“Oh, thank you Godfather,” I said. “I’d much rather have the sweet.”
He grinned over his shoulder and was gone up the path to the barn with his bedroll under his arm.
Auntie came out from the house with some sheets in her hand.
“Come Philipovna, don’t stand there. Help me with these tables. The dinner is ready. No doubt, the men are hungry. They’ll want to go to the fields once they’ve eaten.”
“Is Auntie Lena here?”
She shook her head sadly. I didn’t dare ask any more questions. The memories of Auntie Lena on Easter Sunday still stung painfully. I helped Auntie Xena spread the sheets over the tables which she and Xenkovna had placed under our birch in the yard. I carried out plates of bread and bowls of potatoes. The borscht was ready and the chickens smelled spicy from the oven. A small crock of freshly pickled dill cucumbers tempted my taste buds and a fresh salad with ripe tomatoes made my stomach gurgle. It felt like a holiday.
“Let us pray,” Godfather said once we were all seated.
“We’ll eat and then go to see how you two have managed with the hay,” Uncle Misha said after Godfather finished praying.
Michael and Alexander were puffed out with pride. They had worked very hard while Uncle was gone.
“You’ll see, Tahto,” Alexander said. “We’re old enough to earn our keep.” He rubbed the crust of his bread with a clove of garlic.
They ate heartily and were off to the field before I had a chance to ask any questions or say anything about what happened while they were gone. The holiday feeling disappeared quickly as we washed dishes, put the little ones down for their afternoon nap and started on making supper right away. Not only was there more than the usual number of mouths to feed, but also Auntie and Xenkovna made varenyky with potato and cheese stuffing like they did at Easter. They baked pyrizhky with poppy seeds inside them. I was sent for smetana, vegetables, another egg for this or that or anything that was needed to keep the cooking going. The kitchen was hot in the late summer afternoon.
“We can’t save on hospitality,” Auntie said. “We have opened our homes to strangers since the days of our ancestors and have always offered them the best of what we have. I could never forgive myself if I didn’t feed those hard-working men with the best from my kitchen.”
While we worked from morning till night, the men were busy reaping the wheat and setting it up into shocks in windrows so that it could dry properly for the threshing. I wished to be out of the hot kitchen, in the fields with the men so that I could see how it was done, but Auntie always found something for me to do before I could slip away. I collapsed into deep sleep from the hard work each night, and so the week flew by, until it was the night before the men returned home.
As we sat down for our after-supper tea, under the early evening stars, I breathed in the fragrant air, sucking in the smell of the newly-mown wheat. It was so peaceful out here after the food was cleared and the dishes were washed. One of the visitors played his accordion and Uncle Misha strummed his guitar. They played as the rest of us sang in the summer dusk. I wondered if the stars looked like this in Godfather’s village. A rumbling sound coming up the main path pulled me out of my daydreams.
“Oh, no,” I cried. “I forgot to tell you. Oh, Uncle I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you that I saw some army men.”
But it was too late. Comrade Zabluda and some men we had never seen before were marching up the path toward the garden.
“Good evening,” Comrade Zabluda called as he approached the gate.
I saw Auntie send a desperate look in Uncle Misha’s direction as he got up to greet the Comrade. He did not open the gate.
Uncle George tugged at his moustache.
“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” Uncle Misha’s words were civil but his voice was as cold as the winter wind.
“Nothing in particular,” Comrade Zabluda answered lightly. “We’re driving around, enjoying this summer evening and checking how the wheat grows.”
“Well enough,” Uncle answered.
“All of these young men,” Comrade Zabluda said, waving his arm in our visitors’ direction. “Here to help with the threshing, I presume.”
“Presume what you will, Comrade. We’ve had a long day in the field so it would be best for us to get down to business.”
“No business,” Comrade Zabluda said. “I’m checking out what fields are being worked and how the kolhosp will look once you come to your senses and acquiesce.”
Uncle Misha’s face turned purple with rage.
