Under This Unbroken Sky

by Shandi Mitchell

  Petro presses the heart stone against his chest. It is already warm. He glides it across his skin. Undulating along his ribs, up his shoulder bone, down his forearm over the bump of muscle hardened from the weeks of chopping wood, down the skinny wrist to his palm, callused and cracked. He wraps his hand around the stone. Mama’s dreaming again. Her foot jerks, she whimpers.

  Mama has filled up with water. Her legs and ankles have swollen like she drank the lake. Her cheeks are stretched smooth. Her breasts hang on her belly. She had to take her ring off. The flesh swallowed up the gold band. Her finger bruised blue. Lesya rubbed Mama’s finger with soap and oil, then pulled. It cut into her flesh, refused to budge. Finally, Tato twisted it off, leaving behind a permanent dent.

  Mama hardly ever gets out of bed anymore. Lesya feeds, bathes, and brushes her hair. She rubs her belly. She places a cool rag on her forehead for her aching head. Mama complains of blurred vision and black spots behind her eyes. She doesn’t bother getting up to go to the outhouse anymore. Lesya keeps a pot by the bed and helps her squat over it, a dozen times through the day. Twice, when Lesya was outside doing chores, Mama didn’t make it to the pot. Lesya had to restraw the mattress, wash the sheets, and air the quilt. Tato calls Mama names and kicks at her to get out of bed, but she and the baby are too tired. Lesya says that soon they’ll have a baby brother or sister. Petro already hates the baby and doesn’t want it sleeping in their bed.

  Anna moans and covers her belly, the pillow slips away from her face. She is talking in her sleep, but he can’t make out the words. Once Petro tried to snuggle up to her, laid his head on her belly, so she would talk to him, but she pushed him away. She said he was too big to be crawling in bed with his mother. Petro dug his hands into the deep folds of fat and told her she was fatter than a sow, which made his father laugh. He made pig sounds, which made his father join in. They grunted and snorted. Petro got down on his hands and knees and waggled his behind. He stuck his nose close to the floor and rooted for crumbs. He lifted the hem of Lesya’s skirt with his snout and she dropped a jar beside his head. She said it was an accident.

  Petro rolls the heart stone between his thumb and forefinger, following the smooth curves. A thin white quartz vein runs through the center of the rock. He licks the stone and it shines awake. The gray glistens brown and pink with undertones of blue. The white sparkles like glass. The wet spot evaporates, drying dull and flat. He tucks the stone beneath his chin and lets it draw upon his heat. He carries the stone everywhere, tucked in his front trouser pocket. When he is with his father, his fingers worry against its smoothness. He has trained himself not to jump when his father calls his name. He feels his muscles twitch, but it materializes only as a small tic in his left eye that nobody else notices.

  Since the night of the hat, he has worked hard not to displease his tato. He spit-polishes his boots, splits at least two armloads of wood a day, remembers to fill the buckets on the stove with snow, stays out of the way, anticipates good days or bad days, talks only when he’s spoken to, sits straighter, doesn’t kick his boots against the chair. He always lets his father finish eating first, so that if he complains that he didn’t get enough food, Petro can offer his remaining portion.

  Occasionally he is rewarded.

  Like the time his father noticed the muscles in his arms and made a fuss about how big his little man was getting. Or the time his father showed him the tin-type taken in the old country of him in full uniform. A sword at his hip, tall leather riding boots, medals on his chest, a blurred half-smile. On the small side table: a plumed helmet and a pair of gloves draped casually over the edge, a half-full decanter.

  In the picture, the floor was dirt, but behind his father was the corner of a room, with wallpaper, wainscoting, pictures, even a window with curtains. A rich man’s house. But the walls and window looked wrinkled. And there was an odd line where the dirt met the wood floor of the house. Petro realized the house was a painting that rolled up from the bottom. But he let his father regale him with the story about the night he dined at the general’s mansion. Petro even asked what was inside the decanter. Cognac.

