Mother Tongue

by Tania Romanov

  Zora almost broke the egg yolk she was removing. She kept her voice even, trying not to show her surprise. “When?”

  “Well, you have some time before you have to start working; what about now?”

  “Now?” Zora had never traveled anywhere with her mother. The subject had never even come up. She knew all about Medulin, but it was foreign—part of Italy. They never talked about going there. “But does Tata have time? And would he go?”

  “You know he wouldn’t go. He hated the Italians and the takeover of our home more than even I did. He swore he wouldn’t go back until it was our soil again.”

  “Well, it might be our soil again soon. Now that the Italians sided with the Germans in the war and lost, they say it will be taken away from them.”

  “But I don’t want to wait. I’d like to see my brother again. I want to swim in my sea, walk down my street, talk to the ones who were able to stay. I’d like it if the two of us could go.”

  “Did you just come up with this idea, Mama?” Zora was caught off guard.

  “No, I’ve talked to Martin about it in principle, but he won’t change his mind about going. And besides, he’s busy with this new job.”

  “He’s always busy with a new job.” Zora paused, frowning slightly. “But why do you want to go now?”

  “I just want to go back before I get too old,” said her mother, avoiding meeting Zora’s eyes. “And your new job gives us an opportunity.”

  “Mama, I know how much you have always hated it that you had to leave your home. Are you thinking of going back to live there?” Something about this nagged at Zora.

  “No, sladka, sweetie; that time is long past. I admit I dreamed about nothing else for years. But we’re older now, and all of you are settled here. What would your father and I do by ourselves there? Besides, it still isn’t part of our country, although it’s looking more like it will be soon.”

  “Mama, did you ever regret leaving?”

  “No, dear, I didn’t. I couldn’t bear the thought of Martin suffering every day at the hands of the Italians and being forced to give up our language. And I knew I could never feel secure there, so close to the border.” Zora had never heard Katarina talk about her experiences during the First World War, when she was forced to go out of the country, to Hungary.

  Zora didn’t know that even now, after all these years, her mother could barely stand thinking about it. She had lost her sons. She had been physically violated. She had lived for months in near permanent terror. She had felt more helpless and heartbroken than she would ever feel again. And she still resolved never to speak of it, even with her daughter, so Zora knew nothing about those years.

  “Do you?” Katarina suddenly asked.

  “Do I regret it that you left Istria?” asked Zora, surprised.

  “Yes, do you regret that we had to move around the country? That your sisters are scattered, that we got caught up in the Croatian separatist situation . . .”

  “Oh, Mama,” Zora interrupted. “That is over. I don't think about politics. I am happy to be in Zagreb—it’s such a beautiful city. My friends are here, my new job, my whole life. I never even think about Istria,” Zora continued. “But now that you’ve suggested it, I am excited about going to visit my birthplace. I don’t remember it at all.”

  “Well, let’s go as soon as possible,” said Katarina, putting down her spoon. She seemed ready to go immediately. “I have saved enough for the trip, and we can stay with family when we arrive.”

  “Would it just be the two of us? I’d really like that, Mama,” said Zora.

  “I think so. Ljuba can’t miss school, and Milena will be all wrapped up in her wedding plans.”

  “That would be lovely. With so many of us in the household, I have never had you to myself for a whole week!” Zora smiled hugely, excited at this new opportunity. She loved her mother, but always had to share her.

  “I know, sladka moja, my sweet one. Let me tell your father before you talk to anyone else about it, all right?”

  “Sure,” Zora said, caught off guard yet again. “Doesn’t he know?”

  “Well, I haven’t exactly told him I will go without him.” Katarina paused, as if she had just remembered how all this started. She reached out and hugged Zora. “I really am very excited about your new job. It will be overshadowed, I’m afraid, by Milena’s marriage. But I am so happy for you.”