“Well,” Godfather said as he sauntered up to the two men at the gate, “if there’s no business, Comrade Zabluda, you’ll excuse us. We have an early day tomorrow and you know us peasants, we love to get our sleep.”
“I suppose you do,” the Comrade said, never taking his eyes off Uncle Misha’s face. “Remember, in a couple of weeks we’ll be around to pick up our allotments. I can see how much is in your field so don’t cheat our glorious Mother Russia.” He turned on his heel and was rumbling off in the truck before any of us could say another word.
“Oh Auntie,” I sobbed. “I saw the truck drive by the day that Uncle came home, and I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry. It was so busy and ...” I sat with the unchecked tears flowing down my cheeks, but I didn’t really understand why I was crying or why I felt so guilty.
“Hush Child,” she said. “They would have come whether you had seen them or not.”
But Uncle was angry.
“You saw the truck and you didn’t say anything?” he demanded. “I meant to,” I said, sniffling. “But you and everyone came, and we were all so busy.”
“You’re lucky all of these people are here,” he said. “Otherwise, you’d get a good strapping. Whenever you see anyone around here, you must tell me, and tell me right away.”
“Take it easy, Misha,” Godfather said. “She’s a Child. She doesn’t understand it all.”
Uncle Misha poured a round of vodka for all. He didn’t say one more word to me that night.
The next morning, the men packed the wagons and went off to Uncle George’s village to return the favours that we had been receiving all week. This time, it was Mitya who stayed home to look after the chores. There was nothing to do in the quiet fields that they left behind but wait for the wheat to dry. Auntie and Mitya dug out some potatoes and buried them in sand so that they would keep till we needed them for the table. She taught me how to make an onion braid. She and Mitya dug out the onions and trimmed their roots.
“Make sure you braid it nice and tight,” she said. I braided the green tops together, with the onions still attached, into a long string that looked like a necklace for a giant. When it dried the tops would contract and harden into a strong natural cord that could support a string of onions up to two meters long. My hands, arms and hair smelled like onions.
“You have good hands,” Auntie said. “We will dig the onions and you can braid them so we can hang them from the rafters. Whenever we need an onion, we can cut one or two off and we’re on our way. There’s a good crop of them this year. When the garlic is ripe, you can braid that as well. Maybe Uncle’s right. We’ll have plenty to eat this winter.”
But seeing my beautiful onion braids didn’t cheer me up. I felt restless, like a black cloud was hanging over my head. I went to the river, to the orchard and into the woods, but could find no comfort.
“For Heaven’s sake Child,” Auntie said. “What’s got into you?
Find something to do. I can’t stand to see you mope around so.”
Before long, Uncle and the men came back to thresh the grain. They managed to borrow a threshing machine from one of Godfather’s friends in his village. This time, I did have a chance to see how the wheat was harvested. It went down the conveyer belt of the threshing machine where it was separated. The grain was forced into two pipes and was put into storage. The chaff was blown the other way and the straw was collected. If you were standing in the direct
ion from which the wind was blowing your eyes and nose burned from its dust.
“It feels worse than smoke,” I said to Mitya.
“Then stand up wind from it,” he said, “and your eyes should feel better.”
It smelled so pungent and fresh and the straw so sweet and welcoming. I knew the cow and horses would be warm and dry this winter. Yet, there was an overwhelming sadness that wouldn’t give me peace.
“Good Heavens,” Auntie said one day. “What has gotten into you? You haven’t been so sullen since you arrived. Are you sick?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “It feels sad somehow, like something is going to happen.”
“Have you seen anything unusual?” she asked.
“No, Auntie, it just feels scary.”
I did see more army trucks in the village. As the days mellowed into early autumn, more trucks and more strange men came. Most of them stayed near the kolhosp, but every once in a while a truck would wander up this path or that. Uncle said that, although they were trying to make it look like random visits, he was sure that the army was tallying up the harvest and deciding how much they could take. We settled into our fall activities and prepared for school. I wasn’t looking forward to going as the memories of the snake Asimov were just as painful as those of Auntie Lena. Uncle made me start reading and reciting again and made me help Viktor learn some letters even though he wouldn’t be going to school for at least another full year.
