Ancient Furies

by Anastasia V. Saporito

  “Kristina,” I exclaimed in a rush, “can you believe it? I’m starting Gymnasia in just a few weeks. Have you seen Trécha Zhénska? It is so beautiful. And right across the street from Russkii Dom. And the uniforms are absolutely beautiful. I can’t wait. Oh, I almost forgot. Mother asked me to remind you that Madame Ivanovich will be here tomorrow for my new uniform fitting.”

  “Hush,” she laughed, hugging me tightly. “I haven’t forgotten. Now you have a lot to do to get ready. Also, I think your Papa might have some news for you. Go and get washed and ready for dinner. Perhaps you should rest a bit before the guests arrive.”

  More news from Papa? I wondered for a moment what it might be, but soon forgot about it.

  Aunt Lyalya joined us for dinner that evening, along with General Nazimov, Aunt Nadia, Kolya, and Yura. General Skorodumov was not present, and Father led the conversation.

  “Well, we have some news for you all. We have purchased a very nice house in Dedinye and expect to move there quite soon. The land is a little higher in elevation, and it will be away from the traffic and crowding here in the city. The air is much fresher among trees and gardens, and I think it will be much better for Marusha. We hope it will ease her cough.”

  Everyone seemed very pleased by the news, but I was alarmed. Judging by the general reaction, they had known that my parents were considering a move, but the news caught me by surprise. Dedinye was a wooded, residential district, a suburb of Belgrade.

  “But, Papa,” I asked uncharacteristically, “what about Trécha Zhénska? I’m to start there in a few weeks.”

  All eyes turned toward me and then toward Father. Suddenly I realized that it was the first time I had ever spoken at the table without first being addressed. Father’s look and tone put me at ease right away.

  “Well, Asinka, Mother and I have discussed that, and we have decided that you are ready for a little extra responsibility. You will need to take a trolley every day to and from school. Do you think you will be able to manage?”

  “Oh, yes, Papa. I’m sure that there will be no problems.”

  Father smiled in response as my mind raced—not only Gymnasia, not only Trécha Zhénska, but trolley rides all the way to Dedinye every day!

  “Also,” Father continued, “we have purchased some land in Yaintse, not much, but enough to build a small house and have a large garden. The political situation is worsening, and it will be a pleasant refuge.”

  The conversation continued excitedly before changing to political speculation, as my mind began to wander and race with dreams of Gymnasia, beautiful uniforms, and long, wonderful trolley rides.

  Early the next morning Father led us to Yaintse to see the land that he and Mother had purchased. Yaintse was at that time a tiny farming village, located a short distance from Belgrade—a long but pleasant walk from the end of one of the trolley lines.

  Our land was on the main road atop a small hill. A large garden area had been tilled where rows of vegetables were to be planted on each side of a wide center path already lined with dwarf fruit trees. The path led uphill, starting next to a farmhouse on the main road. A well had been started and already looked very deep. From back of our land, at the crest of the hill immediately behind and a little above the spot where the house was to be built, one could see the rooftops of Belgrade. A huge cornfield began just over the crest of the hill, bordered on the right by the local cemetery and a dark, mysterious forest.

  “Well, Marusha, what do you think?” Father asked. “It’s a pleasant spot, and the air is good. We already have the garden in, and the well is being dug. The house will be small, but I think we can make it comfortable. It is close to the city, but a safe distance away.”

  “Yes,” Mother replied, “it is a pretty spot, but it seems such a big project.”

  “Perhaps not,” Father said, “in view of current developments.”

  Father’s response left me wondering what he meant by “current developments.” Years later, I would marvel at the apparent wisdom of my parents, especially Father, and at the steps they took to try to protect us and many of our friends from the potential ravages of political uncertainty and war. I would enter Gymnasia in just a few weeks, but world political developments were something I never gave a thought to.

