3
They were now at the border of Austria, with little food left. They would need to stop soon.
‘Why don’t you rest,’ Maria advised, turning around to see Julia, her eyes staring, hugging her knees and leaning her body against the shallow wagon. ‘Try and sleep instead of being curled up in a ball like that.’ Maria wondered where they could stop next, as her hands burned from clutching the reins. ‘That can’t be comfortable.’
It was early afternoon now, and Julia had unhooked the canvas to let her see the road, the skies, and the trees as they moved past. The sun was finally warming their bodies, and Julia stretched her body like a cat, and for a second, she imagined she was in her bed, before she curled up again, drawing her knees to her chest. So far, no one had asked for their papers, and no dark cattle trucks shadowed them. They had finished their scraps of food from the last farm that they had stopped at, where they were lucky enough to get a half a loaf of bread and fresh milk.
‘I can’t possibly sleep, because it is uncomfortable.’ Julia growled. ‘This is so ridiculous. Don’t you think we can turn back?’
Maria fought back tears and was grateful that her back was to her sister. ‘Yes, Julia. I feel the same pain that you do, you can’t imagine it. But we have no choice. We have to keep on.’
Julia screwed up her face in annoyance. ‘It’s entirely rotten, this plan, and I am too sad and angry.’ She scowled.
The other duffle moved at her feet: the chalk had worn off a bit during the journey, and the surname was now missing an ‘IK’, so it only said ‘MISH’. Mouse, in Ukrainian, and the irony of such a sweet word in such circumstances wasn’t lost on her. Her mother used to call her that. Mishka. Little mouse. Her stomach rumbled with hunger again. She groaned. ‘Can’t we turn back?’ They were still closer to home than they were to anywhere else.
‘You can switch with me soon, I’m getting tired.’
Maria tightened her scarf and clicked the horse onward. She’d lost weight in the last two weeks, her collarbones protruded delicately above her chest and she couldn’t get rid of a chill that had descended on her lungs, despite the warmth of the sun on her face.
Tall and preternaturally thin, Maria’s hair shone with toffee-colored strands of that clung to her shoulders in two thick plaits, swinging as her lean body moved. Her green eyes seemed brighter than usual and pierced above her flushed cheeks, but tinges of grey hinted at her temples and under her gaze. As a baby, she had been sickly, and though she was the oldest, the majority of her childhood had been spent with adults and siblings worrying for her, as she was the sister that would break easily, like precious china. Over time, and many doctors offering tinctures and rest, she’d adjusted to her fragility and proceeded with caution. And then there were days like today, where, despite the thin bones underneath alabaster skin, and despite the cough that permanently took hold of her, her gaze was protective and wonderful, and there was a strength that comforted Julia immensely.
‘Yes, okay, fine.’ Julia reached for the small tin flask of tea that had settled by her feet. Blessedly, it was still hot, though little was left. ‘You need to stop, I think. Your skin is as pale as a scared rabbit.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, I will be fine. Who’s the older, more capable sister, eh? Should I remind you?’ She cleared her throat and it settled into a raspy cough that lingered. She tasted blood. ‘I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough.’ She laced the reins through her fingers. They felt dry in her gloves. ‘We’ll stop soon.’
Julia had been guiding the horse and Maria had been asleep when they arrived the following morning in Salzburg, where there was a large displaced persons camp, with rows and rows of what looked like elongated sheds with corrugated tin roofs, that had been left to rot, crowds of people milling about: tired, filthy, lost, wearing all the clothes on their backs. They could stay here.
After a stuttering explanation of needing somewhere to sleep and something to eat in the few German words they knew, they settled in the only space there was left: a small mat in the corner of an abandoned barn at the back of the camp, a kerosene lamp beside. The horse was tethered to the post outside.
That evening, the sisters had been given thin bone broth and stale bread and were now lying facing one another, fully clothed, under a rough woolen blanket, the lamp flickering weak yellow shadows. They could barely make out each other’s faces as they spoke. Maria’s forehead was damp, and her eyes had a sheen to them. She shivered, and Julia covered her with her half of the blanket.