  Sometimes they sit outside together when the women need privacy. He nods his head knowingly when his father says, “This life ain’t fit for an animal.” And he leans back and crosses his legs like his father.

  Lately Stefan has taken to long walks to the town road and back. Petro covertly follows him, hiding behind the house, then darting through the bush, keeping low across the clearing, then spying from the last stand of spruce, just before the road sprawls into the prairies.

  Stefan always does the same thing. He steps onto the road and stands there like he’s waiting for someone to come along. He stomps his feet and blows on his hands to keep warm. He looks toward town like he can see something in the distance. Most days, nothing comes. He walks a few steps, then stops. His shoulders stoop, he shakes his head and curses. He spits twice on the road and turns back home. He looks older and tired on the walk back.

  Sometimes, though, the police drive through and Stefan waves them down. They slow to a stop and roll down the window. His father acts like it’s a casual meeting of old friends, like he just happened to be walking by as they were driving through. He laughs and calls them by name, asks about their families and the news in town, gripes about the god-awful weather. Begs a cigarette. The officers don’t laugh or engage in Stefan’s small talk. They nod, playing the game, until one of the officers gets tired of playing and gruffly asks, “What’s new?”

  Stefan leans into the window and lowers his voice. The talk is serious. Petro catches the names of neighbors, his uncle, people he doesn’t know. Talk about timber, squirrels, stolen property, and stills. It reminds Petro of a confession. The officers looking straight ahead, Stefan’s head bowed toward them. When he finishes, there is a moment of silence, then the officer slips Stefan a quarter. His father stands up straight, once again the gentleman. He demurely pockets the coin, glad that he could be of assistance. He slaps the car as it pulls away, like he’s sending it on its way. He waves, but they never wave back. Once they are far enough away, Stefan deflates. His shoulders drop, his head hangs. He spits twice, kicks the snow, and turns back home.

  After these walks, it is always a bad day. Tato rails at Mama about her thieving brother and how much money that land is worth. He tosses the contents of Maria’s care packages around the room as evidence of them being treated like charity cases. Turnips from their garden, a rabbit-fur baby blanket poached from their land, salt beef bought from their seed.

  He demands that Mama write letters to the land office and report that squatters are on their property. He composes the letters himself: offering proof about how much work he’s done on the land, clearing the fields, erecting buildings, cultivating and sowing, he cites all the legal facts of the case, that the land is in his wife’s name, and that they just need to check the homestead entry records. He tells them that Teodor is a convicted criminal and by their law he has no right to own land. He asks with all due respect that the trespassers be evicted.

  Initially, Petro was confused by his father’s stories about doing all the work. Petro couldn’t remember him there. He remembered Teodor being dragged through the mud behind the plow, sitting in the cart’s shade eating cold pyrohy, the mosquitoes, and the Indian arrowhead. He remembered the fire, the smoke, the smell of burning grain and singed hair, his uncle standing up against a wall of flames. He remembered stooking the wheat with his cousins, sun-burned shoulders, and dust in his eyes and up his nose. He remembered his uncle felling trees and the horse dragging logs to the top of the hill. He remembered them moving and Teodor bringing him back to his own house. He remembered holding his hand and not wanting to let go.

  But after a while, he made himself remember that his father was there too. And soon his father was doing all the things that Teodor had done. He practiced these memories until Teodor disappeared and only his father remained. Occasionally, Stefan would appear wear
ing Teodor’s clothes or speaking in that calm, low voice his uncle used when he spoke to horses and children. When that happened, Petro knew the memories were lies and wiped them away.

  At first Mama wouldn’t sign the letters, no matter how loud his tato yelled. She covered her ears. She burrowed under the covers. She chanted, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. Tato stroked her hair, gave her a drink of water, spoke softly in her ear, put the pen in her hand. Sign it.

