I didn’t get an answer until that evening, and the truth came from Polya, of all people. She told me when we gathered firewood from the edge of the woods. Or, rather, when I gathered wood and too-weak-to-help Polya and her faithful cat tagged along. A witchy smile flashed on my sister’s caved-in face. Licky trotted at her side, and I swore I could see the same expression on his stinky cat mug.
“I thought you knew everything,” she said, almost singing the words.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said, smiling still. “I just assumed you knew where Bogdan got those eggs—and everything else.”
There was a mean edge to my sister that evening. The scraps of eggs and chicken had not sated her. She struggled to get them down, as if she were making a great sacrifice for the benefit of us all, when in reality we all would have killed for a bit more food. Now she stroked Licky’s head and turned toward the apartment as I filled my arms.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she said. “He gets them from the women in town. And the ones in the villages nearby. Women whose husbands are at war or at the factory or just plain dead, what-have-you. He does them favors.”
The firewood was impossibly heavy. I wobbled and set it down. “What kind of favors?”
My sister laughed sharply. “He’s not a bad-looking boy. He’s nearly fifteen. Close to being a man. Close enough for them anyway. Certainly better than nothing….”
My eyes filled with wild, dirty tears. So this was the thing my sister and all the adults, even my half-insane grandmother, knew as clear as day. Who was I to think Bogdan was paying attention to old bullfrog-looking me, with his winks and innuendos about beauty and dreams, when he was off servicing half the women in town? And how did I think he convinced Aunt Yulia to continue giving us extra food? He must have thought I was as chaste and idiotic as a little girl. If I wasn’t attempting to pick up my woodpile again, I would have smacked the remaining fat off my sister’s face. I tried to mirror her smug look, to give it right back to her and her idiot beast.
“Thank you for telling me the truth,” I said. “I don’t know how I could have missed it.”
* * *
—
I didn’t get a chance to ask Bogdan about the eggs until the next time we were alone together, after the winter had truly set in again. We went to the edge of the pines to gather wood and Licky followed along; my sister had stopped gathering wood or doing housework weeks before, after she disappeared, leading us on a goose chase all over the village, thinking she had perished. I found her passed out in a snowbank in her white coat, hugging her beloved white dog, Snowball, not far from the woods, while Licky circled the pair.
The snow had stopped falling and we had to rescue the least soaked branches from the white morass. But the wind was fierce and it blew large chunks of snow out of the surrounding trees, which fell on our heads periodically. We stepped across the small frozen river to get to the forest, Licky leading the way with his wagging bushy tail. Bogdan walked ahead and only then did I notice how much he had grown in the past year. I had never really stopped to take a look at his figure. He was truly becoming a man, though I remembered what my sister told me about him being an “almost man” and my eyes smarted. And since he had recently turned fifteen, he was following the other men to the factory, though it seemed he found excuses to leave his post.
I felt shaky before him, and he moved slowly, like he was waiting for me to say something. I could not come up with much.
“Winter is endless,” I said.
“I have a feeling we’ll make it through,” he said, winking at me. “We’re a hearty lot.”
“Some are heartier than others,” I said, again baffled by the stupidity of my comments, or the fact that I was nervous before Bogdan, babbling like a dimwit.
I can’t explain what happened next. Maybe it was because the moon was full. Maybe it was because a little boy from school had died that week and my feelings about mortality and the senseless brevity of life were eating away at my weakened brain. Whatever the case may have been, as if driven by an external force, some kind of madness out of Dostoevsky, we dropped our wood in the snow and regarded one another. A smirk rose on Bogdan’s face.
He was not, I reasoned, more handsome than his brother. He was not nearly as hardworking or kind or sophisticated. He fit in more with my sister’s frivolous nature than with my own. And yet, I felt myself moving toward him in a way I had never felt compelled to move toward Misha, in spite of the comfort I felt in his presence during our late-night reading sessions. Under the moonlight, Bogdan’s blue-tinged skin seemed particularly blue, but that did not deter me either. I wondered what would. I knew I was being ridiculous, that he was not at all my type, but I let the feeling overtake me.
