As he gently closed the door, Priska returned from under the bed and curled around the desk lamp again. In bed that night my mind raced—Mother’s illness, my growing up “too fast,” Father’s tear on my head. Life suddenly seemed far more complicated than only a few months earlier. I thought again of my favorite nun in Hopova and wondered if I was being “burdened,” as she had said, and if washing my face in the grotto would ease the heaviness I felt in my heart.
FOUR
Childhood Ends
When I returned from school the following day, Father met me at the door with a hug and kiss.
“Asya, Madame Spencer is here. You remember that Mother told you that Madame Spencer would be taking over your tutoring each day. You need to work out a schedule with her.”
We walked together into the living room to find Madame Spencer seated on the sofa. A slender woman dressed in a white blouse with a high collar, long green skirt, and laced brown shoes, remained seated as we approached. Her graying hair was tightly tied in a bun, and her eyeglasses, suspended from a chain around her neck, rested on her ample bosom.
“Madame Spencer, this is my daughter, Anastasia. We call her Asya for short.”
I curtsied and waited for her to extend her hand. Her hand remained in her lap, and her facial expression remained stony.
“How do you do, Madame Spencer.”
“First,” she replied, “I am not a ‘Madame.’ You may call me Miss Spencer or ma’am, and I shall call you Anastasia. Now where are we to study, and what is your school schedule?”
“Well, I’ll leave you two ladies alone to work out your schedule,” Father said, bowing as he left the room.
I took my school schedule from my briefcase and handed it to her, explaining that we could study here in the living room or in my room.
“I think your room would probably be more suitable, Anastasia.”
We walked together to my room to find Priska curled around my desk lamp. As I walked over to the desk to move her, she leaped to the floor and ran from the room rather than just under the bed. Priska, I realized, did not want even to be in the same room with Madame—Miss Spencer! A comfortable, upholstered chair, which held Matryona, stood next to my desk, and a straight, wooden chair stood against the wall opposite my bed. I quickly exchanged the two chairs, placing the straight wooden chair next to the desk for Miss Spencer.
“Do you still play with dolls?” Miss Spencer asked.
“I have never played with dolls. Matryona and I just talk,” I replied, getting at least a puzzled look in response.
“Well, let’s review this schedule now.”
She moved her glasses to her eyes and turned her head to look at the schedule. In profile, her thin nose looked even more pointed, and the tight bun in the back allowed a strand of gray hair to hang down to her shoulder and looked funny. I suppressed a smile as I watched her and felt a bit easier.
“Hmm, you arrive home each day about 4:00?”
“Yes, usually a little after 4:00.”
“So if we meet from 5:00 to 6:30 every day, that would work. You don’t have much time for homework, do you?”
“My bedtime is at 9:00 now, so there will be plenty of time for homework.”
“You do understand that we will concentrate primarily on grammar. You will have grammatical exercises to do daily, and you will, of course, speak English with your parents.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Was your mother educated in England? She speaks such perfect English.”
“Mother was educated in Lausanne.”
“Well, if you just speak with your mother in English and do the grammar with me, you should thoroughly learn the language. Your father, of course, well, he does have a very strong Slavic accent.”
I smiled in spite of myself. Poor Papa, no matter how hard he tried, whether he spoke in French, German, English, or even Serbian, he sounded unmistakably Russian.
“Very well then, since this is Friday, I shall leave now. We shall begin our studies on Monday at 5:00 p.m.”
Miss Spencer rose, smoothed her skirt, removed her glasses, tucked the errant strand of hair back into her bun, raised her nose as if to sample the air, and, nodding to me, said, “Cheerio.”
“Good day, ma’am,” I replied.
“You are absolutely correct, Anastasia. A ‘good day’ is more appropriate. So then, good day to you.”
I escorted her from the room, showed her to the front door, and ran to Kristina in the kitchen.
“Oh, Kristina, she has a witch’s nose, and I think she really is a witch. Do you know that she didn’t smile once? Even Priska ran away as soon as she saw her.”
“I’m sure she’s not a witch. She is probably very nice once you get to know her.”
“But, Kristina, my day will end with her from now on—from 5:00 to 6:30 every day.”
“Maybe you can start practicing the piano when she leaves. That way it will end with music. Besides, you haven’t practiced in a long time.”
“You should be glad. It wasn’t music, just banging the same notes over and over. I hate that, too.”
“My, my, you sure hate a lot of things today. What’s the matter?”
She stopped whatever she was doing, sat down, and drew me to her, stroking my hair, and hugging me. Kristina’s warmth and hugs were always comforting.
“My stomach hurts,” I said. “Maybe that’s why I hate everything.”
“Where does it hurt?”
I pointed just below my ribcage.
“I’ll fix some chamomile tea, and it will be all better.”
The tea helped, and I went back to my room to look over my notebooks.
My homework was minimal and was quickly finished. I started to return to the living room, when I heard what sounded like sobs and sniffling from Aunt ’Lyena’s room. I knocked on her door and, when she opened it, could see that she had been crying.
“May I come in?”
She smoothed her bed, and as we sat down, I put my arms around her.
“What’s wrong, Aunt ’Lyena?”
