Chapter №4 – Meet the Family (Patreon)

It was a bright, sunny morning, as the big yellowish orange disc in the sky blessed the earth with its rays. Surely, the outside must be beautiful now that the snow has melted, thought Boris. Unfortunately for him, he was anywhere but outside, and inside was anywhere but outside. Sitting on a stool in some sort of kitchen, he was forsaken from the rays of the sun. His legs were far from reaching the floor, either because the stool was too high or because Boris was too short.

“O’ Anna, give me a light, won’t you?” In contrast to the uncomfortable position that Boris was in, Lady Rabanowicz had both her boots on the table, and her legs were crossed in a fashion most unbecoming of a lady. There was a wooden ladle that she was sucking on like a tobacco pipe, and in her hands was a small stack of assorted papers that she was flipping through like a newspaper.

Anna, being busy with preparing food as one commonly does in a kitchen, heaved a sigh while her head was turned away from the mistress. “Yes, my lady.” She then professionally turned around and knelt down towards the ladle, flicking her thumb a few times to “light” the ladle. After several flicks the mistress seemed satisfied, and she took a deep huff of nothing. Anna muttered some creative obscenities that need no further description after having turned back around to work.

Boris, in the meanwhile, was busy counting the tiles on the floor. Not that this was part of his job description or anything, it was just that he had almost ruined a perfectly good meal when he almost dropped the pot on the floor. He hadn’t gotten quite used to being as strong as a little girl. Anna had told him off, and Boris welcomed having an excuse not to work. He was swinging his legs around, fantasizing about taking a nap after mealtime was over. This would be the first time he got to eat something other than bread given to him by Anna out of pity.

Then, suddenly, Anna cried to Boris: “Eadhenchik, get up and help me carry these to the dining room.” She then switched to a much lighter tone while speaking to the mistress “Mistress, you should make your way there as well.”

“Alright!” Rabanowicz took her boots off the table and jumped down from the stool. She exited out the only door in the kitchen, the one which led to the dining room. Boris took a plate of whole chicken, something that proved difficult to carry in his current state, and Anna masterfully stacked several plates on top of each other without ruining or dropping any food. They both followed the mistress out of the room.

The dining room was a big one, certainly not as impressive as the royal ones Boris had occasionally seen photographs of, but this one room was still bigger than his village house back in Montenegro. There were big windows that finally allowed the sun to grace Boris’ face, though most of the light fell on the big table in the middle. It was a table well-lacquered with intricate details, a mix of yellow and black forming plenty of floral patterns which must have taken days for a master to make. Boris was certainly not a connoisseur of luxury furniture, but he could feel the luxury oozing out of this table. The glossy lacquer reflected sunlight right into Boris’ eyes, which made him have to turn his face away from this impressive piece of furniture art.

“Eadhenchik, place that chicken in the middle. Get four… five, five sets of tableware. Also, a pitcher for the middle.” commanded Anna. Boris was unsure why they’d need five sets when there were three of them, but he proceeded to help with setting the dinner table up since he had nothing better to do at that moment. The cutlery seemed pretty heavy and shiny to Boris. He thought that it must be made out of silver, though he himself had never gotten to touch silver tableware before. He couldn’t help but play around with the silver items while he carried them to the table. Then there were the plates, all of fine porcelain and without a spot of dirt. Finally, Boris had to carry a central item to the table: the salt cellar. It had a base made of polished ebony, and on top of it stood a bearded figure holding a pickaxe on one hand and seemingly offering a large bowl towards the holder on the other hand. In this large bowl he had to place salt so that those eating in the table could get their all-important sodium.

After much work, the table was set up. Boris sat down on a chair to get ready to eat, only to be shouted at by Anna. “You- eadhenchik, stand up!

Boris was shocked, and he separated from the chair as if its surface was made of lava. He asked “Why? Are we not eat?”

“No, we’re not the ones who’ll eat, you idiot!” Anna hushed Boris away to a corner, towards the door to the kitchen. “Stand here, wait for them.”

“Who?” Boris’ question was immediately answered by a group of voices coming outside of the door. The mumbles slowly became clearer and clearer until the door was opened. Nobody came in for a good second, and all was quiet, until a tall, hefty, imposing bloke walked in. He had a top hat that helped make him even taller, and his puffy suit only made him even heftier. His round face was topped by an even rounder mole right beneath his lip. He hadn’t opened his mouth yet, but Boris felt that this man didn’t need any words.

“Good evening, sir.” Anna bowed down, and she pushed Boris’ head down to bow along with her. He muttered something too, though thankfully it was quiet enough for the honorable sir not to hear. The honorable sir responded by not recognizing the existence of the maids saluting him. Boris quickly raised his head up, only to be pushed down again by Anna.

