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A Winter Tale of the Russian Countryside Ivan woke up and saw that snow had fallen. Everything was white. The meadows and the trees were covered with sparkling powder. Ivan pulled on his trousers and a big green sweater and headed for the door. The other kids in the little village were already outside rolling snowballs and building snowmen. They were all a bit older than Ivan, but he always wanted to play with them anyway. “Ivan,” called his mother, “breakfast is ready!” So he had to sit down and have some blini delicious, thin pancakes that Mama had just baked. Ivan didn’t mind at all. “Thank you, Mama!” Ivan put on his coat and his valenki cozy felt boots and dashed for the door. “Wait, don’t go out without a hat!” Ivan’s mother grabbed his ushanka, a warm fur hat with floppy ears, and put it on his head. “Bye, Mama!” “Wait! Not just yet!” She gave him his varezhki, a pair of thick wool mittens. “Put them on,” she said. “Aw, Mama!” he said. “How can I roll snowballs in varezhki?” “Take them with you anyway.” Ivan grabbed his mittens they were on a string so he wouldn’t lose them and kissed Mama goodbye. Then he ran off into the bright frosty morning. “Hello, morning!” he sang out. “Hello, snow!” He dashed across the clearing to the older boys. They had just built a big snowman, with a carrot-nose, coal eyes and a hat. He was holding a broom in his branch-hand. “Can I help you?” Ivan asked a big boy with red cheeks. “Can’t you see?” said the boy with the red cheeks. “We’re finished.” The boy walked away from Ivan and started rolling smaller snowballs with his friends. Then they started throwing the snowballs at each other. Ivan decided to roll a small snowball, too. “Can I play?” he asked the boy with red cheeks. “No,” said the boy. “This is a game for big kids.” Ivan walked away sadly. It was hard being the smallest kid in the village. He didn’t have anyone to play with. He didn’t even have a dog! He walked into some deep, fresh snow alongside the woodpile next to his house. The snow was higher than his knees! He began to roll snowballs. “What shall I build?” he wondered. “A snowman, like those boys did?” He made one ball that was more like an oval, and then put a round one on top. It didn’t look much like a snowman, though. It looked like… It almost looked like… “I’ve made a dog!” said Ivan. Ivan ran into the house and brought two socks from his drawer to make nice floppy ears. He made a nose out of coal, and two friendly coal eyes. He found a fallen branch from a pine tree and made a bushy tail for his snowdog. “I’ll name you Snezhok!” said Ivan. Snezhok was the word for snowball, and Ivan knew it was just the right name for his snowdog. Ivan knelt down to pat Snezhok’s cold white coat. In the clearing, the big boys were shouting, still throwing snowballs at one another. “Will you be my friend, Snezhok?” Ivan whispered into his snowdog’s floppy ear. Snezhok looked back at Ivan with his dark coal eyes, and the wind moved his pine-branch tail. “You’re wagging your tail!” sang Ivan. “You’re a real snowdog!” Ivan hugged Snezhok and headed home, feeling very happy. The next few days were still very cold. The snowdog greeted Ivan every morning, fluffy with new snow, sitting at the same place by the woodpile, looking at Ivan with the same lively coal eyes. In Ivan’s imagination, Snezhok followed him everywhere and played with him all day long. Ivan would throw a stick far into the clearing, and Snezhok would run, barking merrily, and fetch it. He would race Snezhok all the way to the edge of the forest, and all the way back. They would run in circles around the old church. Of course you’d say, “Snowdogs can’t run! Snowdogs can’t bark!” But Ivan’s snowdog could do all those things. In any case, in Ivan’s imagination it could. Sometimes they would just sit still, and Ivan would tell Snezhok all kinds of things, secrets and thoughts. Snezhok always listened, like a good friend. “So I do have a dog, after all!” Ivan thought happily as he wished Snezhok good night, standing by the window and looking out at his very own snowdog. Snezhok gleamed in the moonlight, and he seemed so real. One morning the sun was very bright and warm. “What an early thaw! It’s like spring,” said Ivan’s grandma, Babushka Zoya. She shook her head and put some cherry jam on a thick slice of black bread for Ivan. Then she poured him a cup of hot tea from a shiny samovar. Ivan sat down to eat with her, but he was too excited to sit for long. Not on this sunny morning, when all the snow was melting. He took a couple bites of bread and licked his lips. “Thanks, Babushka!” he said, and rushed out the door, not even bothering to put on his coat. He turned the corner to the side of the house. And he stopped. Here was the woodpile, smelling of damp birch. Here was some smooth blue snow in the shade. Here was an icicle, hanging from the eves, dripping silvery drops. But no Snezhok. Just a darkened pile of snow, three pieces of coal, and two floppy socks. “Snezhok!” called Ivan. “Snezhok!” Tears ran down his cheeks, blurring the sunlit morning as he ran back inside. “Mama! Babushka! Where did Snezhok go?” “Don’t cry, little one,” Ivan’s mother said. “Snezhok turned into water.” “Water? Is he in the river now?” “Well, yes… Ivan, where are you going?” But Ivan was already on his way, running toward the brook. The ice was melting, and the water streamed merrily down, bubbling on the rocks. Ivan ran along, looking at the water, thinking about his friend. He ran a long way, and he got cold. The sun went behind a cloud. After all, it was still winter. Ivan followed the brook past all the houses in the village, through a grove of skinny birch trees, over a fallen log, all the way to the spot where the brook joined the stream that would take the water to the river. He stopped and sat on a rock to catch his breath. “Snezhok,” he said. “You were a good snowdog.” He felt almost too sad to run any farther, but he was determined to find his friend. He stood up, pulled his ushanka tight over his ears, and decided to head downstream. Suddenly he heard a sound. A tiny noise, a little whimper. Ivan looked around, and he saw… a puppy! A tiny puppy was sitting under a tree, not far from the brook. It was black, with white paws, white ears and a snowy white chest. Carefully, Ivan took the puppy in his arms, opened his jacket and wrapped the puppy inside. “Will you be my friend, Snezhok?” asked Ivan. The puppy looked at him with coal-black eyes and licked his hand. Svetlana Miller of Las Vegas is an artist and writer. RUSSIAN WINTER WORDS! Valenki (VA-len-ki) Wool snow boots Ushanka (oo-SHAN-ka) A furry hat with floppy ears Babushka (BA-boosh-ka) Grandmother Snezhok (snye-ZHOK) Snowball Samovar (sah-mo-VAR) A special kind of Russian teapot Blini (blee-NEE) Pancakes Snegovik (snyeg-o-VEEK) Snowman Varezhki (VA-rezh-kee) Mittens Metel (meh-TYEL) Blizzard |
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