Ancient Furies

by Anastasia V. Saporito

  “Is this the first time you’ve been able to sleep on a mattress?”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “I’m so sorry that we just don’t have enough room for everybody. I should have started building much sooner . . . at least to have gotten the floors installed.”

  “Papa, nobody knew they were going to bomb Belgrade. I’m sure everyone is very happy just to have a place to come to.”

  “Yes, well, I hope so. I wonder what’s going to happen now. How long will the bombing continue? Probably when they are certain there is nothing left to bomb.”

  “Asya, you should go to the police station and have a bath,” Mother said with a vacant stare.

  “I wonder where my sons are,” Aunt Nadia said as she entered the kitchen with General Nazimov.

  “Maybe we should go into the city to look for them. Maybe they have joined the Yugoslav army,” said her husband, twirling his mustache with a faraway look in his eyes.

  “You have the damned army on your brain. Look where it’s gotten you. General-bah. So what good did it do you? Or you?” she added, pointing at Father.

  “I don’t know what’s worse. To have young sons or a young daughter in these times. The worries are the same, I suppose,” Mother said, looking at me with a frown wrinkling her brow. She sighed deeply and grasped Father’s hand.

  I rose to go outside. Their conversation upset me, made me feel that I was contributing to their worries just by “being.”

  “Asya, why don’t you take the pots back to the farmer’s house before it gets dark. And don’t stay too long,” said Aunt Nadia, moving to hand me the pots. I took them from her and started down to the farmhouse below, grumbling to myself as I went. “Why does it have to be me, and why should she tell me ‘don’t stay’?”

  Jovanka and her husband were in the kitchen, lighting the kerosene lamps for the evening and drawing the curtains shut.

  “Thank you so much for the chicken stew. It was delicious. Everybody enjoyed it very much.”

  “Well, they were your father’s chickens,” replied Jovanka. “I just thought you might as well eat some of them.”

  “Did you have to kill the chickens yourself?”

  “Sure. You just twist their necks a few times and snap it,” she said, turning her hand in a circular motion to show me how it was done. I smiled, glad that Lyalya wasn’t there. She would have fainted dead away, without even a murmur, picturing the poor chicken. Yugoslav armored vehicles were steadily moving in a column right outside their windows.

  “Up at our house we can’t hear the trucks this clearly.”

  “Yes,” said Mirko, “I do wonder where they’re all going. Well, as long as it’s our army, I don’t mind. Is Belgrade still burning? We haven’t been up to the cornfield since last night.”

  “Yes, you can still see the red cloud above it,” I answered, amazed that they seemed so much calmer than my parents and the others. They were so busy with their animals and with plowing and seeding their fields that they hadn’t had time even to go to the cornfield to look toward Belgrade. I realized that our house was so full of crying and hand-wringing because there they had nothing to do but worry.

  “I’d better get back now,” I said.

  “Are you hungry? Why not stay and have some supper with us. You should eat more. You are too skinny,” said Jovanka, squeezing my shoulder and stroking my face.

  “No, no, thank you,” I said with a smile as I headed for the door. “I’m really full.”

  “Then God be with you in your dreams, Asya. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”

  I thanked them both again as I went out. The sun had just set, the last pale pink and purple in the sky hurrying to the western horizon before the dark blanket of night took over. The stars were not yet visible, but the steady drone of aircraft continued. Before going into the house, I went up to the edge of the cornfield for a last look. The orange cloud still hung over the city, showing flashes of explosions as bombs continued to fall. As I watched, the night blackened and the orange became a dark, angry red.

  When I entered the house, I found it much brighter than usual. The windows had all been covered, and the wick in the oil lamp in the kitchen had been turned up all the way. Aunt ’Lyena and Aunt Sonya sat together at the kitchen table, reading the Bible.

  “Asinka!” Aunt ’Lyena looked up at me sternly for the first time in my life. Her eyes through her thick lenses looked enormous, and the shadows of her jerky movements loomed huge on the white walls. “Weee haaaven’t been to church fooor two weeks noooow, and yooou haven’t been to cooonfessssion. You shooould read the Biiiible and pray exxxxtra hard.”

