“The cherries are ripe in Uncle Paulo’s orchard,” he said. “I’m going to pick some.”
“Did you ask if we could?”
“We?” He scrunched up his face in disgust.
“I could help you.”
He hesitated.
“I guess you could if you could reach them.”
“You could pick me up like you used to,” I said tentatively. “Or I could hold the bucket for you so that you could drop them in.”
“I guess two pairs of hands are better than one,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to imitate Uncle Misha.
I followed Mitya and Sharik around the field and through the familiar path on which we had shared so many pleasant hours. Despite the fact that the sky was blue and the white clouds were turning pink with the onset of evening, something didn’t feel right.
At the orchard, we chose a tree heavy with ripe cherries. The first few handfuls we picked found themselves stuffed into our mouths. They were still warm from the sunshine and the juice ran sweetly down my chin. Mitya laughed when he saw me.
“We can’t just eat,” he said. “We’d better get picking. Maybe, Auntie and Xenkovna will make some varenyky with these.”
The bucket was bigger than we thought. Since the cherries were just beginning to ripen, Mitya was careful not to pick the greener ones. We found ourselves working our way off of the path by the edge of the orchard and into the interior trees.
“Look at that bunch.” I pointed to a luscious branch over his head.
“I can’t reach it,” he said.
“Hoist me up then.”
He bent down so I could stand on his shoulder. I swung up easily into the tree and squealed in excitement.
“We’ve got a treasure.” I pushed through the branches and dropped the shiny fruit into his waiting bucket. I dropped so many that I missed and hit him in the head. I thought he’d be angry as was his habit of late, but he took a handful and flung some back. I answered in kind and, before we knew it, he had also swung himself up into a tree and was whipping up a sweet and sticky storm of his own. It was only when Sharik began to bark furiously that we paused and listened.
“Do you here bells?” I asked.
“Yeah, I thought I did.”
We sat still but heard nothing. Sharik barked again.
“Stop that,” Mitya said, leaning down toward him.
“There they go again,” I said. “Where could they be coming from?”
“There are no bells,” he said. But as he swung himself down, I heard them again.
“Who would put bells in the orchard?” I wondered out loud.
Sharik would not stop barking. From my perch, I saw them, Uncle Paulo and Uncle Simon, hurrying towards where we were.
“You better run,” I screamed. “They’ll get you.”
Mitya froze.
“Hurry,” I hissed. “I’ll tell them I climbed up into the tree and can’t get down because my skirt’s caught.”
He grabbed the pail and ran with Sharik close at his heels.
I stayed in my crook of the cherry tree, hoping that the men wouldn’t notice. I watched Mitya bound over the fence and cross the pasture. My chest felt so tight that I could hardly breathe. I waited— right to the moment that they passed under my tree — then, I pretended to fall. I jerked so hard that I would have smashed my head had Uncle Paulo not caught me in his arms.
“We thought someone was picking cherries,” Uncle Paulo said.
“I only wanted a little taste,” I said.
“You won’t be doing that again,” Uncle Simon said. “Do you hear those bells?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We set up a system of bells that will let us know when someone is picking the cherries.” He pointed to some ropes that were interlaced through the branches of the trees. “Whenever anyone puts their weight on those branches, the rope will move and the bells will ring. Where’s that cousin of yours? Isn’t he tagging along as usual?”
“No, sir. He works with Uncle Misha now,” I answered. “He’s all grown up. He’s got no time for little girls and picking cherries.”
“No matter,” Uncle Simon said. “We’ll catch up with him.”
They brought me home to Uncle Misha who was drinking tea under the birch tree with Auntie Xena. They told us that Uncle
Paulo had wisely decided to join the collective and that the orchard belonged to the Party now. No one was allowed to pick anything without the committee’s permission— not even Uncle Paulo.
“So this is how you treat a neighbour?” Uncle Misha said. “Give in to the Party behind my back while you play chess at my table and drink my vodka every Sunday!”