‘Julia? What do you think it will be like?’
‘What, exactly? Which part of this ridiculousness shall we try and understand?’
Maria laughed, progressing into another cough, reddish saliva settling on her lip.
‘I’m serious.’
‘So am I, Maria. And also, you need to rest. We can’t understand any of this right now.’ Julia watched her sister’s face. Something had changed, so she answered her original question. ‘Do you mean, our life? Is that what you wonder about?’
‘Maybe.’
‘No one knows the future. But that’s probably for the best.’
‘What will become of us?’
‘You will be fat and have lots of babies, and I--’
Maria smiled. ‘No, no. Where we’re going. Ending up.’
‘Germany?’
‘Yes.’
‘How should I know? It’s war. No country has rules now.’
‘Does it scare you?’
‘It does. But it makes me angry.’ Julia knew that the anger covered her fear. It was better that way.
‘I’m afraid.’
‘I know you are.’ So am I. The tears threatened, because she knew her sister was weakening, so she willed herself to be still.
Maria searched for Julia’s hand underneath the layers and Julia was startled at how cold she was.
'Maria, we have many hours to think about it tomorrow, on the way there. We’re almost there and then at least we have somewhere to be. Somewhere to be still for a while.’ The horses nickered faintly outside.
‘I wish you hadn’t mentioned that. I don’t think I can take getting in that wagon again.’
‘Well, we can’t stay here.’
‘I know. I just…’
‘What?’
‘I miss home. Maybe this reminds me of home. The small room, just us, this is nice.’ Maria’s voice grew sparse and thin. She was tired.
‘Home feels very far away now.’
‘Two days ago, wasn’t it? When Mama packed our bags.’
‘Yes.’
‘You had an apple in your hand, with that knife. I have no idea why I remember that,’ Maria laughed feebly and squeezed Julia’s fingers. ‘It’s stuck in my memory, that stupid apple, and that knife. You turn it over and over in your hands like you were about to throw it or throw the knife.’
‘Oh yes. Can you imagine if I had?’
‘It probably would have helped all of us, to be fair.’
‘In what way??’
‘A bit of laughter in the sadness, I guess.’
Julia lifted the corner of her mouth. ‘I should’ve kept that knife. It could be useful now.’
Julia remembered that afternoon. She’d come from school and heard her mother’s voice in the bedroom and followed it, only to hover in the doorway and watch as she placed clothing and pieces of jewelry in worn leather cases and prepared to send her daughters away. ‘These have seen better days, but they’ll serve their purpose’ Her mother had said as she ran her palm across the top of an old suitcase. She took a small piece of white chalk and wrote the words MISHIK in capitals on both sides. Mark the suitcases, her father had told them. She wiped her palm on her skirts and walked over to the dresser and proceeded to remove two gold brooches, a necklace, two rings and a fur stole that had belonged to her grandmother. This was currency, and the value was priceless: it meant freedom.
‘Did you know that Germany offers food and shelter and work? An
d that you get paid a small wage?’
Julia had responded in silence.
‘Here it is so unsafe, a better life for you is far away from here. You have your things from home--’ she pointed to the cases--’and you and Maria can help, work, during the war. If we help the Germans, we will be safe. Do you understand?’
She had memorized her mother’s face and listened to her words, as if her real sentiments lay beneath glass and she couldn’t reach them.
A few pieces of jewelry lay sparkling in her palm. ‘These were mine, but I have no use for them, which is why I am giving them to you.’
‘And, what use do I have for a gold ring, an amethyst, a gold chain, and a fancy pin, exactly?’ Julia palmed an apple from one hand to the other, holding a knife, about to cut it. She wasn’t hungry, suddenly.
‘Little one— ‘
‘Mama. No.’
‘Yes, okay, not so little. Julia, then.’ She rested her hand on the dresser. ‘We need to talk, you and I.’ She folded a blanket and placed it in a suitcase.
