Motherland

by Tetyana Denford

  Slava.

  Upon reaching her bedroom again, she picked up the phone. ‘Elina,’ she was breathless. ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Did you find anything?’

  ‘No, but I know how to find it. Please can you give me your number and I will call you back tomorrow?’

  Slava felt the mobile buzzing in her shoulder bag as she unlocked the door. She picked it up and saw it was her mother.

  ‘Hello, Mama, hang on a minute.’ She walked in and placed the bag on the table and kicked off her shoes. Emilian walked into the room, taking his glasses off and placing a kiss on her cheek and closed the door behind her. He had been working, and his fingers were stained with graphite. ‘It’s my mother,’ Slava whispered, holding her hand over the mouthpiece.

  Emilian moved her hand from it. ‘Hello Julia, how’re you?’ he said loudly, smiling, taking Slava’s jacket from her as she unzipped it. He asked Slava if she needed him, she shook her head, and so she continued. ‘So, what’s going on?’

  ‘Hello sweetheart, can I please ask you to do something for me? It’s important.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I need to ask you a strange question.’

  ‘I’m used to those, Mama.’

  Julia laughed. ‘Do you remember a long time ago, when you moved into the apartment with Emilian?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And you found a letter that was sent to me?’

  ‘Wait, the one I called you about? The weird one?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  ‘Did you keep it at all?’ Julia’s voice sounded apologetic suddenly. ‘Don’t worry if not, it’s fine, I just...’

  Slava was already walking towards the study. ‘Funny. And here you’ve always told me that I’m too curious or sentimental.’ She stood on tiptoe and reached for a folder. ‘Hang on.’ She held the phone with her shoulder and opened the file. It was full of old drawings, pictures, ticket stubs, notes and a torn, thin envelope with the newspaper clipping inside. She returned the phone to her ear as she looked at it.

  ‘Yes, I still have it.’

  Julia sighed. ‘Alright, thank you. Can you please read out to me the address on the front of the envelope?’

  ‘Yes, sure, but why...’

  ‘-- don’t ask, I’ll explain later.’

  After she hung up, Slava scanned the newspaper clipping and the envelope. Emilian walked in. ‘Everything okay? What’s the drama?’

  ‘No drama. Just my mother being herself,’ she smiled, and folded it all into her pocket, replacing the folder back on the shelf.

  Julia walked over to her closet, slowly moving the racks of clothes to the side, the sound of metal and soft cotton under her fingertips. On the last hanger, she stopped, lifting it up to her eyes, seeing how the blue and red material had faded to pale pink and grey. Small threads hung loose from the seams, and a button was missing.

  She brought it to the bed and fanned it out, lifting

  up the inside lining, running her hands up along the inside until her fingers felt the extra stitches and small square lump. She turned the skirt inside out and with a fingernail gingerly unpicked the stitches, one by one, revealing the papers inside. She lifted them out and held them to her heart briefly, pressing them onto her chest, before walking downstairs and placing them in an envelope. Before she sealed it, she took a framed picture off the shelf and removed it from the frame. Hidden inside the back panel was a faded, silvery picture— of Julia with all three of her children. It was the only one she had.

  She hoped Elina could find them; she couldn’t bear losing them twice.

  39

  One month later

  The taxi left, the dust and gravel scattering behind its wheels, and Elina stood at the door of the welfare office. She checked the contents of her purse, and she had the two weathered birth certificates in her hand, and a picture that had been sent with them. She smiled at the face looking outwardly, with bright eyes and dark hair. She wondered what Julia looked like now and imagined that the hope in the face of her youth would come back to her, if she’d lost it long ago.

  The room was quiet, with scratchy chairs and metal legs, baskets with old magazines in them and a plastic drinks dispenser in the corner. There was a young couple sat in the corner, waiting, looking through a magazine and whispering tenderly to each other. Behind the polished desk was a secretary, her straight brown hair curtained over her white shirt. She was checking her phone, tapping it lightly, leaning back in her chair.

