by Kelli Stuart
The wind blows, and I feel a tickle on my arm. I turn my head to the left and peer up through shielded eyes at the willow tree hanging over my shoulder. Its branches sway, the silver green leaves dancing in the late afternoon sunshine. It bends over the water, like a weary traveler who’s desperate for a drink. I see the reflection in the ripples of the pond and lean forward to catch a closer glimpse. And that’s when I see her.
She’s young, with long, brown hair hanging in loose waves around her small face. Her eyes are wide and dark, her face somewhat distorted by the moving water, but still familiar to me. I know her. She is me...or she was me. She’s the me who survived something terrible.
What was it?
She’s the me who turned her face away while bad things happened.
What were they?
She’s the me who lost so much, who said an unwilling goodbye to someone she loved, all wild-eyed and desperate—the girl who screamed a name into the empty space that was left behind, the void that would never again be filled.
Whose name did she yell?
She’s the me who was both innocent and wise to the ways of the world, a rare blend of knowing too much and still not enough.
Why?
The girl whose reflection I saw in the pond had a different name, the name she answered to until the day she left home and decided to make a new life for herself. I’d almost forgotten that girl.
Why did she do that again?
“Victoria!”
The voice pierces my thoughts and I stumble to my feet, untangling them from the long, dirty brown dress that mama passed down to me once I grew big enough to fit in it.
That was my name.
Nina
A secret revealed
brings healing to the soul
when offered in confession.
Nina paces back and forth in the hospital waiting room, clasping and unclasping her hands. She blinks hard, trying to push the memory of her mother’s collapse out of her mind, but every time she turns, she faces that terrible moment again. It wasn’t the fall that haunted her, though. It was the look on her mother’s face just before she fell.
“Here, Mom. Take this.”
Nina takes a small, Styrofoam cup of weak looking coffee from Annie’s outstretched hand. “Thank you,” she says. She follows Annie to the chairs by the window, then takes a sip of the coffee and flinches.
“Is it bad?” Annie asks. “I can get some more.”
“No, no,” Nina replies. “It’s fine. It’s just hot.”
The two sit in silence for a long time. Finally, Nina turns to her daughter.
“Do you feel okay now?” she asks.
Annie nods. “Yes,” she answers. “Fine.” She runs her hand self-consciously over her abdomen. Nina watches the motion, then looks at Annie’s young, innocent face. She shakes her head and sighs.
“I’m sorry, Annie,” Nina whispers. Her eyes fill with tears. Annie turns to her mom.
“Why?” she asks.
“I failed you,” Nina says. “I kept things from you, important things. I didn’t think it mattered if you knew much about your father, and I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable with my lack of information, so I just didn’t talk. What a stupid, silly thing to do.”
Nina’s voice shakes unsteadily as she draws in another sip of the coffee, wincing as it scalds her tongue and throat.
“Mom, I—“
“No, I need to say this,” Nina interrupts. She runs her hand through her hair. Her other hand trembles as she grips her coffee cup.
“I spent my entire life trying to figure out who my mother was,” Nina begins. “To this day, I know nothing about my mama’s past. I do not know the names of my grandparents, or where they came from. I don’t know anything about my father. I don’t even have a father as far as I know!” Nina sets her cup down on the table in front of them and shakes her head. She looks over at Annie who is silently taking in the sight of her usually calm and collected mother.
“I moved to America when I was twenty-five years old,” Nina says. “Did I ever tell you that?”
Annie nods. “Yeah,” she answers softly. “I remember you telling me once that you fell in love with an American man and moved to the U.S. after you finished the university. You told me that the marriage didn’t last, but that the United States had worked out just fine.”
Nina offers a weak smile and nods. “Yes, the U.S. did work out for me just fine. I met your father shortly after Andrew and I divorced. I didn’t plan on marrying again so soon, but your dad was very persuasive.”
“He was?” Annie asks. Her eyes light up at this new information. “How?”
