Philipovna

by Valentina Gal

  “Hush, Child! Uncle Simon is outside asking questions. We can’t let him hear such terrible things.” Auntie Xena put a gentle hand onto Mitya’s shoulder. He pushed away and turned his back to her. His thin shoulders shook violently as he tried to swallow his tears.

  She dipped a clean tea towel into the bowl of liquid she had brought and wrung it out.

  ”Philipovna, Here’s some camomile tea for your face. It’s looking angry. I don’t want you to get an infection. We’ll bathe it well and keep an eye on it. Do you two think you could tell me whatever possessed you to leave the church? It must have been something big.”

  “Uncle Misha said not to tell,” Mitya said.

  “Are there any of the other men with Uncle Simon?” I asked. The thought of the men around last night’s fire made my stomach feel funny. I tried not to cry. Auntie Xena put the compress that she made with the hot tea onto my cheek. I’m not sure whether it was the heat from the tea, the ice in the stare of Mitya’s blue eyes that now gave them a steel grey cast or the terror of Uncle Simon’s name that made me do it. I found myself sobbing on Auntie’s shoulder confessing last night’s whole adventure. Reluctantly, Mitya filled in the details I missed.

  “You two must not come out till Uncle Simon goes away. Don’t be afraid. Uncle Misha knows what to do. He’ll make sure you two are safe.”

  Auntie Xena left the room. Mitya and I glumly sat on the floor leaning against the sewing machine. We strained our ears, trying to make out what was being said in the discussion on the grass outside. We could only catch the odd word of the muffled conversation till it became a low drone. We must have fallen asleep listening. It was late afternoon when the brightness of the sun’s rays woke me. My cheek was stinging and the skin felt like someone was pulling at the scrape. I was stiff from the awkward position in which I had gone to sleep. It seemed strangely quiet except for a bustling sound that was coming from the big room of the house.

  “Wake up.” I nudged Mitya. “I’m starving. Let’s go see if there’s anything left from breakfast.”

  He curled himself up into a tighter ball and rolled away. Lying there on Auntie’s floor, he looked so small and helpless — like one of the younger cousins that Xenkovna would rock to sleep in the evening as her mother mended. His rich brown curls had settled down a bit and framed the face that now looked like an angel as his eyes were closed and not shooting blue sparks of rage or defence.

  He is so beautiful, I thought as I sat and stared at him breathing peacefully. I had a strange urge to put my arms around him, but couldn’t find the courage.

  “What are you staring at? Is Uncle Simon gone away yet?”

  He woke up so abruptly that I jumped back.

  “I don’t know. We’ll have to go out and see. It sure is quiet. Do you want to eat anything or not? I’m hungry.”

  We went back into the big room of the house. The table was pushed back into its customary place under the east window. The remnants of breakfast were neatly stacked on the big platter under a clean, white tea towel. The holy candle still flickered in the breeze which was coming in from the open window and the embroidered rushnyk around the icon moved a little. The scent of new grass and cherry blossoms sweetened the room. I could see Auntie Lena in the sleeping corner but she had her back to me and looked like she was doing something with her own blankets.

  “I’ll get us a drink from the pitcher,” I said. “They’ve probably gone to the pasture to show Uncle Simon the new calf.” I brought two glasses of water and two plates to the table. We sat down and ate from the platter as if we had never seen the food before.

  “I’m going to build a house just like this one day,” Mitya said.

  “And I’m going to marry someone just like Uncle Misha, He’ll have a house like this too.”

  “Not if you keep on with your wild antics.” Auntie Lena emerged from the sleeping bench in the corner, her tied bundle of clothing in her arms. “You’ll be the downfall of all of us and bring ruin onto this home — you wait and see.” She didn’t look at me but gave Mitya the evil eye. I swear she was the Baba Yaga herself, just for a moment. When I looked away, I saw Mitya’s fingers crossed in his lap as if to find some protection from the woman in front of him.

