by Kelli Stuart
“You don’t understand what you’re saying, dochka,” Mama whispers. “All these years, they have been difficult and painful, but God—“
“Do not speak to me of your God!” I hiss. “Don’t mention His name in my presence. Your God has made you a traitor, too.” My hands tremble as I back away from my mother. I reach the bed where Tanya lies, and I turn to look at my sister who stares back up at me, eyes too big for her thin, pale face. She looks horrified.
“Vika,” Mama begins. She sounds tired now, defeated.
“No, Mama,” I say. I kneel down and reach beneath the bed, pulling out a small satchel. I open the small box next to the fireplace and quickly stuff a pair of socks, a shawl, and a thin pair of mittens into the bag. I tug it onto my shoulder and stand back up. “I’m leaving,” I say, my voice soft and quiet. “I can’t stay here any longer.”
Mama’s eyes fill with tears. “Vika,” she says again, her voice no more than a tremor. She reaches out for me but I draw back, away from her grasp. “Please. My darling, do not leave. We’ll figure this out together.”
I shake my head, gritting my teeth as I take a step toward the door.
“Vika!” Mama cries. “Wait.”
I stop and stare at her.
“Where will you go?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know,” I reply. “Maybe Moscow. Maybe Leningrad or Kiev.”
Mama draws herself up and wipes her eyes with a shaking hand. She walks slowly to the bed and reaches beneath it, far into the back corner of the mattress. I watch in shock as she stands back up and turns toward me, holding in her shaking hand the small book of scriptures that Commander Nikolayev had given me so many years ago. She knew I had it all along.
“You should take this with you,” she whispers. “You’ve hidden it for so long. Why stop now?”
My arms hang limp at my side as I stare at my broken mama. She reaches down and grabs my wrist, pushing the book into my reluctant hand.
“Take it,” she insists, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “It will protect you.”
I clutch the small book and feel my spirit begin to fall. Spinning on my heel, I run from the house, grabbing my thick, brown coat as I go and pushing into the darkness as her cries chase me out the door. I fight my way down the path, running and slipping over rocks and ice. It’s dark tonight, one of those black, winter nights when the sky seems to blot out the moon, leaving the world hidden. Can a hidden world be seen by anyone? Could a stupid, pregnant, failure of a girl be visible in such a blackened land?
I trip on a tree root and fall hard, rolling down a small embankment. I land with a thud against a large boulder, knocking the wind out of my lungs. As I lay on the cold ground, gasping for breath, I feel a sharp pain in my back. I can’t breathe, can’t move. The pain rushes over me in waves, one after another, and the pressure mounts in my abdomen, and I know that I’m having the baby.
I push myself to my knees and try to stand, but the pain is coming so fast and hard that I can’t move. I moan, holding my stomach, trying to stop what I know is happening.
“Mama,” I cry through gritted teeth, hoping that somehow my plea will be carried by the wind to my mother’s ears.
Finally, lying back against the rock, I give in to the pain and push. It’s involuntary, this pushing. It’s as though nature has taken over, and I am at her mercy. I push and groan, my throat growing raw as the pain works its way out of me. Reaching down, I remove my pants. I pull my knees to my chest and with one final cry, I feel life slipping from me. I catch the baby and pull it up to my chest, still connected to me. It’s so small, this little life. I know in my heart there is no way this child can live. The world is too cruel a place for a life so small and inconsequential.
I can only make out a dim form in my arms. It squirms, and I pull it in a little tighter, wishing I could better stave off the cold. I feel one more release, and I know this child is no longer attached to me. Independent of my body, this child now has no protection in a world that never would have looked after it anyway. Running my hand down the tiny back, I trace every contour of the body in my hands. It’s a girl. She makes tiny sounds, desperate little squeaks that beg for comfort.
I draw her in as close as I can and rock gently back and forth, wincing at the pain as my back rubs up against the rock.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry, little one.” Her cries begin to fade. I rock some more. I don’t feel the cold. I’m not fazed by the night sky. I am numb.
