Motherland

by Tetyana Denford

‘What. Em?’

  ‘Yes. His name is Emilian. You should use it. It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Well, it’s affectionate, I guess. Didn’t you call Papa by something short?’

  Julia remembered that occasionally she’d use Hirko instead of Henry or even Hironimus, and it had bothered him each time she did, for in Ukrainian it meant bitter. She smiled at the memory but chose not to reveal it, for it was something that she didn’t need anyone dissecting. It was her small thing to keep about her husband. ‘Yes, sure. You know, my parents had softer names for themselves.’

  ‘Oh? You never told me that.’

  ‘Yes.’ Julia smiled, remembering the sweet way they would call to each other. ‘My mother called my father ‘Kolya’, and my father would call my mother ‘Anushka’.

  ‘So, then you understand. I like ‘Em’.’

  ‘You know what is short for Emilian? Not Em.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Milo.’ Julia felt a sting in her eyes as she said it.

  ‘Oh.’ For a second, Slava though it unwise to pick at old wounds this evening, but maybe her mother was ready.

  Slava pointed to the cabinet. ‘Why not sell most of it?’

  ‘What, all these old things? Who would want them? They have stories in them.’ Julia withdrew a small oval platter that displayed yellow bunches of wheat all gathered with red ribbon, painted against a pale blue sky. ‘This, for example. Papa had this made for me in New York, you know his friend Roman that worked at Bachinsky’s deli on 9th street?’

  ‘God, that place. Everyone in there was Ukrainian, and also, the restaurant across the street too— ‘

  ‘Veselka.’

  ‘That’s the one. Anyway, sorry. Roman. The one with the lazy eye?’

  Julia laughed and remembered Slava as a child in the company of this man, confused as to which eye to speak to, so she’d developed a habit of looking at a spot in the middle of his forehead. ‘Yes, him.’

  ‘He painted?’

  ‘Yes. He would do it to remember.’

  ‘Remember what?’

  ‘Home.’

  She returned it and withdrew a teacup, small and thin enough to crack if placed on the table too energetically. It was white, thin as glass, with a sheer blue line across the top, and a rose engraved on the bottom. ‘And this, this I was given by Helen, the woman who let us live with her in Germany.’

  ‘I get it. Memories.’

  ‘I choose to think of them as stories. It’s easier to say stories, because it’s as if it happened to someone else.’ Julia went into the kitchen and checked the stove and covered the resting dough with a thick tea towel, and then reached for a bottle of wine, half empty, and brought it to the table. She poured, a drop of red liquid catching on the chip at the top, like it had pierced soft skin, and sat down.

  Julia took a sip and looked across at her daughter. ‘So.’

  ‘Yes, what?’

  ‘I need to tell you something.’

  ‘Sure.’ Slava fingered the corner of an embroidered napkin; the stitches were blood red.

  ‘So, not too long after Papa died, you and I were going through the paperwork with the lawyer and figuring out the will and the money and house, and, well, there was a lot of stuff to go through.’

  ‘I know,’ Slava sighed. ‘I didn’t understand any of it, it was horrible to have to see Papa as if he’d existed only on paper.’

  ‘Yes, it was hard. But we got through it. And, anyway.’

  Slava reached over and rested her hand on Julia’s, because she thought it would help. Julia’s eyes searched her daughter’s. ‘I wanted to wait until after he died, one day, to tell you something about my life. And I honestly didn't think I'd have the courage to, but something happened the other day that made me realize how important the truth is.’

  ‘Okay. What about?’

  ‘From when I was much younger. Something that we’ve never talked about.’

  Julia watched Slava’s face change. ‘I know, Mama. You have always kept something inside, and I never could see what it was.’

  Julia’s face flushed in embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that life is complicated enough without adding so much more to it. Our plates have been full.’

  Julia smiled sadly, her hands running across the smooth wood of the dining table.

  Slava leaned in. 'So, when, exactly, when we moved to the city?’

  Julia ran her finger along the edge of the wine glass, and then down the stem. ‘No. Australia.’

  Julia cleared her throat and walked over to the kitchen. Slava watched her through the separation between the cupboards and the center island. She saw as she rested her hands on the counter underneath the small window, her head hung forward, her head lit by the light above her, like a halo.

