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Maksím Altin had a hard day. Not because his life was particularly complicated in general, although it was, according to the seven-year-old. But because he was the child of two people with a weird sense of humor and kind of uncharacteristic approaches to parenting.
Which was why he was currently sitting around a fireplace, looking into the woods surrounding him, and pulling his fluffy blanket tighter around his body. His papa said he was small for his age, but his äke said it was okay because he too had been a small seven-year-old. Of course, papa then would tell him he is still small, so äke would inform him, ‘yes, but at least I’m not behaving like a child.’ Which was not really true in Maksím’s eyes, but apparently everyone seemed to agree with his äke, except for papa. On the other hand, a lot of people said that papa was sometimes childish, even immature, but Maksím thought nothing could be further from the truth.
Papa was always the responsible one. The boring one.
When Maksím wanted to ride on the motorcycle he saw on some older pictures, papa would tell him that he made äke sell his bike, once they knew Maksím would be given to them. When äke played with him and tossed him through the air as if he was an airplane or a dragon, papa always told him to be careful. Papa would not let him have a second ice cream cone.
Maksím didn’t know why one of his fathers was stricter. He heard them talk about it once, but all the words they used were complicated and long, and even if he had wanted to understand them, there would have been no chance. But all he wanted in that moment was a jar of water, and so his parents looked at him with big eyes, before he was given what he desired.
Today, he would not be given what he wanted, Maksím already knew that. Because his parents were a little angry. A little.
They were on a camping trip. And Maksím understood, logically, that he should stay close to his parents because the woods could be dangerous. But Lucia and him liked to chase each other, and she had taken a turn left and then right and so, naturally, Maksím followed. She was older, after all, so she knew what she was doing. At least, that is what he naively assumed.
As it turned out, Lucia was just as confused as him after a few moments. So they did the only thing they could think of: took each other’s hands, sat down, and yelled and whined for their parents, again and again, until a few hours later, a very disheveled uncle Viktor managed to find both of them. They were sitting on a log playing with bugs. He was crying.
When they were returned to the camp, Maksím found papa and äke crying, too. Uncle Yuri was also in tears, and even Lucia began to whimper the moment she was back in her parent’s arms. Maksím didn’t understand—after all, nothing bad happened.
But for a while, his parents and his uncles struggled to calm down, so he told them not to worry because he was good at looking out for himself. That didn’t seem to be the right answer, but Maksím had no idea why. He still knew because his äke gave his papa one of those looks that they liked to exchange before they decided to take something from him. Which was never a nice feeling. Maksím shrunk into himself. The rest of the day, he was watched carefully. Wherever he tried to go, even if it was just a few steps away from the camp, an adult would have to accompany him. Lucia and him were prohibited from playing alone.
Maksím thought this was unfair. Why were his parents so worried? All they had done was chase each other, walk around for a while, and sit on the floor. Sure, his pants were ruined, but he had also seen a bunch of beautiful bugs. One with a glistening shell! So couldn’t they see it was worth it?
Tonight, he was informed by one of his uncles, they would have a campfire, so they would need to go back into the forest and collect wood. He was allowed to come—no, he had to come—but had strict instructions to stay with one of his parents at all times.
Which was harder than they said because everyone around him had longer legs and a higher point of view. Maksím constantly got caught in spider webs, tumbled into bushes, or stepped into little holes in the ground because his small feet were too busy hurrying to feel out the terrain. When his papa eventually turned to scold him, Maksím was already ready to cry. His pants were green with moss and leaves, his eyes a little red. Papa didn’t scold him.
The rest of the trip, Maksím was tightly curled around his äke’s head. He sat on his shoulders, legs squeezing his neck. This was so much better. He could see everything! Maksím didn’t have to hurry and didn’t fall, and also, this way he couldn’t stray too far, as his parents liked to remind him. Sure, one or two branches landed in his face and he scolded his äke every time because how dare he forget Maksím on his shoulders, but in the end, he preferred this position.
Eventually, they stopped. A clearing was spreading out around them, offering different paths into fairytale worlds. They were all very close, so Maksím didn’t think too much. He could clearly see his parents, and there were little berries on the floor.
What would they taste like?
He leaned down, grabbed tiny hands full of them, and was about to shove them into his mouth when the panicked voice of his äke stopped him. “Maksím! What are you doing?”
“I’m … eating? Berries! Look! There are a lot of berries here! Do you also want—”
Papa had already grabbed his hand and was swiping his fingers over Maksím’s palm, making him drop all the little pearls. He scrunched his nose and looked up, his äke's gaze unreadable. Maksím had to assume his papa couldn’t read him, either, so he had to make clear what he was thinking in another way, didn’t he?
