The Silence of Trees (10 page)

"Mama? Are you okay?" Katya put a hand on my shoulder. "You have tears in your eyes. What’s the matter?"

"Nothing," I snapped. "Can’t an old woman just weep sometimes? I’ve lived a whole lifetime, you know. I have a lot to cry about."

Katya stepped back and walked back into the kitchen without a word. I had pushed her away. But how could she understand? How could anyone understand? Ana would have understood, but Ana was dead. Amazing that in a house so full, I felt so alone.

I looked again toward the kitchen. My mama always called it "the heart of the home." As children, we sat around the hearth fire, huddled together under Baba’s blanket, her scents captured in the fabric: thick and sweet, lilacs and mint, coffee and onions. Mama would tell us stories to chase the cold into the farthest corners of the cottage.

Because of the harvest, Tato had gone into town to try to sell our wheat and potatoes. He had left before dawn. I remember standing at the window with my sisters, waving goodbye. The sky had been heavy, the air still. Mama whispered, "A storm is coming. Quick, girls, back to bed."

As we ran to our bed, she said a prayer and made the Sign of the Cross in the direction of town, "Guardian Angel, help keep him safe on his journey."

Mama then crawled into bed with us, and we lay curled together in sleep for a few more hours until it was time to wake up and do our morning chores. The rains came at midday, so we stayed in the house, cleaning to pass the time. Laryssa and I scrubbed the stove. Maria and Mama washed the walls and floors. Halya collected any feathers that were falling out of the blanket and pillows so Mama could sew them back inside.

"Just think how happy your Tato will be when he comes home to find such a clean house," Mama said, resting her chin on the broom.

"Girls, it’s important to have a clean house. That way you keep your husband satisfied, and you keep the evil spirits from entering. They don’t like a house whose table has no crumbs. But they love a house filled with lazy children." She lifted the broom over her head and made a face, chasing us around the house, while we hid giggling.

By the time we had finished eating supper, the night was heavy with thunder. Little Halya was afraid to go to sleep, so Mama gathered us near the hearth and heated milk and honey for us to drink.

Mama sat down in Baba’s old rocking chair, picked up Halya and placed her on her lap. Maria, Laryssa, and I sat together, Baba’s blanket covering the three of us. Mama gave Halya a squeeze and looked at Maria.

"Maria, you’re already a little lady. Would you pour the sweet milk into mugs for your sisters?"

At thirteen, Maria already looked just like our Mama. She was tall and thin like a young birch, with light olive skin and hazel eyes like Mama’s. Maria always wanted to mother us, making sure we did our chores if Mama was away. Giving us lessons if we had nothing to do. Whenever we played, Maria would have to be the mother and we were her children. We always misbehaved, and she would punish us by making us stand on our knees and say the Hail Mary. More than anything, Maria wanted to get married and have a lot of babies.

After she carefully poured our sweet milk, Maria settled into the spot between me and Laryssa. Mama began to rock back and forth.

"Halya, my sweet little rabbit, I’m going to tell you and your sisters a story that my Mama, your Baba, told me when I was a little girl. Once upon a time before people lived on Earth, there was a glorious garden filled with beautiful flowers and plants. There were fields of poppies and lilacs—"

"Baba’s favorites," I whispered, and Laryssa shushed me.

"—raspberry bushes and dewberry," Mama continued. "So many flowers of all different shades and scents. But the most beautiful of all was the single white Rose that grew in the center of the garden, a queen among the others. She would rise each morning while the other flowers slept, and tilt her head up toward the Sun so she could feel his warm rays upon her petals.

"Well, the Sun had watched the Rose grow from a tiny blossom, and each morning when she stretched out her petals, she grew even lovelier. The Sun slept each night dreaming of her and arose each morning to shine even more brightly. You see, the handsome Sun had fallen in love with the pretty young flower, but he could not gather the courage to even whisper a hello. Instead he sat in the sky, shining brightly above her. Each time she tilted her head toward the sky, he would send all of his rays to dance upon her milky white petals.

"One day, when the Rose awoke, threw back her head and tussled her leaves, the Sun was so overcome by her beauty that he could no longer keep silent.

"‘Hello down there, lovely creature,’ he shouted in his deep, warm voice.

"The Rose, however, was taught not to speak with strangers, so she coyly looked down from the Sun’s bright gaze.

"‘Lovely Rose,’ he continued, ‘Do not look away. For if I could no longer look upon you, my heart would break and the world would forever be covered in darkness.’

"The Rose quickly looked up in alarm. She could not imagine a world without the Sun, for she too had long been admiring his handsome face, rosy cheeks, and long yellow curls that stretched toward the earth.

"‘Lovely Rose,’ the Sun said, ‘I have watched you for many long mornings, and now I have something to tell you. I have seen beauty throughout the world, but never have I seen a more radiant creature than the one white Rose in the heart of this garden. I could gaze upon you for all eternity. You are the most beautiful of all the Earth’s creatures. I have fallen in love with you.’

"At this, the Rose began to blush, and as the color spread through her petals, it stained them bright red. This is how she remained forever, blushing with love for the handsome Sun. And when her daughters were born, they all carried the mark of their parents’ love: bright red from the true love their mother and father shared for all eternity. This, my daughters, is why roses are red."

