by Kelli Stuart
James cocks his head to the side. “Are you sure?” he asks. “Because I’m an excellent listener. And also, it may keep me from thinking about that awful book we’re reading in Lit class right now. Why on earth would anyone assign The Scarlet Letter in the last quarter of school?! It’s like torture.”
Annie smiles, and the reaction feels good. “I’ve given up on that one,” she says. “I’m not even trying to read it. I just looked up a synopsis online and studied the main points.”
James clutches his heart and falls back into his seat. “You’re not going to read it at all? That’s sacrilegious...but also kind of brilliant. Can I copy your notes?”
Annie chuckles. Her smile quickly fades, and she looks down at her uneaten lunch. “I picked a family,” she says softly. James leans in to listen over the din of the lunchroom.
“Oh yeah?” he asks.
Annie nods. “Yeah,” she says. “I told my mom about it this morning, and she sort of freaked out. She asked me if I’m sure about this, and wouldn’t I rather raise the child myself?”
James studies Annie’s profile, the way that her nose slopes down softly, dotted with light freckles. “And that upset you?” he asks.
Annie nods. She turns to face him, her eyes full of tears. “This whole process is so weird,” she says, blinking hard. “I’ve been looking through all these photo books of families that want to adopt. It’s like I’m shopping for the people who are going to raise my kid, and it’s so strange. But at least I was confident that I was making a good choice.” Annie shakes her head and looks away. “My mom took that away this morning, though,” she says. “Now instead of confident, I just feel selfish.”
James grabs her hand and squeezes it.
“Are you sure I’m doing the right thing?” Annie asks. She doesn’t look at him when she speaks the question, and the words float out into the lunchroom. She wonders if they were lost completely in the noise, but then James speaks softly.
“I can’t really answer that,” he says. “But I can tell you that I think you might be one of the bravest people I’ve ever known. And I can also tell you that as someone who has seen adoption firsthand, you aren’t giving up.”
“Annie,” he waits for her to turn and face him. “It’s pretty cool what you’re doing, so don’t convince yourself that it isn’t. If anything, I would say that your willingness to give your child to people who are longing to be parents is the most selfless act humanly possible.” James leans forward and looks into Annie’s eyes.
“I mean, think about it. You’re giving life twice. You’re not only having the baby, but you’re giving it a stable family.”
A single tear spills out of Annie’s eyes and runs down her cheek. James reaches up and wipes it away.
“And don’t worry about your mom,” he says. “I bet she’ll come around.”
Annie sighs. “It’s always so hard with her,” she says. “I thought we were doing better, especially recently since Babushka has been so sick. She and I have been talking more, and it seemed like it was going to be better between us. Then this morning happened.” She shrugs.
James leans down and reaches into his backpack. He pulls out a brown paper bag and opens it up.
“Sandwich?” he asks. He holds up two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Annie laughs lightly.
“You don’t have to feed me every day, you know,” she says.
“Oh yes I do,” James retorts. “I’ve got to make sure you’re properly exposed to the great, American foods. Like P, B, and J...and mac and cheese.” He pulls out a plastic container packed with mac and cheese. Handing her a plastic fork, he gives her a proud grin, entirely pleased with himself.
“Hang in there with your mom, Annie,” he says, pulling the top off the container. “If I’ve learned anything since my mom and sister died, it’s that parents aren’t superhuman. It’s like these life stresses put a chink in their adult armors, and suddenly they’re real people with real emotions.”
Annie takes a bite of mac and cheese and smiles at him. “Thanks,” she says. “This is really good,” she says gesturing to the bowl. James grins back.
“I told you!” he says. “This stuff is the nectar of the gods.”
Annie leans over and kisses him gently on the cheek. “No really,” she says shyly. “Thank you.”
James clears his throat and gives her one short nod. For several minutes they eat in silence, their chairs pushes closer together than normal. Finally, James swallows and puts down his fork.
“So,” he says, one eyebrow raised. “About those notes on The Scarlet Letter.”
