My Russian Family

by Lilia Sariecheva

  We would agree with the historian Will Durant: “A great civilization is not conquered from without until it has destroyed itself from within.” We let events happen with our eyes wide open. “Our scarves were turned inside out.”

  Lilia 1970.

  Granny looked forward to a future without a tsar, while I anticipated a future without a political commissar. The large gap between the dream and the reality disappointed both of us. However, we both would have to agree that there were some improvements in our lives. My grandmother Varvara was the daughter of slaves who never spent a day in school. Still she created a decent and rewarding life for those around her, successfully raising five children. My greater opportunities allowed me to raise one boy and earn two university degrees, respect for my teaching skills, and praise for my poems. And for a government, we have what we have!

  Lilia Mkhailovna

  Literal translation:

  To live life is not to walk through a meadow.

  Meaning:

  Life was never meant to be easy.

  49. The Funeral

  I’M 21 AND I’M IN LOVE!

  When I went to bed at night and closed my eyes, my last thought was of Nicoli. When I awoke in the morning, my first thought was the same. I never had been in love before and all the feelings were new to me.

  The big, bright blue eyes of the young man pursued me in my dreams. They looked at me with admiration and seemed to be saying, “I love you!” Throughout the dreams I felt that I did not want to awaken. If I could, I would sleep forever and listen to those magical words, “I love you… I love… love you…”

  Nicoli and I were seeing each other every day and each day was irreplaceable. February of 1972 was a time of much snow in Russia and the weather was very cold but our hearts were sizzling with heat so we didn’t notice the frosty air, the sharp wind, and the icy snowflakes that scratched our faces. Our cheeks were red, but not only from the dreadful frost. Our happiness and the fullness of our love decorated our cheeks with brighter hues than Mother Nature possessed.

  Nicoli had already asked my parents for my hand. My loving fiancé was a young medical doctor, handsome, of excellent character, and from a first-rate family-and my parents accepted his proposal. We were anticipating an April wedding. I was jubilantly preparing for my wedding and nothing could stand in the way. There was no doubt or hesitation. Our wedding was as definite and inevitable as the rising sun! An ancient Russian proverb translates as Man proposes and God disposes. Trouble swept in through the front door in her best black dress, new hairdo, and high-heeled dancing shoes! I can never forget the shock and pain of the bad news. Granny Varvara had died suddenly. My whole family was thunderstruck. We had to shift our plans and emotions from a wedding to a funeral immediately. I was so unhappy and I repeated over and over again, “Why? Why? Why?” I recall that I could not even cry-I had no tears. I thought of my other granny, Lena, and how the German Army had postponed her marriage to Prince Ivan. My heart was shattered into tiny pieces and each piece was in great pain. When the first sharp ache finally eased up, I was exhausted and soon fell into a deep sleep. I don’t remember how long I slept, but I will remember my dream forever.

  My beloved granny Varvara came to me in my dream and I started to cry, “Why did you leave me at such an important time in my life? Why didn’t you wait until after my wedding? Oh, Granny, you were always there for me. You know that I always needed your advice, your wisdom, your love and moral support. I love you so deeply and I cannot be happy without you.”

  My granny gently kissed me and hugged me, and answered, “I’ll be always with you Lillichka. I will be with you in every happy day and in every beautiful flower that catches your sight. All eyes that look at you with love and tenderness will be my eyes. My spirit will be in your first child and I will love you through him. For this reason, have your wedding as soon as possible. I am not saying goodbye forever. I am only saying goodbye for now.”

  I saw a teardrop on my granny’s cheek but her lips were smiling. She kissed me once more and I felt her tear on my cheek. I awoke immediately and when I touched my own cheek it was wet. The tears gushed from my eyes as I mourned aloud. After my university classes, I went to my granny’s home in Ryazan. Several years ago, my father had purchased it for her and she had lived there with her daughter Manya. It was a brick house with a small garden and cherry trees. An attractive hand-smoothed plaster finish painted off-white sheltered the bricks of the house. My mom had found this house in an area where people owned their own homes. It was next to a huge rolling meadow which in the springtime was filled with flowers. A river flowed through it. A schoolhouse and a clubhouse were nearby as was a cookie factory where Manya worked. It was also near a famous military academy which trains all officers of the Russian Paratrooper units.

  Varvara’s coffin was on the table in the living room. They had covered the handmade wooden box with velvet, lace, and garlands of flowers. On a nearby chair someone had placed a distinctive linen cloth that Russian families treasure. This heavy, decorative white linen was some two meters long (6.56 feet) and 50 centimeters wide (20 inches). Varvara had three of them with magnificent hand embroidery at each end. They have several uses. A particularly distinctive visitor would receive a newly baked, round loaf of bread and a silver container of salt handsomely displayed on this cloth. People frequently draped it around a family icon for a religious display. During a burial service, this same cloth served as a retrievable cradle to lower the coffin down into the grave.