  “Thanks, Mama.” Zora wrapped her arms around her mother. “I am so pleased for Milena. She deserves her happiness. And now, on top of my new job, I have this trip to look forward to.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind that Milena is getting married first?”

  “No, Mama, I don’t,” said Zora. She and Ljuba were the only two in the family who wanted anything more out of life than just marriage and a family. “You know the last two men I was seeing wanted me to marry them. But I am not ready, and they weren’t the right ones, even though Tata really liked that handsome Croat. If I give up my freedom, it will have to be worth it!”

  “You always did value your independence.” Her mother laughed, as if to herself.

  “I just don’t want to be tied down yet. Besides,” Zora smiled, “when I get married, I want lots of babies. Their father will have to be pretty wonderful.”

  “I’m quite sure anyone you pick will be unique. Now put those pans in the oven and go work with Ljuba a bit. She still likes it when you sit with her.”

  Zora had poured the batter for the torte layers into the three ancient black pans, having first rubbed a bit of lard on the bottom and sides so the cake could rise a bit. She now checked that the temperature was hot enough, and carefully put them into the oven.

  As she walked out of the aromatic kitchen, Zora couldn’t help but smile to herself, thinking about traveling with her mother. They had never actually taken a trip anywhere. If they traveled it was because they were moving somewhere because her father had to change jobs. She adored her mother; they all did. Someday she wanted to be just like her. She might like having some sons, as well as daughters, but she always saw her future in a warm kitchen with children all around.

  She acted as if she didn't care about getting married, and she didn't mind that Milena had found someone first. She knew she had to wait for the right person. Oh, Dule was all right, but really, he was besotted with Milena. Zora wanted someone with a bit more backbone. That was the real issue with all her so-called admirers. She didn’t want someone she could push around and always get her way with. Somehow, there had to be more to it if she was giving up her freedom.

  She was sure the right person would come along someday. But right now she wanted to focus on the new job and, first, think about the upcoming trip with her mother. She couldn't wait to tell Ljuba.

  That night Katarina talked to Martin about going to Istria with Zora. They had discussed it generally, but now she had a specific plan. They talked quietly, for the apartment was small, and the girls were in the next room.

  “Katarina, are you sure about this trip?”

  “Yes, Martin. I need to see it all one more time.”

  “But are you strong enough?” he asked, knowing the truth that hadn't been mentioned. It had been some time since the doctor had diagnosed breast cancer. But just as Katarina never talked about the horrible things that had happened when she was deported during the first world war, she would not talk about this. She wanted to enjoy her family as long as she could, and didn't want them treating her like an invalid. She felt fine. It was a small lump in her chest that had led to the diagnosis, and not debilitating pain.

  “Yes, I know I can do it. Don’t worry, Martin.”

  “Did you tell Zora what the doctor said?”

  “Not yet,” replied Katarina. “There will be time later. I want Zora to know where she came from. She was the last one born in Istria but she was so young when we left, she can’t possibly remember anything.”

  “I will worry the whole time you are gone.” Martin paced the small sp
ace around their bed. He wanted to hold her, but knew she would silence him with a caress.

  “Please don't say that, Martin. You have been gone so often and for so long, I would've had a nervous breakdown if I worried every time. I can take care of myself, and Zora will be with me if I get worn out.”

  “Of course, I am worried.” He was terrified, if the truth were told. Who would he be without her? But he wouldn't burden her with his nightmares. “I also know you have to do this. You have missed Medulin your whole life. No matter where we lived, no matter how good a face you put on things, I know you missed it, and that it was always home to you.” He sat down on the bed, but faced away from her. He was afraid she would see the pain in his eyes if he looked at her.

  “Let me do this trip and see, Martin, and then if we need to, we will talk to them all about it.”

  “Just promise me, duse, that you won't try and do too much or get too tired,” he turned and put her head to his chest, needing to touch her.

  “The doctor gave me hormone pills to take, the British think it could help. It could work, you know.”