  ‘Hello, Miss?’ Elina leaned closer to the desk.

  ‘Morning, how can I help you?’

  ‘I’m here to see Mr. Bennett.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The owner, or partner rather, of this place...’ Elina’s index finger made the shape of a circle in the air. ‘Is he still working here?’

  ‘Oh, gosh, no. He retired about fifteen years ago.’

  ‘Ah.’ Elina’s face showed defeat.

  ‘Can I help you with anything maybe?’

  ‘Well, possibly. I am looking to find two people.’

  ‘Are they related to you?’

  ‘No. But I knew their mother.’

  ‘I don’t really have access to information like that, really, but maybe I can get someone else to help you?’ The woman picked up the phone and held it to her hear with her shoulder. ‘Hang on,’ she raised a finger.

  Elina walked over to a chair and sat down, holding her purse in her lap, both hands clutching it. The wool of the seat padding felt hard under her skirt, and she pinched the silk of her shirt and fanned it delicately, grateful for the cool air on her skin. She looked out the window and saw the neon signs displayed above shops, bright yellows and reds and greens, and wondered when it had happened that the world had become so different.

  The click of heels on the floor grew louder as a woman approached, dressed in matching trousers and jacket, thin wire glasses perched on her nose, her curly hair undone and hanging to her shoulders. She walked over to Elina. ‘Hello, I’m Katherine, and you are?’

  Elina stood up. ‘My name is Elina.’

  ‘Hello Elina, why don’t you come with me to my office, and we can chat about what you need, yes?’

  Elina sat down in a leather chair while Katherine closed the door and walked back behind her desk. ‘So, how can I help you?’ She clasped her hands and leaned forward.

  ‘I need your help finding two people.’

  ‘Yes, Andrea told me that much. I’ll see what I can do.’

  Elina set her handbag next to her chair and undid her coat slightly. ‘Well, my friend has had a terrible thing happen to her, and only I can make this right.’

  Katherine held her hand up. ‘Wait, does this involve some kind of police investigation?’

  ‘No, no. You see, she was forced to give up her children in 1952.’

  ‘Yes, there were a lot of adoptions at that time, sure.’

  ‘But she was led to believe that they were the result of an assault. Which is why she was forced to give them up. Her husband thought they weren’t his.’

  ‘Why didn’t she report the assault?’

  Elina raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s only in recent years that women are starting to be believed. And she felt guilty that she had contributed to this assault somehow.

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘Because it was my husband, at the time, who had assaulted her.’ Elina looked across to the window at the blue sky over the Stratford skyline. ‘It was something that I had suspected, but never believed, because I had been envious of the fact that she could have children. And it was reason for me to assume that what he told me was true.’

  ‘What did he tell you?’

  ‘That she had come onto him and started an affair.’ Elina looked back at Katherine. ‘So, I told her husband. ‘

  Katherine moved her chair back to stand up. ‘I’m not really sure where I come into all of this, to be honest...’

  Elina raised h
er hand. ‘Wait. Please.’

  Katherine sat back down.

  ‘You see, when I told her husband, I can only assume that he calculated back to when the affair happened, and then he, and my friend, both realized that the twins that she had given birth to almost two years ago,

  were a result of this assault.’

  Katherine nodded, urging her to continue.

  Elina shrugged. ‘She came to me, to ask me for help, she begged me to hear the truth of what happened, and I couldn’t. I threw her out of my house.’ She stared at her hands. ‘She lost everything.’

  Katherine sighed. ‘I appreciate that you need me, but I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do here.’

  Elina continued, ignoring the question. ‘I always thought it was me. I always thought I couldn’t have children. I thought they were his children, don’t you see.’

  ‘I’m not following.’

