A Silver Willow by the Shore

by Kelli Stuart

  Viktor grabs her hands and squeezes them tight. “One thing at a time,” he says. Nina nods.

  “I’ve been doing some research, you know,” she says. “I’ve been reading about people who survived Stalin’s purges—people like my Mama who lived through the years before the war. She fits the profile exactly.”

  “What profile?” Viktor asks.

  “The profile of a kulak. She’s secretive, offering practically no details of her past. She’s never told me a single thing about her childhood. She always just dodged questions or ignored them totally. And lately, she has been acting so strange.”

  “Yes, but she’s been sick, don’t forget,” Viktor interjects.

  “I know. And I know that she is old and perhaps confused, but this is something different.”

  Nina sighs. She stands up and runs her hand through her hair. “It wasn’t uncommon for kulaks to change their identities, you know,” she says, switching to Russian so that she can speak more freely. “In fact, there’s an actual name for my mother’s generation. Did you know that?”

  Viktor shakes his head.

  “They are called ‘The Whisperers’.” Nina raises her eyebrows and stares hard at Viktor. “Do you see what this means?” she asks.

  Viktor opens his mouth to answer, but is immediately interrupted.

  “It means that my mother could very well be someone entirely different! Maybe the reason she never told me anything about my past is because she was afraid.” Nina paces back and forth as Viktor watches silently.

  “Maybe she was scared that she would be found a fraud and sent away. I just don’t know what happened to her before I was born, and I hate it!” The pitch of Nina’s voice raises as she continues to walk the floor.

  “I feel lost without this information. I feel like Dima and Victoria are clues to a puzzle, but they’re the only two pieces I’ve got, and that’s just not enough to figure out the whole picture.” Nina stops and turns to Viktor.

  “What if I never find out?” she asks. Her breath comes out in short gasps as she feels her chest constrict. “What if I never know where she came from, which means I will never know where I came from?”

  Viktor stands up and walks to Nina, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking at her gently. She lets out a small laugh.

  “Are you sure you want to marry me?” she asks. “Because I think I might be going crazy.”

  Viktor smiles. He brushes the hair back off her forehead and kisses her. “I can handle a little crazy,” he replies. “I’m Russian.”

  Nina smiles.

  “Now,” he says. “What is this about ‘Jack and Jenny’?”

  Nina sighs. “Annie told me this morning that she picked a family to adopt the baby. It’s a couple named ‘Jack and Jenny.’”

  “And this is bothering you?” Viktor asks.

  “No,” Nina replies. She stops and shrugs. “Maybe,” she says. “I don’t know.” With a sigh, she flops onto the couch. Viktor sits back down next to her.

  “Annie is so young,” Nina mumbles. “Of course she doesn’t need to start raising a child. I was thirty-five when I had her, and I didn’t know what I was doing then. I would have been a mess at seventeen.”

  “So what’s bothering you?” Viktor asks.

  “I don’t know!” Nina says, throwing her hands up. “I’m just having a hard time with all of this. That baby is going to be raised by a couple who probably know nothing about Russian life. The baby may never know anything about its Russian roots.”

  “And that upsets you?” Viktor asks.

  “Yes!” Nina exclaims. “But I don’t know why it upsets me. I’ve spent more than half my life in America. I feel as American as I do Russian. But, oh I don’t know.” Nina studies her hands. “I feel like somehow I’m betraying my country by letting this child go.”

  “Yes, but dorogaya,” Viktor says gently. “This really isn’t your decision. It’s Annie’s, and this is the decision she has made.”

  “I know,” Nina replies.

  “And more than anything, Annie needs your support,” Viktor adds, his voice gentle. “The baby is going to be fine. It’s going to be loved and cared for, and you don’t know that they won’t know anything about Russian life. But whether or not the child grows up learning of its Russian roots shouldn’t be your main concern. You need to look out for Annie, because I imagine that she’s got some difficult times ahead of her.”

  Nina draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “You’re right,” she says. “I know you’re right.”

