“What’s going on?” Uncle Misha asked.
“I’m not really sure,” his wife answered. “One minute I was wrapping her up in my shawl and the next minute she was screaming and running away. Any sign of the Unravelled One yet?”
“No, nothing,” he said, shrugging. “She disappeared into thin air.”
“No, she didn’t,” I said. “I saw her.”
“After you left the cottage?” Mitya asked.
“No, in the mirror.”
“You couldn’t have. Just you, me and Auntie were there.”
“I did! I did! I saw her bleeding by the pussy willows. I could hear the river. We have to go get her.”
“We should wait for the others to come back from the woods,” Uncle Misha said.
“If we do it’ll be too late,” I cried. “She’s bleeding —I saw her.”
“How could you see her by the river if you were at her cottage?”
Uncle asked.
“I did! I did!”
“Philipovna.” His face hardened into the face that meant business. “This is not the time for childish fairy tales.”
“I saw her.” I was shaking again, the tears flowing like the river I had heard in that spotty looking glass.
“Vera Philipovna.” It was Auntie this time. “Are you sure? Tell me everything.”
“She was in the glass — so clear. Her eyes told me to come to her.” I started sobbing again.
“See,” Uncle Misha said. “She’s telling stories.”
“Maybe she really did see — maybe she’s a seer like Babushka was.”
“Not here, not now,” he said. “We have to find the Unravelled One.”
“If Philipovna’s right, we can all save ourselves a lot of time and trouble by going to where she thinks the Unravelled One is.”
“Woman, I don’t have patience for this nonsense.” His usually quiet voice was starting to get very loud.
“Well, it’s worth a look, even if only to calm Philipovna down.”
“It’s not a good idea to go by the river after last night’s goings on,” Uncle Misha said. “They’re probably watching to see if anyone comes to finish what they started. I wouldn’t have expected Paulo or Simon to do something, but now I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
“Where else would you look then? They haven’t found her in the woods yet.”
“I’m not afraid to go back,” Mitya said. “I’ve got Tahto’s knife.
If anyone gets near me, he’ll sure know it.”
“Son, you’re playing with fire,” Uncle Misha said. “Your little knife didn’t help your Tahto and it won’t help you if they decide to finish you. Keep your nose clean and your eyes straight. Give me the knife.”
“Not till we find my Mama. If you don’t want to come then I’ll go myself.” He turned to me furiously. “Lead the way if you know where she is. We’ve wasted too much time already.”
“By the river,” I said. “Where we got the pussy willows.”
He started retracing our trek from the night before. My family went after him with Uncle Misha stopping now and again to make sure we weren’t being followed or watched. The night deepened; the wind stopped and we cautiously moved toward the spot where Mitya and I found the now sacred willow branches for the Palm Sunday service. There was nothing; no sound, no movement and no smell of smoke from a fire either.
We almost tripped over the Unravelled One who lay, bathed in moonlight on the mossy spot from which I had so often gazed up at the fluffy clouds or down at the sparkling river. The dark shadow of blood was clearly visible on her face. Her hair was as wild as that of any night demon who might roam the woods, and in her hand was a rudely-fashioned cross made of pussy willows.
I put my hand over my mouth to stifle a scream. I stepped closer to Auntie hoping that she could protect me from whatever was out here.
“Mama, Mama, are you all right? Please don’t die. Not now. Not here. Please.” Mitya dropped to his knees and held his mother’s hand.
“What’s this?” Uncle Misha bent over the body.
“Is she alive?” Auntie asked, kneeling by the fallen woman to have a closer look. “She’s so still. Where did that cross come from? It must have been a nasty fall. Do you see what she tripped over?”
He put his hand on the Unravelled One’s chest.
“She’s warm and barely breathing,” he said. “She’s taken a serious knock to her head. It’s pretty swollen. This was no tripping or falling.”
“We’ll have to take her home,” Auntie said. “She might bleed to death out here.”