Over and over I beg her forgiveness. It doesn’t take long for her body to grow still, and I know that it’s over. I know that she didn’t suffer. Perhaps that is the one comfort I take in the moments following her birth and death—the knowledge that I will spend a lifetime suffering in her place. I took that for her, and isn’t that a mother’s job?
I don’t know how long I sit there with my daughter’s lifeless body. Perhaps it’s minutes, or maybe hours. Time stops under that dark sky. I wish for it to simply swallow me up, but it doesn’t. There will be no escaping the choices made that led me to this moment. I sit under the weight of them for as long as I can, and then I know it’s time to go. There’s nothing left to do but bury my daughter’s body beneath a pile of stones on the side of the road. It takes so few to cover her.
I don’t linger over her makeshift grave. I bury her quickly, then I leave. It’s over. I trudge under the starless sky, my small bag bouncing against a raw back. I pull my arms tight around my waist, the emptiness inside so gnawing that I know I can’t go back. I can’t go on living life in this place. I have to get away, to try to erase this single moment in time because the horror of what just happened is a weight too great for me to bear. I can’t live under the same roof as my Mama, listening to her prayers and her scriptures, and her soft humming in the corner. I can’t look her in the eye and know that she and I share a similar pain—we both lost children. She was right. This devastation was too much.
I tremble violently, my shoulders quaking from fatigue, sorrow, and cold. I pull my arms in tighter to my chest and will myself to keep moving. I won’t let this night become a reality. I will change it. I’ll erase this from my memory. I’ll go away and start a new life, forgetting this one entirely. Victoria no longer exists. She is buried with that tiny body beneath a small pile of stones on the side of the road.
I won’t return to the pain of this night, because I know that if I do, it will surely kill me. I take a deep breath, drawing the icy air in my lungs and relishing the way it burns, then I let it out slowly. As I do, the world begins to spin. I stumble on the path, trying to figure out which way is up. I feel heavy, like something is pressing down on my shoulders. I push against the weight and hear a snap. I fall.
Nina
Morning, after the still of night,
dawns with a red-hued sky.
Dreams that stilled a heart with fright,
soften in the new day’s cry.
Nina walks down the corridor of the hospital, two cups of coffee held tightly in her hands. She heads to the nurse’s station and holds one of the cups out.
“I thought you could use a little pick-me-up today,” she says to Carol, the on-duty nurse who has been watching over her mother every day for the last three months. Carol looks up at Nina, her eyes wide.
“Did you get my phone call?” she asks. Nina’s heart sinks. She reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone, noticing three missed calls.
She looks back up at Carol. “What is it?” she asks.
Carol smiles. “Nina, your mother is awake!” she says. Nina sets her cup of coffee down on the desk and turns toward her mother’s room. It has been three months since her mother collapsed. Her vitals have been stable, but she has simply been asleep. Every day after work, Nina has come to the hospital and sat by her mother’s bedside. Many afternoons, Annie joined her, studying and doing her homework at the small table in the corner of the room. And Viktor has been a constant by her side as she’s talked to her m
other. She read Pushkin and Pasternak, careful to not read too quickly because she could hear her mother’s voice in her head.
“Slow down, Ninochka. You cannot drive a poem like a car. You have to let it lead you.”
How many times had her mother made her stop and start again as a child when she read out loud? It used to drive her crazy, but in the months that she’s been reading to her unresponsive mother, she’s found herself longing for the criticism—anything to see some spark of life.
“Nina? Are you okay?”
Nina turns and gives Carol a half-hearted smile.
“Yes,” she replies. “I’m just...nervous.”
Carol leans forward, elbows pressing against the desk. “It’s okay,” she says. “Your mother is awake and responsive, but she isn’t talking. That will take some time.”
Nina smiles again, this time more genuinely. “Okay,” she says.
Carol stands back up. “Also, Dr. Shevchenko is in the room with your mother right now,” she says with a knowing smile. Nina blushes. As hard as she and Viktor have tried to remain professional when together in the hospital, their relationship hasn’t been much of a secret.