‘About what, exactly? Am I going on holiday?’
She had been angry and scared. She knew what this would be about.
‘Julia. Your father and I have watched our friends, and our children’s friends, pass through to God, because of war and famine. We have seen families broken, and for what? For the sake of money and politics?’ Her eyes were hard and shining. ‘This is world we live in. I have lost my sons. I cannot lose my daughters.’ She paused. ‘It would kill us.’
Julia speared the apple and set it on the dresser. She had watched quietly as her mother pulled things out of drawers: clean skirts, dresses, tights and an extra pair of shoes, all folded and fitted into the case with such care. A small gold byzantine cross on a necklace hidden in the very
front of a shoe. A small gold signet ring with a square diamond in it: it had been her grandfather’s. A black and white picture of her parents, taken at Christmas. They stared out solemnly at her, in their dark clothes.
‘I know. You are sending us away.’
The words, they reeked of abandon. They felt like daggers. ‘Oh, Julia.’
‘Mama.’
It was then that Julia had walked over to the bed, sat, and she remembered it even now, giving way under her slim body, and looked at the room around her. The room had felt small and worn and ancient, as if she’d already left her childhood behind.
‘I am not sending you away. One day, you will have children that you want to protect so much that the world becomes very small and decisions become very important.’
‘Will I? And what would I do?’ Julia knew this conversation would have an ending that she would need to be brave for.
‘You will have children, Julia. And you will do what is right for them. Just as we are.’
Her mother raised a scarf to her face and breathed deeply. Clothes that smelled of Julia, of Maria, smelled of home and salt and earth and oil, memories unraveling and ending.
‘I know we can do this. I know we can be brave. But it seems so impossible, the thought of it.’
She heard footsteps behind her and a warm hand that settled on her shoulder. It was Maria. She suddenly seemed much older than her twenty-three years.
‘We understand, Mama,’ Maria spoke evenly. ‘And we will be back, as soon as this is all over.’
As if to finish the discussion, her mother had snapped the cases closed, but then as an afterthought, opened one of them and lifted the rosary off her neck. She clutched it in her palm, her fingers marked from the facets of the pale blue stones digging into her flesh, and then placed it in both of the girls’ hands, covering them with her own. ‘Be brave. I will be with you always.’
Julia looked over at Maria, small and fragile now, her face yellowed by the lamplight, and bit her cheek to stop from crying. We will be brave, Marioshka.
Silence. The horses moved outside.
‘Maria?’
Maria’s eyes opened slowly, carefully, as if the world was suddenly too bright. Julia watched her smile wanly, and then watched as she turned her body, pitched her head forward, and vomited all over the floor, the hay darkening under the bile. And then again.
Julia sat up. ‘Oh bozshe, are you okay?? What can I do? What’s going on?’
Maria groaned and stayed curled over the edge of the mattress. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Is there a doctor in this camp? There is, isn’t there? They have them somewhere, somewhere.’ They’d been in camps previously that had had a doctor, and she prayed that there was one here.
Julia rose and fled the barn, just as Maria rolled onto her other side, moaning and shaking, clutching her knees to her chest.
Julia ran slowly in the dark, her tights sagging and catching on brambles, her eyes adjusting to various shapes of sheds and houses and fences, and paths that led out too far, searching for help.
Julia had seen groups of German and Russian officers in the town square, in the cafes and the bars and the shops, and she knew enough to know the word for medicine, doctor, and help. She wiped her streaming eyes and scanned the sheds, and the makeshift tents. Minutes felt like hours and she walked swiftly and impatiently until her lungs burned and she knocked on doors and pleaded for help for her sister, eventually her voice rising in panic.
‘Please! Hilf mir! Kranheit hier!’ Please, help me. Illness here. No one answered.
When she finally found a doctor who had escaped Kiev with his own family, she explained to him in broken words what she needed, and he walked back with her to the tent, where they found Maria, small and huddled, moaning. Her breaths were shallow, as quiet as whispers, and Julia wondered how she had gotten so ill so quickly.
