by Alina Adams
Daria reached for Edward’s arm, draping it over her shoulder and propping him up so he could hobble his way to the exit. Edward allowed Daria to lead him, even as his gaze remained longingly pinned to the piano. At the door, she glanced back at Adam, looking him dead in the eye, the way she had all those times previously.
And offering a nearly imperceptible nod of her head.
“No!” Alyssa screamed, struggling against being hefted onto the first step of the train once she realized Daria meant what she’d said about staying behind. “No! Mama come, too,” the six-year-old regressed in language as she kicked her feet and flailed her arms, refusing to be lifted.
Daria first tried to soothe her with soft words and caresses. Then, frustrated and pressed for time, she resorted to pinning Alyssa’s elbows to her sides, holding her in a viselike grip until the child realized her wrestling was ineffective, and finally settled down.
Daria bent at the waist until she and Alyssa were face-to-face. She cupped her daughter’s cheeks between her palms and thought about how alike her girls had looked, and how, from now on, she would always use Alyssa as a guide for what Anya might have grown up to be. That is, if Daria ever saw Alyssa again.
But she had no time to waste on such idle speculation now.
“Allya.” Daria used the child’s nickname, unable to remember the last time she’d done so. “I’m counting on you to help me. You need to take care of Papa.”
“But why can’t you come, too?” Alyssa pleaded, her already red, swollen, frostbitten face becoming even more crimson from tears.
“I have to stay here.” Daria gave a reason she hoped would make sense; it was even somewhat true. “With Anya.”
Daria sensed the resistance drain out of Alyssa’s tiny body. She’d fretted as it was about her baby sister going into the cold ground so far away from the rest of them. Alyssa understood that leaving Anya alone would be unconscionable.
“Look after Papa for me,” Daria reiterated, picking Alyssa up off the ground and setting her down on the train steps, hugging her as tightly as she could, for as long as she could, until Daria feared snapping Alyssa’s fragile little bones in two.
“Here are your papers.” Daria had held on to them until the last moment, partially from anxiety that they might be rescinded, partially from concern that Edward would misplace them. But mostly because, as long as Daria still had their papers, she still had Edward and Alyssa.
She put them into Edward’s hands, then reconsidered and tucked them into the inside pocket of the coat she’d scrounged by bargaining away all their other possessions. When the woman she was trading with asked what Daria planned to do tomorrow, stripped of everything, Daria told her she didn’t give a damn.
“When you get to Odessa, try to find your father. If he’s still in the old apartment, you should have no problems. Otherwise, go to the Central Office, show these papers, and you’ll be assigned a new place to live. I don’t know where, but it has to be better than this, right?”
She attempted a hopeful smile. The smile Edward gave her in return was anything but hopeful.
She cradled his face in much the same way she had Alyssa’s earlier, and kissed him, more with affection than passion. His lackluster response confirmed her resolve not to go further.
“You’re going to be all right,” she promised. “And knowing that you and Alyssa are all right is what’s going to make me be all right.”
“He’ll . . . take care of you?”
“Yes. You know he can. These papers prove how much influence he holds.”
“I’m sorry,” Edward began. “I’m sorry I couldn’t—”
“Take care of Alyssa. Nothing else matters.”
“When will you come home?”
“As soon as I can,” she swore.
Was she supposed to go back to the barracks? Daria had wandered away from the train depot, where she’d stood watching Alyssa’s and Edward’s faces at the window until even the puffs from the smokestack were no longer visible. She had no idea what she was supposed to do next. Her last few days had been focused on making sure Adam kept his promise, and on getting Alyssa and Edward on board before anyone decided a mistake had been made. She’d given no thought to the moments—and the days and the weeks and the months and the years—after.
Daria began to trudge toward the fields. She stopped. She’d never missed a day of work before, and she had no idea what the consequences for that might be. She found herself wandering, passing guards and other authorities who had every right to demand to know what she thought she was doing, but something about Daria’s state inspired them to keep their distance. They thought she was one of the insane. It happened all the time. The woman whose baby died in the cattle car had lasted a few weeks before creeping out of the barracks and into the woods while her husband slept, then beating her head against a tree until she fell unconscious. They found her frozen to death the next morning. She was hardly the first. And now Daria looked like she might be joining them.
Except for two things. Daria had promised Edward and Alyssa she would find her way home to them. And she wouldn’t give Adam the satisfaction of making her break that promise.
Daria had tried pretending she was drifting without a direction in mind but was forced to give up the delusion when she found herself in front of Adam’s house. The massive lock on the door made entry impossible, and, as it was the middle of the day, Adam wasn’t home. Struck by a new sense of purpose, Daria headed for the administrative complex in the center of what passed for town, a collection of wooden shacks built multiple years apart, crumbling at different levels of disrepair. Except these particular shacks had working stoves, lamps, desks, and filing cabinets. Most important, they had men and women who didn’t dress in rags, whose skin didn’t hang off their skeletons like limp autumn leaves without the color, and who were rationed three meals a day beyond watered-down soup and stale chunks of bread.