Licky meowed again, knocking me back to reality. Reminding me of his own fate and of Polya and the things she had told me about Bogdan. I did not want my first kiss to be with a man who had slept with half the women in town—I wanted to be wanted singularly. I ignored the breeze, the glowing sky, the strange energy between us, the snow that kept sputtering out of the pine branches. I took a step back.
“Thank you,” I said. “For the eggs. They saved us.”
He smiled a disappointed smile and took a step back as well. “It is my pleasure to serve,” he said, saluting me like a cadet, and it was clear that there would be no more romantic opportunities.
“Naturally,” I said. “We all do what we can.”
He bent down and scratched Licky behind the ears. “And soon, this one will play his part, unless our luck turns.”
His words were more shocking than the electricity between us. I tried not to look like I had been run over by a Black Maria. As my breath settled around me like a fog, I understood everything. Why Mama did not forbid Polya from playing with her pet, or why, when Licky wandered into our apartment, Papa mentioned how big he would be, one day. The meat on his haunches. How Mama was more worried about Polya than ever, and what it meant when she looked from Polya to the cat and back to Polya again. This was yet another truth that had been lost on me, like Bogdan’s escapades, and I wondered if everyone but me, and in this case, Polya, also knew the score. The cat was not just useful as a mouser and a soother of Polya. He was also an emergency food supply, and we had far surpassed emergency status. I aggressively patted the cat on the head and tried to maintain my calm.
I recalled helpless Polya resting in a snowbank in her white coat, her face placid until I shook her awake, keeping myself from yelling at her for being so weak, wandering out with only her dumb animals for company when she was feeling so dizzy already. Mama sat beside her as she recovered by the stove, telling her that there would be more food soon, that it would make her big and strong, though what grounds did she have for these words, unless she was thinking of the family pet? Likely it wouldn’t be long before Licky met his fate.
I met Bogdan’s gaze evenly. I was not going to let him see how clueless I was.
“A shame what has to happen,” he said quietly, as if the cat could understand us. “Your sister will be devastated.”
“We have no choice in the matter,” I said. I tried to hide my surprise that he knew about the cat all along. What didn’t he know?
“It can still be a shame, can’t it?” he said.
I threw our wood on the pile and agreed, feeling like I had lost something I could never get back. Licky was nuzzling the side of my leg, as if he were begging me to reverse his fate. He didn’t seem to want to go back inside the stuffy apartment and neither did I, in spite of the windy bluster. Another blast of snow fell from the branches, landing at our feet. And then, I began to feel a sudden pull toward Licky, which felt as unexpected as my attraction to Bogdan.
“I think I’ll stay out with Licky for a little while,” I said, stroking the cat behind his ears. “He wants to roam.”
“We all
want to roam,” Bogdan muttered, and then he grabbed his pile of wood and walked away with purpose, as if to make it clear how little I mattered to him, and how whether or not we kissed was of supreme indifference to him, a man who had certainly done more than kissing.
He left a stick behind and I kicked at it. It was hard to believe that not that long ago, Bogdan, Misha, Polya, and I had played at swordfighting with those same sticks. That had turned into a fun and frivolous afternoon, even when everything felt so serious here. What did he expect from me now? To break all decorum and embrace him in the moonlight, with the ill-fated cat as our witness?
Licky was oblivious to my struggles and that was why I loved him, right then. He nuzzled my leg until I moved and found he was happy to follow me. He had never followed me before the way he followed after Bogdan or Polya, and I was moved to tears. I pulled him into my waist and stroked either side of his mangy face. I met his gaze and his white-blue eyes seemed to contain all the sorrows of humanity, I don’t know how they fit in there.
“Come, now,” I said to the doomed kitty. “Let’s walk along the river.”