  “Why don’t you just go home,” Mitya said. “You’re a hateful old biddy that’s mad because she has no Children of her own. I hear the Babas talking about you at the well every day. They know you want Philipovna to work for you— we all do. None of them can figure out how Auntie Xena even lets you step a foot into her house.”

  She charged across the room and slapped his face with all of her might.

  “You’d better watch it, boy,” she said. “The Uncles have decided to protect you, but I don’t have to. You’re lucky we’re leaving first thing in the morning or we’d be having more to say to Simon and his little helpers. At least they have their heads on straight and have already joined the kolhosp. If Misha had any brains, he’d give up this independence nonsense and do what’s best for his Children, his family and his country. And you’d better keep a good eye on that crazy Mama of yours too.”

  She grabbed me by the shoulder and leaned right down into my face. Her hot breath felt like it would burn my other cheek.

  “Just remember one thing, you ungrateful little wench. If you ever need a piece of bread, I’ll eat it in front of you and watch you drool before I ever offer you one more thing.”

  She took her bundle and was gone.

  “Uncle Simon is part of the collective,” Mitya said.

  “I thought he and Uncle Misha were friends ... on the same side.” I sat in my chair, stunned, watching the print of Auntie Lena’s hand appear red on Mitya’s cheek.

  “Oh, your poor face,” I finally whispered.

  “Never mind, we’ll both have to use Auntie’s medicine bowl now.” He touched his fingers to the handprint on his face dramatically. And for some unknown reason, we started to laugh — not a fun happy laugh — but one that releases feelings the likes of which one doesn’t even know one has. I was the first to recover.

  “I better put these things away,” I said, covering what was left on the platter. “Do you want more water?”

  “No, we should go see where everyone is. It’s very quiet.”

  We stepped out onto the grass where the adults’ tea things still sat on the table. Auntie Lena was rummaging around in her wagon, but no one else was in sight. I wanted to ask where everyone else was, but I didn’t want to look into those eyes of hers in case she really would do something terrible to Mitya and me.

  “Where could they have all gone?” Mitya asked. “What about Mama?”

  “It’s milking time soon,” I said. “Look how low the sun is. They must have walked with Uncle to get the cow.”

  “All of them?”

  “Maybe Xenkovna took the cousins for a walk in the orchard to look for nightingale nests or to the river to hunt for tadpoles.”

  “Maybe, but the Uncles wouldn’t go for that.”

  We walked toward the pasture. The warmth of the sun felt good on my shoulders. I breathed in deeply. I could smell the wild flowers that bloomed by the path. The fragrance of Uncle Paulo’s cherry orchard and the river mixed into the familiar scent of our village in spring. Just as we reached the pasture, we met Xenkovna and the cousins. They were carrying an old tin full of water with at least a dozen tadpoles swimming in it.

  “I ate your holy egg,” Viktor said. “I hope you’re not mad at me.”

  I laughed and pinched his rosy cheek.

  “Did they find her?” Xenkovna asked.

  “Find who?” Mitya and I asked at the same time.

  “The Unravelled One — sorry, I mean your Mama.”

  “What do you mean?” Mitya asked.

  “Your Mama. Uncle Simon and Uncle Paulo came while you were sleeping. They asked a bunch of questions and wanted to talk to you. They said that someone tried to kill Uncle Ivan with a stone at the river last night. Tahto said that
the two of you were asleep and that, since you were Children and they were adults, they should speak to him. He would tell them what they wanted to know.”

  Mitya’s face paled.

  “What does all of that have to do with Mama?”

  “Nothing,” Xenkovna said. “Except that she tried to tell them that you didn’t know anything and that they couldn’t take you away from her. She was crying and making those strange sounds that she does — you know the ones that make her look, you know how she looks. Uncle Simon told her to shut up because this was man’s business since you were trying to be such a big man. Mama took her around to the well and bathed her face to try to calm her down, but the Children came out just then, and we had to figure out what to do with them. We decided that I would take them for a hike and Mama would look after your Mama. By the time we collected the Children and got ready to go, your Mama disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Yes, one minute I saw her by the well with Auntie Lena and the next minute, after I tied Viktor’s shoe, she was gone. Mama told me to keep the Children busy while she went to get the Unravelled One back.”

