by Miriam Toews
Though, adds Ona, not necessarily an unsuccessful decoder.
Right, says Agata. To be continued. She smiles, moves her upper body back and forth. Says: We know that the city is approximately seven hours to the south of us by team and buggy at a quick clip. Longer in the spring when the coulee floods.
We do? asks Ona.
This is the prevailing wisdom from the men who have spoken of the journey, explains Agata. (Salome, under her breath: Oh well, yes, wisdom.) But, continues Agata, we’re not going to the city.
Right, says Greta, definitely not the city. She regales the women with a spontaneous story about a flush toilet from the city (I gather that Greta, surprisingly, has been to the city at least once in her life, although I don’t know the circumstances): how she pushed the handle down and, as a result of the loud, engulfing noise it made, leapt away from the toilet as though it were a grenade and she had just pulled the pin.
Greta, says Agata, why are you stalling?
I don’t know, admits Greta. She amends that: I’m nervous.
We’re all nervous, says Agata. We can’t avoid nervousness.
(I glance up at Ona, who is returning her hair to its kerchief. A black bobby pin pokes out from the corner of her mouth. The underside of her arm, as she reaches for her hair, is very smooth and white, like the keel of a new canoe.)
Agata continues: We will want to find water and perhaps some grazing land for our animals, and we will want to cross borders.
But which ones? asks Mariche.
The women are quiet.
I speak again: I have wrapped the map around a large block of cheese and covered it with ordinary brown paper. The safe is in the back of Greta’s buggy, under the back seat, ready to go. I also packed some onions and some soap and pieces of wood for traction if the wheels get mired in mud or for kindling to start a fire. (I glance at Ona. She is pleased with me, I believe.)
And the dynamite and the map? Ona asks. The peculiar sausage and the cheese?
They’re also in Greta’s buggy, I say. In the hatbox at the front.
Have Ruth and Cheryl been brought back to Greta’s barn? Agata asks.
Yes, says Neitje, we got them early this morning from the Koop—
Good, yes, yes, interrupts Agata. Let’s not return to that subject.
Ona expresses concern that I will get into trouble, that I will be found guilty through association. Klaas now knows that you have been with the women, in the loft, ostensibly learning how to sew, she says. With the women and the safe having vanished, August will be blamed. Who else would know where the key was? Surely, not any of the women. August will be judged to be the instigator. How can we be sure August won’t be found guilty and punished by Peters? Or excommunicated?
(I am touched by Ona’s concern for me. I don’t care about any of those things, about being found guilty—I am guilty—or about being evicted from the colony. If Ona isn’t here, why should I be?)
But the map, says Salome, changing the subject, to my relief. We can’t read it.
Neitje asks her mother if she’s heard the news.
What news? answers Salome.
North. East. West. South, says Neitje.
Agata smiles and nods approvingly, yet again moving her body to the left and right. The others purse their lips and shake their heads.
I venture to speak once again. I tell the women that I’ve created a legend.
The women smile politely, waiting for an explanation.
For the map, I say. I explain that I’ve drawn asterisks on the map that coincide with pictures in the legend.
There is silence.
I drew them, I say again, stupidly.
Like Michelangelo, says Ona, with a half smile at me.
Do you know your numbers? I ask the women. I’m deeply ashamed to be asking them this.
We do, yes, says Greta. Of course we do.
Do we? asks Mariche.
The girls do, adds Greta.
Autje and Neitje nod in agreement.
Agata explains: August, she says, we know how to write our names. That’s all. And it takes me longer to write my name than to plant a crop of canola.
Greta laughs. And to harvest it the next fall, she says.
Mariche says that she doesn’t actually know how to write her name, she’s been too busy to learn.
I will help you later, offers Ona. When we have more time.
Mariche pauses, considers, then bows her head regally. I accept, she says.
So what do the pictures show? Ona asks me.
Rivers, roads big and small, towns and cities and borders, train tracks, I say. It’s only a map of this part of the world, this celestial sphere.
