I grabbed at his shirt.
“You can’t go there. What if they catch you and take you to Siberia.”
“I’m just having a look.”
“But they could hurt you. They’ll see your white shirt.”
“I’m not going right up to them, silly. I’m going to look from between the trees. You can wait here if you’re too scared to come along.” I didn’t want to go with Mitya but, as he moved away, the darkness seemed to be coming toward me from out of the willows. If there were some evil spirit hiding in the tangled bushes, I wouldn’t see it until it caught me with its claws or teeth. Auntie wouldn’t even know where to look if I should suddenly disappear. By the time Mitya was just ten metres ahead of me, the weight that was rooting my feet lifted and I put my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out his name. I scrambled through the bushes after him. He moved nimbly, without a sound until we approached a little lookout directly above where the fire crackled.
“You’ve been here before?” I whispered. “Who’s down there?” He put his finger to his lips. The more I looked, the more questions I had. There, right under our noses, was Comrade Zabluda. His usual companions from the Party weren’t with him. There were some strange men that looked like farmers, but also there were men we all knew. Uncle Paulo, whose orchard we had just passed on our way, Uncle Simon who liked to talk to Uncle Misha about politics and Uncle Ivan whose nostrils turned up like a pig and flared when he was angry. What were they doing here? And who were the strangers? We could see that they passed a flask as they talked.
“I’m going to slide down a bit closer,” Mitya said, “so I can hear what they’re saying.”
Before I could make a protest, he moved forward. We slid down the sloping side of the bluff just out of the range of the firelight.
“How easy it is to bait their trap if you get to know their weakness,” Comrade Zabluda said, snickering. “The Comrades in Moscow say that the buffoons who pray the most are the ones that are the most attached to their land. That priest better have his wits about him. I’ll have lots of questions about who was at his service.”
“They better be praying well,” Uncle Ivan said. “They’ll need their prayers by the time I’m through with them.”
“You’ll wait for instructions,” Comrade said. “No tricks till I give the word.”
Uncle Ivan leaned back, sighing and sipping again from the flask.
“Remember, tonight is a set-up. The ones who pray the best will be the most difficult nuts to crack. Some of them will die before they surrender their land to the kolhosp; I’m sure of that. We’ll start the friendly way. Paulo, your job is to persuade them, if you can. When that doesn’t work, Ivan, you’ll put your men on them. Once your men have all of the land, we’ll switch groups and you will go to other villages. The word is that the grain quotas are going to be higher this fall so we have to get a handle on things sooner than later. Now, let’s have the names of those who’re praying rather than working for the Party.”
Simon started and followed by Paulo and Ivan, they named the heads of all of the families we left in the schoolhouse. How long could I crouch without crying? Were we all going to Siberia? I touched Mitya’s arm and signalled that we should go, but he wouldn’t move. When he finally did look, I saw my fear reflected in his moonlit face. Then, one of the men rose and started walking toward where we were hiding.
“I’ll toss one last load onto the fire,” he said. “We’ll drink one more toast in honour of those praying church mice and then I’ll have to be heading home, unless you have more duties for us, Comrade.”
He started towards the spot where we sat. I don’t know how, but I snapped a branch with my foot.
“Did you hear that?” Uncle Ivan asked. He scanned the bushes above him. “What’s that white there?”
“It’s probably a patch of moonlight—or maybe that extra swig of the flask. Nobody in his right mind would be out here at this time of night,” Uncle Paulo said.
Mitya and I started like frightened animals and scurried through the brush.
“Ho, what’s up there?” Comrade Zabluda roared.
“Don’t know,” Uncle Ivan said. “We’re going to check it out.”
The willow growth was dense with many branches growing low to the ground. Mitya pulled me under and through the brush with a well-practiced hand.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “They’re too big to get through here.”
I couldn’t answer. My vision blurred with tears and my throat closed. I followed or was pulled like a lifeless thing without knowing where I was going. The branches grabbed at my hair and my clothes and I could feel the sting from a bleeding scratch on my cheek.