  Finally, he walked away from her. Didn’t say another word. He gathered up his clothes, his comb, his tin cup, his flask, and stuffed them in a burlap bag.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  He put on his hat and coat and walked out the door. Petro clung to his legs, and when his father flung him aside, he got right back up and grabbed his sleeve. He promised to be better, he promised never to cry ever again, though he couldn’t stop then. He pleaded, Don’t go, and then he begged, Take me with you. He promised to work hard and make lots of money. His father hollered at him to get back in the house. Lesya pulled him inside. He kicked at his mother as she rushed out the door after Stefan. He screamed, This is your fault! Lesya slapped his face.

  He watched his mother chase after his father. Her bulbous body floundered through the snow. Her cape spread out behind her like crow’s wings. He made her chase him almost to the road. She wrapped herself around his ankles. He stood like a king. He helped her back up to her feet. Petro could see her head nodding. His father put his arm around his mother and brought her back home.

  She signed the letters. Stefan kissed her on the forehead and told her that soon he’d get her that big white house. He’d cut wild roses for her every day. He’d run her a hot bath in the cast-iron tub and the water would never get cold. She’d sleep in a brass bed and at night they’d turn on the electric lights and stay up way past dark. Soon they wouldn’t have to remember any of this.

  Petro slides the stone heart over his own heart. He breathes in deep, watching it rise and fall. Now he remembers where he found the stone. It fell out of his chest the day he was born.

  LESYA NAILS A BLANKET TO THE INSIDE WALLS OF THE chicken coop. She stuffs the cavity with straw and chinks the holes with cow manure. The gray wool diffuses the light, casting a warm glow. The hens cluck appreciatively.

  She fluffs the straw covering the floor, shaping it into a knee-high mound. She steps into the middle, compacting it with her feet. She sits, draping her skirt around her. She pulls the straw close. Kneading it into place. She curls up in its roundness. Makes herself small.

  DEPARTMENT OF LANDS AND MINES

  November 3, 1938

  Dear Sir

  I was farming in the Northern district until 1935. In 1936, I went broke, had to vacate the land, but had no other place to move to and therefore had to go on a homestead. My sister advised me to file a homestead in her name, with the understanding that she would abandon the same in my favor when the necessary improvements to earn patent had been done by me. Having no other choice but to do so, I secured a quarter-section in my sister’s name and have settled there with my family.

  After I broke 6 acres on the said land, erected a house, barn, granary and fencing, my sister’s husband, as well as my sister, are asking me to vacate this quarter-section. Please advise me whether or not my sister is in the right to take this land from me that I have paid my own entry fee. There was a paper signed and my son can say what it said.

  Yours truly

  Teodor Mykolayenko

  November 7, 1938

  Madam

  I am in receipt of your letter, having reference to your Homestead entry and note your statements concerning the occupation of this quarter-section.

  This office has already been advised by the said party that he is your brother and he went into occupation of this land with your permission and has completed all the improvements which are at present on the land.

  If this is a fact it would appear that you have not been completing the required duties in connection with this entry and the entry is liable to cancellation.

  You might be good enough to furnish me with a statutory declaration as to the actual improvements completed by you at your own expense on this quarter-section.

  Until this matter is resolved the $10 entry fee will be held in trust.

  Your obedient servant

  John Bosford

  Agent.

  DEPUTY MINISTER OF LANDS AND MINES

  November 12, 1938

  Dear Sir

  I would like to know what I can do from the Deputy Minister. There is a man that he is living on my wife homestead. He told me I could charge him to live on your wife homestead and then when another homestead opened then I will find some kind of a homestead and I will pay. So now he doesn’t want to go from it. And I don’t know what I have to do. I made improvements on the land and plowed 2 acres. I gave him notice to pull out but he doesn’t want to. I am pleasing you will give me the information what I have to do.

  Anna Shevchuk

  The man on the land is Teodor Mykolayenko

  TRANSLATION JE/ 20/11/38.

