching each of her own to his. It was a much longer stride than she could keep up with; it was definitely Marat’s. She walked along the brush, where there was no trail. Through a dry creek bed, where she slipped on some ice hidden by the snow. Through the sparse trees; until she finally met up with the trail that led through to the overgrown lake, and then she stopped.

Where had he gone after the celebrations if his tracks led out here? Had he been so drunk on wine that he wandered into the lake and drowned?

She stepped more carefully now. The farmers talked about wolves being seen this far from their homes. The cattle had attracted them, and they crept through the brush, stalking, especially in the winter when food was harder to come by. She had already seen a set of tracks once.

The snow crunched and creaked beneath her feet. It was the only sound around, besides the birds somewhere far off in the trees. A clump of snow would fall from a branch or brush here and there and make a little swoosh - then plop. Val kept going forward, even slower now. The further she had gone, the more nervous she’d become, unsure why, aside from the fears that he’d been hurt.

Although she did not feel he would have frozen out here; that death was not fitting for Marat. It must have been something else.

She wandered a bit too close to where the water was but a thin sheet of ice underneath a layer of snow. If she stepped wrong, her foot would surely break through.

He appeared as if out of nowhere, making her take a slipping step back - her heart beating out of her chest.

“What are you doing out here?” He sounded so angry it took her aback. “Why did you follow me?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he did not let her.

“Why did you follow me, girl??” He stepped right up to her, and she was suddenly aware of his height towering above her. He stood, and instantly, she did not feel so safe.

“I came…” she started, clearing her throat to hide her shaking voice, “You weren’t in your room; I came to find you…”

“What I do is not your business; why do you feel it is your business, Valeria?” Louder, yet more restrained, as if even this was not as much as he wanted to say. The sound of her name on his lips tightened her throat. She looked from his chest; she could see his breathing was strained. His eyes were wild. Regret, dread, and disbelief surged through her all at once. “Marat, you weren’t there; I looked for you, I came to you…” She hurried to get the words out so he would understand. She was just repeating herself.

“You went in my room? You’d gone in there with no invitation, thinking yourself welcome?” He grabbed her arm - her face going pale - and turned her around, pulling her back down the path. She felt herself lock up from the unexpected force - especially from him, it rattled her more than it should have. She started crying desperately. He was uncaring, near dragging her by the collar back to the houses. She heard the stitches of the white rabbit fur separate from the coat, and she wailed harder in fear and disappointment.

Her good intent had brought her here - but did it? Was it good intent? She wasn’t sure, the feelings she felt until she faced him now had mixed inside her and took a secondary position to her fear.

Marat led her between the houses and only let go when they returned to the alley between the barn and the farmhand’s home. He let go of her, both breathing hard. He finally turned to face her. Val saw the drastic change in him - it had mirrored the disappointment and fear of her own, but only in a dim reflection. She knelt in the snow, holding on to the collar of her coat as if that would keep it sewn together. He knelt before her, grabbing her face in his hands, his own very near hers; so close that she felt the warmth of his breath when he spoke.

“I’m sorry, Val, please, you cannot go looking for me. You cannot follow me. Promise me you will never follow me.”

She nodded furiously, squeezing her eyes shut, tears still rolling down her face, stinging.

To her surprise, he pulled her into his chest in one forceful movement, as if he was cradling her, hiding her away from something beyond them.

“I’m serious, Valeria. Never. Ever.”

The next thing she knew was that he was gone. He went ahead and slammed the door of the barn behind him. She sat in place, trying to slow her sobs. There it was, the calmness that washed over her yet again.

She sat blankly, staring at the snow and the colors reflecting from each sparkle. She was so close to it. Val raised a hand - a bit had gotten stuck to her mitten. She could see the shape of every snowflake against the wool. In fact, She could see nothing beyond it—just that tiny shape, the one next to it, the bunch of them next to that. The lone snowflakes melted; she watched them disappear without so much as a drop of water where they’d been. But the clump, it had survived to have her brush it off.