The roots sprang up from the ground like magic booby traps. The men crashed like great bears behind us. I had to work hard to keep my feet moving. We crawled up to the top of the bluff over the fire. Then Mitya stopped. He took a stone from the ground and threw it hard. It hit Uncle Ivan’s head. He grabbed another and pinged it off Uncle Paulo’s shoulder. The distraction stopped the men. We scrambled away again. We ran away from the bluffs through Uncle Paulo’s orchard, across the field without stopping till we were behind the safety of Uncle Misha’s woodpile.
“Now what are we going to do?” I whined through my tears. My breath came in sharp bursts.
“We’re going to wash up and go back to church.”
“Are you going to tell everyone when we get there?”
“Does Uncle Misha know that Uncle Paulo and Uncle Ivan are friends with those men?”
“I don’t know. I think I should wait and tell Uncle Misha first. I don’t want to get us into any more trouble than we’re already in.” He looked down at the twigs on his newly laundered shirt. We brushed each other off and walked back toward the schoolhouse. We tried to sneak into the service unnoticed. But it was too late.
The dawn was just beginning to blush pink when we arrived on the village square. The congregation was marching out behind the priest and his choir which was still singing its hallelujahs. The women carried their baskets and discreetly jockeyed for the best positions around the priest for the ritual of blessing the food they would soon serve to their families. The more holy water that actually touched the basket, the happier they would be. Their greetings of “Christ is risen” and “Truly He is risen” rang like silver bells through the morning air. I longed to be safe among their mothball smelling vests and sashes, muffled within the safety of my family.
Auntie Lena’s eyes shot lightning bolts at us when she spotted us slinking towards the group but Auntie Xena looked sadly down at my dishevelled skirt and put her finger on her cheek as if she were touching the scratch on mine. Mitya and I had no option but to stay where we were. We watched the congregation from the edge of the square. The magic of the celebration was gone. My shame for getting my skirt dirty branded my cheeks and the newly discovered danger weighed more than any water I had ever carried. My eyes kept searching every inch of the square to see if the men from the fire followed us. There was nowhere to hide so we stood there till the ceremonies were over.
As each family passed us on the way home, they either pointed or looked away. We knew we’d be “present” at every table in the village over this Easter breakfast. Uncle Misha motioned us to join as his family approached. He walked as if nothing had happened till we got to the path that forked off to our house. When the rest of the family turned off the main path, his hands clamped down hard, one on Mitya’s shoulder and one on mine. Godfather stayed behind, too.
“There better be a good reason for the two of you to be looking the way you are,” he said. “I don’t want to spoil this blessed day, but by God, I’ll tan the both of you if I have to.”
I was too frightened to cry. The memory of the last spanking was never far from my mind whenever I was in trouble. To make it worse, Godfather was here to watch my humiliation.
Mitya stared at his muddy shoes.
“We’re waiting,” Uncle Misha sai
d.
Slowly, Mitya pushed back his shoulders and met Uncle’s blistering gaze.
“It was my fault,” he admitted. With a stammer in his voice he told Uncle Misha and Godfather about how he squeezed through the women and enticed me out to the river. But as he recounted the story he gained confidence. By the time he described the men by the fire, Uncle’s face softened.
“Are you sure about Paulo? I knew that Simon and Ivan were sympathizers, but Paulo? Are you absolutely sure?”
“We’ve got a much bigger problem than this little bit of mischief. Did they get a good look at who threw the stones?” Godfather asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” Mitya said.
“Say nothing to anyone,” Uncle said. “I need to take some time to figure out what to do. The Comrades won’t let this pass lightly. Let’s hope nobody says anything about seeing the two of you after church. And there’s no mistaking that Simon and Paulo were both there?”
“Yes, sir,” Mitya said. “And Uncle Ivan, too.”
“Philipovna, you better be especially good,” Uncle Misha said. “Lena won’t be feeling kindly for the job you’ve done on that outfit after all of that work she’s done for you.”
