Page 48 of Tiger's Trek
Thirsty, he headed back to the well and found a small pile of just-ripening gooseberries on top of the stone. Nik looked around and called out, “Hello?” But there was no answer. He tasted a berry and found it delicious. After he ate his snack and drank his fill, he went back to work, starting in the kitchen. He’d barely began cleaning when the sun sank again. Out loud, he said, “I’ll need to hunt tomorrow or head into town for supplies, I suppose. If I can get this kitchen tidied up, I can cook a meal in here tomorrow.”
He was more than happy to bed down in a clean room that night and was doubly thrilled to have found enough oil to fill his lantern for many more evenings. Laying down on the newly cleaned rug, he made himself comfortable, and just as he started to close his eyes, he heard the soft creaking of the bassinet and the movement of the rocking chair.
This time, the mother’s hum seemed content, sleepy even. She spoke to her little baby, telling her, “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing? You know your mama loves you, don’t you, little one?” Then she sang a lullaby, one Nik remembered his own mother singing to him when he was young, and it was like the ghost mother was speaking directly to him as she sang.
Sleep, my beautiful good baby,
Bayushki bayu.
Quietly the moon is looking
into your cradle.
I will tell you fairy tales
and sing you little songs,
but you must slumber, with your little eyes closed,
Bayushki bayu.
She skipped the verses he knew well and went ahead to the last verse, changing the words slightly.
On the morrow, I’ll give you
a cherished family tin,
and with the help of God, you’ll
place it right in front of you,
while playing the most dangerous game.
Please remember your mother.
Sleep, good boy, my beautiful,
Bayushki bayu.
Nik’s heart beat wildly in his chest, and he sat up abruptly. “Mama?” he cried in the darkness, but the rocking chair had gone still, as had the bassinet. Though the ghostly voice had sounded like the woman from the night before, her voice had changed with the second verse. Perhaps it was a trick, but Nik was certain that voice sounded like his own mama.
As he lay back down and attempted to still his racing pulse, he tried to remember the words. There was something about a dangerous game and a cherished family tin. His mother had little treasure boxes passed down to her by her parents. They were all locked with tiny keys. He hadn’t thought to take any with him when he left. All of them were long gone by now. Nik thought of the music box she’d shown him. He’d loved it at one time. He’d always known it was meant to be his someday. Now someday would never come.
Maybe the ghost meant he was to find something similar. Something she’d left behind. But why would he need to place it in front of him during a dangerous game? It didn’t make sense. He fell asleep thinking about it.
The cruel specter named Yuri didn’t appear that evening, and Nik slept soundly until sunlight touched his eyelids through the newly cleaned nursery window. Stretching, he headed to the kitchen and was surprised to find freshly baked apple cakes left for him on a little plate. They were covered with a clean towel and still warm.
Lifting one to his nose, he inhaled and took a bite, then lifted the cake to the empty house. “Thank you,” he mumbled, tucking a few moist crumbs back into his mouth. Not questioning the magic of the house, Nik finished his repast, drank deeply from the cold well water, and began working on the kitchen. He wore out several brushes on the floor but uncovered the loveliest purple tiles and spent time polishing each one and cleaning the grout until the gray grime filling the space between the tiles turned a creamy white.
Though the cabinets were empty, he wiped them down and found wood rubbing oil. Once he began oiling the surfaces, he noticed the kitchen woodwork was extremely intricate and detailed. In fact, the more he worked, the lovelier it became. Tiny carved details appeared richer and more striking every time he turned to dip his cloth.
Shelving that had once seemed cracked, split, or gauged appeared to heal upon a swipe of his cloth. Boards with insect damage or sun rot looked brand new after Nik spent a few minutes working on them. When he went outside to refill his bucket of water and returned a short time later, gold filigree had surfaced along all the cabinet edges in complex swirls and patterns underlaid with fine purple lines that matched the floor tiles.
Nik wondered if the water was magic or if it was the house itself. He also considered it might be the kindly mother ghost helping him restore the home. Whatever the case, Nik was grateful for it. At the end of the workday, when the sun sank, Nik found a hot tub of water in the nursery along with a bowl of stew, a freshly made loaf of bread, and a heavy bar of sweet-smelling soap.
The chair in the corner moved, creaking softly. Nik began unbuttoning his shirt, happy to be able to sink into his bath, but then went into the next room and took the old dressing screen and dragged it into the nursery, placing it between the tub and chair.
“Spasibo, Mama,” he said, taking a big bite of the black bread before sinking into the hot tub.