* * *
—
The market had finally opened for spring and Mama managed to get Polya to leave the apartment with me and Baba. My sister had already quit school and spent much of her day in bed with the cat, but the unexpectedly mild weather had lured her out. She had given up her arm twine for aesthetic reasons, and the stray skin clumped around her wrists, but she didn’t care. I knew why we were taking her away. It wasn’t because we expected the market’s sad wares to save us. Licky was resting on the balcony, in a lake of sunlight, and did not seem inclined to move anytime soon. He rolled around on his back, collecting dirt as his belly wiggled in the sun. I was tempted to stroke him one last time, but I did not want my sister to get suspicious. As soon as we were gone, Mama would open the balcony and strike.
The market had already sprung to action when we arrived, the weather-buoyed townspeople milling about even though the selections were as spare as ever. Onion Man Oleg was faithfully stationed at his post in the middle of the rows of blankets; he gave me a wink and threw an onion the size of a large grape at me, which I gladly accepted. Polya did not flirt with anyone besides Bogdan anymore, except she perked up a bit when she chatted with her favorite ancient radish brothers, two of the three of whom were present, which suggested that the third did not make it through the winter.
Baba Tonya was doing her usual routine, flitting about, picking out a wilted cabbage and winking at the vendor to say, “I expect more from you next time, darling.” By that point, no one found her strange, or at least not worth staring at. She and her dirty boa and worn coat were just part of the scenery, like the factory blowing gray smoke in the distance and the dirt on either side of the train tracks.
“A lovely day,” Baba Tonya said. She paused to gaze into the tracks for a moment, and I worried she had drifted off to her own sad and distant world, thinking about her chance to leave this godforsaken country a quarter of a century ago and all the choices that had got her to where she stood, but then I realized she was just buying Mama time. “Let’s take a stroll, shall we?” she said, and again Polya did not protest or declare that she’d rather be back in bed. With the sun on her face, she did seem slightly cheered, even if she was determined not to look that way.
We followed Baba along her preferred path, which ran by the tracks, behind the factory, and then toward the stream that would eventually connect with the back of Building 32. My grandmother was delusional, but she understood what had to be done with Licky without hesitation, just as Bogdan did. Yet my sister seemed oblivious as ever, having no inkling that her beloved pet was being slaughtered for stew.
“His name was Count Bikovsky,” Baba was telling Polya. “He had fiery red hair, which was surprisingly charming. He was also an incredibly talented dancer. You should have seen him waltz! He had perfect rhythm. He asked for my hand, but Papa rejected him because he said he was frivolous. Though he was a successful official, Papa didn’t trust a man who spent so much time dancing, and that was that….”
“I thought all men knew how to dance in those days,” Polya said, but she was amused by the silly story.
“Far from it, my child, far from it.”
“You found others to waltz with, I’m sure.”
“Did I ever!”
As we approached the apartment and their conversation grew increasingly idiotic, I was weighed down by dread. How could they be talking of balls, petticoats, and suitors at this moment? But when I looked up at my grandmother, as if she could answer this question, I saw that her chin was quivering as she spoke, that she was making a conscious effort to soothe my sister, and I felt the urge to take her by the hand, though I did not follow it.
When we returned to the apartment and presented Mama and Aunt Tamara with our lone cabbage, Polya went straight to the balcony, oblivious to the rich scent of stew filling the apartment. The small lake of sun had spread to twice its size, making the balcony feel twice as empty. Licky should have been rolling on his back by then, showing off the white of his big belly, but of course he was not there. Bogdan followed my sister out, looking troubled. Papa, Uncle Konstantin, and Misha, who was allowed to stand in the adult circle now, were under the trees smoking with a few other factory men, talking their man talk. This was how Papa routinely spent his days, though I had a feeling he made a point of leaving the house to avoid the return of his disappointed daughter.
