The Wild Fields

by Purple Hazel

  When Tatyana was five, Mother got pregnant again, and when the baby was born, her father Bogdan rejoiced in the news that it was indeed a boy. They planned on naming him Gavriil, after his great Grandfather, and the family rejoiced at the big party following the child’s christening. Bogdan Ermolai had always desired a son to be born who could carry on the family name; but he also took great pains to include young Tatyana in the celebrations. He adored his daughter truly; and didn’t want her to feel even for a moment that her new brother was more important than her. It was tradition, nothing more. Every man wants to see his name carried on years later when age has sapped his strength and death’s door eagerly awaits.

  No, Tatyana was not in the least perturbed by this new competition for Father’s affection. That wasn’t in her nature. She joined in with the duties of caring for the baby and happily held and caressed the infant as though he were a welcome addition to the family. Bogdan noticed this, and appreciated her kind-heartedness more than ever. She was a good daughter no doubt and he loved her with all his heart. Loved his new son, too! In his mind, the family was complete.

  But unfortunately, after only a year, the baby became very sick. Within a week of catching some sniffles and developing a whooping cough that unnerved Mother greatly, the child was too ill to keep food down; and after a long sorrowful night, the family awoke one morning to find the baby had suddenly—without warning—passed away in his sleep. He’d fallen silent somewhere during the night, and Mother believed (quite logically) that the poor suffering infant had finally fallen asleep. However, the illness had infected his lungs and deep in the night his little heart had stopped beating. In the morning the baby was found dead. Bogdan Ermolai was devastated; and Tatyana’s mother was equally broken-hearted. Now the poor innkeeper’s dreams of bequeathing the tavern to his very own son had been crushed…and not surprisingly the deeply saddened couple never tried again to have another baby. They simply couldn’t recover from the tragedy of losing a child.

  A few years passed, and the family remained a trio. It was hard work, each night at the inn. Tatyana became the only child in a business that was now booming and packed with customers night after night. Belgorod was a bustling regional trading center and there were always traders and merchants coming through town. Plus there were the regulars who made the tavern a regular stop after a long day of work or perhaps a place to go hide out from an angry wife. Tatyana went to work serving customers and cleaning up after them well into the night. There was just so much to do!

  The townspeople for their part assumed the couple were too busy running the tavern to try siring another heir to the family business. However, part of the problem was Taisia Ulyana’s health. By age eight, Tatyana was occasionally finding her mother passed out in a chair, or feeling faint and having to lie down for a nap—even during evenings when there were hungry, thirsty customers waiting to be served. Quite unfairly, many in the town began to assume that the woman had taken to drinking over the sadness of the loss of her son, which was understandable. But reality was the poor woman was in fact dying.

  It was an illness that progressed for over a year until she was all but bed-ridden, and by the time Tatyana was approaching her tenth birthday, Mother was fading away. Her arms and legs withered until they were like tree branches. Her face grew hollow and drawn. In the final stages she could barely even speak. No, it certainly wasn’t vodka or ale that was killing her. But the nature of her mysterious illness baffled everyone. It wasn’t plague. She simply started getting weaker and weaker until she couldn’t even manage walking down the stairs of the inn to go use the privy. Tatyana had to watch her slow degeneration from a buxom young woman into an emaciated scarecrow.

  She finally died one night with Tatyana and her father weeping by her bedside, still not understanding what had killed her. The inn was closed for a month while they grieved. Townspeople brought them food and helped as much as they could; but Bogdan was inconsolable for several days and wouldn't speak to anyone but Tatyana. The trio was now a duet.

  And so it was by the age of ten, that Bogdan began to rely solely on Tatyana to handle the serving of food, delivering mugs of ale to drunken customers throughout the evening, and preparing their rooms for the night. Her father took over the kitchen duties meantime; and during the day handled the baking of fresh bread as well as the brewing of ale for customers to drink. In the evenings he prepared the recipe for Borsch that Taisia Ulyana used to cook, and replicated it best he could from memory. Then he served it up in earthenware bowls for Tatyana to deliver to hungry patrons. His memory of the recipe was vague at best, but despite that, most customers found it to be quite tasty. It certainly made them drink more ale anyway! Meanwhile, Tatyana handled the washing, preparing of rooms, and did all the serving out in the dining hall. Life went on as before—but it was much lonelier and much much harder without Mother around.