“I’m sure any punishment we can dream up won’t match what you’ll be suffering till she goes home tomorrow,” Godfather said, chuckling. “Now, Mitya, go fetch your mother for breakfast.”
“Will I have to go home with Auntie Lena?” I asked.
Uncle Misha shook his head. He put his hand gently on my arm and I walked between the two men toward the house where breakfast was already on the table.
Easter Sunday
MY HAND HADN’T dropped from the door latch of Auntie’s cottage before a storm of questions confronted me from within.
“Where did you go?”
“Why did you sneak out of church?”
“How did you get that scrape on your cheek?”
But it was Auntie Lena’s stare that glued my feet to the threshold. Her eyes said it all: I should know better than to make nice clothes for an orphan!
I could hear her words screaming in my ears and could see fire in the disdain that blazed in her eyes, even though she hadn’t uttered a word yet. I tried to back out of the doorway, but Godfather put his hands on my waist and lifted me in. I stared at the streak of April sunlight that stole across the white tablecloth, turning Xenkovna’s Paska into an even more beautiful shade of rosy golden brown. The candle which had been blessed at church flickered in the little breeze of cool spring air that accompanied us in.
“Is all of the blessed food on the table?” Uncle Misha asked. “Is that all you can say?” Auntie Lena said, shrieking. “No wonder that filthy little orphan runs wild and has no respect for her elders. Just send her home with me for a month. I’ll show her a thing or two about how a young lady behaves. Poor Barbara. What would she be saying if she were here today?”
“Today is to the glory of God, our risen Saviour,” Uncle Misha said calmly. “Christ is risen.” His eyes matched Auntie Lena’s with equal fury.
“Truly, He is risen,” the family chorused.
“But ...” Her finger wagged frantically in my direction.
“Today is for the glory of God,” Uncle Misha said again. He took his seat at the table which was positioned in front of one of the sleeping benches by the fire so that the Children could sit on them while the extra adults sat on the chairs.
“Sit here,” Xenkovna said as she beckoned me over to her and squeezed the rest of the cousins more tightly on the bench.
“At least that beggar and his crazy mother aren’t here to crowd an already full table,” Auntie Lena said.
“Lena, remember your Bible. As you have done it for one of these, so you have done it for me.” It was Godfather who spoke this time. “Mitya and the Unravelled One have nowhere else to go. You know they are part of the family.”
Auntie Lena sighed loudly.
“Let us pray.” Godfather crossed himself three times with his right hand as all faithful Orthodox men did and began to recite the Lord’s Prayer. We prayed with him in a subdued, but hurried, mumble as everyone was anxious for breakfast. But Godfather crossed himself after the “Amen” and kept on praying.
“Blessed Father. You know we are living in difficult times. The wolf is knocking at our door; the Enemy hungers for our land. We beg, in Your Son’s Holy Name, for your help and protection even as you held the Children of Israel in your hand and led them through the bondage of slavery and wanderings in the desert. Spare us from the wrath of evil masters and save us from the weakness of a divided house. Bless us with your bounty as you have blessed our ancestors for these past thousand years. We thank you for our health, our family and for the abundance of this table on this Your Holy Day. Amen.” He crossed himself again.
“Isn’t that a lot of praying?” Auntie Lena said. “We’ve just spent the whole night in church.”
“We should probably be spending every night in church these days,” Uncle Misha said.
“Enough gloom,” Auntie Xena said, wiping her hands with the corner of her apron. She forced a smile and began cutting up Xenkovna’s bread into little pieces.
“That daughter of yours seems to have inherited Barbara’s hands for bread-making,” Auntie Lena said. She smiled approvingly at Xenkovna. “It’s so light and fluffy. Too bad her own Child is so backwards.”
“Lena, for the love of God, it’s Easter Sunday. Could we not just have a pleasant breakfast?”