  Viktor leans in, his face close as his eyes search hers. “You should be proud of her, you know,” he says. “She’s strong and independent, and she’s making a brave, difficult choice. She had to learn that from someone.” He kisses the tip of her nose. “I believe she got it from her mama.”

  Nina leans her forehead against his and closes her eyes. “I don’t deserve you,” she breathes.

  “Dorogaya,” Viktor whispers. “You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, and you deserve many things.”

  Nina leans into him, her head falling to his shoulder. “Let’s get married soon,” she whispers.

  “I would marry you yesterday,” Viktor responds.

  Annie

  Annie pushes open the door and steps inside the cool room. Her babushka sits up in the bed, staring blankly at the wall in front of her. Annie briefly considers backing out, but Babushka turns and locks eyes, and she knows she’s committed. She walks across the room and steps up to her grandmother’s bedside.

  “Hi, Baba,” she says softly.

  Elizaveta stares at her granddaughter. The golden glow of the dim, florescent lights highlight the top of Annie’s head, casting a haze around her. Elizaveta’s eyes drift to Annie’s stomach, then move slowly back to her face. She lifts her hand and, finger shaking, points at Annie’s protruding abdomen.

  Annie runs her hand over her stomach self-consciously. “Yes, I’m doing alright,” she says. Her grandmother’s mouth turns up slightly. She reaches toward Annie’s stomach. Annie steps closer, grabbing her grandmother’s hand and sliding it to the side where the baby stretches and pushes uncomfortably against her skin. Elizaveta’s eyes soften to the touch.

  “I’m placing the baby for adoption, you know,” Annie says. She speaks this in English, unable to wrap her mind around the Russian explanation for what she’s planning to do. Elizaveta presses her hand against Annie’s stomach and closes her eyes.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t tried harder to know you,” Annie says softly. “I think I was jealous of you all these years. Mama couldn’t focus on both of us when you arrived, and I got mad at her, and at you. I didn’t want to try and get to know you, but I’m sorry about that.”

  Annie keeps talking despite the fact that Elizaveta’s eyes are squeezed shut. Somehow it’s easier to let the words just tumble out this way.

  “Anyway,” Annie continues. “I’m sorry that I was always so distant.” She puts her hand on top of Elizaveta’s. Elizaveta opens her eyes and looks at Annie.

  “Ya tebya lyublyu,” Annie whispers. I love you. It feels strange to say it out loud, but as soon as she does, Annie realizes that she means it. She does love her grandmother, despite all the years of questions and silence. Elizaveta cocks her head to the side, her mouth beginning to move and work its way around words.

  “You,” Elizaveta breathes, the Russian words slipping from her lips like drops of rain. “Khrabraya. Khoroshava. Dobraya,” she whispers. “Brave. Good. Kind.”

  She drops her hand and leans back on her pillow, exhausted from the effort of communicating. Annie blinks hard as she reaches into her backpack and pulls out a drawing pad.

  “I have something for you,” she says. She slips the book open and pulls out a page. Slowly, she lays it down on the bed in front of Elizaveta.

  It’s a picture of a little girl and an old woman holding hands. It is drawn from behind, the old woman hunched over a cane, and the lit
tle girl standing next to her, long hair tumbling over slender, youthful shoulders. Their hands are clasped together, as though they are joined by something more than family. The simple pencil drawing reveals some unseen bond between the two. Elizaveta’s heartbeat quickens at the sight of this drawing, so similar to the drawings she used to produce as a young woman. She raises her eyes to meet Annie’s and points at the paper, then points at her granddaughter.

  “Da,” Annie replies. “I drew that. I draw a lot actually. I never really know that I’m doing it, though. It’s strange. It happens when I’m distracted. And I don’t usually show the pictures to anyone, but I drew this one this afternoon, and I knew I needed to show you.”

  Elizaveta slowly reaches down and, with shaking hands, picks up the drawing and hands it back to Annie.