  ‘Mama?’

  Julia walked back towards the dining table and sat down.

  ‘Papa and I moved to Australia with nothing and built everything for ourselves. We had a farm, a life, and you. But that wasn’t enough. We wanted more, and we tried for more children.’

  ‘Well, I am more than enough for one child,’ Slava smiled.

  Julia laughed. ‘That may be true, but I came from a large family. And I had lost them all. It was lonely for me, the wife of a man who worked his hands raw. I wanted the noise of a large family, sat around a table, like the memories of my childhood.’

  ‘Did you try?’

  ‘We did. So many times. Each time my body refused it.’

  ‘Oh, Mama. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Julia moved a lock of hair off her face. ‘And anyway, God had different plans for us. You see, there was a couple that we were friends with, that we lived not too far from, and the man in the couple, worked for Henry,’ Julia couldn’t bear to say his name out loud. ‘And the wife, her name was Elina, and she became my friend.’

  ‘At least you had someone there when Papa wasn’t, right?’

  ‘Well. Yes.’ Julia poured a splash of wine into her glass and stared at it. ‘It was a friendship that was lost, in the end.’

  ‘Why?’

  Julia looked at Slava and searched her face. What could she tell her? How could she reveal things about herself that had stayed dark for so long? She was a sister. A lie had been easier, and now the truth was bubbling underneath the surface, the layers had been skimmed from the top. ‘Because of a lie.’

  41

  Melbourne

  The cardboard boxes huddled in the corner, in the dusty corners of the white rooms. They filled with old books and papers, and the furniture stood in corners exactly as they had done for fifty years, or maybe even more. There was a hint of grey ash in the fireplace that hadn’t been used for years, the dining table had a sheet over it, and in the kitchen, the cupboards were bare and only bore the scratches from tin cans and the smell of a few old spice jars.

  The windows were raised to let the air in, and Ed was on the second floor, in their old bedroom. Roz was downstairs, sat on the floor, a glass of wine perched on a stack of books as she perused old files and photo albums. Their parents’ lives were now in boxes labeled ‘Xmas’, ‘Kids’, ‘School’, and ‘House’.

  ‘Ed, there is a lot ‘a stuff to go through here, honestly.’ She took another sip and surveyed the room. ‘It’s all interesting for sure, but why don’t we just ask some guy to come over with a truck and put it all in a storage container?’

  Ed’s footsteps slowly navigated the stairs as he came back down, his arms full of a small desk clock, a table lamp, and an old leash. He set the pile down on the floor next to Roz. ‘Take it as a trip down memory lane, eh?’ He picked up the bright red leash with a gold clasp, too small for a normal sized dog. ‘Oh, God, speaking of memory lane. Do you remember this? Remember old Barry?’

  ‘Jesus,’ Roz let out a throaty giggle. ‘You were so hell bent on Mum and Dad getting you a pet that you took your stuffed badger and dragged it around on this leash.’

  ‘I was 4, right? 5?’ He turn
ed the worn bit of leather in his hands. ‘Where did I even find it?’

  ‘Think we were in a toy store and it was on the mannequin dog in the window.’ Roz pinched her eyes clear of the tears that her laughing had induced. ‘God, but you were a weirdo.’

  Ed threw the lead in an open box. ‘That may be, but I was creative, no one can argue with that.’

  Roslyn withdrew a wooden plaque with a gold statue of a man running, attached to it. ‘Look at this! Ha!’ She looked over at Ed with a crooked smile. ‘What a treasure!’

  Ed rolled his eyes. ‘Right, you can stop that now, thanks.’

  ‘I’m your sister, that’s what I do.’

  Roz walked up to him and waved the statue in front of his face. I’m going to leave it on the mantel for the new owners, they’d be very pleased, I’m sure.’ She walked over and placed it on the mantel above the fireplace and smiled. ‘Remember cozy nights in front of this thing?’ she pointed at the coal-stained stone surrounding the iron grate. ‘Probably why I’ve always liked winters.’

  Ed called out from the other room ‘Hey, can you go look in the kitchen and see what in there needs organizing? You can be nostalgic another time.’ He reached into a toy box and lifted out its contents and placed them in a box, as she walked past him to the back of the house. ‘Hopeless romantic,’ he muttered, smiling.