  Elina reached down for her handbag and unsnapped it, reaching inside and retrieving two worn birth certificates, holding them in her hand as she spoke. ‘He had always faulted me for the fact that we were barren. We had never been able to have children. I just accepted that it was me, and when I saw those children and thought that they’d been a result of their ‘affair’, it broke me. It broke my trust, and my friendship.’ She shook the papers in her hand. ‘But I was able to have a child. My daughter. I remarried, and then I knew.’ She placed the papers on the desk. ‘Then I knew that those children were, in fact, her own.’ Elina’s eyes filled with tears and she reached for a tissue from a box on the desk. ‘She had to give up her own children. And I couldn’t live with that knowledge anymore.’

  Katherine sat quietly, her mouth slightly open, and ran her palms over her eyes, shaking her head. ‘Elina. If you want me to release closed adoption records, I can’t. What if the adoptive parents are unwilling? And even if they’re not around anymore, I can’t guarantee that these children are in Australia anymore.’ She looked sympathetically at Elina. ‘I understand your friend’s tragedy, and it’s heart-breaking, but I can’t release this kind of information.’

  Elina leaned forward. ‘Katherine, please.’ She pushed the papers towards her.

  Katherine sighed and looked down, unfolding the pages delicately.

  REGISTRATION OF BIRTHS, DEATHS AND MARRIAGES REGULATIONS

  BIRTH CERTIFICATE

  Child

  Family name Rudnick

  Christian or given name Maksim

  Sex Male

  Date of Birth April 1949

  Place of Birth Stratford, Cairns

  Mother

  Family name Rudnick

  Maiden family name Mishik

  Christian or given name Julia

  Occupation Wife

  Age 26

  Place of Birth Lviv, Ukraine

  Father

  Family name Rudnick

  Christian or given name Hironimus

  Occupation Farmer

  Age 30

  Place of Birth Stryi, Ukraine

  Marriage of Parents

  Date of Marriage 1942

  Place of Marriage Germany

  She switched her gaze to the other, her hands turning cold, her eyes widening.

  BIRTH CERTIFICATE

  Child

  Family name Rudnick

  Christian or given name Lesia

  Sex Female

  Date of Birth April 1949

  Place of Birth Stratford, Cairns

  Mother

  Family name Rudnick

  Maiden family name Mishik

  Christian or given name Julia

  Occupation Wife

  Age 26

  Place of Birth Lviv, Ukraine

  Father

  Family name Rudnick

  Christian or given name Hironimus

  Occupation Farmer

  Age 30

  Place of Birth Stryi, Ukraine

  Marriage of Parents

  Date of Marriage 1942

  Place of Marriage Germany

  Katherine placed the papers back on her desk and folded her hands, smiling. Elina saw tears in her eyes.

  ‘Elina.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Did Andrea tell you anything about me?’

  Julia frowned. ‘No, why? She only told me that you would be in charge of something like this.’

  ‘No, of course. Well, when I graduated high school in 1950, I came to work here. As a secretary.’ Katherine’s voice was even, but expectant, the words hovering in her mouth.

  Elina opened her handbag again and withdrew the photograph, handing it to Katherine. ‘That is my friend. Julia.’

  Katherine held it, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. ‘Yes, I know,’ she nodded. ’I remember. I sent her a newspaper clipping from Australia years ago. I had always remembered her, and I managed to find her last known address in New York. The newspaper clipping was of one of the twins’ marriage announcements.’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘It’s extraordinary, this story.’

  She gave the photo back to Elina. ’Give me a week, would it be alright for you to come back? I hope to have what you need by then.’

  Elina let out a breath, knowing that she was now part of the story of her friend’s life. This was forgiveness.

  She nodded gratefully. ‘Thank you.’

  40

  Glen Cove

  The sky was a milky gray and the snow had begun to fall as Slava fiddled with the knob on the car radio. The traffic was slow, and she wanted something to listen to that wasn’t Christmas music. Another swipe of the metal blade across the glass revealed the pink undertones of the sky. She loved this kind of weather in the late afternoon: the air sat heavy and comfortable on her skin and it smelled of sweet, humid cold. The windshield wipers slowly and rhythmically swept the flecks of snow and she finally settled on an inoffensive radio station, with no talking and music that had no words.