She removed her glasses and wiped her tears, trying hard not to sob again.
“It’s our faaaaamily. Your mother is soooo ill, your father so fillllled with wooorries and aaaalways gone . . . the war, and nooow we have a strange woooman raising you.”
“Aunt ’Lyena, Mama will get better, and Papa is already home. And Miss Spencer isn’t raising me, just giving me English lessons for an hour and a half.”
“Poor Asinka. I shooouldn’t haave tooold you all thiiis. Youuu aaare still a chiiild. Yooou have grooown soooo serious, but yoou shouldn’t thiiink of waar. Juust tryyy toooo stay a chiiild as loong aaas youuu can.”
We embraced and kissed, both crying as the sound of the doorbell interrupted us. We wiped each other’s tears and embraced again as I left to answer the doorbell. Father had been seated in the living room and had already opened the door to admit Uncle Borya.
Borya settled in a chair as Father poured a glass of wine for each of them and began to discuss Mother’s operation and her progress.
“Borya, you’ll stay for dinner, of course,” Father said. “Asya, I want to know how you like Madame Spencer. You can tell us all about it at dinner.”
“Madame Spencer told me not to address her as “Madame” but as Miss Spencer or just ma’am.”
“Well, that is more appropriate . . . and we have to talk about Dedinye.”
“Borya,” Father continued, “you know that we will be moving soon. Asinka, you’re going to like it very much. It has a beautiful garden and a giant oak tree that’s perfect for climbing. There is a fishpond on the terrace, and the whole house is covered with ivy. The air is so pure. It will be good for Mama.”
“Won’t it be much further from school for Asya?” Borya asked.
“Well, yes, it will probably take her thirty minutes.”
“Will I be riding the trolley every day, Papa?”
“Yes, and it’s a beautifu
l ride because the trolley goes through the woods, and the walk from the trolley to the house is also through some woods.”
“I think I’m going to like that.”
“What about the place in Yaintse?” Borya asked. “Are you planning to start building there?”
“Yes, we are, but it’s on hold for a while. I want to wait and see how Marusha does when she comes home for Christmas. In the meantime, I think Dedinye will be good for her.”
“When are we moving, Papa?”
“As soon as I can arrange everything. Perhaps in a few weeks.”
Aunt ’Lyena sat listening but taking no part in the conversation. I noticed that she shook her head sadly in disapproval several times, but she remained silent throughout the meal.
“May I be excused, Papa? I’m tired, and I still want to look over my notes for school.”
Once in my room, I quickly undressed. The water for my bath was already heating, and I bathed quickly, anxious to get into bed with time to think. I dreaded the thought of moving from Dr. Kester Street. It was the only home I had ever known, and I loved everything about it—the stenciled walls, the high ceilings, and wide french doors, the courtyards and the Italian street singers who seemed to appear two or three times each week. I had always been protected from change, and that was ending.
Word reached Father that the general he had served with had passed away, and he invited our regular friends to dinner in remembrance. The conversation turned as usual to the current conflict, and everyone grew silent and attentive as General Skorodumov spoke.
“What I can’t reconcile is how any nation, particularly an intelligent, civilized nation like Germany, could endure an alliance with the Hooligans. I fought the Germans at the front in 1914 until I was wounded and unable to continue, but it was a fight between gentlemen based on principle. The Bolsheviks haven’t an ounce of civic responsibility among them—no morals, no decency, no religious values!”
“I think what attracts other nations to them is their strength—just the vastness of the land itself and the enormous population.” said General Nazimov.
“Perhaps like a small, frail boy makes a friend of a bully,” Aunt Nadia added. “The bully may not have much going for him except for his size, but that would impress other boys who might pick on the frail one.”
“I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that,” responded Skorodumov. “I’m afraid that someone has been boiling a kettle and not watching the fire. That kettle will boil over. I’m just thankful I have no children to worry about. You must be worried sick with two boys in the Cadet Academy.”
“Certainly, I’m worried, but my boys aren’t going anyplace to fight, war or no war.”
“You are wrong,” said her husband forcefully. “It is the duty of every man to defend his country in time of war. It’s a matter of honor.”
“But just look at what it has done to all you ‘honorable’ men,” Aunt Nadia retorted. “You have no country. Your families have been killed off. We live in exile, dangling on a string, not knowing what tomorrow may bring. And you want our sons to go out and fight?”
“That’s a chance every man must take. His honor is at stake.”
“Oh, I just can’t talk to you. You’ll always be a general in your heart and in your mind, but they are my sons, too!”
Father noticed that the conversation between the Nazimovs had become heated, and he interrupted to propose a toast—his usual strategy for calming things.
“Let’s drink to Maria’s health, her speedy recovery, and her return home. I’m beginning to feel like a bachelor, and it’s time for her to return and put the reins to me.”
Everyone laughed, and the topic shifted from war to the relaxed conversation common among old and good friends. That was the last dinner on Dr. Kester Street with our friends.
