My Russian Family

by Lilia Sariecheva

  However, the climate suddenly changed and rain was coming down hard when the wedding party pulled up in traditional large black taxis in front of the Wedding Palace. There were about ten of us: the bride and groom and a few very close friends. During those days, only young friends came to the Wedding Palace. The parents and older relatives did not attend the wedding but waited eagerly at the reception site.

  Nicoli and I laughed as he helped me out of the taxi and across a puddle. There was only one umbrella in the group and they used it to protect my hairdo and bridal gown. The best man was highly praised for his foresight in providing raingear.

  We were a happy, chattering group. I was trying, unsuccessfully, to be properly serious. This tradition of solemnity goes back to the days of arranged marriages, which were not always happy times for a new bride entering a marriage to a man she had not chosen. The urge to smile was overwhelming and I failed at this effort except during the picture taking, when I managed a poised and somewhat stern look. I was dressed in the latest fashion with a short white veil and a tight dress with a sash around the waist containing a white flower. The long dress had puffy, elbow-length sleeves and I wore long white gloves. My shoes were white with high heels. It was my style, simple and modest and I felt very confident and comfortable, like I was born in these clothes.

  The Wedding Palace is actually a huge and very old palace that had just undergone renovations. Originally, it was a leisure palace for nobility; they would come for dances, banquets, and various other events. One wing of it was used now only for civil service weddings. We entered an extravagant doorway and were immediately entranced! A fantasy world of high ceilings, large draped windows, marble floors, and gilded mirrors. An ornate staircase led to the second floor where the actual wedding would take place. It was ostentatious and I loved it! Cinderella would have loved it. We retired to his and her rooms to make final preparations to our clothes and grooming. I was not wearing any makeup so I just checked for rain damage and for any problems with my shoes. Even in those days, I had an addiction to shoes.

  We took pictures, then gathered at the foot of the staircase, and the wedding party proceeded upstairs with style, grace, and giggles. I was in a hurry to get there and I climbed the stairs fast, all the while telling myself, “Slow down! Slow down! You will be married soon enough!” As might be anticipated, I stepped on the hem of my long gown and almost fell, but Nicoli was close by and he caught me instantly by the scruff of the neck as a hawk claims a chicken. Simultaneously, the photographer snapped a nice action shot of the wedding party. The expression on my face in that picture as I started to fall would not do justice to any bride! We later joked that the picture would have been even better if the photographer had waited just another tenth of a second or so.

  A Government Deputy gave a nice speech of which I remember nothing. An assistant was standing by with our license. There were gorgeous flowers and background music. A gold plate held our two wedding rings. The marriage officer was beautifully dressed with a new hairdo and a large white sash over one shoulder that nearly touched the floor. It was her badge of office. The ceremony proceeded smoothly. We exchanged rings, said the vows, kissed, and signed the large wedding book. We had about half an hour to bask in our new status. We drank champagne, ate chocolate candies, signed the license, and it was all over-we were officially married. I was so happy I wanted to scream but I managed to maintain the proper demeanor.

  The wedding reception was at a marvelous restaurant located in the middle of a huge lovely park. My parents had rented the entire place for the whole day. The wedding party with Nicoli and I arrived there about 3:00 p.m. by taxi and we walked the 200-meter promenade (about 650 feet). We found my parents with my brother Slahva, my Aunt Manya, and my sister-in-law, waiting for us at the front door. Mom was holding a loaf of bread and a small silver container of salt on the beautiful linen cloth with intricate embroidery. As Nicoli and I approached them my dad said in a strong and confident voice, “We wish you both much happiness and love. Be good to each other and stand for each other.”

  After this greeting, Nicoli and I each took a large bite from opposite sides of the large round loaf, knowing that the one taking the larger bite was destined to be the ruler within the household. It was difficult to bite into the crust and we had to chew and then swallow without water. We grinned at each other as we finished and carefully examined the loaf of bread. Our bite sizes were equal. Everything is good that ends well.

  Lilia and Nikoli at the Ryazan Wedding Palace.