With a deep breath, Nina walks toward her mother’s room and pushes open the door. Viktor is sitting next to Elizaveta’s bedside. Her hand is wrapped inside his, and with the other he holds up a tattered book, reading softly. Nina can’t hear his words, but it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t need to because she is utterly taken with the sight of him. His broad back is bent slightly as he leans toward her mother. His long, white doctor’s coat hangs down behind him, and his feet are tucked up against the bar of the stool. He looks comfortable and sturdy, almost as though he was supposed to be there all along. Nina is overwhelmed with the ease of the picture before her.
Sensing her presence, Viktor spins slightly on the stool, catching Nina’s eye and tossing her a soft smile. He nods his head toward her mother, who sits up in bed, blinking and turning her head slowly. Nina takes a few steps across the room and stands next to Viktor.
“Zdrastvui, Mama,” she says softly. Elizaveta turns her head toward the sound of Nina’s voice and looks hard at her face. Nina leans in closer so her mother can focus. Elizaveta’s mouth opens and closes, her lips trying to form words that won’t escape. Her eyes fill with tears, and she leans her head back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.
“Oh, Mama,” Nina murmurs. She reaches over and smooths her mother’s hair off her forehead. “It’s okay. You don’t have to try and talk right now.”
Elizaveta moans, the anguished sound bleeding into Nina’s heart. She turns to look at Viktor who moves his hand to Elizaveta’s wrist, taking note of her pulse.
“What’s wrong?” Nina asks.
“She wants to speak, but the stroke affected the part of her brain that allows for communication. I think she’s scared,” Viktor replies. “Her pulse is speeding up.”
Leaning over her, Viktor looks in Elizaveta’s eyes.
“It’s okay, Elizaveta Andreyevna,” he says. “You’re alright. Just take a couple of deep breaths, okay?”
Elizaveta shakes her head, her lips still moving in a conversation that won’t escape. Her voice comes out in guttural groans. Nina grabs her mother’s hand and squeezes it tight.
“Mama, I’m right here,” she says. She forces her words to come out calm, not wanting to alarm her mother any more. “Everything is going to be okay.”
Elizaveta looks with wild eyes at Nina. Tears spill onto her cheeks, a river of sorrow streaking her weathered skin. Her hands flutter and shoulders begin to shake. Nina glances at Viktor, alarmed.
“I’ve never seen my mother cry,” she says, the words coming out choked.
Viktor straightens up and walks to the door, sticking his head out into the hallway and calling for a nurse.
“I’m going to give her a sedative to calm her down,” he says to Nina.
“You’re going to put her back to sleep?” Nina asks, looking from her mother to Viktor and back again.
“It’s mild,” Viktor replies. “She won’t sleep for long, but this will help her relax.”
Carol walks in and the two of them move in a flurry around Elizaveta’s bed, changing her IV bag, and making her more comfortable. As Viktor pushes the sedative into her IV, Elizaveta continues to quake. Her eyes shift to Nina’s again, and she tries to form words. Her look is pleading. Her eyelids flutter as the sedative takes effect. Within a few moments, she has drifted back to sleep, her hands now still.
Carol walks by Nina and squeezes her shoulder reassuringly. “This is common,” she says. “Lots of stroke victims wake up agitated when they realize they can’t communicate. It will get better.” She turns and offers a nod to Viktor, then steps out of the room. Nina leans against the wall and looks at him.
“She was fine when it was just you and her in the room,” Nina says, her voice flat. “She didn’t get upset until I got here.” Viktor crosses the room and pulls her into his arms. Nina rests her head on his chest, suddenly feeling very heavy.
“She doesn’t have things she wants to say to me,” Viktor says. He kisses the top of her head gently. “It’s you she wanted to talk to, and her brain can’t send the proper signals to her mouth right now. It will get better.”
Nina tilts her head back and looks at him. “Will it?” she asks. “Will I ever know my mother?”