It’s a map of the heavens? asks Mariche.
It’s a map of the Americas, I say.
Mariche, scornfully: Then why do you say “celestial sphere”?
Ona asks me: What direction do you think we should take?
Before I can respond, there is a commotion on the ladder.
Mejal has returned with food, but she is agitated. She has heard that there is a fire raging north of the colony and there is talk that the men in the city will be coming back early to save their animals.
Shall we assume they’ll save us as well? says Ona.
The older women laugh raucously, though briefly, at this. Agata stops to catch her breath.
We’ll head out, then, says Mariche. We should go. She abruptly stands up.
Now the others are rising up from their pails as well.
We were going to leave when it got dark, protests Greta.
We don’t have time to wait, says Mariche. She turns to Mejal. Who told you about the fire?
Mejal is reluctant to say who it was.
The Koop brothers? asks Autje.
Mejal nods.
What are the Koop brothers doing in Molotschna? Salome asks.
Mejal shrugs.
Well, I don’t believe what the Koop brothers are saying about a fire, Salome says. I think they are calling our bluff, aware of something going on, forcing our hand, so that we will make a move, leave early and be caught. They want to be heroes, says Salome. They want to be kings. Do you smell smoke? Are the skies dark? Are the animals jumpy? Are the flies still? Are the birds making a fuss? Are Mejal’s allergies unruly? No, she answers her own questions. No to everything. There is no fire.
Mariche turns to Autje. Were you and Neitje aware that the Koop boys were in Molotschna? she asks.
Autje and Neitje won’t answer. They look away, frightened.
Don’t tell me you told them we were planning to leave, says Salome. What on earth is the matter with you?
Autje begins to cry.
It was a mistake, Neitje says. The Koop brothers gave us mistletoe vodka, and we were excited. We felt so brave. We’re very sorry. Very sorry.
Autje, through tears, says, It’s impossible for the Koop boys to inform on us. There is no way they can reach the men in the city on time, not if it’s seven hours each way at a fast clip.
I have heard some of the men in Chortiza are in possession of telephones, states Mejal.
But not the Koop brothers, says Neitje. They would have shown us if they’d had them.
I clear my throat. Even if the Koop brothers were to have telephones, I say, there is no signal here. They’d have to go to the top of Zweibach Hill to get a signal.
What are you talking about, August? asks Agata. What kind of signal?
Before I can answer, Mejal points out this isn’t a problem anyway, because the men of Molotschna have no telephones from which to receive a call.
I raise my hand again and speak: Peters does.
What? No! says Greta.
Peters has had a phone for years, I explain. He plays games with it while the other men are working in the field.
But still, says Agata, you say the Koop brothers, if they had a telephone, would have to climb Zweibach Hill?
Ona is holding her stomach, pale.
&nbs
p; Greta prays. Agata thinks.
Neitje raises her voice, insists: They don’t have telephones! They would have bragged about them if they did.
The women nod, trusting this.
Agata says, So, the Koop boys are waiting for us to make our move and then will ride to the city to inform the men that we’ve left, or will perhaps themselves prevent us from leaving. By claiming there is a fire to the north of Molotschna they think they can force us to move southwards, towards the city where the men are, a trap.
Well, says Ona, that would seal our fate.
Obviously, we’ll disregard the fire nonsense, says Mariche. The animals would tell us if that were true. We’ll head north, away from the men.
But the Koop brothers might prevent us from leaving in the first place, says Greta.
That’s impossible, says Salome. How can those two scrawny shit for brains prevent all of us women from leaving.
They have guns, says Mejal. They have horse whips.
Well, so do we, says Salome.
No, Agata says, we certainly do not. We have no guns and whips. Well, we have buggy whips, but we’re not about to start whipping people.
Greta mentions that she’s never even whipped Ruth or Cheryl, and they are horses.