  The happy wedding party entered the restaurant where a huge table loaded with all kinds of food and various soft and hard drinks had been placed. This group included approximately 70 young university friends of my mine and included my childhood friends from Ryazan. No one was bashful. Speeches, jokes, laughter, and the many things that make good memories accompanied the eating and drinking. After a while, the traditional aspects of a Russian wedding commenced. Every guest, in turn, filled his or her glass and made a toast in honor of the new couple. They would drink and then present their gift to the couple. Jokes and verbal barbs accompanied every wedding present.

  The wedding party spent some eight hours in the restaurant. They were unforgettable hours. We sang many traditional Russian songs which are sung during feasts and celebrations. We also sang chastooshkas, two-line or four-line folk verses, usually humorous and typically sung in a lively manner. There was much dancing, from modern dances to old Russian folk dances. My dad and I danced together many times and I probably danced with every man at the party. All this action seemed to energize people rather than tire them out and it was after 11 o’clock at night when the party broke up.

  Early the next morning we flew to Tula in a small airplane to have another reception in the home of my young husband’s parents who lived some 40 kilometers (25 miles) from Tula. This was the reception for all our relatives, in keeping with tradition, and included all of Nicoli’s childhood friends from Tula.

  Tula is east of Ryazan and about 40 minutes by air. It was not a smooth trip and I was airsick, regretting the decision to fly and save precious time for the busy days ahead. I recuperated with a day’s rest in a grand old house belonging to Nicoli’s uncle. Some nobles back in the tsar’s reign originally built the house. Nicoli’s uncle had recently purchased it. He had made extensive renovations and it was indeed a wondrous home. It even had a heating system tied into the brightly decorated tile walls. I still remember running my fingers over those ornate tiles. That house remains one of my loves. We had scheduled the reception for the first day of May so we had several days to stay there.

  That evening we established a tradition of playing cards that almost turned into an obsession. From that night on, virtually every evening we ever spent in Tula involved a card game. The complicated game called The Foolish involved my husband and me collaborating against two other players. A good memory of what cards had already been played was a necessity. The losers always dealt the cards so the joke was the winner could play with boxing gloves on while the losers would get calluses on the their fingers. The first evening we played with our hosts, Nicoli’s uncle and his wife. After that, it was always with Nicoli’s grandmother Nina and one of her sons as her partner. We slaughtered them; we would win 20 or 30 games in a row. Granny Nina would change partners every so often but no matter what she did we still won and she always came back for more.

  I first met Grandmother Nina as I woke up late on my first morning in Tula. Nicoli woke up early and was downstairs. She stared at me as I lay in bed with a sheet and blanket drawn up to my nose. Nina introduced herself, “Good-morning! I am Nina Ivanovna, your husband’s maternal grandmother. I have heard many good things about you and I wanted to see for myself.”

  I remained silent as I struggled to wake up, maintain some composure, and create a good impression as a dutiful new wife. Nina calmly continued on, “I wanted to see you early before your put on your makeup to see if you are truly beautiful.”

/>   During the early days of the tsars, many young girls were selected for the tsar’s pleasure by babushkas (grandmothers) it was almost a time-honored ritual. I had become aware of the 500-year-old practice in school and, at that moment, I identified with those girls. I carefully replied, “I do not wear makeup, so any time is good for you to see me.”

  She relaxed for the first time with a huge smile appearing on her weathered face as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “You are cuter than they said. You are like a little Russian Bird!” We instantly bonded and remained great friends forever.

  The second day we planned to tour and visit special sites in Tula. A local tradition was that newlyweds should visit the former family estate museum of Leo Tolstoy, the famous Russian author, a master of realistic fiction, one of the world’s greatest novelists, and my favorite writer. We spent all day there and were exhausted that night but it was a day well spent!