“We have to find out who did this to her,” Mitya said. He jumped to his feet. “I’ll kill him myself.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Uncle Misha said. “You’re lucky that it isn’t you lying here.”
“I’m going to find out, no matter what you say.”
“You’ll do what you’re told. I’m as close to a father as you’ve got. We’ll try to find out what happened, but we’ll do it my way. Your foolish temper will bring nothing but trouble to all of us.”
“Your way is getting my Mama killed,” Mitya shouted.
He started to run, but Uncle Misha bounded after him like a nimble bear. He grabbed him by the shoulder, turned Mitya to face him and landed a resounding slap across the boy’s face.
“I told you earlier, boy. You’re playing with fire. Get it through your thick head that I’m your only help, your only hope and your only protection. Those animals know you threw the stone. They’re waiting for you to act— to do something that they can really nail you with. Whatever you do will come back on all of us. We can’t afford it and I won’t allow it. By God and for the love of your mother you’ll do as I say or I’ll give it to you worse than they ever could. Now put your strength to good use and help me get your Mama back to our house.”
“I want to take her home.”
“Son, there’s nothing there to help her with,” Auntie said. “We have blankets, a warm fire and my medicine box. If you go back to your house, she’ll certainly die.”
“But that’s our home.”
“You can go home when we get her put back together. Please do what Uncle asks.”
Uncle Misha took the knife from Mitya and cut some willow branches. They tied them together with their shirts and Auntie wrapped the Unravelled One’s head in the black shawl that she had taken from the cottage. Uncle and Mitya shouldered the makeshift sling. We started for home with me following them. We slowly retreated from the riverbank towards Uncle Paulo’s orchard. We couldn’t take the shortcut that Mitya and I had used the night before because it was too rough. As we came near the pasture, I could see some shadows moving toward us. I tugged on Auntie’s hand, pointed to them and swallowed hard.
“Stop,” she said.
Mitya and Uncle Misha put the Unravelled One down and waited.
“Can you see who it is?” I whispered.
As they came closer we could see that they were men who knew the village since they moved easily across the pasture.
“What if Uncle Paulo and Uncle Simon find us here?” I whispered to Auntie Xena. My heartbeat was so loud in my ears that I was sure they all could hear it.
“We’ll just tell them that we are looking after the Unravelled One.”
“Will they do anything bad?”
“Let’s hope not. You never know these days.” Auntie crossed herself.
As the men approached we heard a low whistle. Uncle George and Godfather joined our little group.
“We’ve searched all around the grave; she’s not anywhere in sight. Maybe she’s hiding and just not answering,” Godfather said.
“We found her,” Uncle Misha said. “You can help us carry her home.”
“They know what’s going on. I’m sure they did this,” Godfather said, leaning down to pick up one end of the sling. “We ran into them at the fishing spot on the river. Simon asked how the stonethrowing was going and Paulo just sat there like
a slug. The pig Ivan wished the crazy woman a fast recovery. It was all I could do to keep from permanently wiping the smirk off that fat jowl of his. I just don’t understand how they got to her so quickly. And what in the name of Heaven was she doing out so far from home anyway?”
“You see, boy. I told you this is messy business,” Uncle Misha said.
“Stay close to your Uncle,” Uncle George said. “You’re a marked man. Ivan has no conscience and will tear you to bits just for his own satisfaction. We must decide what to do with you.”
“I’m not leaving Mama,” Mitya said. “No matter what.”
“We’ll decide in the morning,” Uncle Misha said.
“We have to tend to her first.” Auntie nodded her head in the Unravelled One’s direction and we continued towards home.
A candle burned in the window, beckoning to us as we came to our house. Xenkovna and Auntie Lena had put the little ones to bed and lit a fire, but when Xenkovna tucked me into my parents’ feather bed, I couldn’t feel the warmth it offered. I lay shivering, watching the Uncles carry in wood and water. The women undressed and bathed the Unravelled One. Auntie Xena got out her special box of herbs. She set herself to boiling and mixing potions that would speed healing and keep the fever down, not to mention frighten away any evil things that may have clung to the Unravelled One out there by the river. It was clear that all of her healing skills, both the practical herbal ones and her grandmother’s spiritual ones, would be needed for her patient to survive.