  It was early afternoon when the glass on the door resonated with a series of delicate knocks.

  ‘Roz, are you expecting one of the lawyers? Or the owner?’ Ed called out as he stood up.

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘No, don’t worry,’ he replied as he walked over to the door and opened it.

  Standing in front of him was a tall woman, in her seventies, carrying herself like a dancer, delicately holding a cane, eyes bright underneath silver hair in a braid circling her head.

  ‘Hello there, how can I help you?’ Ed smiled.

  ‘Is this the Douglas residence?’

  Ed detected a faint accent. ‘Yes, well, this was our parents’ house, but my sister and I are here just going through some things. Did you know them?’ He liked the look of her and smiled again. She seemed kind.

  ‘No. I knew your mother.’

  ‘Oh, so you knew Irene.’

  ‘No. Your mother.’

  Ed laughed. Surely this old woman was a bit senile. ‘Listen, Mrs.…’

  ‘-- Kashiuk. Elina Kashiuk.’

  ‘.. Kashiuk. Right. I’m not sure whom you’re referring to, but my mother, Irene, passed a few months ago, not long after my father.’

  ‘I’m very sorry.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Roslyn appeared at the door. ‘Hello,’ she smiled. ‘Who’s this?’

  Ed gestured with an open hand. ‘This, Mrs. Kashiuk, was a friend of Mum’s.’

  Roslyn extended a hand. ‘Nice to meet you. How did you two know each other?’

  Elina realized she would have to play along. She leaned on her cane a bit, her yellow skirts swaying delicately as she did. She gathered her jacket closer. ‘May I come in and sit, if that’s alright? I can tell you how I knew her. It’s a bit of a long story.’

  Ed looked at Roslyn, his eyebrows raised in a question. Roslyn shrugged in response, and Ed turned back to Elina. ‘Sure,’ he offered, pushing the door open wider and extending a hand to her. ‘I’m sure that’d be fine.’

  It was only an hour later, and an entire life had been upended, in the warm room of a house that had contained an entire life. Now that life felt like a lie.

  ‘This is ridiculous.’ Ed walked into the kitchen, shaking his head. ‘Roz, help me out here.’ A clattering of plates interrupted the silence as Ed busied his hands.

  Elina sat stiffly, looking at Roz, who was staring at her like she’d just witnessed a death. ‘You can imagine this is all a bit shocking.’ She laced her fingers together and undid them, and then laced them again. ‘How do we know you’re not lying? How do we know you’re not some—’ she paused ‘— I don’t know, crazy lady that walked in from the street and got her memories confused?’

  ‘I am not senile, if that’s what you mean,’ Elina’s voice lilted delicately. ‘And I am not trying to disrespect your parents’ memory, of course.’

  Ed walked back in, but didn’t sit down, leaning against the mantle above the fireplace instead. ‘Well, it feels like an odd convergence of events, to be honest.’ He ran his hand over the wood, a layer of dust collecting on his fingertips. ‘Our parents aren’t here to explain, and there’s nothing in their paperwork— ‘he gestured to the boxes in the room ‘— that says otherwise.’ He looked at his sister. ‘Roz and I have literally no memory of being with anyone other than these two people, and now you’re trying to tell us that we have another mum, and she had to give us up because she thought we were someone else’s, but it turns out that we were actually hers… I mean, it sounds like something you’d watch in a film.’ He shrugged. ‘I just can’t see it.’

  Roz watched the woman in front of her: the way she sat, the calm, cool demeanor, the way she carried herself even sat in a chair, the way her clothes hovered on her, beautifully still. Her eyes held a story. She was purposeful. She had intent, and energy, and Roz immediately knew that there was something there. She wasn’t trying to sell them on something, and she wasn’t in a haze, or influenced by anything apart from the truth. She hinted at a truth.

  Ed continued. ‘Roz, I know I’m the practical one here, but you’re the lawyer brain. Anything you want to say?’

  Roz ran both her hands through her hair and looked back at Ed. ‘Well, we need some kind of proof.’ She turned back to Elina. ‘What you’re saying is incredible, but we need something. Anything.’