His tiny face drew tight and his body tensed. Through his squeezed eyes, he saw his papa drop his head back. The mumbled “Oh no, not again,” made no sense to him. What made sense was his anger. Maksím found berries. They looked colorful and sweet, and he wanted to know what they tasted like, so he began to scream. Papa and äke only stared at him, so he dropped to the ground, small fists drumming the moss. His punches to the dirt were cushioned, so naturally, he had to cry louder to make up for the missing noise.
It was all so unfair. He wanted to explore the forest, just like an adult. Papa and äke and uncle Yuri and uncle Viktor just walked away, too. They never had to hold the hand of another grownup. And they sometimes picked up things, too. Äke had given him a strawberry earlier on, uncle Viktor even found small mushrooms they were all delighted about. Why was Maksím not allowed to pick up berries or mushrooms or walk around or or or? He just had to run with tiny legs after the giants around him . It was all so unfair.
He still didn’t understand the issue when they sat around their fire, hours later. Uncle Yuri had handed a stick with dough to both Lucia and him, and now they were holding it in the flames. Lucia’s dough was already black, tiny wafts of smoke rising from the stick-bread. Maksím’s was still raw, mostly because it was the third one. His previous attempts were all burning in the fire. One of them fell, including the stick, and caught fire immediately. The other he accidentally dragged over the ground.
At least his parents had smiled and helped to make a new one. They become a little more quiet after he had thrown himself onto the ground. Now they were cuddled up under one blanket, giving him all those strange looks. Maksím still didn’t understand why they worried.
An hour later, his front was burning and his back was cold. He managed to eat his forth self-made bread, and now the last bits of his trusted stick were glowing in the embers. He was cold and hot at the same time, but turning around was not an option because then he couldn’t see what was going on.
So Maksím rounded the fire and climbed onto the log his parents were sitting on, right between them. Äke and papa immediately made room for him, as they should. He squeezed between their warm bodies, back to the fire, head on his papa's shoulder.
“Maksímočka,” papa whispered into his hair. He nodded and clung to his shirt as äke’s arm gently snaked around his middle. “Do you want to hear a fairytale?” Of course he did. Maksím tipped his head, the fabric brushing against his cheek. It was comforting. “Have you ever heard of Little Red Riding Hood? And the wolf?” Maksím shook his head. He loved fairy tales, but this one was new.
“There once was a girl. She always liked to wear a red cloak, so that is what the people around her called her. Little Red Riding Hood. Just like you, she enjoyed going into the forest.” Maksím smiled. He liked when the fairytales were like him in some kind of way. “She had a grandmother, you know? A little sick, so she needed help.” That sounded bad. Maksím wanted to help, too, but he thought of his great-grandfather, who wasn’t camping with them. His eyes fell shut and Maksím smiled.
“Wha’ happened then?” He rubbed his little face against his papa's shoulder, already thinking in bright colors.
“One day, she went off the trail. Just like you did earlier.”
“And was that bad?” Äke, who had rested his head on him when papa began to speak, nodded against his shoulder. Maksím tried to snuggle into both of them as best as he could. “Is that why you were so scared?”
His papa huffed softly, Maksím could feel it on his face. “Yes, baby. Because when she left the trail, she encountered a wolf.” Maksím’s eyes opened for a moment, full of shock and wonder, but then he closed them again, already dreaming up the greenest forests, the reddest cloaks, and in the middle, him and a wolf.
He didn’t remember when he fell asleep. Most people don’t. But Maksím woke in their tent, cuddled up with his parents, tightly hugged by sleeping bags, blankets and arms. He heard a noise outside, but it was the forest, so he didn’t think too much about it.
Until he heard it again. Foot steps, in their camp! The wolf had come. And now he wanted to eat them all alive, so there was only one thing he could do to save his family. Maksím peeled himself out of his sleeping bag. It wasn’t red, but it would have to do. He bound it around his neck and unzipped the tent. Behind him, his fathers began to move, but he was too quick for them to capture. He had a goal and he needed to protect his family.
So Maksím jumped out the tent, hands balled into small, angry fists, ready to take on every wolf that could threaten him.
What he found was uncle Viktor, curled around the fire’s ash, looking at him with eyes so big, even the wolf would be jealous. “Maksím, what are you doing?”
“I thought you were a wolf.”
Arms snuck out the tent and curled around his middle as his fathers dragged him back in. “DID YOU LOSE YOUR MIND? YOU THOUGHT THERE IS A WOLF AND WENT OUT ?” Somehow, his papa managed to shout and hiss at the same time.
“I thought he wanted to eat you. So I had to protect you! Look! I even have a cloak!”
His parents stared still, but then, äke began to laugh. Maksím didn’t understand what he meant when he whispered to papa, “At least we know who he got that from.”
Nothing made sense in the woods. He wanted to go back to Saint Petersburg.