  Yes, they still closed the tavern on Sundays and made their way to Mass at the local Russian Orthodox Church. Tatyana enjoyed that immensely. And during the midday and early afternoons, Tatyana loved going to market to handle the purchases of fresh vegetables and meats for the kitchen. But that still didn’t give her much in the way of a social life. She never had friends to play with nor the company of other kids her age—especially girls. After church they had to get right back to the tavern and get the dining hall ready for guests. Then the week started all over again, serving Borsch, filling drink orders, checking in guests, and cleaning their rooms the next morning.

  Tatyana never got a chance to meet young boys her own age. Never got to have a boyfriend or experience the thrill of a young man coming to court her—or seek her hand in marriage. Not that she wasn’t beautiful. On the contrary she was quite astounding, even in her early teens. And by age fifteen she would have made a darling wife for most any young man seeking her father’s approval to marry her. No, that wasn’t the problem at all. The problem was that Tatyana was nothing more than “the innkeeper’s daughter” and therefore it was implied that she was consorting each night with the drunks of the town and perhaps even more likely the nefarious ne’er-do-wells who might typically frequent a tavern. Despite her beauty, within the local community, she was off limits to the eligible young bachelors of Belgorod.

  It never got to Tatyana, though. She took it all in stride. When people were even the slightest bit snooty or turned up their noses at her, Tatyana was unflappable. Her effervescent smile and bubbly personality always overcame their iciness. Instead of becoming a social pariah, she was one of those girls that everyone liked. She went on about her business every day and every night, serving drinks, serving food, and helping her father run the inn.

  Yet there was another problem for Tatyana; and it developed ever so slowly as she matured into a beautiful woman from what was once a darling innocent little girl. The problem became the customers themselves.

  So many of them, night after night, while drinking and carousing in the tavern, had begun to forget themselves on occasion; and Tatyana began to suffer from the indignities of waitressing to a tavern-full of lustful drunken men. Her joyful personality and cheerful disposition gradually made her into a target. And her looks only exacerbated the growing challenge of trying to deliver decent service to thirsty tired men, town guards, visiting troops, or traveling merchants; especially when many of them began to see her as little more than an object of desire.

  It started off as uncomfortable hugs and caresses that didn’t seem appropriate. Grabbing, pinching, groping, and throwing an arm around her waist when she got close to them. True, if she’d been just a little older when she’d begun this profession as a barmaid, maybe she’d have known how to handle it. But in reality, she’d spent her developmental years performing this job and the gradual changes in her body invited advances that the little girl didn’t know how to cope with. A slap across the face of an overly aggressive customer—that might have been warranted on several occasions to be sure! However, it simply wasn’t in Tatyana’s kind
nature to do such a thing.

  She might have been better off doing so! Maybe to let everyone know once and for all she was not some trollop plying her trade in the red-light district of a big European city! But Bogdan would always caution her thus: “They don’t mean anything by it, Daughter. Just smile, and quickly move away from them. Come get me if they get out of line.”

  That said, Tatyana rarely complained about it. She did however learn to weave and hop and dodge her way through crowds of drunken men to get back to the relative safety of the kitchen when things got a little sideways out in the dining hall. Over time she learned important lessons to ensure her safety. Namely: never get caught anywhere alone with a customer…and never be too far out of screaming distance from her Father. She only had to make that mistake once; and it nearly cost her the loss of her innocence.