Daria entered the bureau where Adam worked, sweeping past his colleagues who demanded to know what someone like her thought she was doing there. She didn’t stop moving until she reached the back, where Adam stood holding a ream of papers, surrounded by a dozen crates in the process of being ripped open by a team of men with crowbars. They were inventorying whatever was left from the latest shipment of food or medicine, after it had been pilfered at every stop along the way.
She told him, “They’re gone.”
He told her, “You have a new job.”
Daria awaited further instructions.
“You can read and write?”
Now he thought he could insult her? After the effort Mama had put into getting Daria educated at the Ukrainian school? “Thanks to Comrade Stalin.”
“Find Marya Ivanova.” Adam mimed huge breasts with both hands, which got knowing snickers out of his crew. “I told her you’d be coming today. She’ll assign your work detail.”
He’d told this Marya Ivanova that Daria would be coming? How in the world had Adam known? Then again, where else did Daria have to go? His arrogance somehow managed to rankle her in yet a new way. On the other hand, Daria would be an idiot to turn down an indoor position. So for the rest of the afternoon, she followed Marya Ivanova’s orders and copied over by hand requisitions for their superiors to sign. Carbon paper never quite managed to reach them this far north, and typewriters were for senior staff. Once upon a time, Daria would have found such mindless work deadly dull. Now, she wanted it never to end.
But of course, it did. Clocks were at a premium, as well, so Daria had no idea how many hours post-sundown it was when Marya Ivanova pronounced their day’s work complete and began spitting to extinguish the lamps. Daria had been banished to a desk in the corner that she shared with three other women also transcribing endless documents. The chatty trio flew out the door. Daria was there alone when Adam appeared.
“Let’s go,” he told her.
He took her back to his house, which answered Daria’s question about continuing to live in
the barracks but not much else. He opened the lock with a single key, making Daria wonder if all her comings and goings would be under his control. Once inside, Adam ditched her for his still. As far as Daria could tell, it percolated all day long. No wonder he needed the heavy-duty lock and the bars on the windows. Otherwise, he’d be inviting endless break-ins. Not that Daria could imagine anyone would be reckless enough to take on Adam in a fistfight. Then again, desperation drove people to all sorts of measures.
Look at her.
Adam wasn’t looking at her. He’d discarded her in the entryway, not even bothering to turn on the lights. She did that herself in the main room. Everything was as she remembered. Adam hadn’t even closed the piano lid. Daria did that now, imagining she could still feel remnants of Edward’s energy radiating from the keys. She remembered how he’d bloomed to life while playing, and it gave Daria the strength to move into the bedroom, where she stripped off her clothes and climbed in.
She sent up a silent apology to Mama. Daria had long passed the point of playing hard to get. She was determined to keep to her bargain, for fear any slight infraction might prompt Adam to void their entire agreement. And then what might he do to punish her, not to mention Edward and Alyssa? It was a risk Daria couldn’t afford to take.
And so she waited for Adam to come to her and claim what was his. But he appeared in no hurry, tinkering with his pipes and his cast-iron buckets, pouring the resulting brew into glass jars and tin cans labeled with the names of their designated recipients. It must have been a most time-consuming business, because Daria—lying for the first time in a year in a hay-stuffed bed covered with a thin but nonetheless existent sheet and blanket as well as a pillow filled with horsehair, rather than a bare wooden bunk of ruts and splinters—found herself drifting off to sleep.
She startled awake at the sound of Adam entering the room some time later. It was a habit Daria had picked up from when her children were infants. It came in handy once she was placed in a situation where someone might try to steal her shoes or her sweater or portions of hoarded food while she slept. It was why Daria had pushed Edward and the children toward the wall and had placed herself on the edge, like an ever-alert guard dog.
She braced herself as Adam crawled into bed next to her. In the pitch-dark Daria felt, rather than saw, him lifting the blanket and looking her over, head to toe. Did he realize she was naked? Did he understand that meant she was ready to live up to her part of their agreement? He shifted his weight, and Daria subserviently rolled on her side toward him.
But much to her surprise, Adam turned his back on her, falling asleep before Daria even had the chance to recover from her shock.
Chapter 11
The next morning, she was up before him. Despite the comfort, Daria had found it difficult to doze off again. It wasn’t Adam’s snoring. She’d slept through far worse in the cattle car and barracks, not to mention when she’d shared a single room with her own parents. It was her certainty that Adam would wake up any moment and . . .
Maybe he’d been too worn out the night before? Or maybe it had slipped his mind? Surely, in the morning . . .
She was ready for him. Ready for anything. Except the grunt with which Adam greeted her. He slipped out of bed, dressed in pajamas a bit too close to a prison uniform for Daria’s comfort, likely surplus or maybe another case of supplies getting waylaid en route to their designated location. He headed for the outhouse she’d spied and taken advantage of earlier. The next time Daria saw Adam, he was wearing his street clothes, waiting by the door to take Daria to work.
Dresses appeared for her. Undergarments. Wool stockings. Boots. Not new by any means. But clean and more or less her size. She was issued a ration card for the closed-distribution general store and the cafeteria open to select workers. This allowed her to purchase—on credit; Daria had yet to receive wages to go with her new labor assignment, though nobody doubted her ultimate ability to make good—bread, tea, sausage, eggs, butter, and potatoes. When they were available, of course. Beer was also on the list but never in stock. It made Adam’s home-brewed vodka even more popular.