  “Maybe she went home,” I said.

  “I’m going to look,” Mitya said. “You stay with Xenkovna.”

  “Oh no. I’m coming with you.”

  “Maybe you’d better not,” Xenkovna said.

  “I’m going. What if something happened to her? Mitya might need me to help him.”

  “I think Mama wouldn’t like you to be wandering around the village after last night,” Xenkovna said. “You’ll get in trouble if you do.”

  “I’m going anyway. If something happens, Mitya can stay with his Mama and I can run for help.”

  She could see that I was determined to go and that Mitya was barely able to stand still while we argued. She waved her hand in acquiescence and turned back to her other charges who were already starting to scatter in all directions.

  Mitya and I cut across the pasture towards his home.

  Memory Eternal

  MITYA RACED THROUGH the fields like one running away from a chort who would steal his soul. As I scrambled after him, crawling under the fences he jumped over and through the bushes he pushed aside, my breath came in hot bursts and the taste of panic burned my throat. The delicate sunset behind us faded and the moon rose again. I was sure the spirits would catch me, unless Uncle Paulo or Uncle Simon did first. A cool breeze stirred the budding branches with a clammy breath that conjured every ghost that lived in my childish imagination. The magic of the night before had gone and the black shadows of the branches pointed their accusing fingers at us as we rushed toward the Unravelled One’s cottage. We almost ran into Auntie Xena who was coming down the path from the other direction.

  “Is she here?” Mitya said, gasping.

  “Bless you, Child. Take a breath,” she said. “The Uncles are looking all over for her. Does she have a place she likes to hide? We’ve searched the gardens and pastures — and she’s not in the old shed where your Tahto used to keep the cows.”

  “Did you— did anyone check Tahto’s grave? She likes to talk to him when she’s scared.” Mitya rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

  “Uncle Misha is looking there now. The others have gone into the woods. Does she have a special place there?”

  Mitya’s face contorted with the effort of trying not to cry.

  “Oh my darling boy, you’re far too young to suffer so.” She put her hand gently on his shoulder. “God will keep you if you have faith.”

  “What happened to Mama?”

  “Simon and Paulo were asking so many questions. She was getting shaky; you know the way she gets before she starts crying. I knew that wouldn’t do so I took her for a walk. It seemed to make her feel better. When we got back, I took her to the well to bathe her face and get a drink. Uncle Misha called for more food and drink so I sent Lena to look after her while I put more bread and vodka out. When I came back, the little ones were awake and she was gone. Lena said that she just got up and walked away from her.”

  “Did Auntie Lena say anything to Mama?” Mitya asked. “She doesn’t like us, you know.”

  They stood there for what seemed a long time, saying much more with their eyes than I could have possibly understood, then he jerked his shoulder away roughly.

  “I can’t just stand here, snivelling like a baby. I have to follow them.”

  “Get your coat before you go,” Auntie said. “And let’s find a shawl or something for Philipovna. I’ll take a lantern.”

  I had often played in the unkempt yard of the Unravelled One’s cottage but was never invited in. Though I had wondered what was inside, on this night, beneath the rising moon, I didn’t want to find out. The weathered old cottage with its thatched roof was surrounded by a tangle of blackcurrant bushes. The wayward birch tree that shaded the broken-down bench on a summer’s day stood ready with its skeletal arms hungry for some Child to grab and give to the forest demons as a tasty morsel for a vernal feast. The door hung crookedly on its hinges and the darkness behind the glint of the cracked glass in the only small window offered no welcome as I stood shivering in the cool evening. I was sure the chicken feet that Baba Yaga’s cottages were built on were hidden by the pile of wood that was stacked by the door.

  Auntie Xena stepped inside while I hung back at the threshold. The moonlight coming through the small window illuminated what could easily pass for a Baba Yaga’s cottage. A pile of old blankets lay strewn in the corner of one of the sleeping benches. I could see the eerie shadow of a broom leaning precariously in the corner. An old looking glass hung over the small table showing a spotty reflection of moonlight.

