Mila 18 - Leon Uris [7]
He turned away from the river and into a tree-lined street of lovely new homes in an area stamped with upper middle-class wealth. Andrei spotted a large stone on the sidewalk and began to dribble it with his feet with the dexterity of a trained soccer player, his leg muscles fairly rippling through his trousers. He gave the stone a final swift kick of the boot, speeding it down the street toward an imaginary goal, and turned at the gate of Dr. Paul Bronski’s house.
“Uncle Andrei!” shouted ten-year-old Stephan as he sprinted over the lawn and leaped on his uncle’s back.
“Schmendrick!”
The two “clashed,” and the big cavalry officer was “thrown” to the ground, apparently no match for his eighty-pound nephew. He surrendered gallantly, got to his feet, and lifted the victor on his shoulders.
“How is Batory?”
“Batory! The first, the most beautiful, and the most fierce animal in all of Poland.”
“What has he done lately, Uncle Andrei?”
“Lately? This week—well, let me see. I took him to England for the Grand National, and he ran so fast he split their and caused it to thunder. Well sir, those Englishmen thought it was raining and ran for cover and didn’t even see the race. Batory lapped the field four times and was coming up for the fifth time when the second fastest horse crossed the finish line. And those stupid Englishmen who were hiding in the stands thought Batory finished last.”
“Who takes care of Batory when you are gone?”
“First Sergeant Styka, personally!”
“I wish I could ride him again,” Stephan said, recalling the most thrilling incident of his young life.
“You will, just as soon as we clear up some things.”
“Can I jump him this time?”
“Yes, I think so. That is, if heights don’t make you too dizzy. When Batory jumps, the world below becomes very small. As a matter of fact, I don’t enter him in jumping races any more. Batory jumps so high, the other horses are around the track before he comes down.”
Andrei walked to the house.
“Uncle Andrei!” cried Rachael Bronski. This meeting was devoid of the previous violence, for the voice belonged to an elegant black-eyed fourteen-year-old young lady whose greeting was limited to an affectionate hug.
“Andrei!” cried Deborah, running in from the kitchen, wiping her hands. She flung her arms around her brother’s neck. “You devil! Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?”
“I only knew myself last night. Besides, I want to stay clear of Alexander Brandel. He’ll call one of those damned meetings.”
“How long?
“Four whole days.”
“How wonderful!”
Andrei lifted Stephan from his shoulders as though he were weightless.
“What did you bring me?” Stephan demanded.
“Stephan, shame!” his sister reprimanded.
Andrei winked and stretched his arms out Stephan began fishing through his uncle’s pockets, which had been an unfailing source of booty from his earliest memory. He withdrew a gilded Polish eagle, the insignia whose two spread wings held up the front corner of the Ulany cap.
“Mine?” with apprehension.
“Yours.”
“Wow!” and Stephan was gone to alert the neighborhood that his great Uncle Andrei was home.
“And for my beautiful niece.”
“You spoil them.”
“Do me something.”
The girl’s fingers quickly worked the ribbon open.
“Oh! Oh!” She hugged him and raced to the mirror to fix the pair of ivory combs into thick black hair which was just like her mother’s.
“She’s beautiful,” Andrei said.
“Boys are already starting to look at her.”
“What do you mean! What boys!”
Deborah laughed. “She won’t be a wallflower like her mother.”
Rachael walked to her