“Well,” Nina replies, “it is very silly when I say it out loud, but at the time it seemed romantic. He told me that he wanted to marry me, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“And did you want to marry him?” Annie asks.
Nina nods. “I did. He was so handsome and gentle. He was older than me. I was thirty-four and he was forty-eight, but he had never been married before. He said he’d been waiting for just the right woman to come along, and he found me. His very own ‘Russian princess,’ he would say.” Nina blushes at the memory. Annie smiles.
“Anyway, I was embarrassed to be jumping into another marriage so soon, but sometimes the heart can’t help but move in the direction that it’s being tugged, so I agreed. We had a small ceremony at the courthouse, and a few months later...” Nina turns to Annie, her eyes bright. “A few months later, I found out I was pregnant.”
Annie grabs her mom’s hand.
“I was so excited to tell Richard,” Nina says. She picks up her coffee cup and takes a sip. “He wanted children so badly. But the same day I got the news that I was expecting, he received the diagnosis of terminal cancer.”
Annie’s eyes well up at the thought of her mother, pregnant and alone as she watched her husband slowly die.
“I should have told you all these things a long time ago,” Nina whispers. She pulls her hand from Annie’s and wipes her eyes, swiping away the forbidden tears.
“Mom, sshh...” Annie leans into her mom, putting her arm around her shoulder protectively. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” Nina sniffs. “It’s not okay because the truth is so much worse. I didn’t come to America because I loved Andrew. I came to America because I wanted to get away from my mother. And I was determined that I would never parent the way that she parented me, but look what I have done.” Nina gestures at Annie. “I’ve left you alone just like my mother did to me. And I drove you away the way that she drove me away.”
“No, Mom. That’s not what happened,” Annie interjects.
Nina leans forward, dropping her head into her hands. Annie sighs and puts her hand on her mom’s back.
“It is true that I wished I knew more about my father, and more about you. I wanted more information, but you didn’t seem to want to share so I tried not to ask.”
“I’m sorry,” Nina whispers.
Annie shakes her head. “Mom, that wasn’t what drove me away,” she says. Nina looks up and meets Annie’s eye.
“What was it then?” Nina asks.
Annie draws in a long breath and lets it out slowly. “Mom, you changed when Babushka came. Before she moved in with us, it was you and me. We rented cabins in the summers, and we explored the mountains. We talked and laughed and joked. We were like this really great duet, but then Babushka moved in and you shut down.” Annie looks down at her hands.
“Mom, I’m not the one who left,” she says softly. “You are. You just changed into a different person when Babushka came. Everything changed when she arrived.”
Nina leans back in her chair and lets her mind drift over the years since her mother moved in, and it suddenly all makes sense. There had been no more summer trips, no more evenings giggling over old movies, no more spontaneous trips to the ice cream parlor on school nights. Annie was right; she had shut down when her mother moved to town.
Nina sighs and turns to her daughter. She drinks in the sight of the young woman sitting next to her, the way her long blonde hair hangs in perfect, soft waves to the middle of her back. Annie’s bright blue eyes meet hers, and she offers a small smile.
“I guess this whole mother-daughter thing never really gets easier, huh?” Annie asks.
“No, it really doesn’t,” Nina replies.
“I don’t want Babushka to die,” Annie says. Her voice trembles. “I feel like you and I are both missing something because we don’t know anything about her. It’s like we...” Annie pauses.
“It’s like we can’t know who we are until we find out who she is first,” Nina says softly. Annie nods.
“Yeah,” she whispers.
They’re both contemplating the emptiness of an unknown past when Viktor walks through the door. Nina jumps out of her seat and rushes to him. He stops and looks gravely at them.
“What is it?” Nina asks, the words catching in her throat.
“Your mother had a stroke,” he answers. Nina closes her eyes briefly, then opens them back up.
“How bad?”
“It was a hemorrhagic stroke,” he replies gently. “There was a large area affected.” Viktor reaches out and grabs Nina’s hands. “She is in critical condition,” he says gently. “The next forty-eight hours will be crucial.”