Uncle Paulo shrugged.
“Come now, Misha, even you will see the writing on the wall sooner or later. They’re squeezing all of us. We will have to give in or die. I didn’t want to do it. There’s no other way.”
“The Party is the best thing that’s happened to us since the Tsar,” Uncle Simon said. “Listen to your good neighbour. We’ll be better off if you die-hards just stop dreaming about an ideal that’ll never be fulfilled. The Ukrainians have always been ruled by someone. It’s been that way since the Mongols. Forget about being independent. At least Father Stalin will give us enough to eat and will educate our Children.”
“And enslave us all once he has our land,” Uncle Misha said.
“Misha,” Uncle Simon said, “even the Bible tells us to render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s. Put your bull-headed ideas aside.”
“You dare to blaspheme the Word of the Lord in the name of these devils!” Uncle Misha roared. “Is there nothing that remains sacred anymore? The Lord never asked us to give up our land. Without my land, I won’t be able to give anything to anyone. Where has your common sense gone?”
Uncle Misha swung his arm to punch Uncle Simon. But Uncle Paulo was quicker and deflected Uncle Misha’s fist with his shoulder before it connected with Uncle Simon’s jaw.
“Calm down Misha,” he said. “We don’t need this to get worse than it is.”
Before they left, Uncle Simon insisted on seeing Mitya. He appeared, freshly washed and dressed in his Sunday shirt with Sharik, perfectly behaved at his heel.
The Uncles went away as we stood watching the sun settle over the pasture.
“Imagine that,” Auntie said. “The whole village used to pick cherries from that orchard and Paulo’s family still had more cherries than they could ever eat.” She wiped away a tear with the corner of her apron.
Mitya told them about how I stayed behind and distracted the men. Although we never played the way we used to, he would let me pet his dog on a good day. We made an uneasy peace between us.
The Wheat Harvest
OUR ROOT CELLAR was filling up quickly. There were crocks of pickles, pots of jam and jars of honey. Bunches of fragrant herbs and spices hung from the rafters in the house after we had laid them in the sun to dry. The fields were heavy with their golden burden and Uncle Misha was planning to harvest the winter wheat.
Auntie and Uncle sat drinking tea on the bench under the birch tree in our yard. The little cousins were tucked up on the hearth. Mitya leaned his back against the trunk of the birch with Sharik in his lap. Xenkovna, Michael and Alexander had gone off to meet the neighbouring young people as they did each summer evening. They gathered to sing songs at the place where the paths intersected with the main path to the village. From the stoop of our cottage, I listened to the faint sound of their singing drifting over the pasture:
What a night, so moonlit and bright with stars.
Come with me, though you’re tired from your day’s work.
Come with me to the meadow just for a moment.
Sit together with me beneath the kalyna as the mist overlays the meadow.
Don’t fear the cold dew on your bare little feet for I’ll carry you home in my arms.
I’ll draw you close to my heart and keep you warm as the hearth.
I breathed in
the smell of freshly-mown hay. The breeze gently stirred the leaves over my head and streaks of sunset painted the land red, orange and gold in the fading twilight.
What fun it must be to go with those almost grown-up boys and girls and sing those songs. I couldn’t wait till I was old enough. Maybe, by then, I could learn to play Uncle’s guitar. I strained my ears trying to hear if Taras was out with his accordion.
“It should be an easy winter,” Uncle Misha said. “The wheat is full. It should be taken in soon.”
“An easy winter?” Auntie said. “What if the army takes more than they did last time? It was all I could do to stretch out our wheat to feed us over last winter.”
“Don’t fret, woman,” Uncle said. “We’re in the bread basket of Europe. There’s enough for all of us, even the blasted Party. They can’t take it all. They need us to live so that we can feed them next year too.”
“I hope they remember that when the wind is moaning,” Auntie said. She crossed herself as if to remind God that we might need His protection.