Agata frowns at her, fed up. If it wasn’t for the safety of Ruth and Cheryl, Autje and Neitje wouldn’t have had to agree to demeaning themselves for the pleasure of the Koop brothers and the Koop brothers wouldn’t have fed mistletoe vodka to Autje and Neitje, and Autje and Neitje wouldn’t have let slip, due to being inebriated, that the women were planning to leave Molotschna.
Salome says that she can get some guns. Or even better, she says, August could get some guns for us. After all, he was able to procure dynamite. Can you? she asks me.
I’m tongue-tied. I tear at my head, hair comes away.
No, says Agata once again. We won’t have guns and whips.
I have another concern, Mariche says. The Koop boys might rally the men of Chortiza and Hiakjeke to help them stop us from leaving.
Greta scoffs at this. The men of Chortiza and Hiakjeke, she says, aren’t interested in the women of Molotschna, only their own. They would consider it a victory over the men of Molotschna if we left. They’d gloat for generations.
The women nod in unison, solemnly.
Why are the Koop boys from Chortiza so interested in preventing the women from Molotschna from leaving in the first place? Salome asks. What difference does it make to them? She directs her gaze at Neitje and Autje.
Neitje says: Because they want to marry us.
Salome rises from her pail. You will not marry a Koop boy, or any Chortizer, period, she says to Neitje.
Autje, defensively: The boys and girls of Chortiza have been forbidden to marry each other for five years to weed out the deformed babies. So the Chortiza boys are going to Molotschna and Hiakjeke to find wives. That’s what the Koop boys told us.
I’ll marry whomever I want, says Neitje.
Salome’s nostrils flare. So, she says, the men of Chortiza and Hiakjeke are interested in the women of Molotschna after all. We mustn’t let them see us leave. The city is south of Molotschna. Chortiza is west and Hiakjeke is east. We’ll go north.
Nettie/Melvin has climbed the ladder now and is in the loft. She is silent, standing before the women. Agata begs her to speak, to give us the news from the ground.
Nettie stares at the window and speaks: The little children (she uses the word kjinja) are ready. They are clean. Their extra clothing is in barrels. Their linen is in barrels. Their boots are in barrels. Their hats are in boxes. They are fed.
Thank you, Melvin, Agata says. Melvin smiles for the first time in one hundred years at this, the first appellation of her new name. She smiles at the open window, a silent communion with the sunlight of Molotschna, now hers.
Greta asks Melvin if Cornelius is also ready and if his wheelchair has been packed away? Cornelius will not be joining us after all, Melvin answers to the window. His mother is in the Do Nothing camp, and Cornelius has no choice but to stay with her.
Autje and Neitje frown and moan. All the youth of Molotschna, particularly the girls, are taken with Cornelius, with his jokes and comedies and creativity. Cornelius and his mother may yet change their minds, Agata reassures the young women. Perhaps they will join us elsewhere.
No, says Mariche. That’s not accurate, that won’t be possible. When the men return, no women will be allowed to leave.
She turns to Autje and Neitje. You will see Cornelius in heaven one day, she says, and he will be able to walk. He will run into your arms.
The young women nod, tentatively. (I surmise that holding Cornelius in their arms is not exactly what they had in mind.)
Agata places her hands on the table, for support. Melvin, she asks, are you, too, ready for the journey?
Melvin doesn’t answer. The women wait.
No, Melvin says at last. I am not ready.
The women make noises of alarm, and some look about to speak.
Then Melvin says: But I am coming with you.
The women smile and sigh with relief. Greta says, Yes, who of us can say we’re ready, after all?
I can, says Salome.
Melvin, Agata says. Please return to the children and wait with them in the fallow field next to the school.
She instructs Melvin to engage the children in some type of play, perhaps Flying Dutchmen, and to keep an eye on the cow path that runs along the field. That is where the other women will find them, on their way out of Molotschna. We will have at least ten buggies and ten teams, Agata says.
Including Ruth and Cheryl, adds Greta.