  I glanced around and noticed that everything was prepared in the traditional manner. Sheets covered the mirrors, a corner shelf displayed the family icon, and there were many lighted candles in the room. My granny’s hands lay forever crossed on her chest and they held one small lovingly placed candle. The sickly sweet smell from the white candles was making me nauseous. I felt dizzy and faint, but I could not pull my gaze away from my granny’s hands with the candle. The flickering flame created hazy shadows which wandered across Varvara’s peaceful face. To this day, I abhor the smell and sight of burning candles.

  Relatives and close friends dressed in black started to say their last goodbyes as I watched. They passed by the coffin, stopping briefly to kiss her forehead. My father went to his mom and pressed his cheek to her face. Father’s shoulders were shaking with sobs that he tried in vain to suppress.

  I can remember nothing about what I said on my last goodbye to my granny. Why can’t I? I don’t know. It seems like my brain disposed of that most tragic memory of my young life.

  A throng of people—neighbors and others who knew my grandma—were waiting outside to pay their last respects and to say goodbye. Varvara had married Ivan when she was 17 years old and the marriage had endured for almost 50 years years, until Ivan died 13 years earlier. People expected him to live much longer, as his parents had, but on a February day as he worked outside he felt warm and sweaty and took off his heavy coat. He then took a chill and died the next day of pneumonia.

  The men moved my granny’s coffin with her body to some large stools outside and everyone approached. Even though it was cold, all the men removed their hats. Older women made the sign of the cross as they reached the side of the coffin. It was quiet and somber.

  The coffin was placed in a large mortuary vehicle and the mourners took buses to the church cemetery.

  My cousin Lida, one of Aunt Lizza’s daughters, and I were left behind to wash the wood plank floors of the house and to prepare for the reception. During weddings and funerals Russians didn’t enforce the standard requirement of shoes off at the door.

  It is an ancient Russian custom to wash the floor where a coffin containing a dead person had been. You have to wash it from the windows to the door to wash away the death from the home so that death is not tempted to abduct someone else from that home.

  Lida and I were working and cleaning with a kind of frenzied energy. We did not talk even when we were setting the table for the reception. We had quickly a
ccomplished our work and were sitting despondently as we waited for the crowd to return from the cemetery. I thought of the last scarf that I gave to my granny. It was made of wool and was a beautiful dark forest green. Time passed very slowly in the empty home until the early arrivers tramped in through the front door.

  There had been a ceremony in the church chapel officiated by a priest. After that, four strong men carried the coffin to the gravesite, which resembled a flower shop with many bouquets of flowers and various metal stands supporting huge garlands of flowers with tags containing last sentiments and words of comfort. They carefully lowered the coffin to its final resting place with three white linen cloths. My father, followed by his sisters, threw handfuls of the black earth down into the grave. It made a thudding sound as it hit the wooden coffin. The other mourners followed suit. An occasional sob was heard as the procedure continued. Tradition dictated that wooden buckets of water and clean towels be available at the gravesite so everyone could wash their hands after throwing the handful of dirt into the grave.

  No one receives an invitation to a funeral or the reception afterwards, as dictated by Russian tradition. However, everyone shows up as expected and is graciously welcomed. The funeral feast called a trizna is always on the day of the funeral, which is the third day after the loved one dies. The first day is the time of notification to friends and relatives. The second day is the day of mourning and of cooking for the trizna. It is also when cemetery permits and other documents are obtained.

  Notifying people of the death was complicated. Relatives send telegrams which require a medical doctor’s signature testifying to the death. Recipients of the telegrams thus had an official document, which would get them a three-day emergency leave from work and a ticket on a plane or train even if the vehicle had no vacancies.

  The deceased’s family obtains and prepares all the food and drinks. This is different from the American custom of everyone bringing prepared food. It is expensive, as one does not want to run out of food or alcohol and there is no way of knowing just how many people will appear.

  Vodka is present in large amounts but so are other types of alcohol and numerous wines. Russians are like people in other countries: some love vodka, some take a sip occasionally, and some never touch the stuff. A few drink only wine or maybe brandy, cognac, or beer. Alcohol was only available to those 21 years of age and married. Younger and unmarried people generally did not drink alcohol at family events even though they could legally purchase alcohol at the age of 18. Cigarettes were available but recreational drugs were unknown in those days.

  At Varvara’s reception, the huge main table in the living room could seat 40 people and it was restocked numerous times with fresh food and drink. The first seating was for family members, the second for close friends, the third for neighbors, and subsequent seating was for everyone else.

  In Russian homes, the end of the main table near a large window is typically the patriarch’s place and the other end of the table is for the matriarch. The patriarch’s seat remains empty during a trizna. It is reserved for the dead and receives a special food-filled plate along with a goblet of wine covered with a slice of bread, and no one touches it.

  When my father took his place at the table in the matriarch’s position, all the family members sat down. Russian priests use a sweet red wine called cahor in the church ceremonies. It is available in stores and my parents filled the glasses with it at this trizna. Dad raised his glass and gave a speech in his mother’s honor and then he sipped the wine without touching or clunking his glass with others, as was tradition at a trizna. Empty glasses were refilled and with their wine glasses held up, they all toasted together, “Let the soil be as soft as goose down for her.” Again, without touching each other’s glasses, they drank from their goblets and set them back on the table. According to tradition, other standard toasts were offered such as, “May the Kingdom of Heaven accept her.” Other relatives also presented speeches.