  DEPARTMENT OF LANDS AND MINES

  November 14, 1938

  Dear Sir,

  I am writing in my own language, as I am unable to write in English and have no money to pay someone else 25 cents for doing it for me.

  I received your letter in which you ask me to make a settlement with my sister.

  First: I cannot come to any agreement with my sister because I cannot vacate this land where I have been working.

  Second: she is unable to pay me for my work. She asks me to move from this land, but where shall I go?

  Third: I did all improvements. I cleared, broke and cultivated 6 acres on the land. I built all the buildings: the house, barn 12 × 16, and well 15 feet deep.

  In view of the above I am of the opinion that the Department alone can settle this matter between us, because I will not move from here. If I should vacate this land I would be forced to go on relief and become a public charge.

  Yours truly,

  Teodor Mykolayenko

  FROM D. H. BURNS

  DIRECTOR OF LANDS

  November 19, 1938

  TO AGENT OF PROVINCIAL LANDS

  EDMONTON, ALBERTA

  RE: N.E.2-64-6-W, 4TH MERIDIAN

  I understand from your communication and the letter from Teodor Mykolayenko that Mrs. Shevchuk was granted homestead entry of the above land; that prior to having acquired the land, she entered into an arrangement with her brother; whereby the brother, who was not eligible to make entry for land under homestead regulations, was to make certain improvements necessary in order to earn patent; and that the entrant was then to abandon the land in favor of her brother.

  It is further noted that the entrant refuses to carry out her part of the supposed arrangement.

  Mykolayenko claims to be in residence on the land. From his communication he claims he is in residence for the reason that he has no other place to go because this is his land.

  This would appear to be a case where there was a collusion between the two parties and now that they have disagreed it is desired that the Department arrange a settlement.

  Mykolayenko should be informed that his representations cannot be given consideration by the Department, that the land is a homestead entry in the name of Anna Shevchuk.

  If there was any work performed by him for his sister, the entrant, and for which he has not received payment, it would appear to be necessary to take action in the civil courts and is not a matter which the Department can in any way enter into.

  HOMESTEAD INSPECTORS REPORT

  NO OF REPORT 3419 (TAKEN IN FIELD)

  RE: N.E.2-64-6-W, 4TH MERIDIAN

  November 24, 1938

  While engaged in inspection work, I was accosted by one Teodor Mykolayenko, brother of entrant on above land, and who is now occupying the land entered by Anna Shevchuk, and gave the following information. He gave his sister
the sum of ten dollars and asked to (and she agreed) to enter the land in her own name for him. He said she signed a paper, which he could not produce.

  He has built a house, barn, dug a well, broken 6 acres of land, cleared 4 acres ready for plow and cut 3 acres back. He is married, 5 children, and his wife is pregnant. He claims he is resident and doing the improvement work by reason that the homestead is his, as his sister got it for him and not for herself. Now the husband of Anna Shevchuk orders Mykolayenko off the homestead and threatens to take court action to have him evicted.

  Mykolayenko says he will move off if his sister will give him not less than $500 for the work he has done. He says she refuses to even pay back the $10 filing fee. Anna Shevchuk has no labor or money in the place whatsoever, according to her brother. I warned Mykolayenko to be careful what statements he made, but he boldly admitted that he and his sister had conspired to procure the homestead for him.

  No action of any kind was taken by me in the matter. This is for your information.

  P. Lamond

  Inspector Dominion Land

  SWORN STATEMENT OF ANNA SHEVCHUK

  November 25, 1938

  IMPROVEMENTS

  Six acres cleared and broke, work done by my husband and Mr. Mykolayenko and a borrowed plow. Mr. Mykolayenko being at the time hired by my husband.

  In July, Mr. Mykolayenko started living on the above land. My husband spending two weeks with his horse and wagon to help Mrs. Mykolayenko move her goods and family a distance of 50 miles. Mr. Mykolayenko agreeing to pay for this in work.