Harvest

belly. Anyone else would have been impressed by the symphony of gurgles.

Aleksei just said, 'That's disgusting.'

'Everything's disgusting to you. What's wrong with you, anyway?'

'I don't like disgusting things.'

'You used to like them.'

'Well, I don't any more.'

'It's because of that Nadiya. She' s turned you all soft and gooey.

You're sweet on her.'

'Am not.'

'Are too.'

'Am not!' Aleksei threw a handful of shavings, catching Yakov full in the face. Suddenly both boys were grappling, rolling against one side of the crate, then the other, cursing, kicking. There was not much room to move, so they could not really hurt each other. Then Aleksei lost Shu-Shu somewhere in the shavings and began scrabbling around in the darkness, searching for his dog. Yakov was tired of fighting anyway.

So they both stopped.

For a while they rested side by side, Aleksei clutching ShmShu, Yakov trying to coax new and more repulsive sounds from his stomach. Soon he tired of even that. They lay immobilized by boredom, by the sleep-inducing rumble of the engines, and by the sway of the sea.

Aleksei said, 'I'm not sweet on her.'

'I don't care if you are.'

'But the other boys like her. Haven't you noticed how they talk about her?' Aleksei paused. And added: 'I like the way she smells.

Women smell different. They smell soft.'

'Soft doesn't make a smell.'

'Yes it does. You smell a woman like that, and you know, when you touch her, she'll be soft. You just know it.' Aleksei stroked ShuShu. Yakov could hear his hand skimming the tattered fabric. 'My mother smelled that way,' said Aleksei.

Yakov remembered his dream. The woman, the smile. The wisp of blonde hair tracing across a cheek. Yes, Aleksei was right. In his dream, his mother had indeed worn the scent of softness.

'It sounds stupid,' said Aleksei. 'But I remember that. Some things I still remember about her.'

Yakov stretched, and his feet touched the other end of the crate. Have I grown? he wondered. If only. If only I could grow big enough to kick my feet right through that wall.

'Don't you ever think about your mother?' asked Aleksei. 'No.'

'You wouldn't remember her anyway.'

'I remember she was a beauty. She had green eyes.'

'How would you know? Uncle Misha says you were a baby when she left.'

'I was four. That's not a baby.'

'I was six when my mother left and I hardly remember anything.'

'I'm telling you, she had green eyes.'

'So she had green eyes. So what?'

The clang of a door made them both fall silent. Yakov squirmed over to the crate opening and looked up. It was Nadiya again. She'd just come out of the blue door and was crossing the walkway. She vanished through the forward hatch.

'I don't like her,' saidYakov.

'I do. I wish she was my mother.'

'She doesn't even like children.'

'She told Uncle Misha she dedicates her life to us.'

'You believe that?'

'Why would she say it if it isn't true?'

Yakov tried to think of an answer, but could not come up with one. Even if he had, it would make no difference to Aleksei. Stupid Aleksei. Stupid everyone. Nadiya had them all fooled. Eleven boys, and each and every one of them was in love with her. They fought to sit beside her at supper. They watched her, studied her, sniffed at her like puppies. At night, in their bunks, they whispered about Nadiya this and Nadiya that. What foods she preferred, what she'd eaten at lunch. They speculated about everything from how old she was to what undergarments she wore under her grey skirts. They discussed whether or not Gregor, whom everyone despised, was her lover, and unanimously decided he was not. They pooled their knowledge about feminine anatomy, the older boys explaining, in lurid detail, the function of tampons and how and where they are inserted, thus transforming forever the way the younger boys would view women — as creatures with dark and mysterious holes. This only increased their fascination with Nadiya.

Yakov shared that fascination, but his was not because of adoration. He was afraid of her.

It was all because of the blood tests.

On their fourth day at sea, when the boys were still puking and moaning in their bunks, Gregor and Nadiya had come around carrying a tray of needles and tubes. It will be only a small prick, they'd said, a small tube of blood to confirm you are healthy. No one will adopt you if they cannot be assured you are healthy. The pair had moved from boy to boy, weaving a bit from the rough sea, the glass tubes clattering in the tray. Nadiya had looked sick, on the verge of throwing up. Gregor had been the one to draw the blood. At each bunk they'd asked the boy his name and fitted him with a plastic bracelet on which they'd written a number. Then Gregor tied a giant rubber band around the boy's arm and slapped the skin a few times, to make the vein swell. Some of the boys cried, and Nadiya had to hold their hand and comfort them while Gregor drew the blood.

Yakov was the only boy whom she was unable to comfort. No matter how she tried, she could not make him hold still. He did not want that needle in his arm, and he had given Gregor a kick to emphasize the point. That's when the real Nadiya took over. She pinned Yakov's one arm to the bed, holding it there with a grasp that pinched and twisted at the same time. As Gregor drew the blood, she had kept her gaze fixed on Yakov, had spoken quietly, even sweetly to him as the needle pierced his skin and the blood streamed into the tube. Everyone else in that room, listening to Nadiya's voice, heard only murmured words of reassurance. But Yakov, staring into those pale eyes of hers, saw something entirely different.

Afterwards, he had gnawed off his plastic bracelet.

Aleksei still wore his. Number 307. His certification of good health.

'Do you think she has children of her own?' asked Aleksei. Yakov gave a shudder. 'I hope not,' he said, and crawled to the crate opening. He looked up and saw the deserted walkway and the empty stairway, coiling above like a serpent's skeleton. The blue door, as always, was shut.

Brushing off the wood shavings, he scrambled out of their hiding place. 'I'm hungry,' he said.

As Cook had predicted, that grey and oppressive afternoon was soon followed by heavy seas — not a severe storm, but rough enough to confine the passengers, both children and adults, to their cabins. And that was precisely where Aleksei intended to stay. All the coaxing in the world would not budge him from his bunk. It was cold and wet outside, and the floor was rocking, and he had no interest in poking around the dark, damp corners that so seemed to fascinate Yakov. Aleksei liked it in his bed. He liked the cosiness of a blanket pulled up around his shoulders, liked the draughts of warmth that puffed at his face when he turned or wriggled, liked the smell of Shu-Shu sleeping beside him on the pillow.

All morning, Yakov tried to drag Aleksei out of bed, to tempt him with another visit to Wonderland. Finally he gave up and went off on his own. He came back once or twice to see if Aleksei had changed his mind, but Aleksei slept all afternoon, through supper, and straight into the evening.

In the night, Yakov awakened and sensed at once that something was different. At first he could not decide what it was. Perhaps just the passing of the storm? He could feel the ship had steadied. Then he realized it was the engines that had changed. That ceaseless rumble had muffled to a soft growl.

He crawled out of his bunk and went to give Aleksei a shake.

'Wake up,' he whispered.

'Go away.'

'Listen. We've stopped moving.'