“I have no choice but to go over to George to see who can come to help with the harvest. You know that Paulo and Simon won’t help. Even if they would, their horses have been taken away when they gave their land to the Comrades — and the others, the others ...” His voice trailed away. I knew he meant Uncle Peter and the other men who would have helped had they and their families not disappeared.
“What happened to all of the horses?” I asked. “I don’t see them working in the fields. All I’ve seen is the new tractors.”
“New tractors?” Uncle Misha asked.
“Yes, Uncle. I was walking and heard a rumble so I went to see what it was. It’s so big and shiny and the ground shakes when it moves through the field.”
“A tractor? You went onto the field of the kolhosp?”
I could see a storm brewing in his eyes. They were as dark as the blue shadows of the birch tree stretching out behind him.
“Never, never let me hear you say that you’ve gone to the kolhosp,” he bellowed. “No one from this family is to step one foot onto that place. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Uncle, but I heard the sound. I asked what that machine was. I just wanted to see. The men said that it was a tractor, bought by the Party, all of the way from America. They said it is made by the Fordson Company and that it can do the work of many men and that soon all of the fields will be full of these machines so the men on the kolhosp won’t have to work as hard any more. The driver said that Father Stalin is setting up factories to make our own.”
“I don’t care what you wanted to see,” Uncle said. “Never, never go there to look or to do anything else. Do you understand? And above all, don’t disturb any of the workers. You will be in trouble and so will they for talking and wasting time. Someone is always watching.”
“But Uncle, I didn’t see any army men. There haven’t been any around here since early spring.”
I hung my head.
“Daughter,” he said, trying hard to contain his impatience with me, “you’ll never know if someone is watching. The man who watches can be the very neighbour who draws water from the well with you. Uncle Paulo is my best friend, yet he gave up his orchard without saying a word to me. You’re still not old enough to understand things as they really are. Do as I say.”
Auntie sighed in sympathy.
“I hear that the horses aren’t looked after very well,” Uncle said. “The talk is that they are over-worked and don’t get fed enough. They say that it’s so bad that the horses have been let loose to forage for food in the forest on their own. And others say that the animals are dying of some kind of sickness. Some of the men in the village say that they’d kill their horses themselves rather than surrender them to the Party.”
“Good God!” Auntie exclaimed. “That’s severe, isn’t it? That’s like killing a member of the family.”
“Maybe so,” Uncle Misha said, “but it’s better than seeing the horses sick or abused.”
“Can I come with you to Uncle George’s, Uncle?” Mitya asked from his spot beneath the tree. “I’ve never stepped a foot out from the village. Shouldn’t a real man know a little of the world outside?”
Uncle Misha was taken aback by the request, but after a few thoughtful minutes, he nodded his consent.
“I’m sure that Michael and Alexander can manage the chores for a couple of days. There’s plenty of cut hay for them to bring in from the field while I’m gone.”
“Auntie Lena doesn’t like Mitya,” I said.
“We’re going to Godfather first,” Uncle said. “She won’t have anything to say about who stays in his house. And besides, Mitya is now one of the men. Women have no business in this matter.”
“I can look after Sharik for you,” I said.
“He’s coming with me.” Mitya stared as if he was looking right through me. “I don’t go anywhere without him.”
“For the love of God,” Auntie said, “don’t start that nonsense all over again.”
The next morning, with a basketful of goodies for Auntie Lena and a picnic lunch, Mitya and Uncle Misha got into the wagon. They took only one horse so that the cousins could use the other.
“Mind that you boys don’t try using the scythes without me,” Uncle Misha reminded them as they handed him the reins. “Don’t think you know it all just because I’ve showed you how it’s done. They’re very sharp and you still need an experienced hand guiding you. There’s enough hay ready for bringing into the barn. Make sure you help your mother. She’ll have more than her share of work when I come back with the men.”