Goddammit, Mother, please, says Mariche. (Ona and I exchange the slightest of glances. I imagine she is as startled by this outburst as I am. But Greta simply closes her eyes briefly and dips her chin.)
The strongest of us, says Agata, will walk alongside the buggies with the other animals, including the yearlings who will serve as pack mules, and with the children if they are restless and prefer to skip ahead.
Ona smiles at this, repeats the words: Skip ahead.
Melvin nods. Then she says to Salome: Aaron, your son, is missing.
Salome looks at Melvin, at the other women. She stands. What? she says. What do you mean?
He didn’t come to the summer kitchen for lunch with the other children, Melvin says.
But that doesn’t mean he’s missing, says Salome. She walks to the window. I asked Aaron to get the teams ready, she tells us, to water the horses, to pick the burrs from their saddle blankets and to clean their hooves. So he must be in a barn, she says. He’s not missing.
Melvin speaks to the window.
I can’t hear what she is saying.
Salome takes Melvin’s arm. Speak to me directly, she insists. Not to the window. Please. I won’t harm you. I am not your enemy!
But Melvin is frightened of Salome and backs away.
You must calm down, Agata tells Salome. She turns to Melvin. You are safe, she says. Aaron will be found.
But we’re leaving now, soon, says Salome. I’m not leaving without him.
As if she can’t help herself, Mariche points out that one moment ago Salome was insisting she was ready to go.
We are all leaving people behind, says Mariche. It’s sad, it’s difficult, why should Salome be given special allowance to throw a tantrum about it?
Salome is climbing down the ladder.
Melvin whispers, again to the window. Some of the children told me that Aaron didn’t want to go, she says, that he felt stupid leaving with the little children and the women.
Salome has reached the bottom of the ladder, and is on the barn floor. She jumped down from a middle rung. We hear a thud.
Salome, calls Agata. Come back!
Ona calls down to Salome. Aaron will be found, she says. He will leave with us after all, surely.
Melvin is still at the window, speaking. She tells us that Salome is running now
, her skirts are flying behind her, she is bent into the wind, kicking up dust.
We must remain calm, Agata beseeches the women. Salome will return, she says. She will find Aaron and convince him to leave. Melvin, go now to the other children and bring them to the field to play games.
But what if she doesn’t convince Aaron? asks Ona. She won’t leave with us if he doesn’t also leave. What will happen to Miep?
Agata nods. We have problems, she concedes. Let me think.
Ona says, Perhaps Salome will allow me to take Miep, to be her temporary guardian.
My words are blurring on the page.
The women are speaking too quickly for me to keep up. They are planning. Lists are useless to us, Agata tells me, but still I must keep up and make as many lists as I can, and the older boys, like Aaron presumably, if he is found, and if he accompanies the women, will be able to read them to the women.
Lists of what? I ask Agata.
Of good things, she says, of memories, of plans. Whatever you feel goes into a good list, please write it down. She laughs. (I notice that beneath her laugh, her breathing is choppy, laboured.)
Thank you for your efforts, August, she says. John and Monica (these are the names of my parents, excommunicated many years ago, deceased, missing. These are long stories, but familiar to Molotschnans) would be so proud of you. God bless you.
Tears are streaming down my face. Yes, I will make a list.
The women rise, ready to leave the loft.
Agata is breathing heavily and Ona looks at her with concern. Mother, she says, this will be an arduous trip, perilous.
Agata laughs. I’m aware of that, she says.
Today is the day that the Lord hath made, she adds. Let us rejoice and be glad in it!
Then, to Ona, she says softly: I won’t be buried in Molotschna. Help me into a buggy now and I’ll die on the trail.
Ona laughs, but her eyes tear up.
I can hardly write.
The women help each other down the ladder, in a chain.
What about August? says Ona. (Note: these are the last words I hear her speak.)
I smile, stammer, wave. I am ridiculous.
Agata is the last to climb down. I rise to my feet.
Agata turns to me and smiles. August, she says, wouldn’t you marry my Ona?