Moonflower

by Angela J. Townsend

  I eyed the basement door. “I don’t know if I can go back down there.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “What if something else escapes while I’m working on it…something worse?”

  “We are here to guard you,” Anatoly said. “You must overcome your fears and save painting or all will be lost.”

  I thought for moment about the trauma I had been through as a child, and all my mother had endured. I had worn my emotional scars as proud evidence that I could overcome anything. Beat anything life had to challenge me with.

  “I’ll do it,” I said.

  A look of relief washed over Anatoly’s face. He smiled and took a step toward me like he was going to hug me, but instead he smoothed away blood and dirt from my forehead.

  “Let’s go put something on these wounds and...” He glanced at my mouth, his eyes soft. I held my breath.

  Was that attraction in his eyes? Caring? “And what?” I finally asked.

  He shook his head and took a step back. “I meant, we should get cleaned up. The others will want to know what has happened.”

  “Okay,” I said, surprised by the disappointment settling in my gut. Was I actually hoping for something more? I stared at the floor, my cheeks flaming at the possibility, then cleared my head of such crazy thinking.

  Darkness coated the landscape, heavy and black like dyed wool. With only a sliver of a crescent moon to guide us, we locked the house, shut the gate, and headed to Anatoly’s. Bits of pinecones and twigs crackled beneath our feet. Anatoly strode beside me with long, purposeful strides, his profile dark against the moonlight. He seemed so quiet, so deep in thought. He hardly looked at me. Who could blame him? It probably freaked him out when he saw me blushing like a weirdo. Usually I could keep my emotions in check, but the strength that coiled inside him totally unhinged me.

  Clouds scudded across the moon, plunging us into absolute darkness. Our shoulders bumped and I pitched forward to the ground, skinning the palms of my hands.

  “Are you hurt?” Anatoly asked, reaching down to me.

  “No,” I said quickly, struggling to regain my composure.

  “Give me your hand.”

  “No, really, it’s okay. I got it.”

  Anatoly ignored my protests, reached out with gentle authority, and pulled me to my feet as if I were a feather.

  “Thanks.” I wiped the dirt from my jeans. “I love walking at night, but in the city there’s always street lights.” I grew quiet. I didn’t want to tell him I wandered in the evenings—that I hated the darkness because it brought dreams that haunted me at night and stalked me during the day. I didn’t tell him that as soon as I woke I would count down the hours until I’d be forced to face it again.

  “Then you must take my hand,” Anatoly said. “I will be guide.” Before I could make a move, he laced his fingers with mine. The moon peeked out for a few moments before disappearing again. In the passing light, Anatoly appeared like a stone statue brought to life—a massive, self-confident presence that filled me with a sense of safety.

  “You Americans do not savor the half-light. You turn on lights too quickly.” Anatoly pointed upward. “The sky is a beautiful living thing. It is our custom in Russia to take walk at dusk. He paused and turned to face me. “Did you know sun and moon were once lovers?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

  “At start of time, Sun was lonely maiden. She longed to have handsome lover. One day, Sun maiden sees lonely man gazing up at her, admiring her beauty. She reaches down, and scoops man into sky. For awhile, they are happy. They live as man and wife, but soon he grows too hot. The heat is too much for him. He begs to return to earth for short visits, to bathe in the cool lakes and streams of mother Russia. Sun maiden provides winged horse for his journey. But on his return to earth he is kidnapped by wicked sorceress. Sun Maiden and wicked sorceress pull at him until he is torn in half. The part of him that Sun maiden had was cold because his heart was in the other half of his body. So in her grief, Sun Maiden sent him to the darkest corner of the sky. There he became moon, his rays cold and lifeless, fall upon the earth each night.”

  “What a horrible story. That’s totally sad.”

