Leshy Darko

I should not have tied a pretty blonde Ukrainian girl named Sasha to a tree and left her there to cry, for it was then my troubles really began.

On our post-war Canadian street, mothers warned their children in all the tongues of the Diaspora to stay away from the Canadian Pacific tracks and never ever to cross them, on pain of punishments we could not even begin to imagine. We were told this story in every language from Inverness to Spitzbergen, Kiev to Haifa. Me? I was told in pure Glaswegian: "If youse ever go across they bluidy tracks Ah’ll skelp yer arse sae hard ye’ll no sit doon fer a bluidy week, so Ah wull." My pal Hughie McFadyen had another version of this. "Ah’ll skelp yer gob sae hard ye’ll hae tae eat through yer neb." Hughie reckoned he would rather eat through his mouth than through his nose, so he was an obedient boy.

Down the west end of our street, the Canadian Pacific tracks had became our frontier, our Berlin Wall, terra incognito, a lacuna on the knowledge of our city, Winnipeg, which we already knew was Cree Indian for "Muddy Water." A forbidden area, hence we yearned to know it, to taste its dangers. But we understood our parents’ fears. We often flattened coins on the train tracks; shiny nickels and dimes became silver pancakes; we imagined what a boy would look like after a hundred box cars of the Canadian Pacific had passed over him. But it wasn’t just the tracks. There was a canal and skating slough (slew) to drown in and a mysterious park called Korolenko Park where allegedly, bad things could happen to boys and girls. We weren’t sure what those bad things were but wanted to find out.

Most of the houses west of the tracks were older, more run down, "war houses" built hastily during the war, ramshackle two storeys. Our newer houses were tidy pastel bungalows built to accommodate the inner city overspill, plus the swollen refugee immigrant population and were named "peace-time houses." There you have it. War and Peace, and our parents had all had enough of war, whichever side they’d fought on.

East down our street was the new brick Elementary School with the lovely Canadian flag fluttering (the pre-Maple Leaf one) There was a playground there. The grounds were safe and tidy. There were no trains and not much traffic, so parents could generally keep an eye on us. "East" in that post-war housing estate represented the East all our parents had known: they had all come from the East somewhere in Europe. The Ukraine, Poland, Russian, Germany, Scotland, Ireland. They knew "East." To them West meant uncertainty, risk, danger, harm. The endless prairie. Fierce native peoples. Barren wilderness. Our city was founded by fur trappers who in their own lingo said "Gone West" meaning "dead". So, on bicycles and tricycles, we stayed East and our parents were happy.

Hughie and I were good boys until we tied a wee Ukrainian girl named Sasha Churchenko to one of the few trees in our neighbourhood and accidentally forgot about her. The upshot is, her mother came looking for her and found her sobbing at the tree. She came hunting for me and Hughie. Our mothers did all the front door negotiations in that neighbourhood but the dads did the punishment and Hughie and I were both leathered for it. We took it in our heads to find Sasha and apologise profusely. We even had some chocolate as a peace offering. The chocolate was the nice kind my auntie Jean had brought from Edinburgh. There was no chocolate in our city quite like it. It was a big sacrifice. All we knew was that Sasha Churchenko lived somewhere near Korolenko Park, across the tracks.

Hughie and I knew we were both born into the wrong century. We hadn’t tied Sasha up for any other reason than that we had captured her fairly and had taken her prisoner. We were Indians and she was our blonde captive. After all, our city was founded by native peoples, fur trappers, traders and long-distance voyageurs. We played out their history every day. We even wrote about them:

Jed Campbell and Broken Had McClintock were gathering saskatoon berries one day in the Rocky Mountain foothills. Grizzly bears like saskatoons too. A huge female grizzly was gathering the berries with her two cubs. Broken Hand decided to go back to their camp and left Jed alone gathering berries....

We went to the edge of the tracks and stood by the level crossing, watching a hundred boxcars fly past, tailed by a bright red caboose. We drew our breaths, Hughie crossed himself, and we walked across the tracks into forbidden territory. We saw the houses, their paint peeling like blistered skin. Untethered dogs roamed around the tracks. "Everything smells like cabbage" said Hughie, who did have a good sense of smell. We both saw the forbidden canal and slough (slew), ringed by stringy willows. Then we walked home, feeling braver. We planned our next foray carefully. We took sandwiches, tins of cream soda and packets of whole sunflower seeds which were the neighbourhood treat. The boys pretended the big foiled pouches were really full of chewing tobacco. We took the two special chocolate bars as peace offerings to Sasha. We put these in Hughie’s Scout pack. It was a quiet Saturday, few children were out playing yet. We went to the tracks; the level crossing barriers were open. We crossed the tracks. The canal was peaceful, ringed with bulrushes. Redwing blackbirds sang from the willows. The slough would be perfect for ice skating and we vowed to come back in winter to play hockey.

Then we walked down into Korolenko Park. It was a pleasant tree-lined park, with a long sidewalk leading to a children’s’ playground at the other end. The park itself was a square bounded by war-time houses, most of them freshly painted. The yards were well-kept.
Jed gathered berries, stopping to taste some now and then. The grizzly reared on her hind legs and began to sniff the air. She sensed danger. The silver hairs stood up on the top of her broad back. She heard a sound on the other side of the clearing. She would have to protect her cubs....

We walked quickly to the western end of the sidewalk, and then started back to the eastern end of the Park. We had done it, walked through enemy territory! We decided we could celebrate with our picnic. We sat on a bench and began our sandwiches.

"After we finish our lunch we can ask someone where Sasha Churchenko lives. I know it’s somewhere near" I said. Hughie and I were so intent on our food that we didn’t see them come through the trees.

Jed had an old fur trapper’s instinct that he was being stalked, that he was being watched. He quickly took his Green River knife from his belt and whirled round...

Six of them, a few years older than us. All in jeans and flannel lumberjack shirts. Ducktail haircuts which our mothers wouldn’t let us have. They sneered, then spoke to each other in a language Hughie and I didn’t understand. The biggest, clearly the leader, spoke to us in English.

"I’m Leshy Darko and this is my gang. What are you doing in our park?"
I looked at Hughie. I spat a bread crust out of my mouth.

"We...we were looking for a girl named Sasha Churchenko. We have something to give her. Do you know where she lives?"
Darko laughed.
"You little shitasses don’t have much to give a girl. Tell you what. You give us what you wanted to give her and we'll make sure she gets it, won’t we boys?" They all sniggered.
I gave him the chocolate.
"Safe with us" Darko said as he unwrapped the chocolate and threw the foil and paper to the ground. He divided the chocolate up and they ate it.
"Nice chocolate. We’ll tell Sasha it tasted great. By the way, Anglo shitfaces, pick up that litter. We don’t like litter in our park" I picked the litter up and put it in our Tupperware box. I put the Tupperware back in Hughie’s pack. Hughie was shivering with fear.
"Anyway, you turds are lucky. We’ll let you go home, East. You’re not tough enough to come West. Go home and grow up."
Hughie began to sprint, the only time I had ever seen him run.
"I said WALK" shouted Darko. but Hughie had already disappeared out of the park and over the tracks.
"Your chickenshit friend has more sense than you. Boys, initiation time."
Two of them pinned my arms behind my back and began to frogmarch me to the train tracks. When I struggled, two others grabbed my legs. Darko and the other boy were at the slough, cutting willows with a pocket knife.

Jed spun round with his knife, but he never got to use it. The grizzly swatted him with her paw, knocking him to the ground. He passed out, briefly coming to only as she ripped the flesh from his leg, feeding it to her nearby cubs...

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