  * * * *

  It was a very warm summer evening, deep into harvest season as a matter of fact, when lovely Tatyana almost had her virtue ripped away from her. Almost that is. A man whom she was showing to his room for the night, followed her to one of the guest rooms that Tatyana had made available for him. That was customary; and Tatyana had just finished pouring him a hot bath so he could relax and wash up before bed time. Tatyana’s practice had typically been to prepare the room and prepare a bath, then go downstairs to tell the customer all was ready. Then, she would lead the guest to his room and let him inspect it before closing the door and calling it a night. Tatyana would return in the morning once the man had exited the room; and clean up after him. That had always been her procedure. This time however, things went awry.

  “Is the room acceptable, sir?” she’d asked, after leading the man upstairs. “Da,” was all he replied, with an ominous snicker, then Tatyana turned to leave. But this time, the drunken fellow blocked the doorway to the room, cutting off Tatyana’s exit.

  “Nyet mishka, no need to leave so soon,” he slurred, then suddenly moved toward her. “Why don’t you stay a little while longer?” he said with an evil grin, “keep me company, eh?” And when he grabbed her by the shoulders to push her up against the wall and kiss her, a thrill of terror coursed through her body. This man was not going to let her go, she could tell, and suddenly any pretenses of being the obedient servant girl willing to please her customer faded quickly from her mind.

  She struggled against his grip and screamed at him to stop what he was doing. “Please!” she cried. “I don’t want…I don’t want this!” But the man’s greasy fingers continued to grasp around the back of her neck as he tried planting his lips onto her mouth. “Sure you do,” he snarled, and she could feel his hot breath on her neck. Meanwhile he grabbed and tore at her blouse with his other hand and ripped the material, attempting to expose her breasts. She could hear the fabric tearing. He was relentless. She didn’t know what to do!

  Next he began pulling her over to the bed, and Tatayana began to fear for the worst. He was so strong—wouldn’t let go! She had little hope of wrestling free of him and it frightened her. She cried out again, this time pleading for rescue. “Help! Someone! Please!” Still he continued yanking her toward the mattress across the room. She expected at almost any time somebody would hear her, but it seemed hopeless. Was there no one in the hallways or in nearby rooms who might come to her aid? Her mind raced. She was tormented with disgusting images of what he might do to her…in that lonely room, with nobody willing to save her from the fiend. “Father!” she finally called out desperately. “Father, please help me!”

  She panted and gasped with sheer terror, knowing he’d most assuredly have his way with her if she didn’t try and scratch his face or gouge his eyes. Maybe kick him in the shins or knee him in the crotch, she thought. All these things came to mind, but she hesitated for fear he might retaliate. Too risky. He’d hurt her. Perhaps, she then thought, I should surrender my body to him and simply let him do whatever he wishes, then he’ll let me go. It sickened her to think of it that way, but given the circumstances it might just be the safest option. She began to weep pitifully. It appeared that her fate was sealed.

  But then luckily, in his drunken stupor the clumsy oaf backed into the wash tub, lost his balance, and in a flash Tatyana wriggled free of his iron grip. She ducked under his stinking armpit, and fled the room, crying and sobbing desperately as she flew down the stairs to the kitchen. Thankfully the man didn’t chase after her. Disaster had been avoided.

  And fortunately for the man, who teetered and fell, then passed out on the floor of the room right where he landed, Tatyana didn’t find her father immediately. That probably saved the man’s life! For to be sure, Bogdan—if he’d found out about the incident—would have murdered the man right where he lay. However, Tatyana didn’t have the heart to tell Father about it when he returned to the kitchen later that evening. He’d been enjoying quite a few rounds of vodka with a garment trader out in the dining hall.

  As it turned out, Father came back to the kitchen quite inebriated indeed! And when he stumbled into the kitchen he was delighted to announce to his daughter that he’d traded a large barrel of ale for a brand-new dress for Tatyana. Unaware of what had just happened, he was beside himself with joy. “Ah! My dear girl! You’re here!” he exclaimed, staggering a bit from the effects of his drinking binge. “I’m so glad I found you! I have wonderful news! Your father has bought you a new dress! Tebe ponravitsya eto! In fact, you may go pick it up at the market in the morning!”