  Emilian wasn’t with her, he was at work, and their daughter Misha was at college. He encouraged her to do this thing alone, because important things were always done alone, he’d said. So today, she resolved to see her mother: the woman who may have held something back from everyone yet had somehow never diminished any bit of her strength. Come over, sweetheart she had said. I’d love to chat with you about something. She never just ‘chatted.’

  She’d pulled the car up to the house just in time for the snow to finish settling, walked into the house, shutting the faded yellow door behind her. The heat of the front room made her cold cheeks sting. ‘Mama?’ Julia heard her voice and walked out from the kitchen to meet her. She’d left the door unlocked that afternoon, expecting her.

  ‘Ey, don’t get snow all over.’ She wiped her hands on her apron and undid the knot at the back. Her grey hair was dusted with flour from Christmas preparations, and she rolled up her sleeves, her thin fingers still graceful despite her age. She took Slava’s coat as she peeled it off, and looked past her, expecting someone else. ‘Is Emilian not with you?’

  ‘No, he has work.’

  ‘On a Saturday?’

  ‘Money never sleeps, especially not in the city.’

  ‘I thought he was— ‘

  ‘— a secretary?’ Slava laughed, her newly bobbed hair settling down as she took her hat off. ‘It’s been so long, Mama, how do you not remember what he does?’

  ‘Oh, Slava, look. You brought the snow in.’ Julia sighed and picked up fingerfuls of slush but shook them off, giving up.

  ‘It’s snow, Mama. It’ll melt. I’m not five.’ She took off her gloves, her thin gold wedding band feeling too tight on her cold, swollen fingers.

  ‘True. You were much worse, then.’ Julia chuckled and shook her head. ‘So much worse.’

  Slava placed her gloves on a wicker chair next to the door. ‘He’s the secretary of a wall street firm, by the way.’

  ‘See?’ Julia pointed at her. ‘I said. Secretary.’

  ‘Never mind. Anyway, listen, I—’

 
‘Wine? Come, it’s cold in here.’ Julia interrupted. Slava saw she had a purpose.

  She followed her mother through the door and stepped into the warm, dark kitchen and then past the tall grandfather clock that stood opposite the dining room and sat down at the oval oak table where they had all once been together. The tablecloth was folded over on one side only, and delicate china was set aside, along with napkins and sprigs of holly and poppies made into a vinok wreath that Slava used to wear on her head as a child in Christmases past.

  The kitchen smelled of onions and oil and minced sauerkraut, and the kitchen counter was swollen with plates of kutya, and pyrohy, and stuffed cabbage leaves, holubtsi. She imagined her mother pinching the soft edges of the dough, and delicately spooning the molasses over the barley, the poppyseeds glittering underneath, black and sticky. It didn’t seem to matter how much she had lost, or how distant she had been, there was a softness to her now, and a warm, that was beautiful.

  Julia moved past her and removed two glasses from the antique sideboard that held the vyshyvanka-patterned china and more black and red embroidered napkins. One of the glasses was chipped slightly. She took out a handful of napkins and added them to the already rising pile, reminding herself to press them later.

  ‘How is my little Lyuba?’ Julia loved saying her name. Short for Lyubov. Love.

  Slava smirked. ‘Not so little anymore. A tall girl with strong legs and blonde hair. Shandar. Whirlwind.’

  Julia wagged a finger. ‘Just like her mother. It’s good for you to have the child you need, not the child you want.’

  ‘Ahh, so you need me, do you?’ Slava smiled.

  ‘Ha!’ Julia pinched the stem of the wine glass and rolled it between her fingers. ‘More than you probably know.’ It was an admission that lit the room for a second.

  ‘Do you ever use any of that?’ Slava asked, gesturing to the glass-filled cabinet. ‘I mean, it’s not like there will be lots of people here for Christmas, just Em and I and you.’

  Julia looked at Slava. ‘Why do you call him that?’