She stood, and with her sleeve, she wiped her eyes. Her face was red; she could feel it in the tingling of her skin.

Later, she sat in the leather shop with Amir. He’d been cold to her, but she did not notice - her thoughts so preoccupied with what had occurred. She soaked a piece of leather. Bringing it out, she soaked it again. The acid dripped off - she pulled it from the tub too early.

“Val…” Amir stood beside her, gently placing a hand on the vat. “I have to ask you something.”

She looked up, her eyes glossed over before she focused and came to.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, Val, it’s just… it’s none of my business, but…” he looked so flustered that he had regretted his words ten times over from when he started the sentence. “I have to ask. I have to. I would not forgive myself if I didn’t.”

“What’s wrong?” Her guard was up; she was unsure what had happened but immediately felt she had done something wrong.

“Val, are you and Marat…” he trailed off as if the words were too painful or perhaps too awkward for him to say.

“Oh.” She made a face before she could quite process his words. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no!”

She remembered that only that morning she’d been afraid someone had seen her. What would they think?

“It isn’t what you think.” she finished, quieter. Her stomach squeezed because of what she knew Amir was thinking now.

“Are you sure?” He asked before clearly realizing that it was a stupid question. He did not know if it was a relief he felt or not. “I don’t want to assume; I just saw that you…”

And there it was. He had seen her. And there was no way to explain it. There was no lie she could produce on the spot, no truth she could give that would be trusted.

“Marat had saved me more than once.” She finally said. “And, I owe him a great deal. I do not owe him that.”

And those were the only words she could have said to bring relief across his face. He seemed to think on it a moment, but relaxed visibly.

“Then,” he sat back down by her, his hands bracing him, “I’ve wanted to ask, perhaps you and I..?”

She smiled, the smile coming from so deep inside she could not stop it had she even wanted to. She couldn’t meet his eyes, but at that moment thought that this must be how it should have felt. The fairytale. The prince saving her from the big bad wolf of that frosty morning.

And in that, she turned hurriedly and, throwing her hands around his neck, she kissed him—her first.

Like children, they giggled and held hands. They’d work all day - tanning, scraping, and draining the leather. She would clean, and he would stand over a table trimming and preparing pieces that had already spent days or weeks drying out. And all the while, they exchanged glances, a brush of a hand here, shoulders touching there.

But, in front of the others, they hid their childish grins. They’d walk in opposite directions when leaving the shop. Dinner at Aimak Sein’s home found them sitting nowhere near each other. But when darkness fell, and everyone was expected to be in bed - they’d sneak away and exchange words that thrilled and bold touches that excited.

Val smiled when engaged in a solo task or helping the farmer’s wife cook. The woman would look at her suspiciously, and Val would hide her face. She could think of nothing else.

That is until she would see Marat. It seemed a heavy air had followed him whenever he would appear. He looked drained and even older. His cheeks sunk in, and his posture drooped.

But, he was kinder to Val ever since their unpleasant encounter. He made it a point to sit by her at dinner and ask her about her day. She always answered cautiously. The man’s words had changed just enough to make her nervous at her core.

She thought, was it guilt? For the way he acted when she came looking for him?

He would offer her bread when she could not reach. He even helped her wash the dishes once. The farmer's wife’s expression was of someone who saw a chort. She watched him fumble with a pot inside the wash basin. He pulled it out with grease still staining the rim.

She shooed him away, looking to Val with question - but the girl could only wonder herself.

No, she decided. He was hiding something. His goodwill screamed of it. There was something in the barn he had not wanted her to see, something she must have missed while she was there. And it ate at her, not knowing. This was beyond curiosity; no, this was the same feeling that had caused her stomach to twist before.

She grew to know and understand Marat. He was transparent in his thoughts if one knew what to look for. He did not do anything he did not mean to and said only what he meant to. There was honesty in what he did not say as well.

And more than that, the man could not hide his fear, as rarely as it passed through him.

And he’d been afraid that morning, kneeling in the snow, her face held tight against his chest.

He’d been afraid.