“Where did you learn to set up a still?” Daria asked, having learned that any conversation beyond bare necessities would need to be initiated by her. Otherwise, she and Adam could pass days working in the same building, living side by side, sleeping in the same bed, for goodness’ sake, and never exchange a word. It was worse than Edward’s silence. At least, with Edward, she’d realized he was traumatized. But with Adam, the situation was more confounding. Daria knew other women who’d taken “camp husbands.” Attaching themselves to one man with the power to retaliate, they escaped being raped by a succession of guards, supervisors, and fellow prisoners. Or, rather, they preemptively chose their own rapist. Daria thought she’d done the same. Except for one not-so-minor detail. The first few weeks, she’d lived every moment in dread of the inevitable. Now Daria simply lived in dread. She no longer even knew of what.
“My mother,” Adam said.
“The one you turned in?” Daria told herself the words had slipped out before she’d had time to think about what she was saying. But she knew that wasn’t the case. Adam’s taciturnity, coming as it did on the heels of Edward’s, had driven her into such an agitated state that Daria could think of nothing more satisfying than breaking through his infuriating reserve, making Adam suffer a bit of the agitation, not to mention the fury, he put her through daily. She couldn’t allow herself to be angry with Edward. And even if it were allowed, Daria had no right to express it, not after what she’d done. Daria had no such reservations regarding Adam. And this was the best way she could think of to do it. Her question was no accident. Though, whether it was a mistake was yet to be determined.
“Most people have only one mother,” Adam noted.
“Most people don’t turn them in to the NKVD.” Daria didn’t know if that was true. She certainly hoped so.
“My father left when I was a boy. Distilling vodka was how she supported us.”
Daria thought of Mama’s quest to position Daria for the best. And how her dreams had disintegrated. Mama deserved better than a daughter reduced to prostituting herself. Even if Daria’s prostituting wasn’t proving successful. That, too, seemed an insult to Mama. She’d given Daria everything she needed. Daria was the one who’d failed them both, in addition to Edward and the girls. Having nowhere else to vent her impotent fury, Daria burst out, “How could you do that to your mother?”
“She wanted me to.”
Daria snorted.
“My mother mopped floors at the old Jewish hospital. The doctors, they talked around her like she wasn’t a human being with ears. She heard things. She learned things. When doctors told her she was suffering from anemia, she realized they were lying. It was leukemia. She was dying. She had nothing to leave me. No money, no position. So she told me to turn her in. To say that she had been stealing medicine, selling it. She knew I’d be rewarded. It was my mother’s legacy to me.”
He was telling the truth.
Daria could have gone on asking questions, trying to poke holes in his story, denying it because it was too terrible. But Daria knew Adam was telling the truth. And that she was the only one he had ever told.
What she didn’t know was how to react to his confession. Condolences were hardly appropriate under the circumstances. Neither was pretending that what he’d said had no effect on her.
Adam didn’t appear to be waiting on any reaction from her. Yet Daria felt it was imperative that she offer him one. For both their sakes. She thought she was reaching out to take his hand, to squeeze it in a gesture of pure mutual humanity. But when she got close enough, to her surprise, she found herself rising up on her toes, which she wouldn’t need to do if she were still reaching for his hand.
Daria kissed him.
Adam didn’t appear surprised. Then again, Adam rarely appeared surprised by anything. He kissed her back as if his action, and hers, were the most natural in
the world, despite their earlier five-minute conversation being, quite possibly, the lengthiest they’d ever exchanged. On the other hand, Daria couldn’t help thinking, how long had Edward glimpsed her before he decided she was worth pursuing? Maybe she was more tolerable in small doses?
Except Adam’s kiss proved anything but brief. He didn’t lay a hand on her. Yet Daria felt herself being pulled toward him, as if he were inhaling her. His lips were warm. After being surrounded by a piercing cold inside and out, this was as much of a jolt as anything else. He didn’t push; he pulled. And ultimately, he was the one who stopped.
And then Adam did one more surprising thing. He smiled.
Not menacingly, not condescendingly, not wearily. He simply smiled.
And, after that, everything changed.
Not all at once, of course.
Adam didn’t suddenly become a loquacious conversationalist. But he did start bidding Daria good morning as she wrapped her fingers around a tin mug and hurried to sip her tea before it froze like the rest of their surroundings. On their walk to the administrative offices, he began introducing Daria to citizens they bumped into on the street, residents who’d predated the internment camp and exiles who’d managed to build new lives there. She presumed they were customers of Adam’s and so went out of their way to be pleasant. Adam even made Daria laugh, spilling secrets about their former Odessa neighbors, like the couple who were cheating on each other, sometimes at the exact same time and literally next door, while proclaiming themselves the epitome of fidelity and urging the other couple, whom they suspected of carrying on with someone else, to heed their example. The deception got so convoluted that, listening to Adam tell it, Daria laughed until she cried. She hadn’t realized she still remembered how to do either.