Something Unbelievable

by Maria Kuznetsova

  “How’s that?” she says again, genuine confusion furrowing her ancient face.

  “You killed him slowly when you trucked him off to that orphanage, when you made him a caretaker of Uncle Pasha and all those lost, lonely boys. Then you killed him again, last month, when he saw another crowd of helpless boys and could not help but save them over himself. You exiled him from his own family and made him think his life was worth nothing—even at his funeral, you couldn’t be bothered to say a single kind word about him! You’re the most selfish woman I’ve ever met, but Papa was utterly selfless because of you, don’t you see? Just like Polya is utterly spoiled because of you! You are hideous and vile and have never done anybody a lick of good!” I say.

  She tilts her head back and lets out a long, maniacal laugh. I can see a sliver of her white throat, bare without its necklace.

  “Selfish?” she says. “You think I am selfish?”

  And then she gives me a hard, cold slap. She had not hit me since she mocked me for wanting to touch her necklace when I was a child. I enjoyed the familiar bitterness of the sting.

  “Who are you?” she says then. “Who are you to understand the decisions I have made? To know what I have suffered? You don’t know anything about the world. I am not selfish in the least—if I were selfish, I would have fled to Odessa with my children and set foot in the free world, but I did not know what life would be like there. So what did I do for them, instead? I married a monster!”

  “A monster?”

  “A man whose monstrosity I did not understand until my boys had been living under the same roof with him for a few months. It was too late to take my choice back, but not too late to send them away! What else could I do—leave him and my daughter and go back out on the streets? I couldn’t do that on my own.”

  “So you’re the one. You’re the one who sent them away.”

  “It was best for everybody.”

  “You’re crazy,” I say, stepping back. “You’re a crazy old lady. You’re the monster!”

  I could not believe what she was telling me. I searched her face for hints that she was crazy, that she was the same person who was babbling to her dead sister just moments ago. No, her story was reasonable. It made sense of her comment that entering the orphanage was the best thing that ever happened to my father. I recalled how Papa always stood an arm’s length away from Dimitrev senior any time we visited his lavish apartment, his body stiff like he was bracing against an icy wind, his knuckles white against his sides. How could I have misread his hatred of him—I assumed it was because the man had him sent away, not because he had degraded him. My poor Papa! All those evenings spent enduring this bawdy man with his vodka as he flirted recklessly with Polina and Baba Tonya. Twisting his silver mustache around his dirty finger. The more he twisted it, the longer—

  Could it be true? Of course, it was beyond me to show my grandmother that I believed one shred of her story. It was too late. I had already made up my mind about her.

  “Go back to bed, Baba,” I say. “Come on, let’s go back to sleep.”

  She looks up at me like she has an endless river of things to tell me, her eyes wet but lucid, and I do not want to hear it. Instead, in a small voice, she says, “I am exhausted.” And then she follows me back to the apartment.

  Which is where I lie, wide awake, waiting for signs that my grandmother is asleep—but she continues to toss and turn until I hear Uncle Ivan and Snowball stepping out for a walk, and then I hear Mama and Aunt Tamara stirring, so I lose my chance to creep back under the linden tree to dig up the necklace, which is very unfortunate, because when everyone gets up, Mama insists that Baba accompany me and my sister and the brothers to the market, where she dies before I have a chance to return her finery.

  I leave it resting under the linden tree until we prepare to leave the mountains. Then, while my sister and Bogdan sleep above me, I sneak out to dig it up, pausing to run my hand over the Papa and Mama portrait packed in the dirt. Though the town is silent as I claw through the earth, when I look up at the apartment, I think I see it: a tiny rustling of the curtain on the balcony. Did Polina hear me leaving the room and go out there to see what I was doing, suspecting that the only thing worth digging up in the middle of the night was the damn necklace? Or was I just seeing things? The next day, she treats me with her usual indifference and does not seem particularly suspicious, though she is so weak that it’s hard to see how she feels about anything.