“You can never read too early,” he said.
One Saturday afternoon, Uncle Paulo came to our yard asking for Uncle Misha. He told him that all of the men were ordered to appear in the centre of town.
“They’ve commanded every household head to be present,” Uncle Paulo said. “You can’t refuse. If you don’t come with me, they’ll come down hard on me, too.”
Uncle Misha put on his hat and followed Uncle Paulo down the path. What else could he do? Auntie crossed herself and whispered a prayer after him.
The afternoon dragged on, but there was no sign of Uncle Misha. Suppertime came and went, but Uncle Misha did not come home. The boys did the chores without him. The little ones were put to bed and still the rest of us sat around the fireplace waiting. I passed the time by practising my recitation, but I kept making mistakes and even Auntie’s endless patience was tested.
“I hope nothing happened to him,” I said.
“Keep praying,” Auntie said.
I finally dozed off and only realized that Uncle was home when I heard Auntie’s crying and Uncle’s agitated voice.
“They want more than last year,” he said, fuming. “We had hardly enough to survive the winter. We told the greedy pigs that we can’t survive with that much of an increase, but they won’t listen.”
“What if the women tell them?”
“Funny that you should say that,” he said. “You know how sharp that old witch Katerina can be. She gave them a piece of her mind. They tried to shut her down and only succeeded when they threatened her with violence. Ivan threatened to knock her teeth out and that dreadful Zabluda only stepped in when it looked like Ivan was really going to do it.”
“Oh my God, is Katerina all right?”
“I think so, but there’s no doubt that she has been shaken up. The Comrades have also told us that we need a passport to leave our village.”
“A passport? Why?”
“I don’t know. They said that we can’t leave the area without papers now.”
“But we’ve never had papers before. I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either. Let’s go to bed. Tomorrow’s another day. We’ll have lots of time to think it over then.”
Sunday morning dawned crisp and blue with a promise of the coming autumn. We started our day with the usual chores and a quiet breakfast. Auntie insisted on Bible readings and prayer although I could see that no one’s heart was really in it. We were reading the parable in Matthew, the one about the wheat and the tares.
“I wish the Party would see with their eyes and hear with their ears the way God says we ought to,” Auntie said.
“That’s asking for too much,” Uncle Misha said. “These barbarians are more likely to be the enemy that sows weeds among the good seed, if they sow anything at all. Besides, the Party doesn’t acknowledge God. They say He’s nothing but a useless myth, a fairy-tale.”
“But that’s blasphemy,” she said. “We should still be thankful for the wonderful harvest this year.”
“Let’s hope there’ll be some of the harvest left for us to enjoy.”
“Can I go to play now?” I asked. “It’s so lovely out today.”
“I suppose so,” Auntie said. “You’re all not really paying attention anyway.”
She tucked the Bible back into her trunk and put on some tea.
Before the water boiled, we heard Sharik barking.
“They’re coming! They’re coming.” Mitya burst in through the kitchen door.
Then the sound of rumbling trucks came up the path.
“It’s early for visiting, isn’t it?” Uncle Misha said.
“You better go see who it is,” Auntie said.
A loud thumping on the door let us know that it wasn’t a friendly neighbour.
“Hold up your suspenders,” Uncle Misha said. “I’m coming.” He signalled for the rest of us to stay inside as he stepped out of the door.
We moved closer to watch and listen. I could see Comrade Zabluda coming across the yard.
“We’re here for your contribution to the Party,” he said. “The men will have it now.”
Comrade Zabluda led about twenty men towards the barn. Uncle Misha was quicker and beat them to the door. He stood his full two metre height with his shoulders pushed back and stared right back at Comrade Zabluda with eyes so dark that they were navy blue. For the first time, I noticed that the hair at his temples was tinged with silver.