Nina nods. “Okay,” she says. She looks at Annie whose face has turned ashen. She puts an arm around Annie’s shoulders.
“Can we see her?” Nina asks.
Viktor nods. “Yes, you can come back and see her. Just be prepared. She’s hooked up to several machines. She doesn’t look good, but she’s stable for the moment.”
The girls follow Viktor out into the hallway. Nina shivers. It’s cold in the hospital. She crosses her arms over her chest and blinks at the sights and sounds around her. It’s quiet. Christmas carols play softly from the speakers, and voices speak in hushed tones as nurses and doctors walk from one room to the next. Green garland hangs in waves down each side of the hall, with Christmas wreaths displayed on every door.
Annie’s eyes scan their surroundings, and her mind drifts to James. She thinks of what it must have been like for him the year before, when he and his dad walked through similar hallways to find his mother and sister. Did he feel as numb as she does? Did the merriment of the Christmas decorations and songs feel like a slap in the face in this place that feels so full of sadness? Annie suddenly longs to see James, to call him and hear his voice. She’s worried about him, alone at home with memories like that.
Viktor stops at room 322. He turns to Nina. She nods, and he pushes open the door.
The room is dim, the sound of a machine’s whir and hiss drowning Kenny G’s rendition of “Silent Night.” Nina draws in a sharp breath at the sight of her mother lying in the hospital bed. She looks small, a blanket pulled up over her and tucked neatly into the mattress. A tube is in her mouth, taped to the side of her cheek and pulling her lip down. Her eyes are closed, her face relaxed. Despite the surroundings, her mother looks peaceful.
Annie grabs Nina’s hand and squeezes it tight. Together they walk toward the bed. Nina leans over her mother and gently brushes a string of grey hair off her forehead.
“Privyet, Mama,” Nina says softly. “I’m here,” she says, the Russian words falling off her tongue like a lullaby.
Annie leans forward. “Babushka,” she whispers. She forces the language that she’s avoided for so many years to the front of her mind and tries to wrap her mouth around the unfamiliar syllables.
“I’m here, too,” she says. “It’s me,” Annie looks up at her mom. “Nastia,” she finishes.
“Vsio budet khorosho, Mama,” Nina whispers. “You’re going to be okay.” She reaches over and grabs her mother’s hand. “Viktor is here, and he is making sure they take good care of you. He’s keeping the doctors from poking and prodding you too much, okay?” Nina chokes on her last words.
For several minutes they stand silently over the bed, watching Elizaveta’s chest rise and fall in conjunction with the breathing machine. Finally, Viktor gestures toward the door.
Out in the hallway, he puts his arms around Nina and draws her into a tight embrace. Annie stands off to the side, blushing at this tender moment between her mom and a man she hardly knows. Viktor catches her eye and pulls back, clearing his throat.
“You two should head home,” he says. “I’ll keep an eye on her and call you if anything changes. You need to get some sleep.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Nina protests. “I should probably stay in case she wakes up. She will be disoriented, and you know how she gets when she feels out of control—“
Viktor holds up his hand and shakes his head. “She won’t be waking up tonight, Nina,” he says. “Take Annie home and get some rest. You both need it.”
Nina sighs and clasps her hands together. “You promise you’ll call me if anything changes?”
Viktor smiles. “I promise,” he says.
Nina turns to Annie and notices the fatigue that has settled in her daughter’s face. She looks back at Viktor and nods.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “Can I just have a minute alone with Mama before we leave?”
“Of course,” Viktor replies. He pushes open the door and lets Nina walk back in. She waits until it clicks shut behind her before walking to her mother’s bedside.