  “Yes, it is sad story. But it is one that should make you think about all that you may be missing by drowning out what is natural with artificial light. There is more to this world than what you know. A shooting star can foretell many things, the winds at night often carry important messages. The rattle of grain in the fields whisper secrets of love and fortune. All of this Americans miss as they hurry home from school or work. Preoccupied with computer or cell phone. They don’t see, they don’t hear, they don’t appreciate Mother Earth. They make life stressful when they live in peaceful world. It is sad to miss such treasure.”

  I nodded. “I never really thought about it, but you’re right, most people are like zombies. I used to think I couldn’t live anywhere but in the city— but I love it here in the country. It’s so quiet. I feel like I can breathe easier and I’m more relaxed.”

  “That is because you are home where you belong.”

  “I never really felt like I belonged anywhere. I felt like a deck of cards constantly shuffled. But here, I do feel like I belong even though everything is so foreign to me.”

  “Mother Russia is good for soul. You will like living here.”

  We continued walking until the road ended and the forest fanned out into the edge of the village. Anatoly’s house came into view with the warm glow of a porch light. I hated the thought of his hand slipping from mine. But as we neared the house he didn’t let go, not until we hiked up the front steps and had reached the door. He paused before going inside and turned to face me. He leaned in close, a rare smile played on his lips as intimate as a kiss.

  “I am proud of you, Natasha.”

  “For what? Almost getting us killed?”

  He shook his head. “For not running away. For staying to help. I did not expect you to. Anyone would want to escape such place of darkness.”

  “How could I not help?” I said. “All my life I’ve searched for a connection to something.” I lifted my eyes to his. “To someone.” My cheeks flushed. I paused, untangling the words I wanted to say. “This duty, or whatever you want to call it, gives me something I can connect to. A purpose for my art.”

  “I am glad you feel that way. It is great honor to protect you while you work.” Anatoly took a step closer and lowered his voice. “Tell me about yourself. I want to know everything.”

  My heart jolted. I struggled to stop the dizzying current of excitement bolting through me. “Everything? Like what?” I smiled a wide, anxious smile.

  Under the glow of the porch light, his eyes danced with a sensuous flame. “I know you are great artist—you paint captivating picture when you smile. But I want to know more.”

  Heat rose all the way from my toes to the top of my head. “Why?”

  “If I am to guard you, I must feel closer to you. Tell me what you like to eat. What is your favorite movie? What feeds your soul?”

  Did he just say he wanted to get closer to me? Had I heard him right? I took a deep breath and swallowed my fluttering heart back into place.

  “Art,” I said over the pulse pounding in my ears. “Art is what keeps me alive. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do—the only thing I’m really passionate about.”

  “The only thing?” Anatoly took a step closer. “So you have no passion for Russian men?” His lips twisted in a playful smile. I opened my mouth to speak but it was like a giant stone fell out instead. He threw back his head and laughed. He liked getting me flustered. It was probably all a big game to him. Once he realized I would help with the painting, his whole demeanor had changed. He was no longer broody and solemn, he was so carefree, a comedian. I couldn’t help but laugh at myself along with him. I liked this new change in him.

  “Very funny,” I said, swiveling around, pretending to ignore him while looking off into the distance. The
heavy scent of fresh rain mixed with the clean, crisp odor of pine. I closed my eyes and filled my lungs with its cool, calming refreshment.

  Rain drizzled, making polka dots across the stone steps. It was hypnotic, every muscle relaxed. I hadn’t realized how much I'd missed the Seattle rain, the soothing rhythmic beat. The fresh clean feel of it. A wave of bitter sadness hit me. Maybe it was the familiarity in the rain, the smell of fresh washed earth. I held out my hand and droplets danced across my fingertips. I heaved a heavy sigh. The rain reminded me of Bambi, of Chuck. How could I ever explain it all to Mila?

  “Have I offended you?” Anatoly asked.

  I planted my hands on my hips. “Yes.” I sniffed. “You have offended my delicate senses.” I stuck my nose in the air and puffed out my chest, my boot slipped and I nearly plunged off the porch. Anatoly grabbed my arm and pulled me back just in time. We both burst out laughing.