Meanwhile, Mitya sat or knelt by his Mama’s side. He smoothed her hair like a man much older than his years, promised that he would be good if only she wouldn’t die and sang songs that only the two of them understood. When the women ordered him away so they could do their ministrations, he knelt beneath the icon and prayed. But in all of what went on that night, Mitya never cried— not one tear. His face changed and his eyes changed so that I never saw them sparkle again.
I cried myself to sleep.
Easter Monday dawned into a grey drizzle. Uncle Misha read the Bible and prayed again before breakfast. It was a tense affair. Those of us who hadn’t slept sat dazed and lifeless while the little ones whose sleep had been disrupted complained fitfully.
“You should go back to your farming and stay as inconspicuous as you can before the whole family is marked,” Uncle Misha said to his brothers-in-law at the breakfast table. “The Thousanders talk to each other these days so you can be sure that they’ll find out when they realize you were here.”
“We will. But we have to take care of business first,” Uncle George said. His face, which was usually soft and without expression, was stern and determined.
“Get Mitya. We should have reined the young fellow in before this. We’re partly to blame.”
“I’m not taking him with me.” Auntie Lena’s chair went back almost landing on top of the Unravelled One’s sick bed.
“No, you’re not,” her husband said in an unaccustomed air of authority. “The men are going out to the barn to decide the boy’s future. I should have spoken up much earlier. You will have our things packed in the wagon and ready to go by the time I get back.”
“She already did that,” I said.
Everyone turned to look at her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Auntie Lena glared at me.
“She doesn’t want to help. She says that Uncle Simon has already given his land to the kolhosp and that, if you were smart, you would do the same. She told us that if it were up to her, she would give Mitya to Uncle Ivan and be done with him. You won’t let her do that, will you?”
Everyone gasped.
The Uncles stared, dumbfounded, as if someone had punched them in their stomachs.
“Lena, is this true?” Uncle George asked.
“You’re not going to believe the brat’s lies?” she screamed.
“The Unravelled One was with you when she disappeared,”
Godfather answered.
“And I did see you gossiping with Simon while Xena was getting out food,” Uncle Misha said. “Did Simon join the collective? What else did he say?”
“It is as the Good Christ said.” Auntie Xena looked tearfully at the icon and crossed herself three times. “Neighbour against neighbour and brother against brother. The end times are here. How will we ever survive?”
“Our clothing and blankets,” Lena’s husband said. “Go pack them.”
She turned on her heel, grabbed her shawl from a sleeping bench, and went out.
With no further discussion, the men took Mitya to the barn. I tried to sneak out to spy on them, but Auntie Xena wouldn’t let me. She kept finding a Child for me to mind, a dish to put away or a compress to replace on “the poor Unravelled One’s” fevering head.
“How is anyone supposed to recover from anything with such unpleasantness in the house —and on Easter Week to boot?” Auntie lamented. Xenkovna gathered the younger cousins around her and told them stories while I flopped restlessly from corner to corner unable to find a comfortable position or place. Finally, I took the shawl that had comforted me on the way home last night and hid by my Mama’s sewing machine.
It was mid-morning when the men returned. Mitya was carrying an old wooden box and the men hauled a battered wooden trunk between them. They were covered with fine soot and smelled of smoke.
“What happened?” I asked, running to greet them.
“They decided that I would live here,” Mitya said glumly. “They said that our house wasn’t fit for living in even if Mama does get better. They might make us live in Godfather’s town away from Uncle Simon, Uncle Paulo and Uncle Ivan.”
“No, you can’t do that!” The tears squeezed out from the corners of my eyes, no matter how hard I tried to hold them back.