  Within a few days Mrs. Ivanovich brought my beautiful new uniforms. The beret, socks, and shoes had already been purchased, and the arrival of the uniforms heightened my excitement. Mother, however, now began to cough violently, and I was certain that I noticed spots of blood on her handkerchief. She soon felt very weak and refused to eat anything. Father became alarmed and decided that she must go to a sanitarium in Switzerland. An excellent doctor there was an old friend of Mother’s, and she and Father had great faith in his expertise. They planned to leave in just two days. It was a very confusing time for me.

  Sadly for both Mother and me, my parents never explained to me the length and seriousness of Mother’s illness and that her constant concern about contagion made her always keep me at arm’s length. At just ten years old I simply failed to understand, and that failure began to build a wall between us that we would never bridge. I was heartbroken. I simply could not understand why their departure couldn’t be postponed just a few days until school started or at least to go with me to register and to meet the headmistress before the official start of school. I was so excited about entering Gymnasia and wanted desperately for Mother to see me off that first day in my new uniform.

  On the morning they left for Switzerland, Father hugged me tightly. Mother looked weak and very sad, but I was not allowed to hug or kiss her or even to come close to her. I waved sadly, tears flowing down my cheeks as they drove away, waving through the rear window of the taxi. The next morning, August 30, Uncle Borya appeared unexpectedly to take me to register at Trécha Zhénska. I dressed in my new uniform, and Kristina braided my hair, put my beret on my head, and announced that I was ready to go. Uncle Borya and I went to the main office to register and to meet the headmistress, who then introduced me to my new homeroom teacher, Miss Ljubica Visnic. I liked her immediately. She looked me over carefully, adjusted my beret, and nodded approval.

  “Welcome to Trécha Zhénska, Anastasia. I think we shall get along splendidly, but you must always remember that it is an honor to wear the uniform of Trécha Zhénska. You must always behave like a lady.”

  “Yes, Miss Visnic.”

  At home I changed back into my regular clothes and hung my uniform out where I could see it. Looking at it on Friday morning I felt very grownup but suddenly very sad and alone. My large porcelain doll sat on a chair looking back at me. I had named her Matryona when I received her, but I had never played with her much, and now I felt that she too was part of my past.

  In my solitude my mind began to wander, wondering at the things spoken of around the dinner table—things I had not asked about. Germany had absorbed Austria and a part of Czechoslovakia, and I remembered Father saying that it would not be long before other Eastern European countries followed. I wondered what it was like to be at war.

  I remembered that lovely little nun in Hopovo. I wondered if this was the “despair” that she had spoken of and wished that I could speak to her and visit the grotto. I looked around the room, my eyes misting as they settled on Matryona staring blankly back at me.

  “Matryona,” I sighed, “tell me that everything will be all right.”

  I reached to touch her cheek, and at the feel of the ice-cold porcelain, a shudder ran through my body. It felt just like the lady in the casket so long before, the feel of death itself. I ran from my room and practically flew into Kristina’s room where I found her listening to the news on the radio. I buried my face in her warm bosom and began to cry with deep, jerky sobs as she held me tight, trying to hush me and concentrate on the news.

  September 1, 1939: Nazi Germany invaded Poland, introducing something called Blitzkrieg (Lightning War), beginning World War II.

  “Oh my little one, it does
not look good, not good at all.”

  “What is it, Kristina? Are we going to have a war?”

  “It isn’t anything for you to worry about,” she replied, lovingly mussing my hair. “Germany has invaded Poland, but Poland is very far away. Everything will be just fine here in Yugoslavia. Besides, your life is just beginning. You just look forward to your first year in that beautiful new school.”

  Sleep was slow in coming that night as I tried to picture what an invasion was, if it was the same as war, and if it would mean death for many soldiers.

  The following day, Aunt ’Lyena and I went to evening church services to find the church filled to overflowing. Our priest said that we should all light extra candles and pray for the people of Poland and all the peoples of Europe.

  September 3, 1939: England, obligated by treaty, declared war on Germany in response to the German invasion of Poland. France, similarly obligated, followed with its own declaration of war on Germany.