  “I know, Aunt ’Lyena.”

  “Knoooowing and dooooing are twoo diiifferent things. If you knoooow it, then yooou should dooo it.”

  “Elyena,” Mother said as she entered the room, “why don’t you leave Asya alone. She is going through a lot of misery right now, and she doesn’t need to carry guilt on top of everything else.”

  That was the only time I ever heard Mother speak harshly to Aunt ’Lyena—and in my defense at that! Father came into the kitchen just then, arriving at just the right moment as usual. He took the Bible from Aunt ’Lyena and sat down at the table.

  “Elyena is right. We could all benefit from reading a passage or two. It will do us all good.”

  The kitchen filled as everyone crowded in to hear Father as he read from the Bible. He chose the Gospel of St. Luke, chapter 4, the Temptation of Christ. Listening to these passages again, I was sure that Hitler had signed a pact with the Devil, for he was well on his way to devouring the world. Or was Hitler himself Satan?

  Father closed the Bible and handed it back to Aunt ’Lyena. There was complete silence in the room, as everyone was immersed in their own thoughts. Somehow Father’s choice of passages to read had struck a chord with everyone. Aunt Sonya rose silently and began to brew a pot of tea, and someone placed a plate of Zwiebacks on the table. The tea was soothing, and soon everyone was dispersing with washcloths and toothbrushes in hand to wash for the night.

  Around 11 p.m. the lamp wicks were turned down to their lowest, the blanket was removed from the kitchen window, and I arranged my windowsill for the night. I curled up facing the window so that I could watch the twinkling stars and drifted slowly off to sleep. Suddenly, I sat up, unable to understand what was happening. It sounded as though someone had turned off a very noisy, static-filled radio. There was total silence. My ears were filled with a “sishing” noise, as if I held a seashell against my ear to hear the sound of the sea. The sound was gone, but the constant noise that had lasted for three days and nights was still in my head. I sat up on the windowsill and pressed my hands against my ears, shaking my head. It was dead still. I crept outside, and there were no warplanes, no explosions. I called from outside at the top of my voice, “Papa, Papa! They’re gone. Listen! They’re gone. The war is over.”

  How little did I understand then about war! Papa and all the others were outside now, faces turned toward the starry sky as they all strained to hear something. The night was silent, almost eerie, as we moved up to look over the cornfield. The red cloud still hung over Belgrade. The city was still burning.

  “Maybe they used all their bombs. Maybe they’ll be back soon with another load,” someone ventured.

  “Maybe there is nothing left in Belgrade. Maybe everybody is either dead or injured, and that’s why they stopped,” someone responded.

  Nobody slept the rest of that night. The silence was deafening. People wandered about in a daze, everyone wondering what was to come now. What would be next? We had become accustomed to three days and nights of bombing. But now there was this dreadful, unexplained silence.

  TEN

  Invasion

  As the first rays of the sun lit the eastern sky on Wednesday, April 9, I took a bucket and started down to get water from the farmhouse well. Mirko had taken his cows to the lush green pasture across the highway, and Jovanka was busy fee
ding the pigs and chickens. Jovanka had planted a small flower garden surrounded by a short, white picket fence between the highway and the well, and early spring flowers were already beginning to bud. I walked to the well and brought up the water to empty into my bucket. I loved the creaky sound that was made as I turned the crank to raise the well bucket.

  “Good morning, Asya,” Jovanka called as she moved back toward the house. “Come and have some breakfast with us.”

  “Good morning, Jovanka.” She had a warm, friendly smile as I joined her.

  “Do your parents allow you to have coffee?”

  “Yes, I’ve had coffee before,” I replied, fibbing. The only time I was permitted to have coffee was to dip a sugar cube into the very thick, strong Turkish coffee we had at home. I wondered what General Skorodumov would say if he heard me.