  I keep the necklace hidden in Kiev for the next decade, until Bogdan dies and we buy the cottage by the sea, and then I hide it under the floorboards there, not knowing what to do with it for all these long years until I began telling Natasha my story and understand where it must go. I resurrect it during my return to my seaside home, finding it waiting for me there, as shiny and formidable as it had been in my youth. At first, I am almost afraid to touch it, as if it is haunted. As if my grandmother will materialize out of the ether to slap me for taking it away, and tell me, one more time, “Why Larissa. I did not think you cared for nice things.”

  * * *

  —

  My edges fade by morning. All night long, it is not the conversation with my grandmother that flits before my eyes, but my last conversation with my sister. I see Polina, shorn-haired, standing beside me at the Kiev station as she prepares to board the train that will take her away from her Motherland for good. After I told her to keep up her looks a little more and she scoffed at me and said, “Is that right, Larissa? Our grandmother cared about appearances, didn’t she? And look where it got her.” I wondered—had she seen me digging up that necklace, just before we left the mountains, understanding what I had done? Or was she just commenting on our grandmother’s frivolous nature—one she had decided to forgo, and one which she believed, with good evidence, that I carried on?

  I have tried to return to that night again and again over the years, to stare up at Building 32 after I unburied the necklace to see if someone was watching me from the balcony. Sometimes I saw my sister in her nightgown, but more often I saw nobody. Once the ghost of Papa appeared, staring out into the dark woods, eyes tinged with disappointment at me for not taking care of my sister. Yet another time, a ray of light shined on the balcony and revealed Licky merrily rolling around on his back, his belly basking in the glow. My grandmother and horse-faced Aunt Shura made an appearance once, doing the can-can with their arms around each other, their skirts flying up.

  And truly, what did it matter? It is as pointless as trying to recall whether I ate fish or beef on my wedding night. There is no getting Polina back. Though I have my doubts, if there is something on the other side of this life, then perhaps I will find her again. Perhaps I will walk toward her, and tug on her arm as she had once done to me as we were leaving the city. “I’m scared,” I would tell her, while she would give me a triumphant smile and say, “Well, don’t be!” It would serve me right.

  Though there is one thing I can do when I return to my country, I decide. I can make a trip to that orphanage in Kharkov, after all. Why not poke around there? It could not hurt to see the place where my father and uncle spent their formative years. I have seen a photograph of the endless gray building and have pictured all the little bunk beds inside, though I hope they have been updated since my father told us about them in the mountains. There is nothing to fear. I picture myself opening the door and stepping into the warm, welcoming light.

  Just after I hear Natasha stumbling in, I manage to drift off at last, floating on a stormy river on a tiny boat with my sweet father, who is troubled by the roiling waters. We’re wearing heavy winter coats and wool scarves. Papa kisses my forehead and tightens my scarf and says, “You need to bundle up, Larissa, the winter is going to be colder than ever this year.” Then he closes his eyes and begins to cry, which I slowly understand is not my father crying, no, it is the baby stirring, followed by the even-sweeter sounds o
f her mother waking up to care for her and that, I think, is not the worst sound that could interrupt your slumber.

  Natasha

  “And then Babies Vera was like, ‘Wow, with all that makeup, you actually managed to look like you were on the brink of starvation—very impressive!’ Can you believe her? She called me fat the last time I saw her too. It’s like, I get it, I get it—why don’t you try having a kid and see how you come out? And it’s not like those girls are hot shit themselves—with all that makeup, they all look about forty-five, but do you see me insulting them?” I say, trying to keep things light, like I don’t care that nobody came to the play, as Yuri and my grandmother and I dig in to our last breakfast together, one I prepared with some difficulty, due to my brutal hangover and lack of sleep.