Nina
I long for home,
but what awaits me there?
Nothing but memories long past
and secrets untold.
Nina closes the door softly behind her and turns to face her mother. Elizaveta sleeps peacefully in the small bed. The room is dark and quiet, the rehab center a nice change from the constant bustling of the hospital. Nina walks lightly to the side of the bed and lowers herself into the chair.
“Privyet, Mama,” she says softly. Her voice carries into the gentle hum of the air conditioner. Nina takes in the sight of her mother’s wispy, grey hair laying in strands across the thick pillow. Elizaveta looks calm and peaceful, but only when she sleeps. When she’s awake, she’s agitated and frustrated. Communicating has been her biggest challenge, though the nursing staff insists that she’s doing better. Nina sighs.
“Mama, I wish I could talk to you,” she says. “I’ve always wished I could talk to you. I’ve spent an entire lifetime wishing that I could share with you the things that were happening. But more than that, Mama, I wanted you to talk to me.” Nina leans forward on her elbows. She thinks back to the very first time she kept a secret from her mother.
She had been eight years old, a student in the second form at school. It was the day of remembrance, when students honored the memory of the great father of their nation, Vladimir Illyich Lenin. They would go that day to the Mausoleum and lay flowers as a class outside the doors, paying homage to the man responsible for giving them the opportunity to live in such a great land.
“You must look your best today,” Elizaveta whispered to Nina as she fixed her hair that morning, pulling it into a two tight ponytails and tying white ribbons around the thick rubber bands. Nina wore her uniform, freshly cleaned and pressed to perfection. Her white collar stuck out in sharp points from the top of her black dress, and Mama pinned her Octybryonok pin at the top near her shoulder, shining it with a kerchief so that Lenin’s face gleamed against the small, red star. She tied Nina’s shined shoes, smoothed her starched white apron, and together they marched through the icy, January streets to the school. Elizaveta was very serious that morning, more than usual. Her eyes were dark, her face stern. She squeezed Nina’s hand so tightly it hurt, but Nina didn’t say anything.
When they arrived at school, Elizaveta looked down with furrowed brow. “This is important, my dear,” she said, her voice husky. “This is the day when you give thanks for this great land. You are fortunate to be educated here, Nina,” she said, squatting down so that she was eye level with her daughter. “You are being raised as a good Soviet citizen. Be grateful in your heart.” She thumped Nina’s chest.
Nina walked into the classroom that morning with a knot in her stomach because her mother spoke words that she didn’t understand. Even then, Nina remembers a part of herself that simply wanted to push against anything her mother said.
She took her seat in the middle of the classroom next to Nadya, the jewel of the class and the teacher’s clear favorite. Nadya was smart and pretty, always answering questions correctly and receiving the highest marks on every assignment. Nina, on the other hand, drew jeers from the teacher on more than one occasion for being “slow.”
In the desk next to Nina sat Seryozha, the boy who drew even more disdain from their teacher than she did. He was a small boy who always wore his hair slicked to the side. He was missi
ng his two front teeth, and he spent much of his school days picking his nose and wiping his treasures on the desk, which only drew more unwanted attention from the instructor.
Finally, after their morning recitations, the teacher instructed them all to get their coats and hats and to line up against the wall. As they walked out of the room, she handed each of them a single, red carnation. Then she took her place at the front of the line, and together they marched into the street.
It wasn’t a long walk to Lenin’s Mausoleum from the school, but it was far enough for Nina’s feet to go numb from the blustery winter wind. Perfect Nadya walked in front of her, her head held high, seemingly unfazed by the cold. Seryozha slogged behind, wheezing as they walked at a brisk pace, trying to keep up with the rest of the line.
“I wish we didn’t have to do this,” he whined as they rounded the corner into the square. St. Basil’s Cathedral loomed ahead, the vibrant spires standing out against the grey sky. “My Papa says Lenin wasn’t even a good man,” he whispered. “He says that Lenin killed lots of people, even some of my Papa’s family.”