He clicked to the horse and they were off. Sharik sat looking back at me from Mitya’s lap. They would do what they could in the way of helping Uncle George and then, if they were lucky, return with a couple of horses and some men from around Uncle George’s village to help bring in the harvest. Once Uncle was home again, Michael and Alexander would also volunteer to go back to Uncle George’s village to help others who were short of hands for the harvest themselves.
The rest of us carried on as usual, hoeing the lettuce, pulling up carrots and beets, and milking the cow. The house felt as if there was a big hole in it. It was so quiet. I missed Uncle and Mitya, particularly at supper, as that was the only time we spent together these days. I thought that I missed Mitya when he stopped playing with me, but to actually not see him at all, and not to be able to sneak in a pat onto Sharik’s head made me feel lonely.
Funny, I thought. He doesn’t have time to be playing with me, but I still miss seeing him. I wished that I was a boy and that I could have gone with Uncle Misha too.
On the day before the men were supposed to return, Auntie killed two chickens and told me to dig up some more potatoes. She and Xenkovna set up a double batch of dough for a baking of bread. We gathered the vegetables for a fresh borscht that she would cook first thing in the morning. When morning came at long last, I was charged with minding the younger children.
“Take Viktor and the twins for a walk,” Auntie said. “But don’t go too close to the river. You know how your mind gets lost in your wonderings. And don’t startle the cow either. All I need is to have her chasing the little ones — and for the love of God, don’t go exploring near the kolhosp. Come back when the sun is high and we’ll have lunch ready.”
“Yes, Auntie.” I rolled my eyes. I would much rather have stayed to work in the house and garden because I didn’t care for minding the little ones. I knew that Xenkovna was almost a woman and could do much more around the stove than I could so I swallowed my protest.
I took the little ones to look at the cow in the pasture. We stopped on a flat place on the path and I showed Viktor how to write his name in the dirt with the pointed end of a stick. We found caterpillars attaching themselves onto tree branches and bushes. We found soft, brown cocoons. I even took them to the place where Mitya showed me my first nightingale nest.
“Mama says that we aren’t supposed to bother the ni
ghtingales,” Viktor said. “She says that they are special birds. She says that God blesses us with their singing.”
“It’s all right to look at the nest,” I answered. “The babies are all grown up now that it’s almost autumn.”
We picked daisies from the sweet-smelling pasture for Auntie.
“I’m thirsty,” Marta said. “Can we go see Mama now?”
We followed the path back to where it joined the main path of the village. But just as we were about to turn into it, I heard a rumbling sound.
“What’s that?” Viktor asked. “Is it a tractor?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “We’ll see it when it drives by. I think tractors drive only on the fields. Don’t make a sound till it’s gone.”
Maria’s lower lip quivered. My stomach flip-flopped as Uncle Misha’s stern warning replayed itself in my mind. As we stood watching, an army truck went rumbling slowly by. It was full of men with city uniforms like the ones we saw in the winter. One of them smiled and waved to the twins. Uncle was right. The army would be watching somebody — but who and why? We let them pass and then we followed the main path till it branched off to Auntie’s house.
As we approached the gate, I heard a bustling sound. My cousins started to run before I could see what was going on. Sharik bounded out of the gate and after licking the little ones came to greet me too. Uncle Misha and Uncle George were tending to our horse and three other strange horses. Godfather was there with three other men whom I’d never met before. Mitya didn’t look my way as he helped the visiting men carry their bedrolls to the barn. The yard was buzzing with activity.
“Ho, Philipovna,” Godfather called out. “Look at you, Goddaughter! Why, you are turning into quite the young lady.” He picked me up in a huge bear hug. “I’ve brought you a special sweet— but if you keep growing up like this, I’ll have to bring something ladylike, a new platok maybe.” His blue eyes twinkled down at me and he brushed a stray curl off of my face. He reached into his pocket and handed me a little parcel wrapped in brown paper.
Philipovna Page 10