“This is my barn. You’ll have to take me first,” he said.
Comrade Zabluda punched Uncle Misha square in the belly. Before Uncle could do anything to fight back, two other men grabbed him and pinned him against the wall of his barn. Michael and Alexander pushed past Auntie and tried to defend their father, but the men who were closer to the house grabbed them and wouldn’t let them near the fight. Mitya darted around them but was tripped by a man with shoulders like an ox who pinned him and wouldn’t let him go, no matter how much Mitya struggled. Uncle Misha fought like a trapped bear. Two more men hit him with their fists and batons. His nose started to bleed. More blood oozed from a gash on the side of his jaw but he kept on struggling.
“Easy boys,” Comrade Zabluda said. “I want him to see whose barn this is. Stand him up so that he can watch.”
They hauled out grain and hay till the trucks they brought were full. Then they filled Uncle’s wagon.
“What are you doing with my wagon?” Uncle Misha asked.
“The Party needs it,” Comrade Zabluda said. “Hitch up his horses.” He waved to two of his men.
“I’ll drive the hay wherever you want it,” Uncle Misha said angrily. “But the horses and wagon are mine. And release my boys this instant.” He started fighting with the soldiers again.
“You’re not driving any horses anywhere,” Comrade Zabluda said. “You had your chance. Now we’re driving them for you.”
The Comrade pulled out his pistol from its holster so quickly that I gasped in horror. “I tell you the Party needs them. The kolhosp needs them and if you’re not willing to surrender them, the Party will show you how to do it. Now, do you have any more peasant wisdom to teach those who know more than you do?”
He aimed the barrel of the pistol right between Uncle Misha’s eyes.
“Are you brave warriors taking this all in?” He motioned towards the cousins and their captors.
Auntie started screaming. Xenkovna was crying too. The rest of us simply stood rooted in place as if we were made of stone.
“Don’t kill him, don’t shoot,�
�� she rushed out of the house, got down on her knees and begged. “Take the wheat and hay. Just don’t shoot. Don’t shoot my husband, please! Don’t shoot my boys. I have a houseful of Children. Please!”
We stood helplessly watching as the army took most of our wheat, our hay, our horses and our wagon. Meanwhile, Comrade Zabluda always kept the gun pointed at Uncle Misha’s head. When Comrade Zabluda was satisfied that we understood his message, he lowered the pistol. He motioned his thugs to release the boy cousins. He slapped Auntie soundly across the face.
“Talk some sense into him, woman, if you value that house and the brats you have spawned in it,” he said. He pushed Uncle Misha down to the ground and walked down our path after his men.
Comrade Zabluda wasn’t out of sight before we all ran out to see if Uncle Misha was all right. He sat shaking and crying by his barn door where the army had left him. His face was swelling and his shirt was covered in blood. Alexander and Michael were the first to reach him.
“Sorry Tahto. We tried to help you,” Alexander said. He swallowed hard, holding back his tears.
“All of the hay and most of the wheat,” Uncle said. It was so terrible to watch him fighting with himself, trying to get control of his emotions. His shoulders shook and his breath came in uneven gulps.
“All that work,” he said. “All of the trouble we went to ... to get that wheat in. I don’t even know if we’ll have enough to eat and what am I going to do for seed? And my horses, my beloved horses. I trust them more than I trust most men.” His sobs were no longer controlled. “We’ve worked together every day for years! What will become of them?”
“Come,” Auntie said, unconsciously rubbing her cheek where the imprint of the slap was burning red already. “Let’s go in and have some tea. I need to clean up that wound. You look like death has reached out and touched you.”
“Maybe it has,” Uncle answered. “Those horses! A man couldn’t ask for better friends.”
“Thank God they didn’t kill one of you,” Auntie said, crossing herself and muttering a prayer. The cousins helped him to his feet and we all followed them into the house.
Philipovna Page 11