Nina didn’t know if Seryozha was talking to her or to himself, but she didn’t turn around to look at him in case she might draw the attention of the teacher and receive a reprimand. Seryozha went on talking, his words settling uncomfortably in her ears.
“My Papa says that our nation would have been better without Lenin. And he says Brezhnev is a durak.”
Nina sucked in her breath at Seryozha’s words, his father’s label of their current leader as a fool making her feel distinctly uncomfortable. She knew that what he said was dangerous. It went against everything that her mama ever spoke. Nina also knew that Seryozha was Jewish, and that for some reason this made him bad. The teacher often spoke to him in anger when he answered a question wrong, calling him a sly Jew, which brought out a scowl on his face. Nina wondered as they marched toward Lenin’s tomb that morning if that’s why Seryozha’s papa said such terrible things. Was it because he was Jewish?
“I’m not leaving this flower for Lenin,” Seryozha mumbled behind her. The line slowed, but he didn’t notice and ran into Nina’s back, knocking her forward into Nadya who whirled around and tossed out a glare. Nina turned around and took in the sight of Seryozha, his nose running down to his lip, and his winter hat pulled so low that his eyes barely showed.
“Lenin was bad. My papa told me,” he whispered. “I’m not dropping my flower. I’m just gonna pretend, then I will stick it in my coat.” Nina turned back around, and in a split second made a decision that didn’t make sense.
She decided to join Seryozha’s secret rebellion. She didn’t have a defense for why she decided to do it. She just made the choice, and it felt good to choose something for herself.
They approached the already growing mound of flowers outside the grey, cement building, and one by one, students dropped their flowers on the ground. The teacher stood off to the side, observing them all quietly. Nina slowly approached the mound, and just as she stepped to it, one of the students at the front of the line let out a laugh drawing the teacher’s stern glance in his direction. Nina quickly stuffed the flower into her pocket and kept walking, her heart beating quickly from the thrill of independence.
As they marched away from the site, Nina turned her head slightly and glanced back at Seryozha, who grinned conspiratorially in return.
Nina felt sick to her stomach the rest of the day as she thought of the crumpled flower in the pocket of her coat. She was afraid of the consequences of getting caught, but that feeling seemed to be at war with the freedom she felt for making such a bold move of defiance.
When school was released, Nina walked out to find her mama waiting. Usually work prevented her from picking Nina up after school, but that day Elizaveta made an exception. She grabbed Nina’s hand and guided her toward the tram.
“How was your day?” Elizaveta asked.
“Good,” Nina answered. That was the truth. It had been a really good day. She had even answered a few questions correctly, receiving a nod of approval from the teacher.
“And how was your visit to honor Lenin?” Elizaveta asked. “Did you pay your respects?”
Nina thought of the flower in her pocket, and her heartbeat quickened. “Yes,” she answered. “I paid respects.”
Nina shakes her head and smiles at the memory. She had run to the bathroom that afternoon when she and her mother got back to the lab so Elizaveta could finish her work day, and she’d dropped the broken flower into the trash receptacle, her hands shaking from the fear of being caught. It was surprisingly easy to keep that secret from her mother, though. In fact, it made her feel almost excited to know that she could so easily hide a little piece of herself like that.
Nina sighs. That was the day she realized that she could hide things from her Mama. And the keeping of that one small secret gave her power. Even then, she knew Elizaveta to be a mystery. She sensed that there were pieces of her mother that had been withheld, and that she needed to reciprocate in order to preserve herself.
Nina’s head snaps up when she hears the rustling of sheets. Elizaveta blinks in the dim light, her head moving slowly back and forth on the pillow. Nina reaches over and turns on the lamp beside her mother’s table.
“Hi, Mama,” she says softly. Elizaveta’s head lolls to the side, and her eyes slowly focus on her daughter. Nina offers a gentle smile, all the while waiting for her Mama to start falling into her regular panic. She seems particularly agitated when Nina comes to visit. But today, her eyes are calm. She runs them over Nina’s face.