  Elina nodded, and removed her jacket, placing it on the arm of the chair. She leaned forward, picking up her handbag and placing it on her lap. ‘I understand,’ she began. ‘Which is why…’ she snapped open the metal ridge of the top, spreading the leather apart. She removed the papers and handed them to Roz. ‘… I brought these.’

  Roz took them from her, and Ed walked up to stand next to her, removing a pair of silvery reading glasses, placing them on his nose.

  ‘Oh my God.’

  The siblings scanned the papers, handing the sheets back and forth between them, reading them again, pausing only to let out steady a steady stream of held breaths, and starting again. The sounds in the room were loud in their gravity: crisp paper, fingertips tracing the words. Elina watched, her face not in a smile, or in a frown, but settled on the scene that played out in front of her.

  Roz looked up finally. ‘Our names. How…’

  ‘Leh-shya,’ Elina pronounced slowly. ‘It means, ‘promised to God.’

  Ed looked up from his birth certificate. ‘And…’

  ‘Mahk-sim.’ Elina leaned back in her chair, as if someone had taken an invisible weight off her back. She looked at the man standing in front of her. ‘It means ‘the greatest miracle’. It was your father’s suggestion.’ Elina’s eyes pricked with tears. ‘He had always wanted a son.’

  Ed walked over to the dining room, and came back with a chair, setting it down next to Roz. They formed a group of three, as if round a fire, listening to an old woman softly tell a tale.

  ‘What was he like?’

  ‘It would not be my place to tell you. But I can tell you that they both loved you.’

  ‘But why, then,’ Ed held the paper up. ‘Why?’

  ‘It was complicated then, for women. The time was such that we were seen in certain roles, certain boxes, I guess. And any doubt sent ripples through our lives, our marriages.’ She paused, rubbing her hands together as if they ached. ‘We had to endure. We had to hide our— what is that word… insecurity I guess— and sometimes survival meant sacrificing for the sake of the betterment of our lives. I realize that sounds very old, now.’

  Roz sat back. ‘Well, it was common back then, I guess, but it's still hard to believe.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s unbelievable.’


  ‘We had no choice.’ Elina leaned forward. ‘And many of us now can look back on our lives, and the paths we’ve had to take, and live with the decisions we made. We have to. Otherwise, it would drive us mad.’ She settled back in her chair.

  Roz looked at the paper in her hands. ‘Wait a minute.’ She looked at Elina. ‘I never asked where you got this. And to be honest, I don’t even need to know how you found this address, let’s just focus on one thing at a time.’ She rubbed her temples. ‘So…’

  ‘Julia sent it to me.’

  Ed clapped his hand on his forehead. ‘She’s still alive.’

  ‘Yes. And she remembers. She has, all this time. It was when I realized that it was my husband at the time that could not have children, once I had my daughter, I knew I had to tell her one day. The truth.’

  ‘So, you spoke to her,’ Roz interrupted, her eyes widening.

  ‘Yes, and she sent me your birth certificates.’ Elina reached into her handbag again and withdrew a photograph. ‘She also sent me this.’

  Julia’s face peered out from the small black and white square. Her features were muted. Faded. But her dark hair fell in waves over a white cotton dress that showed a protruding belly, her slim, bare arms exposed. She was standing in a field of tall grass, robust trees in the distance behind her next to a small, dilapidated house. She held a small child’s hand. Both faces were looking at the unknown photographer, smiling.

  ‘She’s beautiful.’ Roz inspected the photo closely, Ed leaning over her shoulder, waiting for his turn. She passed it to him, and she looked at Elina. ‘That was us. She was pregnant with us.’ The truth settled in her eyes as she realized the pain that that woman, her mother, had been keeping inside her in exactly that moment.

  ‘Yes. It is the only picture she has of you both, and she hadn’t told anyone she kept it.’

  Ed took his glasses off his nose and fed them into his shirt pocket, wiping his eyes. ‘Elina.’

  ‘Yes, Maks— ‘she caught herself and smiled. ‘Yes, Ed.’

  ‘You probably know what I’m going to ask you next.’ He looked over at Roz, and she nodded in response to a silent question, as siblings tend to do.