“We went to the cottage and took out some things,” Mitya said. “Then Uncle Misha and Uncle George put all of the wood in the middle of Mama’s cottage. We poured kerosene on it and set it on fire. You should have seen it burn. I have nowhere to go now.” He dropped his box at my feet and stood, tired and bedraggled with head and shoulders drooping.
“Yes, you do. Auntie and Uncle will let you stay as long as you want.” I bent over to pick up the contents of the box which were scattered at my feet. I carefully replaced his family’s Bible which was wrapped in the embroidered cloth they would have used to cover their Easter basket, a worn leather pouch that held a golden cross on a golden chain, a silver pocket watch which must have belonged to his Tahto or Diedushka and a knife with a kosac insignia etched into its blade. There were a few other personal things of his Tahto’s which I don’t remember. This was all that my cousin had left other than his Mama.
Uncle George got into his wagon where Auntie Lena had been waiting since breakfast.
“I’ll find out what Simon said to her,” he said with a nod in her direction. He shook hands with Uncle Misha and cracked the whip over his horse’s back. The last I saw of Auntie Lena was her tearful face looking back to her sister-in-law who couldn’t stop crying herself. I didn’t see how things could get any worse.
After the wagon was out of sight, Godfather took Mitya to the barn. He and Uncle Misha helped him build a little corner and sleeping bench since Mitya said that he didn’t want to stay with us in our house. He would be there for his mother, but refused to actually live with us.
“It’s all for the best. He’ll come around in time,” Auntie said. She helped Mitya make a bed out of some blankets from the battered trunk they brought from the cottage and some old ones of her own.
“This will do till we figure out what’s going on,” she said. “The barn is very warm.”
The next three days dragged on even more slowly than Monday. The Unravelled One got worse and worse. We Children were sent to the river for fresh strips of bark from the kalyna or to the woods to pick this herb or dig that root so that Auntie Xena could cook up a new concoction to try to break her fever. Still, the Unravelled One moaned or flailed about i
n incomprehensible dreams till Auntie could settle her down again. There was no doctor for some kilometres and, even if there were, no one had enough money to pay him.
“You must learn which plant is which,” Auntie said to me patiently. “Since it looks like you are the next one in the family with the gift of seeing and healing, I must teach you everything I know. When this is all over, we’ll have plenty of time to talk and learn. Remember, you should never be afraid of what you know and must always pay attention to what you see — even if others around you don’t understand. You’ll understand as you grow.”
The priest was sent for to pray and neighbours dropped in quietly to bring a loaf of bread or a dish of food or just sit and drink a cup of tea. They all found something good to say about the sick woman— even the ones who would have shunned her a week ago should she have tried to borrow a cup of sugar or ask for a potato. Most of the neighbours came in the evenings since a lot of their farms were already turned over to the kolhosp. Mitya was oblivious to all of it. He sat by his mother or slept by her when his eyes wouldn’t stay open any longer. Finally, on Thursday, the Unravelled One breathed her last breath and her spirit crossed over to join her ancestors.
The women took her to the river. They gave her a ritual bath and dressed her in her Ukrainian dress which Auntie Xena found in the old trunk from the cottage. I was shocked to see how beautiful it was, made of pure silk and embroidered with much finer thread than our linen ones.
“She earned this from the mistress when she was a servant at the estate,” Auntie Xena explained. “She used to do all of the fancy stitching for the estate so the stitching on it is all of her own work. I wish I could do it that well.”
Because the Unravelled One had been so sick, it was decided to hold her burial as soon as possible. Uncle Misha and Godfather fashioned a wooden bier where she was laid, her hands folded in prayer. Xenkovna and I went to Uncle Paulo’s orchard where we cut an armful of cherry blossoms which we used to cover the departing one. The priest came and led the procession to the graveyard. We sang the ancient hymn of Memory Eternal. I listened to its haunting echo coming back to me in the fading sunset and breathed in the smell of the sweet cherry blossoms and the scent of the freshly opened earth. Was it like this when my own mother died? Would my Mama be waiting for Mitya’s mother when she got to Heaven? I wondered if the Unravelled One could hear us singing to her.
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