  Tolstoy was born August 28, 1828 at this estate near Tula. The scion of prominent aristocrats, Tolstoy spent most of his life there and that is where he wrote his most important works. He was educated at home by tutors, first in language, then law, then literature and ethics. Good intentions and a wild life marked his youth. He was in the army and involved in campaigns against the native Caucasian tribes and then in the Crimean War (1853-56). His doctrine of nonresistance to evil had an important influence on Mahatma Gandhi. Knowledgeable people commonly regard War and Peace and Anna Karenina as among the finest novels ever written. People claim that a novel by Tolstoy is not only a work of art, but a piece of life. They also call Tolstoy the embodiment of nature and pure vitality and as the incarnation of the world’s conscience, a living symbol of the search for life’s meaning.

  The German Army overran the Tolstoy Estate during the Second World War. When the Russians regained the grounds, they found complete desecration including Count Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy’s bones scattered near his grave. Such is the folly of humankind!

  The next day we toured a small arms museum in Tula. It features weapons produced by Tula arms factories from the era of Tsar Peter the Great up to the present. The museum provided a wealth of information on the people who created the various weapons and on the weapons themselves. The exhibits ranged from swords to daggers, cannons to pistols, machine guns, lances, broad axes, pikes, hand bows and crossbows, wood and metal armor, shields, chain mail, and so on. Material for the weapons included carved wood, forged metal, ancient bronze, old iron, new steel, plus who knows what else. Gold, silver, ivory, hardwood, and precious and semi-precious stones were incorporated into the intricate inlay work. It was all quite fascinating. Well, home we go, back to the card game!

  Lilia and son Andre at Tolstoy’s House, 2007

  We sometimes liked to snack while playing cards so the women would make up large amounts of either a cheese or a beet spread to heap high on a thin slice of homemade black or rye bread. It has a memorable taste and I still make it from a generations-old family recipe. The cheese spread is simply finely grated hard cheese and a huge amount of grated garlic well mixed with a touch of mayonnaise. The other tasty topping for bread is to boil several beets until soft, peal off the skin, and grate with a very fine grater. Mix it with fresh garlic that has been smashed or finely grated and some mayonnaise and try it on black bread. It is especially good with borsch. One has to be careful, it is easy to eat too much of this.

  The following day, I spent the time getting beautiful, a manicure, a pedicure, a massage, and a new hairdo. It was exhausting work but I still had enough energy for the card game.

  “Nickolichka, are you happy?”

  “Yes, my love.”

  “Are you glad that you married me?”

  “Of course I am, Leallouchick.”

  “Why did you marry me?”

  Pause. “Because I felt empty and lonely before I met you, my sweet Leallouchick.”

  “How do you feel now?”

  Pause. “I feel full and crowded!”

  It is now May first and time for our second reception for our relatives and for the groom’s friends. It proceeded quite admirably. Beautiful embellishments of flowers and love decorated Nicoli’s parental home in the country outside of Tula. We wore our wedding clothes, including the veil. It was another large reception with a noisy feast involving late night drinking, dancing, and celebrating, all of which provided additional great memories for everyone.

  One time-honored tradition involves discovering bad wine at the reception. Typically, one of the guests will sip his wine and claim to taste a horrible bitterness. He will immediately stand and aggressively yell out, “Bitter! Bitter!” Being timid is not a virtue at a wedding reception and the only known cure for this is for the groom to immediately grab his bride and plant a romantic and prolonged kiss upon her sweet willing lips. As their lips first touch, every one starts to count, “One, two, three, four…” The kissing can go on so long that the bored guests will tire of counting and yell out, “Hey, the wine tastes sweet now. It is okay.” For some strange and unscientific reason, Russian wedding receptions invariably produce large amounts of bitter wine.

  Another common drinking ploy is for someone to place a piece of bread in their wine glass and then loudly complain that they cannot drink, as there is a reed shoe in their glass. The newlyweds are happy to see everyone drunk so they kiss for as long as it takes for the person to drink his wine with the “shoe made of reeds.” Then another man stands up and declares that he too has a reed shoe in his wine glass. This joke travels from wedding to wedding, year after year; even my father remembers it from his youth.