  After they finished eating, the young family girls and I cleaned the table and then prepared it for the next shift of mourners. My dad and his sisters remained at the table as the hosts. It was many hours before the last mourner departed. We were physically and mentally exhausted at the end of that day.

  Six times we repeated the trizna. In addition to the third day after death, it is observed on the ninth day, the 40th day, at three months, at six months and, finally, on the one-year anniversary of the deceased.

  On the day following the funeral, family members revisit the gravesite to pay last respects. They bring a plate of food to leave for the deceased along with a glass of wine, again covered with a slice of bread. They also bring some kutia to eat for themselves. This symbolic food of boiled rice contains raisins and honey and mourners eat it with their fingers. After that, there is a toast, “Letthe soil be as soft as goose down for her!” A few days later, someone returns to collect the empty plate and glass. It is not clear who consumes the food and drink. It could be small animals, homeless people, or cemetery workers. Who knows? What is known is that the mourners are displeased if the food and drink are not gone. Maybe a bird consumes the food and drink and this bird is the soul of the dead person. Mourners repeat this on Parents’ Day, which is a yearly church tradition on a springtime Sunday. These death-related traditions and customs date back to antiquity and they are honored regardless of politics and governments.

  50. The Wedding

  February was a month of tears that seemed endless. March was a month of sadness, but the mourning slowly ended. April started as a month of smiling. Especially the first day of April, the “Do-Not-Believe-Anybody Day.” It is widely anticipated and enjoyed, just like America’s April Fool’s Day. People spend the day thinking up tricks to play and avoiding tricks by other people. These stupid jokes had an excellent therapeutic effect. Our Russian Language and Literature Dean was so often a target of bad students’ jokes that he put an announcement on his door stating that he didn’t want to see anyone; any problems would have to wait until tomorrow. Do anything you want today, there is no punishment until tomorrow.

  Thursday, the 27th of April was my wedding date. We had our reservation confirmed at the Wedding Palace three months early to ensure that the date would be available. This exquisite old building provided as many as 30 weddings per day, but it was only open on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Civil ceremonies were available five days a week at other places but we wanted the Wedding Palace. They would simplify the paperwork and provide the wedding license on the day of the wedding. They would also provide flowers when ordered in advance. The long, cold winter yields few flowers even by April. We ordered calla lilies, of course, to go with my name. Blood tests were not required but there was a 30-day waiting period—90 days for foreigners.

  The invitations to a Russian wedding are verbal. The bride and/or groom or their parents individually request each person to attend. They may hand out a card with the information on it, but still they must speak the words, “I invite you to…” It is usually a long and joyful conversation with many details. With a large wedding, the invitations take a lot of time but it is a well-spent happy time and no one begrudges it.

  Inviting people from out of town is more complicated. The hosts send the invitation by letter or telegram and they expect a prompt response. This response, if affirmative, can be oral and a phone call is acceptable. However, if the response is negative, a telegram must convey this bad news even if the person lives next door and has already offered his regrets. Russian telegrams come in a wide variety of styles and script with beautiful cards. We were happy that everyone we invited was able to attend.

  I had my wedding outfit and several other dresses to purchase, shoes to consider, doubts to overcome, and dreams to nourish—and the time flew by.

  On the night before my wedding, I slept like a log and I had a strange dream. I saw myself standing in my room and looking into a large mirror. I was wearing my white wedding dress and I looked great. As I contin
ued to stare at my reflection, I noticed that I had a black veil on my head instead of a white one. My dream was so real that I called out, “Mommy, Mommy! Come here!”

  The sound of my voice woke me up and a second later my mom came into the room and asked, “What do you need, darling?”

  I looked up at my mom and, seeing her peaceful and happy face, I answered, “It’s okay. It is nothing. I just wanted to spend some time with you this morning.”

  We glanced at my wedding dress hanging in the corner near a window and we both broke out laughing. My mom kissed my nose and hugged me and said, “Everything is going to be just fine, my baby girl.”

  “Oh, I knew that!” I smiled and reluctantly left the warm security of my bed.

  My disturbing dream of the black veil was instantly buried in the back of my mind. It only came back into my thoughts 14 years later when I had a yearlong severe sickness and my doctor-husband saved my life. Unfortunately, the event stressed our marriage to the point that I immigrated to America.

  However, on my wedding day everything felt brilliant. Since our marriage was on a Thursday, my dad had to work for a few hours so mom and I enjoyed our hours together. My parents’ apartment was on a beautiful square and we ambled across it to my appointment with a hairdresser. The sun was shining brightly, it was warm for April, and the square was very pleasant with trees and with birds singing. Mom said, “You know there is an old saying that rain on the day of the wedding will bring good luck to the bride as she will avoid financial problems with this husband.”

  “That is great!” I said, “Look around you. Does it look to you like it is going to rain?” Mom gave me a grin as we scanned a cloudless blue sky.