Behind the honorable sir followed the honorable young lady Rabanowicz, who strutted like a peacock in full show as if she hadn’t just placed her boots on the table a couple minutes ago. Then behind her was another two blokes, one was wearing an orangish vest and a polished shako with yellow and red feathers poking from them. His uniform was completed with a brass-hilted saber hanging by his side held on by a yellow-red sash woven in a pattern that resembled the letter S. He had a mustache, bushy, square and black, and he had eyebrows as thick as the mustache. The other bloke was much younger, only a bit taller than Rabanowicz, and the two of them both looked to be made of similar stock. He wasn’t as impressive as the big honorable sir, but his suit was still well-kept and he still had a gentlemanly aura around him.

The man with the saber stayed behind to stand right next to the door, while the rest of the new arrivals found their places at the dinner table. The honorable sir sat in a solitary chair at the end of the table, while Rabanowicz and the younger man sat next to each other. Anna proceeded to cut the chicken in the middle up and distributed it to the plates of the people sitting. Boris wondered why he couldn’t sit when there were two other perfectly good tables for him to sit on. These rich gits could afford to give him one scrap of chicken at least!

“Who’s the big man?” asked Boris.

“Sir Casimir Rabanowicz. Don’t do anything wrong, eadhenchik.” replied Anna.

“Anna, give me a light, won’t you?” commanded the honorable sir also known as Casimir, taking out a tobacco pipe. “The newspaper too, please.”

“Yes, sir.” Anna had already folded the newspaper into the folds of her dress. She promptly unfolded the paper and handed it to Casimir. The maid then took out an odd tinderbox, shaped like a gas lamp, from one of the drawers under the table. A few turns of the valve, and the tobacco pipe was lit.

Boris found such a contraption unnecessary. He, in his time in the trenches, had made many a lighter from empty cartridge cases. Such a doohickey seemed most unwieldy compared to a homemade trench lighter. It looked like an invention fit for the Hungarian mad scientist who had kidnapped him.

“Mhm… Hhm…” Casimir groaned and sometimes nodded his head while the children dined. He himself seemed keener on having a leisurely smoke first. “Kur’in with Sallia? They’re always saying that. And that buffoon Chancellor is giving some lowbrow speech again.” He kept offering commentary on the news here and there, but nobody around him was literate enough to understand what his mutterings meant.

“Papa, what does kur’in mean?” asked Rabanowicz.

“It’s not something for girls or ladies.” answered Casimir. He took another huff of his pipe.

“…father, what does kur’in mean?” asked the boy who was most likely little Rabanowicz’s brother.

Casimir paused for a second, humming and erring. “How do I explain this to you Radoslaw – it’s… You know, devshtat have kur’in with each other where they go…” Casimir extended his hands forward, as if he was gripping a rifle. He pulled an imaginary trigger and made a “Bang!” sound with his mouth. “It’s where men are made, my ead.”

Boris understood, from the context surrounding it, that he kur’in most likely meant war. He had found that the “real men” were first to die in war, and that cowards like him were the last. At least he wasn’t the most cowardly considering a few of his comrades were alive when he died. After having solved the mystery of what that word was, he had another word stuck in his mind. “Sallia?”

Anna froze when Boris spoke his question out loud. What disgrace it was to interrupt a family meal! Thankfully, Boris hadn’t spoken loud enough for the table to hear, and Anna sent a gentle kick to his ankle to warn him.

“That sounds fun!” replied little Radoslaw, not having the foresight of a Montenegrin WWI veteran.

“You should join me for a game of Kur’inshpel, I have time for a few rounds after luncheon.” He put his newspaper down to finally eat the food in front of him.

“Papa, can I join too?” asked the young lady Rabanowicz.

“It’s nothing for girls, dear.” replied Casimir once more. “You shouldn’t worry about it.”

Rabanowicz opened her mouth again, but she closed it back without speaking a word. She put her knife and fork down, and jumped off the table. Her plate was empty. Anna walked to her and cleaned the girl’s cheeks and mouth of grease with a handkerchief. She left the room, the orange guard stepping away from the door to let her leave.

Casimir watched his daughter leave the room and sighed. “Oh, what am I going to do with this girl…” He had finished his food too, so he got up from his chair and walked towards the man in orange. “Hoksha, get the Kur’inshpel ready.”

“Yes sir.” Hoksha, the fellow in orange, made a salute and went out of the room followed by Casimir and Radoslaw. The only ones left in the room were Anna and Boris.

“Come on, eadhenchik. We have a table to clean.”

Boris heard his stomach growl. Food seemed like a distant dream to him…