  There were numerous notable events. My father-in-law Ivan Yevgrafovich Brovkin had purchased a truckload of vodka and various kinds of wine, stacked it up, and covered it with a canvas tarp. My father stared at it and became speechless, which was a rare event for him. The truckload was a large success. Some people asked Ivan why he did it but all he would say was, “Wait and see. It will disappear!” The entire town worked at reducing that stack of hooch.

  I remember seven years later at Ivan’s house, his wife brought out a bottle and she said with a big smile, “Here is another one from that truckload!”

  The impetus for the truckload might have been the following small town tradition. The groom picks up the bride to go to wedding and on the way there and all the way back to the reception, he encounters people holding up each end of a rope spanning the street to block passage. They hold out a hand, palm up and demand silver or wine before the couple can proceed. These rope barriers can be numerous and they are always accompanied by laughter, merriment, and foolishness. For the groom, wine is better to give than silver because a bottle is cheaper than crossing the palm with silver.

  Nicoli’s mother prepared a room for us in Nicoli’s parents’ home but in the end three boys used it. Nicoli and I collapsed into sleep on a large sofa in the main room at the tail end of the reception, about 2:00 a.m. Our heads were at opposite ends and we were toe-to-toe on the huge sofa, with one foot on the floor and one foot tucked under. The party continued as people covered us with a blanket and just let us sleep. Nicoli slept the deep sleep of the just, but I was a light sleeper and stayed about half-awake. We awoke stiff, sore, and early the next morning amid a bright sun shining in the large window and the bustle of housecleaning and conversation. We were still dressed in our wedding clothes and felt fuzzy, stupid, and dazed with lack of sleep. Fortunately, we did not drink alcohol and avoided a hangover. We needed a quiet place to change clothes and sleep. My wedding dress and veil were beautiful but there is a time and place for it and this was not one of them. I felt like I was loosing my wits! My left foot had a white shoe on it but its mate was missing. I am not overly skilled with high heels and walking with only one was impossible. Two days later someone found the missing shoe under the sofa.

  Nicoli and I proceeded to our designated room. The door was open and we discovered the three young men sleeping so cozily in their clothes on the large bed that we con
sidered letting them sleep. Then sanity returned and I shook them awake and turned them out. We washed up, changed clothes, and returned to the party. Cleaning and washing was keeping pace with eating and visiting, as new people arrived and old ones had not yet left. No one really gives a damn if the bride and groom are there or not! We finally escaped with a few friends to the river. It was quiet and peaceful as we hung out and recharged our batteries. We returned at sunset and no one had even missed us. To this day, I hear comments about how the bride and groom spent that night sleeping on a sofa in the midst of their own party as it swirled around them. What a wedding night!

  There was another party on May 2, which involved another dress. I had chosen a wonderful short pink dress with lots of frills that would allow me free movement to enjoy all the anticipated dancing. It was 1972 and time to shake, rock, and get wild! Rock and Roll had arrived in the mid-1950s but Russia was a conservative place and didn’t encourage it, not that the young people cared, they liked it and they danced to it and that was it.

  May first is a huge holiday in Russia, a time of International Solidarity for Working People of the World. May 9th is the anniversary marking the end of World War II. The government arranged for the nine days from May 1 to May 9 to be one holiday. People were happy to work on Saturdays and Sundays, both before and after that holiday to compensate for their on-the-job time lost during the long holiday. This is why we chose April 27 as our wedding day. It seemed like a good idea at the time, however it was a very long period and I would not do that again.

  The Red Power spared no effort or money in providing unbelievable sights and sounds. The streets and parks were cleaned and decorations abounded. There were fireworks and lavish parades of workers on May first and the military veterans on May ninth. Anyone who didn’t enjoy it had only themselves to blame! Everyone was happy and it was just a great time to live and remember forever.

  By the third day of May, everyone was tiring and so my parents with my brother and his wife returned to Ryazan. It was almost another week before Nicoli and I gave it up and returned to Ryazan. The days in Tula started to run together with the parties, the tours, the visits, and the dinners. We stayed with many of Nicoli’s relatives, most of whom lived in large private houses on large lots. In these houses, every room had a door, including the living room and the kitchen, so it was easy to provide privacy for a houseguest.