“How are you feeling today?” Nina asks. Elizaveta licks her lips and opens her mouth. Nina reaches for the water on the nightstand and brings the straw to Elizaveta’s lips. After a few sips, she lowers it back down.
“I hear that you were moving more on your own this morning,” Nina says pleasantly. “That’s wonderful, Mama! The nurses are all so pleased with your progress. And Viktor says you’re looking stronger every day.”
In fact, Viktor had said quite the opposite the night before when he and Nina had dinner. He’d told her that he had been hoping to see faster improvement from Elizaveta, but given her age and the severity of the stroke they should be pleased with whatever results they might get.
“Your Mama is tough, Ninochka,” he said. “But she is also very old, and the body just doesn’t respond at her age.”
Elizaveta watches the way her daughter’s eyes dance from her face to her hands and back again. She isn’t telling the truth, but it’s not surprising. Elizaveta is quite aware that she is slipping away. She’s ready to make her confession now, but the illness has taken away her ability to do so. She just can’t will the words to form. She opens her mouth to try to speak, but is immediately interrupted by the door opening.
“Well look who’s awake,” the on-duty nurse says. Elizaveta can’t remember her name, but she likes this one. She doesn’t talk too much. The others chat constantly, their English words sounding like a jumble of gibberish. Elizaveta only feels a sense of calm when Viktor is in the room, his Russian like honey to her soul. But this nurse is tolerable.
“How is my Elizaveta doing today?”
Elizaveta. The name she chose so long ago. The cloak she put on in order to bury Victoria. They don’t really know who she is. None of them do. She has to tell them. Nina needs to know. She needs to understand that she was raised by an imposter—a kulak who would do anything to get ahead in life, even betray her family, take on a new identity and lie to everyone she ever met.
She presses her teeth to her lower lip and pushes the air out, forcing the word to come out in one, long hiss.
“What was that, Mama?” Nina asks, leaning forward. “Can you say it again?”
Elizaveta hisses out the word one more time.
“Can you understand her?” the nurse asks. Nina searches her mother’s eyes.
“One more time, Mama,” she pleads. Elizaveta takes a deep breath and slowly lets it
out.
“Victoria,” she whispers. Her eyes flutter, and she feels the strength beginning to fade. She hears Nina calling her, but she can’t go back. Not right now. The confession will have to wait for another day.
Nina
Love.
The emotion of the addled,
or so they say.
And yet, I cannot escape
it’s grip.
Nina paces back and forth across the living room, her mind racing as she pieces together the strained moments of the last year. She glances up at the clock, then reaches for her phone on the kitchen counter.
Viktor answers on the second ring. “Hey there,” he says, the smile in his voice evident.
“Can you come over?” Nina asks.
“Is everything alright?”
“No,” Nine replies, her voice trembling. “I need to talk to you.”
Fifteen minutes later, Nina opens the door to find Viktor on the front step, his brow furrowed in concern.
“What is it?” he asks. She opens the door wider as he walks inside, grabbing her hand as he passes.
“I just don’t know what it all means,” Nina says. “I’m so confused, and I’m tired, and my grandchild is going to grow up with parents named ‘Jack and Jenny,’ and I don’t know what to do.”
Viktor holds up his hand, cutting Nina off. “I’m going to need you to slow down,” he says. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Nina takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “My Mama spoke today,” she says. Viktor walks her to the couch and gently pulls her down beside him.
“And?” he prods.
“She only spoke one word,” Nina says. “She said ‘Victoria’.”
Viktor leans back and looks at her intently.
“She said ‘Victoria’, and then she went back to sleep. I was so confused and upset that I just left after that. I didn’t even go back to work, which is not good. I’m going to lose my job if I don’t pull myself together, and then we’ll really be in trouble. I can barely afford all the bills that are pouring in right now as it is.”