  “Come, sit down,” she said as Mirko joined us. The three of us said grace, and she poured three cups of coffee, leaving mine less than half-full and placing a pitcher of warm milk in the center of the table. The milk, just brought from the barn, was still steaming and half cream. I filled my cup with the rich milk, added a bit of sugar, and thought the “coffee” delicious.

  Jovanka served eggs, ham, freshly baked hot biscuits, and preserves.

  “Eat, eat.” said Mirko, as huge amounts of food disappeared from his plate.

  “Mirko, do you think there will be more bombing?” I asked, watching in amazement at how quickly he was eating.

  “To tell you the truth,” he answered between bites, “I have no time to listen to the bombs or think about it. You know, the spring is the busiest time for us. Plowing and seeding, making sausages, hams. But I hope the Germans will get here and get the hell out to wherever they are going.”

  “It must be fun to have a farm,” I said, not knowing how to continue the conversation about the Germans.

  “It’s a healthy life. At least you see the results of your labor.”

  “Well, I think I’d better be going. They’re waiting for the water by now up at our house. Thank you for breakfast. I’ll see you later in the day, Jovanka.”

  Back at our house, everyone was outside, looking up at the sky from time to time, afraid to believe that the bombing had finally ended, that the warplanes would not be back at any minute.

  “Ah, fresh water. I’m so thirsty,” Aunt Nadia said, dipping a large ladle into the water and pouring it into a glass. “Do the farmers know anything?”

  “No, they didn’t know anything. They are so busy with their animals and spring planting.”

  Father gave me a warm hug as I joined him and Mother on the bench in front of the house.

  “Papa, can we go back to Belgrade now that the bombing has ended?”

  “No, Asinka. Mother and I were just discussing that. We think we should stay here for another day or two to see what’s going to happen next.”

  Most of the people staying with us came out of the house, stretched, and wandered off to take a walk.

  By midday there was some confidence that the bombing had ended, but more of our friends from Russkii Dom began to arrive because of loss or damage to their city property. Thankfully, some of those staying with us decided to return to the city, making room for the newcomers. The new arrivals brought terrible news. The city was now “nothing but a smoking ruin.” They had no idea who had survived, whole streets were blocked by debris from collapsed buildings, ambulances were everywhere trying to help people, and the parks served as temporary morgues, with the dead placed on the sidewalk for access and identification. They reported that both Kolya and Yura were helping to dig people from the rubble.

  I left to walk through the cemetery to the woods to try to picture what I had just heard. All the wide, beautiful streets now were nothing but rubble with bodies covering the sidewalks under the beautiful chestnut trees. I could not imagine Belgrade looking like that—my Belgrade. I could no longer hold back the tears. I had been so sure that if I prayed hard enough, God would protect us. But hadn’t all the dead people prayed also? Why would God allow so many people to die?

  I wished that I was back in Hopova again, and as I remembered that lovely little nun who had helped me with my scrapes and bruises, I wondered if she was praying, if the nuns were all frightened, too. Gradually I became aware of the sounds around me: birds pushing aside dead leaves to peck for worms or bugs, their mates singing high in the trees, a woodpecker hammering loudly. A few vehicles drove down the highway, then a few more before the stillness returned.

  When I returned to the house late that afternoon, everyone was still talking about the devastation of Belgrade. Aunt Nadia and General Nazi-mov decided to stay with us for another few days. They had been very worried about Kolya and Yura, but now that they knew they were all right, they decided to stay put. That way the boys would know where to find them. The city was apparently in total chaos, with survivors desperately searching for family members and friends. I was glad that we were in Yaintse. I could not imagine my beautiful Belgrade in ruins.

  As the sun began to set, I went into the house to find Aunt ’Lyena and Aunt Sonya already straining their eyes to read the Bible by the pale light of the kerosene lamp. Father and Mother came in from outside and looked for a place to sit. Both of them looked tired and worried—older, I thought. Their bedroom had two single beds, the same as the smaller bedroom Aunt ’Lyena and I shared, but their room now had six people. I don’t know how they both fit in a single bed, but another couple occupied the other single bed, and a third couple slept on a mattress that had been placed on the dirt floor between the beds.