  The sky was already turning pink when I got home from the after-party and I just curled up in bed scrolling through my phone, counting the likes on my #curtainsup #Mamasback #grandmotherland #brightlightsBrightonbeach posts, trying to feel happy that anyone at all cared at least a little bit, even though a picture of Tally sucking on her foot would have gotten more traction. Though I knew I killed it, I wished the people who liked my damn post had just come to see the play instead. My one comfort was that I think my grandfather wouldn’t have found a thing to criticize. I could almost picture his letter to me: You were perfect. Just the right amount of emotion. And you did it all yourself!

  Yuri shakes his head as I continue to make fun of the Borsch Bitches. “You should be happy the Borschies came at all. That was nice of them.”

  “Stop being so reasonable,” I say.

  “What is wrong with looking like you’re forty-five, dear girl? I would amputate my left foot to be forty-five again,” says my grandmother.

  “You look much better than those girls, Larissa Fyodorovna,” Yuri says with a wink.

  “And who cares how much you weigh?” Baba says, ignoring the flattery. “You were phenomenal. Truly. And I have seen quite a range of your previous work, so I can say this with confidence.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “What? It is a compliment, darling. You are evolving, and I am so proud.”

  “It was your best work by far, Natashka,” says Yuri. “You should have seen yourself—it was like you were possessed. The part where you ate the cat? You were amazing.”

  His eyes are somber but sincere. Though he said the same thing last night, I didn’t really hear him. “Thank you.”

  The rest of breakfast is quite pleasant. Tally’s sitting in her new high chair, picking at a bowl of berries, smacking away happily, while Baba fusses with her. I stick my tongue out at her and she gives me a little monkey laugh.

  Yuri and I chuckle back at her, but we can’t think of anything to say next. We have decimated everything on the table so there’s no food to distract us, so we just watch our daughter finishing up her food. Last night at the bar, he and Stas had words near the bathroom, and after that, Stas said he was leaving to see his family in the morning, that he wasn’t sure when he would be back. But I was okay with that. I told him to take his time, and I would take mine. But the rest of the night, after Yuri and my grandmother left, he was by my side, though Stephanie kept coming between us, raving about how I killed it onstage, but she eventually told me to take care of myself, took a shot of tequila, and went home. Stas and I closed down the place, and though we split an Uber, he didn’t ask me to come up when it stopped in Harlem. He just took my hand and lifted it to his mouth and gave it one long kiss. “Until next time,” he said.

  My grandmother gets up and opens the fridge to unearth the chocolate cake we brought to the after-party last night, all covered in pink-and-white icing and far too sweet for more than one bite, though almost two-thirds of it was devoured. She carefully cuts herself a slice, plops it on a plate, and eats it standing up.

  “What?” she says as Yuri and I watch her, mesmerized. I know what she’s going to say before she says it: “It’s never too early for dessert.”

  Yuri laughs and says, “No, I suppose it isn’t.” He forks a piece of the cake in solidarity. The two of them are just standing in the kitchen chewing together, looking kind of forlorn, because it’s time for them to say goodbye. We had already planned this—he’ll head out and Tally and I will walk Baba to the train to say goodbye.

  Yuri gives my grandmother a big hug. “Remember,” he tells her, wagging a finger, “you promised to update your will for me.”

  “Of course, dear child. I will leave you all of my horses and carriages, and a room of Roman statues.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Chests full of gold. You’ll never have to work again.”

  “Wonderful.”

  I hate when they talk like this, but I don’t stop them for once, I let them do their weird morbid thing, though it hits too close to home. Who knows when—or if—we’ll see Baba again? I stand by the mirror and fuss around with my hair, with old Great-Great-Grandmother Tonya looking down at all of us, her gaze striking me as more bewildered than cold, right then, wondering what the fuck any of us are doing. Then I get Tally out of her chair and hold her chunky little body in my arms, feeling the weight of her head on my shoulder, which makes me feel less hungover and nauseous for one sweet second, like all is right in the universe.