  The fire was out and dirty dishes with dried out chicken bones still on them stood scattered on the table.

  “What if the chort came and sucked out her heart?” I blurted.

  “Hush Child, you mustn’t speak of such things at a time like this. You might tempt the evil spirits,” Auntie Xena said. “God will protect all of us.” She quickly crossed herself three times as if to make sure God would.

  But Mitya didn’t hear; he was flinging things about, trying to find his coat as if looking for things in the dark was something he was used to.

  “Where’s the lantern?” Auntie Xena asked.

  “Behind the door. It might not have kerosene. We haven’t used it for at least two weeks.”

  Auntie rummaged behind the door and managed to coax what kerosene was left out of a rusty can. “That’s better,” she said as the feeble flame finally blossomed in the lantern. “Is there anything missing? If she took something with her, it might give us a hint as to where she’s gone.”

  Mitya shook his unruly curls.

  “Now what can I find to put around Philipovna?”

  I didn’t want to be wrapped in anything from this place. Everything was covered in dust. Spider webs hung from the corners; the embroidered rushnyk framing the old icon on the east wall was torn and yellow with age. Dirty rags that filled large cracks in the wall to keep the cold away splayed out like tentacles trying to grab me. Uncle Misha’s stable smelled more fragrant than did this cottage that my beloved cousin called home.

  “Look on the nails by the sleeping benches,” Mitya said. He was rifling through a wooden box.

  “I’m getting Tahto’s knife,” he said. “If I see either of those two old pigs, I’ll run them through if it’s the last thing I do. Tahto would expect no less.”

  “Please, my son, don’t speak that way. I’m sure your Mama just wandered off into the woods and lost herself.”

  “She loves the woods. She would never get lost, especially at night. The night fairies are her friends. They give her protection wherever she goes.”

  Auntie picked through some dark garments which were carelessly tossed onto the nails. She shook out a black triangle shawl and bits of thatch flew about her head like a swarm of fruit flies round an over-ripe apple.

  “This will work. Come, Philipov
na.”

  I stayed where I was, still on the threshold, shivering.

  “I don’t want that! It belongs to the Baba Yaga.”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s just a wool shawl and will keep you warm. Please be good and put it on so we can move on and find Mitya’s Mama.”

  I shook my head.

  She sighed.

  “All right. Take mine. I’ll wear this one. It’s probably left from the time the Unravelled One still lived in her own home, before the soldiers kicked them out.”

  She took off her shawl and put it over my shoulders. I snuggled into it, but I didn’t feel warmer. My skin felt creepy and I was afraid that some bugs or spiders that I didn’t see in the gloomy light of the lamp may have fallen on it. Auntie picked up the black thing and put it around her own shoulders.

  “We’re ready to go,” she said, turning to Mitya. As she turned, I caught a glimpse of her in the looking glass — but it wasn’t her reflection. I saw Mitya’s Mama. Her face was smashed and pussy willow branches were placed behind her. The sound of the river roared in my ears. It felt as if my screaming would never end. I started running.

  I don’t know what possessed me or gave me the strength to run but run I did, down the path from which we had come, across the pasture that was now lit by the rising moon. I didn’t hesitate when I came to Uncle Paulo’s orchard, but kept running, straight into Uncle Misha who was returning from the graveyard.

  “Ho, Philipovna, What’s the hurry?”

  “I saw her. I know where she is. I saw in the mirror — her face her head — all blood.”

  I stumbled into his big arms and sputtered into his chest, my sobs coming so hard and fast that I lost my balance.

  “Easy daughter,” Uncle said. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Is the Unravelled One hurt? Did you find her?”

  “No. We didn’t find her— but ... but I know she’s bleeding. I saw her, saw her in the mirror— she’s by the river.”

  I huddled closer to him, shivering and sobbing while he tried to make sense of what I was saying. I didn’t hear Auntie and Mitya approach.