The Legend of Viktor Krum, Stanza II

Valja lay propped up in bed with her newborn son at her breast. She did not see the shadowy figures moving about the room; she could not hear their murmuring any more that she could hear the breezes in the branches of the plum trees outside her window. All she could see was her precious baby; all she could hear was the little mewling sounds as he nursed. Perhaps mother-in-law was right. Maybe she should have stopped playing Quidditch as soon as she discovered that she was pregnant. Her Viktor was a sturdy little thing, but he had been born three weeks before he ought to have been.

"Anatoly, put your foot down, make her stay home!" hissed the angry breezes. "What if she had lost your son?"

"Perhaps I should have put my foot down when you made me marry her. Perhaps you should have found me a better bride."

Mother-in-law stormed out, but Anatoly Krum stayed looking at his wife and child.

In the evening, mother-in-law brought a plate of fruit, a bowl of honeyed yogurt, and a glass of tea with cherry preserves and brandy. She placed it on the table at Valja's bedside, and began to scold. "Foolish girl, what is the matter with you? You are a woman grown, a wife and a mother; you belong to clan Krum! Do you think you can still play around with the boys? And you might think of my son, your husband!"

"I shall do as I please, Mother Krum, as you well know. However, I do think of Anatoly, so for his sake, I will behave myself."

Mother-in-law's lip curled, but she said nothing, merely turning on her heel and sweeping out of the room. Valja swore, and hurled the empty fruit platter at the chuckling maidservant.

Some weeks and some months later, when all the relatives had gone home, Father Krum was sitting out on the veranda under the grape arbor, watching Valja nurse little Viktor. "You know," he began hesitantly, "Mother thinks very well of you..."

"Does she, then?" Valja replied, not looking away from her baby's face. Father Krum pressed on. "It's only because you are like her, hard-headed, that she..."

"What?" Now Valja looked at her husband. "Am I hard-headed?" The young priest opened his mouth, then closed it again, and then he sighed. "Yes. You are. And I don't know whether it's better that you fight with her or you don't." Thinking hard, Valja replied at last "Well, then, what is it now that I should fight or not fight about with her?"

"Mother and Father were in the city, you know, and they visited with General Delchev; he was asking about you." Really he had said, "Where is that wild girl who married your youngest son, the priest? Tell her when she flies again, fly to my city, to the Red Hell." Valja guessed this, and she smiled. What had it cost her mother-in-law to let her know that the dreaded Red Army Quidditch team wanted her? Seeing Valja smile, Father Krum took courage and put his arm around her, so they were both very happy. Valja said, "To fly with the Red Hell! Well, Viktor must tell me what he thinks first, mustn't he, little Khan?"

And what did Viktor think? One day, when the sun was turning red in the west, Valja was standing in the orchard looking at the sky. A nursemaid came to take the baby to bed; she was wearing a shawl to put him in that was wound round her body like a sling. As she held out her arms, a housemaid came by on her way to sweep the veranda. This was not by chance: it was the custom for the servants of the women's quarters to come with the bride from her father's house.

"Give me that long scarf," said Valja, "and you, go fetch my racing broom!" The servants did as they were commanded. The nursemaid bound Viktor to his mother's bosom. Valja leapt on her broom and took off into the setting sun.

It was full night and no moon when Valja and Viktor finally returned. Old Madame Krum was in a towering rage. Anatoly had mildly told his mother not to be silly, and wouldn't let her beat the servants, who were grinning in a most impertinent way. As she entered the drawing room, Valja unwound the long swaddling shawl and a nursemaid came behind her, gathering it up into neat folds.

When he was at last free, little Viktor looked around with wide dark eyes alight. Kicking and wriggling, he searched for one face; when he found it, he flung out his plump little arms, nearly tearing himself from his mother's embrace. "Tato!" he shrieked happily.

How quickly did old Madame Krum go from blind fury to bliss? In an instant she had flung her arms around her daughter-in-law, nearly crushing the breath from her, before sinking into a chair, clutching her full bosom. "He calls his father! With his very first word, he calls his Tatko!"

Now, she could boast among her women friends that her daughter-in-law was the most dutiful of all. In the usual way of things, a baby knows his mother best and calls her name first, she said to them, but see how the little hawk chick flies his first flight and swoops down to land on his father's shoulder! (The other old women smiled and nodded. The girl played professional Quidditch, which was bad enough, but not even as a Chaser, which was at least somewhat gentile, or a Seeker, but wielding a club like any rough man! Who would want to bring such a devilish girl into her house?)

And when all the young Krum cousins were gathered together, what fun to hear them shout, "Babo, look! The baby can fly!" All the boy cousins took turns perching little Viktor on their brooms so the others could chase him around the orchard until he fell off, breathless and crimson-faced from laughter, into the arms of the girl cousins. It was quite a job for Madame Krum to school her features into a scowl. "Stop teasing that baby, you bad, wild children! Poor little one, he can't even walk yet!

Which was quite true; and it was well known even then, that Quidditch players who learned to sit a broom before they could properly walk were prone to develop an ungainly duck-footed gait on the ground...