  Yuri lifts a finger and runs into the hallway and brings back a huge bouquet of flowers I advised him against buying, which are more majestic than the ones he gave me after my performance, though I can’t blame him.

  “Some flowers to see you off,” Yuri says with a shy smile as he hands them to my grandmother. “Since we failed to greet you with them.”

  “Foolish boy, you expect me to drag these all the way home?” Baba says, though she is pleased.

  “It’s the thought that counts,” I say.

  “These are quite nice,” she says, and she gives them a big long sniff. “And they will look great next to Natasha’s flowers,” she says, and she takes the bouquet and drops it on top of the flower pile by the door.

  “Can’t blame me for trying,” says Yuri.

  He gives my grandmother one more hug before stepping out the door, to begin a slew of errands to keep the house in order before he leaves for his fishing trip. Sharik skulks in from the bedroom, gives the new flowers one big sniff, and turns away, unimpressed. He plops down next to them, sitting right up, and begins going to town on himself. My grandmother and I laugh at the loud, sucking sound. I feel sorry for the old motherless cat, right then—nursing on his dead mom as a kitten, how could it not fuck him up? Still, I reach over to discourage him, but my grandmother lifts a hand and stops me.

  “Let him be,” she says. “Why rob him of his pleasure? Here’s a creature who actually knows how to make himself happy. If only we all could be so lucky.”

  * * *

  —

  I get Tally in her stroller and we walk Baba to the train. I tried one last time to convince her to get a cab, but she insisted on “riding with the people,” and there was nothing I could do to change her mind. Though there’s another week until Labor Day, it’s starting to feel like fall already. A crisp breeze fills the air as we pass old men playing chess in the park, women not much younger than my grandmother peddling apples and berries on the sidewalks, a coffee shop filled with people my age furiously typing into their laptops. We get to the platform well ahead of time. Three trains could go by before Baba is late, even on a Saturday morning. We sit on a bench and stare at the buildings in front of us, with only two teenage girls and a bunch of pigeons for company. Baba leans over and tickles Tally under the chin, and she gives her a little laugh.

  “I have grown quite fond of this child,” she says. “Now that her rat face is gone, she is quite handsome, like her parents, I can see it as clearly as the sun in the sky.”

  “I have too,” I tell her. I’m trying to hold back a flood of tears.
I don’t want to spend our last moments together blubbering like an idiot. I want her to feel like I am in control, like I will figure everything out.

  “It seems you have grown fond of someone else too,” she says without looking at me.

  I feel my face shifting into an attempt to deny what she has said, but I decide there’s no point. “You don’t miss a thing, do you?”

  “There are plenty of things I have missed, my darling.”

  I wipe Tally’s face just to stall. “You must think I’m ridiculous,” I say finally. “I think I’m ridiculous. But it’s like—this tide just washed over me and all I could do was drown.” I don’t add, Until recently. Until I read his dumb poem and saw how clueless I was. Then again, there was the feeling I had when he stood by my side the whole night at the bar, the hairs on my arms feeling electric from him, and I was back where I started.

  “Who am I to judge? I know the feeling,” she says. I feel the tears stinging my eyes and only then does my grandmother look at me. “What are your plans, dear girl?”

  I take a deep breath and say, “As if I know.” Then I add, “Can I ask you something?” I continue before she can say yes or deny me. “You had a nice long life with Grandpa Misha, even if it wasn’t perfect. But do you think—I mean, if you could go back and do it all over again, would you have chosen Bogdan?”

  My grandmother sighs and shakes her head. “My darling, don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “If I had not married your grandfather, I would not have had your father, and he would not have had you.”

  “Is that an answer?”

  “My life would have been completely different.”

  “But you might have had other children, other grandchildren.”

  “I might have given birth to a one-eyed donkey, but I didn’t, so what is the point of mulling it over?” she says, and I feel her temperature rising.

  “I’m sorry. I just…” I say. “So does that mean—do you mean to say you’re glad your life turned out the way it did?”