  “No,” Annie says. “It’s for you.” She points at Elizaveta who pulls the picture back and hugs it to her chest. She reaches for Annie’s hand and clasps it tightly. Annie squeezes back, then folds over and winces. Elizaveta looks at her in concern.

  Annie stands back up and shakes her head. “That’s been happening all day,” she says. “I guess my body is just getting ready for...” she leans over again and draws in a sharp breath. Elizaveta tries to speak, willing the words to form on her tongue, but only grunts and syllables escape. She points at the Call button on the side of the bed, and Annie punches it. A few minutes later, a nurse comes into the room.

  “What can I do for you, Miss Elizaveta?” she asks. She stops when she sees Annie folded over the side of the bed. Elizaveta grunts and gestures, the drawing fluttering from her hand and onto the floor.

  “Honey, are you alright?” the nurse rushes to Annie’s side. Annie looks up at her with a grimace and shakes her head.

  “It hurts,” she says. The nurse turns and runs into the hallway, returning a minute later with a wheelchair.

  “We’re calling 9-1-1,” she says. “An ambulance will be here in a few minutes to take you to the hospital.”

  Annie nods and swallows hard as fear grips her. Another wave of pain washes over her and she cries out, reaching her arms across her stomach.

  “I’m not due for another four weeks,” she says through gritted teeth. “This is too early.”

  “Don’t you worry, honey,” the nurse says. She wheels Annie toward the door, slowly pushing it open and pulling the wheelchair into the open doorway. “The doctors will take good care of you.”

  “Can you call my mom?” Annie asks as tears well up in her eyes. The nurse nods her head.

  “Already have someone doing that,” she says. “You don’t worry about anything, sugar. You’re going to be just fine.”

  The door swings shut behind them, and Elizaveta is left alone. She stares at the picture lying on the floor out of her grasp, and she hears the voice in her head. It’s her mother’s voice, soft and gentle, singing the Cossack lullaby of her youth.

  “A dream is wandering at night,

  A nap is following his way.

  A dream is asking, “Dear friend,

  Where shall we now stay?”

  Elizaveta

  Motherhood: You did not absolve me.

  I stare at the picture for a long time, wishing that I could lean over and pick it up. From my bed, the outline of the drawing is blurred, but I have already memorized it. Why didn’t I know that she shared my gift? Why, after so many years of living with her, did I not see the hidden talent? Could it be that the ability to keep secrets is passed down through the blood?

  No, of course it couldn’t be so, for Nina and Nastia have so little of my blood running through their veins. And yet, here is this evidence of a shared talent kept secret. I don’t know what to do with this revelation. I can’t talk about it with anyone, cannot explain to my granddaughter that she and I have something in common. I can do nothing but sit with my own thoughts and memories accusing me, offering no condolence, no forgiveness.

  I turn my head toward the door where the nurse just wheeled Nastia out, and my heartbeat quickens. The memory of that cold night so many years ago haunts me. I feel the pain, hear my own screams, sense the phantom weight of my tiny daughter on my chest. I reach my hand toward the door, wishing that I could take this moment from her, that I could bring the pain and fear on myself, for isn’t this partly my fault? My lies and my secrets all paved a path to this moment. The weight of that presses down on me until I can’t breathe. The room starts spinning, and I’m gasping for breath. I hear the nurses running in just as the room goes dark, and I slide back into the past once more.

  When I open my eyes to today’s memory, I find myself back in my Moscow apartment. It’s one week after Tanya left Nina on my doorstep. I was still staring at the door at that point, hoping that Igor would come through it and agree to tackle this challenge alongside me.

  The baby was difficult, crying through the night with such a ferocious screech that the woman who lived below me came storming up to my flat at three in the morning and demanded I shut the child up or leave.

  “Where did this child come from anyway?” she spat as I bounced Nina up and down in my arms, awkwardly trying to calm her down.

  “She belongs to a friend of mine,” I lied. I didn’t have a story for how I ended up with a child, and I still hoped that Tanya would return.

  “Well your friend needs to find someone more competent to watch over her child,” the woman barked. “You are clearly starving that baby to death. What are you feeding it anyway?”