  Mother caught sight of me and smiled faintly.

  “There you are. We haven’t seen you all day. Were you down at the farmer’s house?”

  “Yes, only for a little while. I was walking in the woods.”

  “You haven’t eaten a thing today. You need to have something in your stomach,” Father said as he put a kettle on for tea.

  The hot cup of tea felt good going down and helped me to relax. I still felt a little dizzy, and took my blanket to curl up on the windowsill. I was so glad that nobody cluttered my windowsill. They all knew that it was now my “bed.” As night settled in, the windows were covered with a blanket and the lamp light grew brighter, casting a soft light everywhere except right next to it on the table, where it was bright enough for Aunt ’Lyena to read by.

  I almost felt cozy, either from the hot tea or the soft lamp light. I was tired and sleepy, and the voices around me became almost whispers. When it had grown dark, and the kerosene lamps were turned to their lowest, a loud, frantic pounding at the door broke the silence. Everyone sat up on their mattresses, chairs, or cots, panic filling their eyes. Father suddenly entered the room with his finger to his lips.

  “All of you stay where you are. Don’t say a word.”

  All eyes were fixed on the door. As Father unlocked it, he was pushed back by a man who slammed the door behind him. The man was naked except for his undershorts, and he stared like a frightened animal, his eyes wide.

  “Please, can you give me some clothes? It’s all over. Soldiers are running in every direction. I just want to get home to my family.”

  Father stood between him and the rest of us and questioned him:

  “Who are you? Where do you come from, and where are your clothes?”

  “I’m a Yugoslavian soldier. The Germans have crossed the border and are in Yugoslavia. Our army is scattered everywhere. I threw my uniform in your well. All I want is to get to my family.”

  The first wave of German bombers had knocked out Radio Belgrade, as well as most telephone connections and radio transmission towers. Communication between Yugoslavian military units and Central Command had been lost.

  He looked terribly frightened, tears in his eyes. Father left him for just a moment and returned with a pair of his trousers, a shirt, and a light sweater.

  “Here, put these on. Are you hungry?”

  “Thank you, no. I’m not hungry. I j
ust want to get to my family.”

  He pulled on the trousers and finished dressing while still standing, then quickly grabbed Father’s hand and kissed it.

  “God bless you, sir. God bless you all.” He ran out of the house and disappeared into the night.

  A sigh of relief came from everyone—everyone except General Nazimov, who looked at Father sternly and said, “You are an officer of the tsar. You know that this man is a deserter, and you know the punishment for desertion.”

  “For God’s sake! This is not the Russian army, and besides, we are no longer in the army!” Father replied, obviously annoyed by the remark, “All this man wanted was to get to his family and see to their safety. The war is over for the Yugoslavian army.”

  The General lit his pipe and, between puffs, looked at Father sternly again and said, “Once an officer, always an officer. War or no war.”

  “For heaven’s sake,” interrupted Aunt Nadia. “An officer should also be a compassionate human being. I wish you would get it through your head that you are no longer in the army, no longer a damned general. The tsar is dead. Russia is dead. For once just try to be a human being.”

  By then the sleepiness had left everyone. We sat there thinking about the frightened soldier, hoping he would get home to his family. And everyone wondered just how far away the German army was. Would they occupy Belgrade, or just go through as they had originally said?

  In the very early morning on April 10, I was awakened by a slight tremor of the window. I sat up, but could not hear anything, yet there was something. I turned slightly and touched the window pane. Yes, there was a slight vibration. There wasn’t any accompanying noise. Had the bombing resumed? No, it was a constant light vibration. An earthquake? Everyone seemed to be fast asleep, and I quietly put my dress on and moved to open the door. The night was black. I couldn’t see anything except the stars, but there was a distant, persistent low rumble I could not identify. Aunt Nadia came out, still half asleep, pulling on her bathrobe.

  “You heard something, too?”