  “You are clumsy, but fun.” He lifted my hand to his lips and brushed it with a delicate kiss. “Thank you for making me happy—it has been long time since I have felt such…how do you say...bliss?”

  “You’re welcome, glad to be of service as your personal clown.”

  His black hair gleamed in the porch light but the sparkle in his eyes lost all joy when he glanced at the door. “We must go in.” He held the door open. “We will need to rest for tomorrow.”

  He placed a large hand on the small of my back as we entered the house. His fingers grazed the flesh at the top of my hip huggers. My skin tingled under his touch. He urged me to the big stone hearth and crackling fire and then disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, I heard him talking to Olga in Russian. It sounded like she was gushing all over him about something. He must have told her I consented to restoring the painting. At least I was making a good impression on her. Isn’t that the way into a man’s heart? Through his mother, or grandmother in this case?

  Olga came in from the kitchen with steaming bowls of chicken soup. She set them down and then grabbed my hands and squeezed them in hers. “Bud’Zdorov,” she whispered. “Bud’ Zdorov.” Tears glistened on her square face, then a wide grin overtook her features.

  I glanced at Anatoly.

  “She is saying bless you.” Anatoly smiled. “She is very happy and relieved that you are going to fix painting.”

  I smiled at Olga. “You’re Welcome. I’m glad to help.”

  She clasped her hands and then spread them wide. She kissed me on top of the head before disappearing into the kitchen. A rush of warmth flowed through me.

  Anatoly slid into a seat across from me and picked up his spoon. I raised my head to look at him. He captured me with an intense gaze, his eyes roaming over me, lingering on my lips. My breath seemed to have solidified in my throat. I took a sip of my soup. The rich chicken flavor burst over my tongue but I could hardly swallow. I shifted in my seat overly-conscious of my every move.

  “What is wrong?” Anatoly asked.

  I waved his question away. “Nothing.”

  “Nonsense, I can see something is troubling you. Tell me—please.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out slow. “I was just thinking about how much I hate sleeping. I have these…weird dreams.”

  “Do you want me to stay with you while you sleep?” he asked. “Chase your dreams away?”

  I glanced up at him, staring into those black-currant eyes and heavy lashes. His lips twitched in amusement.

  “I think I’ll be all right—but thanks anyhow.”

  Headlights swung into the yard, cutting beams through the front windows. Anatoly jumped from his seat and shot a glance outside.

  “Who is it?”

  “My father. He went to town for supplies.”

  Anatoly opened the door and Pavel stepped inside, his coat glistening with rain. He carried two cardboard boxes. He handed one to Anatoly and headed into the kitchen with the other. Anatoly took the box to the table and sat it in front of me. Inside were paints, brushes, and thinner.

  Pavel returned and hung his coat on a hook on the wall, and took a chair across from us. He lit a pipe and leaned back, puffing out a long chain of smoke rings.

  “How are you, Natasha?” he asked.

  “Fine,” I said. “How are…?”

  He turned his attention to Anatoly and they spoke very fast in Russian. I could tell by the deep frown on Pavel’s face that Anatoly was telling him about the bird attack. I felt a shudder of humiliation. If only I could slide under the table and disappear. How stupid I was to have done what I did. Who could blame me, though? I was only trying to make him see that he was being ridiculous about the whole thing. But I had been wrong—dead wrong.

  Pavel’s gaze pinned me, his eyes hard as stones. “You must rest. Return to mural in morning—before something else escapes.” He leaned back and drew deeply on his pipe, releasing bilious puffs of smoke. “This will not be easy. The demons will know. They will try to kill you.” His eyes shifted to Anatoly. “And anyone who tries to help you.”

  Tension knotted in my stomach. “I know it’s dangerous. I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t worried about how it will go, but I’ll do my best to work fast and do a good job." I paused, gathering my courage. “I was wondering...if maybe you could...?”

  "Speak your mind, girl."

