Lost Face · Part 4

Subienkow did not waste any time. He picked up everything he found on the ground or in the trees. He also collected all kinds of berries and moss, which the Indians went to find under the snow. Anything could be useful.

He added a few bones from small animals, then returned to the camp, walking ahead of the others.

Makamuk and Yakaga sat down near him. They carefully watched everything he put into a large cooking pot, and how much he used.

“Watch closely,” Subienkow explained in a satisfied voice. “I started with these little berries that grow under the moss… Very good! That is perfect… Ah! I almost forgot. Something is still missing: a man’s finger. Come closer, Yakaga, and let me cut off one of your fingers.”

But Yakaga immediately hid his hands behind his back. His face clearly showed his displeasure.

“Only your little finger…” the Pole insisted.

Makamuk gave an order:

“Yakaga, give him your finger!”

“There are enough fingers around us,” Yakaga replied in an unhappy voice.

He pointed to the bodies lying in the snow. They were the remains of about twenty fur thieves who had been tortured to death.

“The finger must come from a living man,” Subienkow explained.

“I will give you what you want,” said Yakaga.

He went over to Ivan and cut off one of his fingers. Then he threw the bloody finger into the snow at the Pole’s feet.

“This man is not dead yet,” he said.

He added:

“And it is a very good finger, since it is so large.”

Subienkow dropped it into the pot. Then he began to sing what sounded like a magic spell.

In fact, it was a French love song. He sang it with a very serious expression while stirring his mixture.

“The words I am saying are essential,” he explained. “Without them, the remedy would not work. They give it all its power… There, everything is ready.”

“Repeat those words slowly so I can learn them,” Makamuk ordered.

“Later. When the axe has struck my neck three times without hurting me, I will teach them to you.”

“But how will you do that if the remedy does not work and you are dead?” Makamuk asked, worried.

Subienkow became very angry.

“My remedy always works! You must not doubt it. If I have lied to you, I give you permission to cut my body into little pieces, like the big Cossack’s finger.”

He leaned over the pot, which he had taken off the fire a little earlier.

“The mixture has cooled down already. This is the right moment. I will put some on my neck while singing another magic spell.”

Still looking just as serious, he slowly sang a few lines of La Marseillaise. At the same time, he spread the mixture over his neck.

A terrible cry rang out.

It was the giant Cossack. With one last effort, he had found the strength to get onto his knees.

The Indians burst out laughing and began to clap. Big Ivan fell back to the ground and rolled in the snow. His body shook violently. He was dying.

At this horrible sight, Subienkow felt like vomiting. But he managed to control himself and shouted angrily:

“Let us get on with the remedy! Make them be quiet, Yakaga, and let us begin the test.”

While Yakaga called for silence, Subienkow turned to Makamuk.

“Above all, do not forget to strike with all your strength! This is not a child’s job. Here, take your axe and strike this piece of wood in front of me. I want to see if you are a real man.”

Makamuk obeyed. He raised his axe and struck twice with force. With each blow, a large piece of wood flew into the air.

“Perfect!” said Subienkow.

He looked at the faces around him. In those faces, he saw all the violence that had filled his life since his arrest in Warsaw. That day, the tsar’s police had taken away his freedom. Since then, he had never managed to escape from that world of suffering.

“Take your axe, Makamuk, and stand here. I am going to lie down in the snow. When I raise my hand, strike with all your strength. And make sure no one is standing behind you. My remedy is powerful: when the axe bounces off my neck, it might slip out of your hands.”

Subienkow then looked at the two sleds. The dogs were already tied to them, ready to leave. The furs and fish had been loaded, and his gun lay on top. The six Indians who were supposed to go with him were waiting nearby.

“Where is the girl?” he asked. “Bring her to the sleds before the test begins!”

They did as he asked.

Then the Pole lay down in the snow and rested his head on the piece of wood. He relaxed like a tired child about to fall asleep.

And he really was exhausted after all those years of suffering.

“Let us begin!” he said to Makamuk. “I am afraid of neither you nor your weapon. Strike hard!”

He raised his hand.

Makamuk lifted his large axe, the one he used to cut down trees. The blade shone in the freezing air.

Then it struck Subienkow’s neck.

It cut through the skin and bones, then sank deep into the wood.

The Indians watched in shock as the head fell a metre away from the body and the blood flowed.

For a moment, no one spoke. Little by little, they understood that the famous remedy did not exist.

The fur thief had tricked them.

Of all their prisoners, Subienkow was the only one who had managed to escape torture. He had got what he wanted: a quick death.

Then the Indians burst out laughing.

Makamuk lowered his head in shame. The fur thief had made a fool of him. All his men were laughing and seemed unable to stop.

He, the chief, had lost face. In front of everyone, he had lost his honour and the respect of the others.

He turned his back on them and walked away with his head down.

He knew that, from then on, no one would call him Makamuk any more.

He would only be “Lost Face”.

The story of his shame would follow him until his death. People would tell it everywhere: from one person to another, around the fires, then from one tribe to another.

In spring, the tribes would gather as they did every year to exchange their goods. Someone would ask very loudly, right in front of him, to make fun of him:

“Do you know who Lost Face is?”

And everyone would answer together:

“Lost Face is the man who used to be called Makamuk, before the day he cut off the fur thief’s head with his axe.”