“Mama?” she asks. She leans over so that her mouth is close to her mother’s ear. “I’m sorry I ran away from you,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I don’t know enough, that I couldn’t break through your barrier. I’m sorry, Mama, that I’ve spent these last years just tolerating you instead of really getting to know you. If you can hang on, I promise that I’ll try harder. I won’t hold so much of myself back, Mama.” Nina brushes tears from the corners of her eyes and chuckles softly, imagining her mother’s admonition if she caught her crying.
“Strong Russian women do not need to cry, Ninochka,” she would say. Then she would quote Neksarov, the 19th century Russian poet. “You know that ‘a Russian woman can stop a galloping horse and enter the burning house.’ That is how strong we are. We don’t have need for tears.”
Nina smiles and shakes her head. She reaches down and puts her hand on top of Elizaveta’s.
“Maybe a few tears wouldn’t have been so terrible,” she whispers. “Spokoyne Noche, Mama.”
Elizaveta
I remember.
I walk into the house and am instantly overwhelmed with emotion. The familiarity of the small space fills my soul, wiping clean any memory of the place that I came from. I am home. I didn’t realize how much I had missed it.
“Victoria, please. Come help me would you?”
I turn and take in the sight of her. She’s leaning over the large pot in the fireplace, stirring the soup slowly with her long-handled wooden spoon. She stands up and turns to me, and I gasp because I had forgotten how beautiful she was. Her eyes smile before her mouth, crinkling softly in the corners as light dances in the center.
“What’s the matter, dorogaya?” she asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I have,” I whisper.
Mama cocks her head to the side and looks hard at me. In just a few swift steps, she crosses the room and stands before me, placing her hand on my forehead. I close my eyes and lean into her touch.
“You don’t feel hot,” she murmurs. “Are you feeling sick?”
I shake my head no. Mama draws in a sharp breath.
“Well,” she says. “If you’re well, then I need you to help Tanya prepare the salad.” She gestures to the left. I turn, and that’s when I see her. My sister sits at the table, her young face staring up at me, large brown eyes framed by soft brown hair. She must be thirteen years old, innocent and sweet, though there’s a hardness that permanently resides in her eyes.
What caused that? I wonder.
“Hi,” I whisper. Tanya looks at me quizzically.
“Hi?
” she says, confusion rippling through the air between us.
Mama points to the table. “Vika, please. Cut the radishes for me, and the cucumbers.”
She points to Tanya. “And Tanyoosha, you are responsible for chopping the dill and cutting up the tomatoes.”
I sit next to Tanya at the table and pull the plate of radishes toward me. The springtime breeze blows through the window, bringing with it the thin fabric that Mama tacked up to keep the sunlight from pouring in. The small curtain dances in the breeze, beating a rhythm of shadows across the room.
Tanya grabs a bunch of the freshly plucked dill and begins chopping, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth. I slowly begin slicing the radishes, trying to place this time that I’ve landed in. Mama hums again at the pot, stirring occasionally between slicing potatoes.
“You’re acting strange,” Tanya murmurs. She glances up and catches my eye. Why do I feel such an ache in my gut at the sight of her? What happened that leaves me feeling permanently veiled from seeing her in this moment?
“Sorry,” I respond. “I’m just a little tired today.” It’s true, what I’ve told her. I’m exhausted. My eyelids feel weighted, and my hands are clumsy. The dull knife slips across the cucumber and nicks my finger. I drop it and draw my wounded hand to my mouth.
“You okay?” Mama asks, stepping up behind me. I suck on my finger and nod my head. My finger doesn’t hurt. I feel nothing, and taste nothing, but when I pull it from my lips I see blood pouring from the wound.
“Oh dear,” Mama sighs. She grabs the towel that’s tucked into her apron and presses it against my finger. “Hold it tight,” she says. “The bleeding will stop soon.” She turns to walk back to the fireplace where she drops large chunks of potatoes into a second pot of boiling water.
“We will have your father look at it when he gets home this afternoon,” Mama says. My head snaps up.
“What did you say?” I gasp.
Mama looks at me with raised eyebrows. “I said your father will look at it when he returns home,” she replies.