Viktor kisses her forehead. “Maybe not how you want to know her,” he responds. “But your Mama is strong. She’s a fighter, and I don’t think she’s done yet. Just keep showing up. That’s all you can do.”
Nina closes her eyes and leans back into Viktor’s chest. She feels safe there, perhaps for the first time in her life.
“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Nina murmurs. The “I love you” flows so effortlessly from her lips that she doesn’t realize she’s said it at first. Then she gasps and pulls back, looking up at him as the color in her cheeks deepens. Viktor looks at her, tenderness written in his dark eyes.
“I love you, too,” he says. “And I want to marry you.”
Nina raises her eyebrows. “What?”
Viktor smiles. “I want to marry you,” he repeats. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I can say it in two languages if you’d like.” His eyes sparkle. “Ti viidyesh za menya?” he asks, in Russian this time.
Nina pauses for a moment to think. She swore after Richard died that she would never marry again. Love was too painful. It hurt too much when people left you behind, and she had spent a lifetime choking on the dust of those who left her. She turns to look at Elizaveta, now breathing peacefully, and she thinks of all the comments she heard over the years about her failure to marry a “good, strong Russian man.” And now here she stands, feet away from her mother with a proposal hanging between her and just such a man. Nina laughs, the sound rippling from inside her and dancing into the stale room. Viktor smiles.
“What is it?” he asks.
“If my Mama were conscious and could talk, she’d be staring at me with her eyebrow raised. She’d probably have just answered “yes” for me, then she would have told me not to be a fool and let a real man slip away.” Nina laughs again. She turns back to Viktor who looks at her with a twinkle in his eye.
“So is that a yes?” he asks.
Nina looks up at him and blinks back tears. “Yes,” she answers with a nod. She smiles. “Yes, it’s a yes!” Viktor scoops her up and spins her around with a kiss.
“Did you hear that, Elizaveta Andreyevna?” he asks, setting Nina down and looking at Elizaveta’s still frame. “Your daughter just bagged herself a real man.”
Nina laughs and playfully slaps his arm. She walks to her mother’s bedside and leans over. “It’s going to be okay, Mama,” she says, joy replacing sorrow. “You have to get better now so you can see the fulfillment of your wish.” She glances back at Viktor who stands with his arms crossed, an elated grin plastered across his face. “I’m going to marry a good, strong Russian
man,” Nina whispers.
Elizaveta’s eyes flutter, as though she wants to open them but can’t. They relax again, and Nina smiles, hope dancing in her heart for the first time since the day she left Russia for her new life in America.
Elizaveta
I am a whisperer.
Every time I go to sleep, I am knocked back to a different memory. Remembering the night I left home unlocked everything about my past—all the things I’d spent decades running from are now here on the shore of my dreams, waiting to remind me of all the ways that I failed.
I saw her today. I saw my Nina, and I heard her voice, and I wanted to tell her everything. I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of running. The skeleton of a little girl is buried beneath a pile of rocks, and I’m the one who left her there. I’m the one who abandoned a life on the side of a gravel path. I am a monster, and I can’t hide it anymore.
When I tried to speak, I couldn’t form the words. It was as though my tongue held them captive. After all these years of protecting my secrets, of burying them like I buried my daughter, now I cannot release them. Perhaps that is my punishment. Perhaps I must now live alone under the weight of my lies without the possibility of asking for forgiveness.
Just when I felt myself falling into a full-blown panic, the room began to spin. My body relaxed, and the words got swallowed back up, not to be shared. My eyelids grew heavy, so I closed them, and I let myself spiral back to the night I left home.
I’m back on the path now, stumbling along as the sun begins to peek over the horizon. I’ve walked all night long in the frigid air, and I know that I will die if I don’t find shelter. The blood drips down my legs as I walk, a reminder that the horror I experienced in the darkness of night was real. I didn’t imagine it. My body is numb, shocked by the events of the last twenty-four hours. I consider sitting down on the wooded ground and simply letting go, releasing myself from the nightmare. But then I see the barn up ahead, a lantern hanging outside the door, and I wonder if, just for a moment, I might be able to find rest.