Had she missed something important? Could they turn back again? She so desperately wanted her mother.
‘Maria?’
She wheezed in response.
‘I found someone.’
Maria turned her face towards Julia, and her face in the light looked as if the skin had been pulled tight across her skull. Her lips were wet from fresh vomit, as was her hair.
The doctor placed a mask around his face and approached her. ‘Miss? I examine you, yes?’ He took her wrist in his hand and took her pulse. ‘Hmm. Very rapid.’ He frowned. ‘Your wrist,’ he started, and pulled up her sleeve to reveal angry red spots. He leaned over her and spread open the collar of her dress. He found them there as well. ‘Is very bad, I see.’ He gestured to Julia in reference. ‘See here, this very common for many. Typhus. Is what it’s called.’
‘What does that mean? I don’t know what that means, this word you’re saying.’ She spat her words out, indignant and infuriated at this man who could come to a conclusion so quickly. Aren’t there many many illnesses that she could have? Surely it couldn’t be this easy.
The doctor remained unreasonably calm. ‘Typhus is headache, fever, vomiting. It can last for weeks or it can only last days, miss.’
‘So, fix her.’
‘I cannot. These camps have disease, it is very common.’ His hands ran delicately through his hair, fingers uncomfortable in this interrogation.
‘I don’t understand!’ Julia moved him with her arm, small bottles clinked in the bag at his feet. She needed to see Maria more clearly. ‘You have medicine in there, can’t you use it for God’s sake?’
‘Listen.’ He placed a hand on her arm to stop her from shaking. ‘Your sister is very ill.’
Stupid man, she felt like taking his mask and shoving it down his throat. ‘Well. Yes, I know that. But how do I help her? She cannot be ill forever!’
The doctor took the mask off his mouth and sighed, chewing the dry skin of his lip. He seemed preoccupied. He’d seen too many of these and there were always so many ways to declare illnesses, depending on the person he had to declare it to.
‘There is no way.’
‘What do you mean? There are always ways.’
‘Well, you see, it’s a horrible disease.
‘Yes. Diseases are com
mon. We’re in a god damn trench, practically, we’re all ill.’
‘No, I mean, we have no medicine for it, we have not been given vaccines for it.’
‘Well, why not?’
He shrugged his shoulders and said the thing that was the only thing that made sense but was incredibly cruel: ‘War.’
Julia looked at her sister. She was listless on the bed, eyes closed and sleeping. Her hands were loose by her side and peaceful. She looked like a lost child.
She softened in that moment. ‘What do I do, then,’ she pleaded, grabbed him by the arm, and then corrected herself, embarrassed at her display. ‘Help me. Help me. What do I do?’
The doctor was closing the bag that he’d carried with him. ‘You can only pray.’
When he left, Julia sat down on the floor next to where Maria lay, and traced the line of her hand, all along the perimeter, and then the circumference of her fingers, and then the wrinkles that gathered around her knuckles. As she was doing this, she imagined that they might be able to leave in the night and progress to Germany and then at least she could have proper medical care. She wondered if she could lift Maria and gently cover her with blankets in the back of the wagon and she thought she could. And maybe tomorrow morning she would be well enough to continue on the journey, and she would promise Maria that she would drive the wagon the entire way there, and she wouldn’t have to do anything apart from rest. They would try and steal extra bread from somewhere, or someone, and Julia would explain that it was for her ill sister, and she would slowly get better. Fresh air might do her good.
It would be alright, she thought, and their mother would nod and tell them that that was a good plan and that Maria would recover quickly, because she always had.
Julia watched as Maria’s face would grow paler, more still, as the minutes passed.
‘Maria.’ She stroked the hair that once shone so brightly, now dimmed. ‘Marioshka.’
Maria opened her eyes, though feebly, as if in a bright light.
‘Do you remember the song?’
‘Which…?’
Julia began to hum softly, the words whispered and pure:
Motherland Page 3