Mitya and his mother came in while we were praying. Auntie Xena found room for them at the corners of the table. The Uncles poured glasses of wine which they brought from town — even a small taste for every Child. Auntie Lena began filling up our plates with the blessed food.
I was hungry, but when I tried to eat, it wouldn’t go down. Xenkovna’s bread stuck in my throat. The spices from the sausages teased my nose, but I sat playing with them, pushing pieces of them through the horseradish that I had so laboriously grated. I didn’t crack the blessed egg that was set aside for me.
“Philipovna, you must eat your blessed food,” Auntie Xena said. “We can’t throw it out. That would be a sin.”
“I’ll have her holy egg, if she’s not going to eat it,” Viktor said from the bench.
“Speaking of sins, so is sneaking around behind everyone’s back when you’re supposed to be in church,” Auntie Lena said, waving off Viktor’s offer.
Mitya hung his head.
“Lena, may I remind you that you are in my home and I am the one looking after our niece.” Auntie Xena flung a piece of the holy bread onto her sister-in-law’s plate.
“Maybe someone else could do a better job. Look at the beautiful new clothes I made her. A field rat looks better than she does right now. Besides, her bad behaviour can put all of you in danger.”
Uncle Misha pushed his chair back with a clatter and stood over her with his fist clenched.
“I will deal with our niece. I have six Children; you have none. Who do you think has more experience? You are not to say another word about this matter as long as you are here.” He sat back down gulping his wine while everyone at the table stared in silence.
The Unravelled One started to cry.
“That’s enough,” Uncle George finally said, fixing his dove grey eyes on his wife. “There are so many ill winds blowing around our villages. We can’t allow this little incident to destroy our family. The Children will have to own up to what they did, whatever it is, and we’ll do our best to protect them.”
“Well, I’m not taking an ungrateful wretch like her home with me, that’s for sure,” Auntie Lena said. “She’d be a disgrace. No matter what I would do with a wilful Child like her, she’d never be good enough to take out into a civilized world.”
“It’s just as well if that’s how you feel,” her husband said.
The adults went on with their discussion but I no longer cared what they said. As long as I never had to go home with Auntie Le
na, I would be able to deal with anything life could throw at me.
After breakfast, the younger Children were wrapped in blankets and tucked up on the hearth to catch up on their missed night’s sleep. The adults took their tea and vodka out onto the grass in the brightening day.
Mitya and I wanted to go to the river. It was too early for crayfish, but there would be a nightingale’s nest or maybe the last of the pussy willows. We didn’t dare ask. We didn’t have to speak to each other to know that last night’s campfire discovery would come back to our door. We finally went to the room where my mother’s sewing machine was stored and sat around moping. Out of habit, I started to spin its wheel.
“Do you ever wonder what she was like?” Mitya asked.
“No,” I answered. “I’m sure she was like Auntie Xena. No one could be nicer than her. But I do wish I had my own parents. Then no one would be fighting about me or scolding like Auntie Lena always does. I’m sure my Tahto wouldn’t let her say all of those horrible things about me, either. Do you miss your Tahto?”
“Yes, all of the time. I can’t wait to grow up and kill all of the men that killed him.”
“But that would be scarier than last night.”
“Maybe so, but life is always scary and if he were here my Mama wouldn’t be so sick either.”
I could see him swallow hard. I never saw him do that before.
“Mitya, don’t ever talk like that.” It was Auntie Xena. She came into the room with a steaming dish of pale gold liquid. “You never know who might be listening. I can’t begin to imagine the sadness you have in your heart for your Tahto. He was a wonderful man and we all loved him. He would be so proud of you, especially of how you take care of your poor Mama. Please, Child, for your good and for the good of your Mama try not to say such things. Ask God to heal your heart.”
“I don’t want to,” he shouted. “I want to kill every one of those idiot Comrades. Their Children have their Tahto to come home to each day. They don’t have to beg for food or chop wood or steal from Uncle Paulo’s orchard and other people’s fields just to survive.”
Philipovna Page 6