One day in late October as the days were growing shorter, I returned from school to find Kristina busily filling boxes with pots and pans. I went from room to room only to find boxes already packed everywhere I looked. I rushed to Father and Mother’s room to find her wardrobe empty, the wonderful smell of her perfume almost completely gone, and boxes neatly packed and stacked. The thought of leaving the house, the street, and the neighborhood that I loved and knew so well filled me with a sadness I had never felt before. Father told me that the move would be complete the following day and that he would meet me at school the next day for the first trolley trip to our new home.
FIVE
The Move to Dedinye
The following day Father was waiting just outside Trécha Zhénska, and we walked together to the trolley stop. Because of Mother’s illness, this was the first time I would have an opportunity to see our new home or to take the trolley trip that was to become routine for me. We boarded a trolley at a stop quite close to Trécha Zhénska, and after about a fifteen-minute ride reached the outskirts of the city. There the trolley continued for about another ten or fifteen minutes through a parklike setting. It was simply beautiful. Birches, chestnuts, hazelnuts, and other varieties of trees were changing to autumn colors now in late October, and flowering shrubs and wildflowers filled the landscape on both sides of the track with no buildings in sight.
When we stepped off the trolley, Father pointed out two ways to walk to our new house: the regular paved road that went around the continuation of the wooded section we had just come through, or a pathway through the wooded section. The pathway was a short-cut to Shenoyna Street, through trees, shrubs, and wildflowers, with benches spaced along the way.
The house was located almost at the end of Shenoyna Street, adjacent to the Royal Estate, the White Palace, Prince Paul’s residence until Prince Peter matured to ascend the throne. The Estate stood at the corner where Shenoyna ended, intersected by another street, and was surrounded by a stone wall perhaps eight or ten feet high, which also formed the division between our land and the Royal Estate.
The stone wall of the Estate was built along the left property line of our land. A wrought iron fence crossed the front of our lot and continued up the right side and across the rear. The land was sloped, and the yard had been built in broad, terraced levels, the first about two feet above street level, the second about two feet higher. Both of these terraces held raised, brick flower beds that served as a retaining wall for the next level and were filled with bright chrysanthemums now in spectacular full color. The second terrace also held a fish pond with bright goldfish, a lovely gazebo, and the ancient oak tree that Father had told me would be perfect for climbing. The house itself seemed to form a third terrace, as the same brick planters had been built across the full width of the front of the house. The house and grounds were completely isolated, unlike our home on Dr. Kester Street.
The main entrance was reached by a wide flagstone walk and steps that rose from street level to each terrace and continued to a front porch extending across the front of the house. The new home had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and the living room to the right as the home was entered; a dining room, kitchen, and Kristina’s room to the left, and a central hall, interrupted by the entry foyer but connecting to all rooms, completed the main floor. Just past the door to Kristina’s room, at the end of the central hallway, steps led down to a finished basement and Kristina’s bathroom, or up to a very pleasant sunroom, which had large windows across three full sides. From the sunroom we could see over the stone wall that bordered the Royal Estate. The Palace could not be seen, but the gardens and grounds were lovely to view.
The furniture had all been put in place, but there were boxes everywhere waiting to be unpacked. Dear Kristina, she knew how I dreaded moving, and as I entered my new room I found that it had been all fixed up. Matryona was sitting in her usual chair, and all my clothes and books had been placed the same way I had them arranged at Dr. Kester Street. I hope I had the presence of mind to thank her.
Kristina fixed a very simple dinner of cold cuts, bread, and milk. Father and I went out to the front porch after dinner. The evening air wa
s quite chilly but fresh and clean.
“Well, Anochka, do you think you are going to like it here?” “Yes, Papa, I’m sure I will. It’s very pretty and so very quiet. I think both Mama and Aunt ’Lyena will like that.”
“Well, I think it will be very good for Mama. Dedinye is elevated, and we are surrounded by trees. The air is much fresher. I know the fresh air will be better for her and make it easier for her to breathe. At least I hope so.”
“When will she be able to come home?”
“If everything goes well, I am going back to Switzerland to bring her to spend Christmas with us.”
“Will she be staying home then?”
“No, the doctor didn’t even want to let her come home for Christmas, but he thinks that if she stays no more than a week or two it will be good for her. He thinks that by the end of May she should be strong enough to remain at home with us.”
I looked at Father, who was clearly worried. His eyes filled with tears as he put his arm around my shoulders.
“Come, Asinka, let’s sit on the steps for a while. You’re not cold, are you?”
“No, Papa,” I replied, but I snuggled close to him in the chill evening air. We heard a train whistle somewhere in the distance. It was getting dark, and stars were beginning to appear.
“The stars look brighter here than on Dr. Kester.”
“Yes, they are. There are no city lights to obstruct them. But my star is always bright. You are my starlight and my sunlight.” Father hugged me and kissed the top of my head, brushing away his tears with the back of his hand.
“Oh, Papa, I love you so much.”
“We should go inside, Anochka. It’s getting cold and late. You have to get up earlier tomorrow morning. Everything is new to you. You don’t know how long it will take to get to school from here.”
“Oh, I know my way, Papa. I’ll take the short-cut, the way we came today. It’ll be fun.”
“You’re a good girl, Asya, already so mature, so self-sufficient. I never have to worry about you.”
Ancient Furies Page 6
