Lost Face · Part 3

The Indians had attacked the fort and killed half the adventurers. The others had been tortured. Only Subienkow remained… and big Ivan, or rather what was left of him, as he lay groaning in the snow, almost dead.

The marks of the whip were still visible on Yakaga’s face. At last, the Indian was going to take revenge. Deep down, Subienkow could not really blame him. But torture terrified him.

At first, he thought of asking Makamuk, the chief of the tribe, for help. But he immediately understood that it would be useless. He also thought of cutting the rope and fighting to the death. At least that would be quicker than torture. But the rope was too strong.

Then, after thinking for a long time, he had an idea.

He called Makamuk and asked for a man to translate between them. Then he began to speak.

“Oh, Makamuk,” he said, “I do not want to die. And I will tell you something: I know too much to die like this. No, I am not like the others!”

He gave big Ivan a look of disgust, then pushed him with the tip of his foot.

“Yes,” he continued, “I know an extraordinary remedy against death. I am the only person who knows it. And if you are willing to listen, I will tell you this secret.”

“What remedy?” asked Makamuk.

“A strange and wonderful remedy…”

Subienkow paused for a moment, as if he was unsure whether to speak. Then he continued:

“You only need to put a little on your skin to make it as hard as stone. Yes, as hard as iron. Then no weapon can cut it. Even the strongest blow has no effect. A bone knife is useless, and even a steel knife would not be enough. If I give you this secret, what will you give me?”

“I will let you live,” replied Makamuk.

Subienkow burst out laughing.

“Very good. And then what? Will you make me your slave until I die?”

His laugh became even more mocking.

“First, if you want to talk to me, untie my hands and feet.”

The chief made a sign.

Once Subienkow was free, he stood up, took some tobacco from his pocket, rolled a cigarette and lit it.

“You are making fun of me,” said Makamuk. “No such remedy exists. Nothing can resist a good blade.”

The chief did not really believe the story. Yet he was not completely sure. He had already seen so many strange things among the fur traders that he still hesitated.

“I will let you live,” he said at last, “and I will not make you my slave.”

“That is not enough,” replied Subienkow.

He played his part with incredible calm, as if he were discussing the price of a fox skin.

“This remedy is exceptional. It has saved my life several times. I want a sled, dogs and six of your best hunters to travel upriver with me and take me safely some distance away from here.”

“No,” replied the chief. “You must stay here and teach us all your magic.”

Subienkow shrugged and said nothing. He calmly blew cigarette smoke into the freezing air as he watched big Ivan.

Suddenly, Makamuk pointed to the scar on the Pole’s neck.

“And that mark?” he asked. “Did your remedy not protect you?”

Subienkow thought for a second, then replied:

“The man who struck me was very strong. Stronger than you, stronger than your strongest man. And even so, the blow went no deeper.”

With the tip of his shoe, he pushed big Ivan’s body again. Terribly wounded, the Cossack was still breathing.

“Besides,” he continued, “the remedy I had then was not complete. I was missing a kind of berry that I could not find there. But here, in this country, those berries are easy to find. Here, my remedy will have its full power.”

“Very well,” said Makamuk. “I will let you travel upriver. I will also give you the sled, the dogs and the six men you ask for.”

“You have taken a long time to decide,” replied Subienkow coldly. “You have insulted me by doubting my word. Now I want more. I want a hundred beaver skins.”

Makamuk made a face.

“And I also want a hundred pounds of dried fish.”

This time, the chief agreed without difficulty, as dried fish was not worth much.

“And I want two sleds,” Subienkow continued. “One for me, and another for my beaver skins and my fish. You will also give me back my gun. And if you refuse again, I will ask for more in a moment.”

Yakaga leaned towards the chief and whispered something in his ear. Makamuk then asked:

“But how will I know that your remedy really works?”

“It is simple. First, you will let me go into the forest…”

Yakaga spoke quietly to the chief again, and the chief hesitated once more.

“You can send twenty men with me,” Subienkow continued, “to make sure I do not run away. I must find the berries and roots I need. Then, when the two sleds are ready, loaded with the fish, the skins and my gun, and when your six hunters are ready too, I will put the remedy on my neck. Your strongest man can take an axe and strike my neck three times. Or you can do it yourself, if you prefer.”

Makamuk’s mouth hung open. He listened with fascination to this new magic.

“Everything you ask for will be done!” Makamuk cried. “Start preparing your remedy at once.”

Subienkow hid the joy rising inside him. He was playing a very dangerous game, and the smallest mistake could mean his death.

He made himself look even prouder.

“You have tested my patience too far. Your lack of respect has offended me. To make up for it, you must give me your daughter.”

As he said this, he pointed to a very ugly young woman with one eye that turned inwards and teeth that stuck out of her mouth.

Makamuk became very angry, but the Pole remained perfectly calm. He was already rolling another cigarette.

“Hurry up,” he said. “If you delay any longer, I will ask for more.”

A silence followed. For a moment, Subienkow almost forgot the terrible events around him. In his memory, he saw his homeland again, then France. As he looked at the chief’s daughter, he thought of another woman, a charming little Parisian singer he had known when he was young.

“What do you want to do with my daughter?” growled Makamuk.

“I want her to travel upriver with me,” replied Subienkow, examining her like an expert. “She will make a good wife, and it will be an honour for you to have my remedy become part of your blood.”

The image of the young Parisian woman passed before his eyes again, and he began to hum a little song she had taught him. That happy memory felt almost strange to him, as if it had belonged to another man.

Suddenly, Makamuk’s voice brought him back to the present.

“That will be done too,” said the chief. “My daughter will travel upriver with you. But I will be the one to strike the back of your neck three times. Now go into the forest and find what you need. Men will go with you to make sure you do not escape.”

Subienkow’s greed had finally convinced the chief. In his eyes, no man would have dared to speak like that when facing death unless he really trusted his secret.

Surrounded by guards, Subienkow disappeared among the fir trees.

Makamuk and Yakaga were left alone.

“After he has taught us his secret,” whispered Yakaga, “you can always find a way to kill him.”

“But how?” asked Makamuk. “His remedy will stop us.”

“There will surely be a part of his body that he has not protected. We will kill him through that. His ears, for example. We can push a spear through one ear and out of the other. Or through his eyes. His remedy must be too strong for him to put it in his eyes.”

The chief nodded.

“Yakaga, you speak wisely. If he has no other magic, we will kill him that way.”