  “They are apparently doing more study on those very drugs at the research center where Ljuba wants to work.” Martin paused and smiled. “If only she would hurry, she might discover a cure.”

  “Oh, Martin, I am so glad you are keeping your sense of humor. Promise me you won't get too sad about this. Let's just live as if everything was normal.” And she pulled him into the small bed they shared, grateful for the intimacy. His body was still strong, and she cherished the feel of him against her, which she knew deeply, whether he was close by or somewhere far away. His hair was grey, he had put on some weight since the days when he walked two hours to work every day, but his gentle eyes still softened when he looked at her or the girls, and he was still her Martin.

  She really did love this stubborn man. How lucky she was he grew up right across the road from her. She and Martin had known each other all their lives, and still loved each other. Oh, it wasn’t the hot romance girls expected today. But still. And he so loved the girls. He never let regrets—over the fate of his sons, the two wars, the exile, Roža’s death, an entire life of challenges—take away from caring about her and their daughters. He was the only man she knew who just kept going, as if his life were always full of blessings. The girls would help him after she was gone, she knew.

  “You know I never get sentimental,” he said gently. “But just to make sure you miss me maybe I could spoil you a little . . .” he started.

  “What do you want to do for me?”

  “Well, maybe I’ll learn to make the coffee . . .”

  “All right, you can start in the morning.” Katarina laughed. Martin had never stepped into a kitchen to do anything but have coffee, eat, drink, or talk.

  “Well, let’s not rush into anything.”

  Martin put his arms around Katarina and drew her close. He could feel her heart beating loudly. She was a lot more emotional about this than she let on, but he would let her take the lead. She had supported him in everything he needed to have his life run smoothly through all the trials of the past. Now it was his turn to give her as much room as she needed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Visiting their homeland

  A few days later Zora and her mother were on trains and buses headed to Medulin. A lifetime away in terms of their history, but only a few hours travel. There were still soldiers in the train stations, but the land in the center of the country was green and lush. As they reached the coast, it got drier and more rocky, but the glitter of the water hit Zora unexpectedly. She had lived by the Danube, but nothing had prepared her for the beauty of the Adriatic. They could see islands off in the distance and then suddenly they were approaching Rijeka and the atmosphere turned heavy.

  When they changed trains in Rijeka they could see the damage caused by the war. The oil refineries and shipyard had been destroyed and the bombing was widespread. The city was still disputed between Yugoslavia and Italy, and lagged Zagreb greatly in recovery. But as soon as they left the city, they were back in comfortingly rural farmlands, with towns dotting the hilltops and reaching the water along the coast.

  Her mother seemed somehow re-energized when they reached Pula, where Martin had worked at the shipyard. Katarina was back at home, but for Zora it was incredibly exotic. The city was built on seven hills overlooking the harbor, and had a beautiful natural setting. But that wasn't what captured her imagination. It was everything about it that was foreign. Zora felt as if she entered a new world. The Romans had built this city, and their traces could be seen everywhere. It was all on a vast scale. A two-thousand-year-old arena dominated the city, looking like a huge open-air museum. The enormous pillared Temple of Augustus had been damaged in the war, but was imposing nevertheless. Zora knew everything would be in Italian, but she didn’t expect it to feel so Roman and Venetian.

  It hit her that it was her family, really, who had been the newcomers here, even if it was over four hundred years ago. If the Italians really were about to give this up, it wouldn’t be easy. Their roots went deep into the history of this disputed land. It was an unexpected perspective, and one she didn’t dare share with her mother, who hated the Italians for forcing her to leave her home.

  Medulin, a town of around a thousand people, was just a few kilometers away from Pula, and the bus took them east along the water. Soon, it stopped in a small center square between the sea and the church. There was a café with a table outside and a store selling vegetables on the corner. A few people got off the bus with them and quickly strode away in different directions. The building before them said La Posta and had a symbol indicating that it was the telecommunications center. The signs were all in Italian.