  Tatyana up to that point had been sitting on a stool in the kitchen crying for nearly half an hour. Waves of emotions had come over her as she’d debated what to do. How would her father react? Would he blame her…blame her for not being more careful? She’d vacillated between telling him everything and facing the consequences, or remaining silent with her shame. Would father kill the man? Would he call upon the members of the town watch, who regularly came in for a free mug of ale, to go fetch the wretched fellow and toss him into the moat? Likely. They’d stomp his brains out, dump his lifeless body into the muck, and no one would ever find out how he’d really died.

  But by the time her tipsy father had returned with what would be in normal circumstances exciting news for her; she couldn’t bring herself to inform him of what had happened. Embarrassed, the good-hearted teenager merely stood up and gave her father a big hug around the waist. It meant so much to him giving her this delightful gift—she knew that. And in Tatyana’s kind soul, it didn’t make sense to be selfish and let her father know she’d just been assaulted. It would enrage him, no doubt, and he was already intoxicated to begin with! That would only make things worse, if she told him the truth.

  After all, the drunk upstairs? He didn’t deserve to die. That’s how she rationalized it anyway. And when she pulled back and smiled into her proud father’s eyes, he slurred out, “Ah, you’re crying, my daughter. I’ve made you happy, no?” Tatyana could only muster a tearful smile. He never suspected a thing.

  It is better this way, she figured. Father would assume she was crying tears of joy at the news she was getting a new dress—that is, if she didn’t tell him otherwise. Best that she keep it that way and swallow her disgust. The ugliness of what had happened earlier should simply be forgotten.

  * * * *

  That night changed Tatyana quite a bit. She was more cautious from then on; and though the bitterness over her ordeal never visibly seemed to drag her down, it still grated on her deep within her soul. Girls her age: young women of fifteen, sixteen, going on seventeen? They should be married by now. They should never have to live like this. The women in the market stalls would often chide her about it, too.

  “Moya milay devochka (my sweet little girl), when will we be hearing wedding bells for you? Are there any boys in town come courting lately?” they'd ask her. Of course, Tatyana never took it hard when they kidded her. She only laughed and explained it away time after time.

  “Oh, Svetlana, you KNOW I have no time for anything like that. Father and me…we’re so busy!” she’d say to the
old woman at the market who had become much like her surrogate grandmother over the years. “Mozhet bit’, mozhet bit’. Kogda-nibud, kogda-nibud (maybe-maybe; someday-someday),” Tatyana would then add laughingly, and the little old lady would cackle with delight.

  But it was not that funny really. Yes, Tatyana smiled and beamed joyfully every day as she walked through the streets of Belgorod, basketful of fresh vegetables under her arm. This, after all, was the best part of her day going to market and seeing the town—away from the smells and the stench of ale spilled on the wood plank floor every night—away from the lecherous men, the lice infested beards, and the stinking bodies. Best of all, it was a chance to brush off the creeping realization that whenever Father got old and infirm she’d be running that filthy place all by herself: no husband, no companion to help her with things as she got older and feebler. No daughter to raise and pass on her wisdom to. That was the fate she dreaded the most, and with every passing year it was more and more likely to become a reality.

  Maybe that’s why the emotions of attraction and connection between her and this rather handsome “young man” who’d limped into her tavern one night in the dead of winter—were so strong right from the start. No scraggly beard, not even a tuft of hair across the top of his lip. He was adorable and kind. Listened to her talk—really listened to everything she said that night. Male customers never did that; and the market ladies were far too busy running their stalls to chat with her much, preferring to share idle gossip about people around town and chatter like old hens in a chicken coop. No one had ever been interested in what SHE had to say.

  Ludmilla by way of comparison listened intently to her, with never any hint of lust or impatience or judgment of any kind. Frankly, “Lyev” seemed pleasantly interested in practically everything about Tatyana—always adding something to the conversation, telling some humorous anecdote from her own past, or describing some hilarious personal foible that no one else knew about her. It made Tatyana feel so comfortable talking with her!