Riding Icarus Read Free Page A

out where she was.
    As she tried to decide which way to go, a big lump of tears and fright jammed itself in her chest. It was like a jigsaw put together out of order; she recognized all the pieces but she couldn’t quite make sense of them. Trying to swallow the lump down to somewhere more comfortable, she sternly counted off in her mind: river, allotments, meadow, trees. If the river is there and the allotments are here, that means I should go … which way? If the trees are between me and the river, that means…
    She was distracted by a noise. A curious slapping sound, like someone beating a carpet perhaps, or jumping up and down doing aerobics. People often came to the riverbank to do their exercises. Young men practising kung fu kicks; fat ladies trying to touch their toes. She knew some of the more regular exercisers quite well. People brought their carpets here too, so they could wash and beat the dust from them. The noise she could hear wasn’t frightening; it was as eerily familiar as the woods and the water. She went to find out what it was.
    Like everything else that evening, she recognized it immediately. It was just in the wrong place. It was a Cossack, and he was dancing.

Chapter 3
    O f course Masha knew who he was. Didn’t she have books full of pictures of Cossacks? Hadn’t her mother taken her to the theatre to see thunderous Cossack choirs? Couldn’t she Cossack dance herself?
    That was where Cossacks belonged. On stage, in picture books, in dancing classes. Somewhere way back in the past, when there were feasts and heroes and battles with Tatars and Turks.
    This Cossack stamped on the ground with heavy feet in worn boots. He had a moustache as fat as two droopy sausages stuck to his face, and the long topknot sprouting from the crown of his bald head spun round like the blades of a helicopter, so fast was he whirling and twirling, crouching and leaping. His wide scarlet trousers ballooned out with each rotation; his white shirt was a moony blur in the dimness.
    Such dancing! It was fast; it was furious; it was glorious. Masha could almost hear the squealing fiddles, the raging drums, the handclaps pattering faster and faster as round, round, round he went, filling the night with speed and heat and sparks. Still faster, still higher—
    And then it all fell apart. Somehow he missed a step, something went wrong, the fiddles broke their strings, the drum exploded, the Cossack stumbled and fell over as the end of his topknot swung round and hit him smack in the eye.
    “Damn and blast you! May your eyeballs drop out and be eaten by cockroaches, you stinking pile of horse manure!” roared the Cossack in a voice as huge as half an orchestra.
    Masha trembled. Was he shouting at her? But the Cossack did not look in her direction. He sat with his elbows on his knees, wiping the sweat from his face with a hand like a beef steak.
    “Cursed ground,” he grumbled. “Can’t you let an honest Cossack dance in peace?” He shook his fist in the air, and that was when he caught sight of Masha.
    “What monstrous object are you?” he rumbled in his enormous voice, heaving himself to his feet and advancing upon her threateningly.
    “I’m not a monstrous object; I’m a person,” she quavered. His clenched fists looked as large as her head. “I liked your dancing. Why did you stop?” she added in a desperate attempt to make him more friendly.
    “I didn’t stop – this enchanted place stopped me. The devil, may his tail wrap round his neck and choke him, stopped me,” boomed the Cossack. He did, however, unclench his fists. “How did you get here?”
    At the thought of explaining about Icarus, Masha’s nerve failed her. “I don’t know,” she said in a small voice, thinking what a stupid answer that was.
    But the Cossack’s blue eyes grew friendlier by the minute. “That makes two of us,” he said, “because I can’t say how I came here either. One minute I’m drinking and dancing with my friends