“Where did Licky go?” Polya said, staring over the edge of the balcony. “Did he go out without me?”
“I haven’t seen him,” Bogdan said quietly.
“Who?” Mama said when Polya tried her, shrugging and turning back toward her cooking. “Oh, the cat? He must have wandered off, child. He’ll be back,” she said, vaguely waving her ladle toward the pines.
I saw the worry mounting on my sister’s face and wondered if she would care that much if I was the one who had gone missing. Though the cat went off without her occasionally, she seemed more worried than she usually would be under these circumstances, and I wondered if she could sense what was coming. Bogdan ran a hand through his hair and joined Polya on her fruitless search for Licky. I met the gaze of Mama and Papa and the Orlovs and saw that everyone knew what was coming, but no one else cared because we were all so hungry that the smell wafting up from the pot was not completely unappealing.
Though I knew Licky was going to meet his end, until that moment I did not consider the particulars. What did Mama do to snuff out his short, pathetic life? As she continued to stir the pot, it dawned on me with a startling clarity. Licky must have gone the way of the chicken Bogdan had brought back earlier, and the chickens of her childhood—Mama probably broke the cat’s neck right on the balcony with one swift gesture. Did the others bear witness to this sad act? Did Papa help Mama hold down the innocent beast, or would that have been too much for him?
Once everyone wandered back in and Mama began to serve the stew, all my dark thoughts were replaced by the scent flooding my nostrils. Though Polya and Bogdan returned looking dejected, my sister’s blotchy face did not keep me from sighing happily when Mama pushed my portion in front of me.
“He never just…wanders off like that,” my sister said.
“He will be back any moment now, kitten. You’ll see,” Papa said, but he could not meet her gaze. I had never heard my father lie before, and it would have startled me if I wasn’t so mesmerized by the stew. I took a breath and closed my eyes, issuing a silent apology to the cat and trying to swallow the memory of our goodbye walk by the river. And then I dug right in to my tin bowl. Bogdan did the same and nodded at me, and I tried to ignore him. Polya sighed, took a reluctant spoonful, and then, liking the stew in spite of herself, she kept eating and eating.
“You are getting your color back as we speak,” Misha said, squeezing my arm.
&
nbsp; “Liar, liar,” I said, but I was pleased. It was nice to be back at his side. Our relationship had clear terms and was not like the confusing mess that swirled between me and Bogdan. He was a handsome, dependable almost man, a kind, agreeable person, but not so agreeable that he had a penchant for frolicking with desperate older women.
“Delightful,” said Baba Tonya, and Aunt Tamara made a noise of assent, which might have been the first time the two women agreed on anything.
Nobody spoke after that. We gobbled our fare until it was gone and we were sated. And not only sated but temporarily calmed by the fact that there would be enough stew to last us a week at least, if we distributed it carefully. Only after Mama carefully covered the stew pot did an image of the innocent cat float before me. I studied Mama’s face to see if she had broken under pressure, if it had hurt her to kill and cook the kitten, but neither her nor Papa’s face indicated that anything untoward had happened. It was business as usual, only we were all a bit less starving, and even a bit friendlier with one another as we cleaned up.
The rest of us sat around the stove while Polya and Bogdan left to search for Licky once more. I didn’t know if it would be more kind to stop her, or let her think her kitten had truly run off. They returned a little while later, and Polya’s face was blanched, showing no signs of the nutritious benefits of the stew.
“Where did—the stew come from?” she asked. She looked at me and I looked away, thinking of the time I asked about the origin of Bogdan’s eggs, though this question had a far more sinister answer.
Mama looked up from her stove seat. “Aunt Yulia brought some scraps of beef,” she mumbled. Then, when she saw that Polya was unconvinced that Aunt Yulia was capable of this act of kindness, Mama turned away from her and said, “What you are given, you will eat.” Papa walked toward her and put a hand on her shoulder and stared at the ground.
Something Unbelievable Page 10