  “I want to know the truth about my parents. About what happened. Everything.” The old man raised his bushy eyebrows. “Of course. Your mother was great beauty. Her father, your grandfather, was artist as his father before him and so on. He worked on painting, repairing it as needed.” He took another puff from his pipe, his eyes crinkling against the smoke. “She went to university to study art. She met your father there. He was art historian. They fell in love, married, and moved here when her father died, so she could take over tending the mural. Your father became obsessed with the painting, listening to its evil whispers. Some say he killed your mother at the painting’s command. He was decent and kind man. I cannot believe he would do such a thing otherwise.”

  My mind raced. I had so many questions I wanted to ask but I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t believe that after so many years I was finally getting the answers I had longed for, for so long.

  “Why was I sent away? Why didn’t I stay here in Russia?”

  The old man took a long drag from his pipe and exhaled slowly. “We had no choice. I knew when we sent you away it would not be easy for you. We had to keep you safe for as long as possible. We knew we had time because your mother had completed all the repairs and it would take years to break down again. But we did not count on moisture and the shifts in the earth to have taken such a toll over time. Creating much bigger job.” He took another drag from his pipe and released it. “Michelangelo believed he was liberating his sculptures from the marble in which they were imprisoned—the true creator, in his mind was God. It was God who helped Sasha imprison Koschei and his demons—God’s divine grace and Sasha’s unwavering faith.”

  The lights flickered and Olga hurried into the room, whispering what sounded like a prayer beneath her breath while she lit a series of candles on the table.

  “You must prepare,” Pavel said. “To restore large mural is big job.”

  He was right. I’d definitely need a plan. “Do you have a long sheet of paper?”

  Pavel thought for a moment, then turned to Olga. He motioned and said something in Russian. She got up and hurried into the kitchen, moments later returning with a long, crisp sheet of meat wrap.

  “Thank you,” I said. She smiled as I spread it across the table. Pavel handed me a pen from his pocket. I quickly sketched out a model of the mural and divided it up into fourths. “I will take it in sections.” I pointed at the bottom. “I will start here and work my way up, then back down and up again. I’ll need a lot of paint and I’ll have to mix the colors. I might need better light but I can see how it goes.” Pavel drew heavily on his pipe. “Anything you need we will provide.” The lights flickered again. His gaze shot upward. “The
evil knows you are here. It will try to drain you. Scare you away. You must be brave at all times.” He got up from the table, reaching for his crutch. “Now it is time for rest.”

  Chills tiptoed up my spine, freezing my shoulder blades together. All I could think about were the horrors the morning would bring while working in that cold dark cellar.

  Anatoly nodded. “Come, Natasha, it is time for rest.”

  Rest. Yeah right. All I could think about were demons.

  I followed Anatoly up the steps to the bedroom I shared with Mila.

  “Tomorrow will be long day. You must be ready.”

  I leaned against the doorframe. “Too bad we couldn’t just go now and get it over with. The anticipation is almost as bad as actually being there.”

  Anatoly shook his head. “Evil is strongest at night. We start at first light. Have no worries, you will be protected.”

  I sighed. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep after what I'd seen, but I knew that Anatoly was right and I was sure he could use some rest. Maybe it would also give me a chance to talk to Mila and tell her about Chuck.

  “Goodnight.” Anatoly turned and headed down the hallway to a room at the end.

  “Night.”

  I knocked on the bedroom door.

  No answer.

  “Mila?” I cracked open the door. Light spilled into the room from the hallway. A heavy quilt stretched neatly over Mila’s tidy bed but she was nowhere. Where was she? I collapsed on my bed and pulled my sketch book from my backpack. I drew the outline of the trees shading my window, a moon hanging in the sky, a flock of birds. Then, I started drawing the oval of Anatoly’s eyes, the square of his jaw, a tangle of dark hair. No matter what, I couldn’t seem to push him from my mind.

  My eyes were sore and scratchy, but every time my lids closed, I forced them open again. I didn’t want to fall to sleep and dream, but I was too tired to draw anymore. I lay there, eyes half closed, fading in and out until the nightmare that haunted me each night overcame me.