  But still, it all looked strangely familiar to Zora. Her parents had talked about Medulin so much she felt as if she knew it, with its steep lanes rising from the sea, the tall church with two steeples on top of the hill, the stone houses gleaming in the sharp light. Here, there were no signs of Roman civilization, just a simple village, home to Marinovič and Rojnič for centuries.

  Katarina and Zora hadn’t brought much with them; it was summer and warm, and they planned to stay with family. At least her mother seemed confident that there would be room for them. Zora wasn’t sure who would even be living there. After all, they had left over twenty years ago, when she was an infant. Since then, there had been the Italians, and the war.

  Fig trees and grapes surrounded the homes above the square, and a dirt road snaked up to the church. Katarina strode boldly along the road, heading upwards. She wound her way along a few lanes and before Zora had time to figure out their exact direction, she turned left and they were on a path that led straight toward the top, where Zora could see a small square in front of the church. They slowed and then paused about halfway up, just as a slight man with thinning hair stepped out from a curved doorway on their left. Nothing about him seemed unusual, although he was dressed a bit better than she would have expected this far from the city.

  “Bogdan!” Katarina suddenly shouted. The man reared in surprise and then his face shifted from oblivion through a slight tremor of fear to pure joy.

  “Katarina! Katarina! Oh, my dear Katarina, I can’t believe it’s you! Roža . . .” he shouted through the gate, “Roža, it’s Katarina. Hurry, come here!” He leaned momentarily back, looking for his family. Then the two of them—Katarina and Bogdan—stood, holding each other’s shoulders, staring as if they needed to record every feature. Zora wondered what they saw in each other’s eyes. When her mother started to tear up, she knew Katarina was seeing a lot more than just this aging man whom Zora would have passed in the street without notice. Bogdan, meanwhile, rocked back and forth from his heels to his toes in a trance like rhythm, his face in a large, disbelieving smile.

  He finally spoke. “Where has the time gone, sister? And who is this one?” He stepped back and pointed.

  “I’m Zora, Uncle Bogdan.”

&nbs
p; “Zora! Zorice! Pa kako? Kako može biti? But how? How is this possible? You are a lady! Do you know how old you were when I last saw you? You left here as a tiny bundle in your mother’s arms. Let me look at you.”

  Now he put his hands on Zora’s shoulders, straightened his arms, and started the strange distinctive rocking again. “Pa šta si ljepa! But how pretty you are!” His voice had a slight Croatian softening of the letter e, the ai-kovka, but there was also the trace of another accent. He didn’t sound like their neighbors in Zagreb.

  Almost immediately a young man some years older than Zora stepped out, and a woman about her mother’s age followed, shrieking Katarina’s name and grabbing her about the waist and dancing in circles. Both women had tears flowing down their cheeks. Without letting go of one another they stood, arms hugging shoulders, and stared at their children.

  “So this is Zorića,” said the woman, who was clearly Roža.

  “And you are little Matte!” Katarina exclaimed.

  The adults’ tears kept flowing. It must have been a trait of all the women in their families. Zora could tell that Matte was as used to these tears as she was.

  “Katarina, we didn’t know you were coming. Why didn’t you write? After all these years, we had given up on seeing you again, hadn’t we Bogdan? What a blessing that you are here!” said Roža.

  “We decided just two days ago,” explained Katarina. “There wasn’t time to write. Zora unexpectedly got some time off; she is taking a new job. So here we are. I had to see it all again.”

  “Yes, here you are. Where’s Martin? How long are you staying? You’ll stay with us, of course.”

  “We would love to stay with you,” said Katarina, smiling at Zora. “And you know Martin, he still can’t bear the thought of coming back.”

  Roža looked pointedly at the house across the street.

  “Let’s go inside,” she said, “and hear all about you.”

  “I'll be right back,” said Bogdan. “I just need to get something from the storeroom. Wait for me.”