  “Milk diluted with water,” I replied. The woman snorted.

  “The baby needs formula,” she said. “Find a way to get some. Until then stop diluting the milk. Feed the child so it will stop screaming or leave this building.”

  I walked into the kitchen and pulled the glass bottle off the counter. I’d purchased it at the corner store along with the milk. I didn’t want to ask anyone how to care for the child because I didn’t want to explain how I came to have a child.

  “You are clearly starving that baby to death.”

  My neighbor’s words rang through my ears as I filled the bottle with what little milk I had left and placed it in a pot of boiling water on the stove to warm. I put my finger in her mouth and winced as she sucked ferociously on the tip. Every once in a while, she’d spit my finger out and let out an angry squawk to which I’d respond by giving her a fresh finger.

  Finally, the milk was ready. I sat on the couch and put the bottle in her mouth and watched in awe as she drew in long gulps. By the end of the bottle, her little eyelids began to droop. She fell asleep in my arms, her tiny mouth open and relaxed. I stared at her for a long time that night, trying to decide what to do. I could take her back to Tanya, but that would require going back to the home where all the memories were buried, a home without Mama or Dima, a home without a single happy memory.

  I could leave her on the steps of the children’s home, but I knew in my heart that I couldn’t betray my sister like that a second time. The only other option was to raise her myself, to take her as my own and give her the life that Tanya couldn’t. She could have an education, and the freedom to move about in a world that didn’t automatically count her out because of the geography of her birth.

  I watched her sleep that night, and I decided that this would be my redemption. Raising this child would absolve me of the guilt of my past. I wasn’t to be Nina’s savior so much as she was to be mine.

  I didn’t know that such expectations were much too high for a child to meet.

  Nina

  Toska.

  Nina bursts through the doors and runs to the reception desk, Viktor right behind her.

  “My daughter was brought here by ambulance,” she said. The words were coming out fast making her Russian accent strong and difficult to understand. “Anastasia Abrams. She is having a baby.”

  The receptionist blinks at Nina. “I’m so sorry,” she drawls. “Can you say that one more time?”

  Nina growls and hits the counter. Viktor ste
ps in and puts his hand over hers. “Her daughter arrived by ambulance a few minutes ago. She was in labor. Her name is Anastasia Abrams. Can you please tell us where she is right now?”

  The receptionist types Annie’s name into her computer then looks up. “She’s is Labor and Delivery, Room 406. It’s on the 4th floor.”

  Nina and Viktor spin around and race to the elevators. When the doors close and the din of the hospital is locked out, Nina swallows hard, the silence deafening.

  “She’s going to be okay,” Viktor says softly.

  “It’s early for the baby to arrive,” Nina replies. Viktor nods his head.

  The elevator doors open, and Nina rushes out. Glancing at the sign, she turns to the left and heads toward room 406.

  “I’ll wait here!” Viktor calls. Nina stops and turns back to him. She raises her hand to her lips and kisses it.

  “Thank you!” she says.

  Moments later, Nina bursts through the door of Labor and Delivery room 406 to find her daughter lying on her side in tears. A nurse stands nearby monitoring the machine that measures contractions.

  “Mama!” Annie cries. Nina rushes to her daughter and leans over, pushing her hair back off her face.

  “Sshh, dochenka,” she whispers. “I’m here.” Nina glances at the nurse.

  “How is she?” she asks.

  The nurse nods. “She’s at 9 centimeters and 90% effaced. The contractions are coming every minute and a half. This is going to be a fast labor.” She glances at Annie, and then at Nina, her eyebrows raised. Nina immediately bristles.

  “When will the doctor be here?” Nina asks.

  “Any minute,” the nurse replies.

  “Good,” Nina says. She turns her back to the nurse. “You may go now,” she says. The nurse quickly walks out of the room, muttering something under her breath as she leaves.

  “Mama,” Annie moans. Nina grabs her hand and leans down. “Mama, it hurts,” she gasps.