  We had a very quiet dinner the next evening—just Aunt ’Lyena, Uncle Borya, and I. After dinner, Borya turned the radio on to hear the latest news.

  “German panzer units are amassed at the outskirts of Warsaw,” the announcer was saying. “The Red Army is continuing its advance on Poland from the east.”

  With a sigh, Borya reached to turn the radio off.

  “Uncle Borya,” I asked, “aren’t German troops in Rumania already?”

  “Rumania, Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia . . .”

  “But that’s so close to us. And aren’t they in Albania as well?”

  “Well, Italian troops are in Albania, but they are German allies, so one can say that, yes, the Germans are there, too.”

  “But . . . but that means they are all around us. Are we going to be in the war, too?”

  “Well, aaall Euurooope is at waaar. Engggland declaared war oon Germaaany just this mooorning,” Aunt ’Lyena said.

  “Yes, Elyena Petrovna, it does look like all of Europe is at war. It’s just a matter of time before we start to feel it.”

  “Uncle Borya, will Father come back before the war starts here. It will start here, won’t it?”

  “Yes, Asya, your father will come back soon. There is no way to know if the war will spread to Belgrade. But you shouldn’t worry about the war. You have your whole life ahead of you. You’re going to be so busy with Gymnasia.”

  His thoughts drifted off, but I didn’t pursue it. I didn’t want any more worries cluttering my mind than I already had. Will Father really come home soon? Will we have a war? What happens when nations are at war?

  By Monday morning, September 4, the news had dampened my enthusiasm for Gymnasia. Miss Visnic explained that we were to remain in our homeroom for all sessions and that there would be a ten-minute break between classes. Our teachers would come to our homeroom, and all subjects would be taught there except for religion. Orthodox, Muslims, and Catholics would each report to a particular religion classroom, where they would be joined by girls of their faith from all other homerooms for religion class. She gave a lengthy speech about the conduct code we were to follow at all times, whether on school grounds or elsewhere, and reminded us that we were not to wear our uniforms without our berets.

  “You are to behave as young ladies at all times,” she concluded “and you are to remember that it is a privilege to be a student here at Trécha Zhénska Králitse Maria. You have the floor plans of the school in your packets and may now familiarize yourselves with the premises. Your classes will begin in the morning, and your schedule of class periods is included in your packet.”

  The girl seated next to me was at least a head taller, and we exchanged faint smiles. I noticed two smaller girls across the aisle. We exited the room two at a time to disperse. I joined the two smaller girls walking together to explore the building.

  “Hello, my name is Asya.”

  “I’m Ljubica, and this is Jovanka. Are your parents going to pick you up, Asya?”

  “No, they’re in Switzerland. I’m going to walk home.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “On Dr. Kester Street.”

  “We live only a few blocks from you. Let’s walk together.”

  We went back to our homeroom, gathered our books, and left the school. Our route took us past the Palace and the Royal Gardens. The flowers were exceptionally bright under the blue autumn sky.

  “Were you born in Belgrade, Asya?”

  “Yes, and you?”

  “Yes, but we aren’t going to stay here forever. We’re going to become big movie stars and travel all over the world. We’re cousins,” Ljubica said, “and my father makes movies.”

  “Movie stars? That would be exciting. I’ve never thought about what I want to become. My parents want me to go to the Sorbonne and study and study.”

  “But you have to speak French to go to the Sorbonne, you know.”

  “Oh, I already speak French, and German and English too. Well, I’m not too good in English yet, but I’m getting better.”

  “Let’s speak only French outside of school, starting now,” they said in unison.

  The three of us switched to French, speaking louder than usual and happily giggling at the puzzled glances of people as they passed us. Ljubica stopped a man and asked in French for directions to Dr. Kester Street. The poor man struggled hard to understand and to give directions in Serbian that we could grasp. We thanked him very graciously and suppressed our giggles. We turned the corner, pulled off our berets, and collapsed on a bench in loud laughter.

  Suddenly we stopped and looked at each other, becoming serious as we remembered Miss Visnic’s admonition about our berets and her instruction “to always behave in a ladylike manner.”

  We looked around sheepishly to be sure no one was watching us. As we parted at Dr. Kester Street, we promised each other solemnly that we would always behave in a ladylike manner. There would be at least one other day of youthful exuberance in Gymnasia, and those two days have remained fondly in my memory.

  I went to my room to begin looking over all my new textbooks—history of Serbia and the Balkans, geography, mathematics, Greek mythology, biology, and literature—six plus notebooks for each. No wonder my briefcase was so heavy, and I was to receive my religion text and notebook the following day.

  I began to wonder how long each day was to be. I would attend classes each day from 8:00 a.m. to 3:50 p.m. with a lunch break. French and German were offered from 4:00 to 4:50 each day. I had been blocked from taking them because I was so advanced, but my language tutoring would begin as soon as I arrived home. Then, I realized, there would be two to three hours of homework to complete. I looked at Matryona, my big porcelain doll.

  “You’re lucky,” I said. “You have all the time in the world to do nothing.”

  It seemed so strange to me that I had never played with her but lately found myself speaking to her.

  “I wonder what Mama is doing right now, Matryona, and if she is feeling better.”

  I felt ashamed, remembering a recent lunch conversation with Lyalya.

  “Mother just cares for her horses,” I had said. “I think she cares more for her horses than she does for people.”

  “No, Asya, that isn’t true,” Lyalya had answered, reaching to cover my hand with hers on the table. “Your mother is a very caring person, always thinking of and caring for others. You should try to understand her. She loves solitude. She grew up always with a governess at hand, and her life was always rigidly scheduled, both at home at Kotchubeyevka and at school in Switzerland, with nearly every minute of every day carefully planned for her. The only time she had to herself was when she could ride her horse, always alone, through the steppes around Kotchubeyevka, and she grew to treasure that solitude. I suppose there is a wild streak in her, but it’s different from, for instance, my wild streak.” She laughed, pausing to light her cigarette in its gold holder.

  Father returned from Switzerland in late September. I was in my room studying, with P
riska curled around my desk lamp and purring gently, when a knock at the door startled us both. I opened the door to find Father, and Priska, upon seeing him, jumped off the desk and hid under the bed. She still remembered Mother’s rules. Father looked tired from his journey.

  “Papa, when did you get back? How is Mama?”

  “Just now. How are you? Good heavens, Asinka, I do believe you’ve grown. And you are probably smarter, since it’s already your second week of Gymnasia.” He hugged me, smiling warmly. “Yes, you are growing. You’re not my little puzik any longer.

  “Now, you asked about Mama. She has had a very serious operation, and it will take her a long time to get completely well.”

  “Operation? What kind of operation?”

  “Her left lung was removed. It was an acute case of tuberculosis, and the lung could not be saved.”

  “Will she be able to breathe all right with only one lung?”

  “Yes, but she will have to be extra careful not to exert herself. Tell me about school. Do you like all of your teachers?”

  “Yes, very much. I like all of my classes, but we have an awful lot to learn.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do fine. I’m just sorry that I wasn’t there for orientation and for your first day.”

  “It’s all right, Papa. Uncle Borya was very nice when he took me. Besides, I could have done it by myself.”

  “Yes, I know. Sometimes I think you are growing up too fast. You’re never with children your own age. Even in school you have always been placed with older children. I hope it wasn’t a mistake.” His thoughts seemed to drift, his blue eyes staring into space as a deep wrinkle appeared between his brows.

  “Papa, I love you,” I said simply.

  He hugged me tightly. “I’m so very proud of you, Anochka. Mama and I love you very much.” As he spoke, I felt a warm teardrop land on my head, tickling my scalp as it moved toward my forehead. “I haven’t even unpacked yet, and I have to make a quick trip to Dedinye—a few details about the house. I probably won’t be back before you go to bed, but we’ll talk tomorrow after school. You’d better finish your homework now. Sleep well.”