I slept that night, my face buried in Mama’s shoulder, dreaming of a magical Sun and true love, certain that both existed.

CHAPTER
SIX

"Why are you smiling, Baba? What are you thinking about?" Lesya came inside and stood behind me. I worried that she wouldn’t come after our big fight, but there she was. She slipped her arms around my waist. "You’re so lost in thought these days."

I turned around and looked at her in her green suit, her hair in long brown curls. She smelled like sandalwood.

"My, you look pretty today. Your mama said you had a meeting?" I smoothed away the hair that always fell into her eyes.

"Some students got together to study for a big exam that we have tomorrow morning. On the politics of the Middle East." She pulled off her black leather heels and took a step toward the kitchen.

"Thank you for not slamming the door," I said. "I hate that sound."

"Sure," she said, and shrugged her shoulders.

I watched as she went to Pavlo and kissed the top of his balding head, but he stiffened.

"Hi, Dido," she said, giving him a hug, but he ignored her and reached across the table for the butter.

"Hey kiddo, where’s my hug?" Katya asked, and Lesya walked over and gave her aunt a hug and a kiss. Katya had always been perceptive, sensing things that others did not. Like my Baba. When Katya was born in Germany, somewhere in the distance outside the barracks, I heard the chiming of tiny bells. Still wet with birth, Katya watched me closely even though newborns weren’t supposed to be able to see much. I saw the birthmark on her right thigh, and I knew that hers was going to be a different kind of life. I named her for my Aunt Katia, Mama’s sister, the one who drowned. I hoped this Katya would have a happier life.

Lesya walked around to greet everyone else, then sat down across from her grandfather, avoiding his eyes. I walked back into the kitchen, pulled out her favorite mug from the cupboard and poured her a coffee, with two spoons of sugar and just a touch of milk. I set it down in front of her along with a slice of my kolach.

"Eat up, skinny one. There’s not enough meat on these bones."

Katya nudged her. "So, are you going to stay and paint pysanky with me today? Maybe we can convince your Aunt Zirka to join us. How about it, Sis? Can you fit us into your busy schedule?"

Zirka looked over at her husband, who raised his eyebrows and pointed to his watch.

"Sorry, Katya. Pete and I have a business thing."

I looked again at Peter, who was nodding. So fragile for a man. If his ulcer wasn’t acting up, then his teeth were hurting. He was always on some kind of new diet. No milk, no cheese, no butter, no eggs, no wheat. Lately it was no gluten. At least I didn’t cook with gluten, whatever that was. No wonder he was so skinny. My children ate everything, and they never got allergies. America. Suddenly everyone has food, but they can’t eat.

"I’m not sure if I can stay," Lesya said into the coffee cup she was holding up to her mouth. She hadn’t even taken a bite of the kolach.

"Why not, Lesya?" I stood behind her, playing with her hair. "You said last week that you would stay. I don’t know how many more Easters I’ll be around for. Maybe one more, maybe not."

"Oh, Baba. You’ve been saying that for the last fifteen years." She reached over to pet Khvostyk.

"If you don’t want to stay, then don’t," I said.

"Lesya, you can stay for a while, can’t you?’ Anna asked, although it was more of a demand than a question.

"Fine, Mom, but just for a little while." Lesya cut the kolach on her plate into tiny pieces before eating them one at a time. I smiled. That’s exactly how her father, Taras, ate his breads and cakes: cutting them first into tiny squares, so they lasted longer.

I wondered if she knew how much they had in common. My son would have loved to have gone to college. I wondered if she realized how lucky she is. Probably not, I thought. The young are anxious and never really satisfied. That’s what keeps them always reaching forward, trying to change things.

If only things had been different, maybe I could have gone to the university. If only things had been different. But then I would not have them all here, my children.

All at once, everyone began glancing down at their watches, making excuses for why they had to leave. So quickly the spell was broken. Reaching over, I kissed little Pavlyk once more on the head, then stood up to prepare care packages. As usual, I had too many leftovers.

"Christina, don’t forget to take your torte," I said.

"My hands are already full of Ukrainian newspapers for recycling," she replied. "Mark, grab the torte."

I saw Anna trying to get away without a care package.

"Take something, Anna. I have too much and it will go bad." I piled pompushky on a plate and covered them with aluminum foil. "Here, take these for Tanya." I divided up the rest and handed out plates and plastic bags.

Then they were gone. Even Pavlo snuck outside, no doubt to have a cigarette or to play in the garden. Katya went to her car to get the supplies for painting pysanky. Only Lesya remained seated in the kitchen, drinking her coffee. I began to wash the dishes, waiting for her to speak first. I learned long ago that silence could be the strongest prompt.

But she didn’t say anything; she just stared into her coffee cup. Katya came in and placed a large box on the kitchen table.

"Katya, not on the crumbs," I said. "I haven’t wiped down the table yet. Please put that in the dining room."

When she came back, she helped me dry the dishes.

"So, Ma, are you going to help? It’s been a long time since you painted eggs."

"No, Katya. Pysanky are not my art. I thought that I would embroider while you and your niece painted." I motioned toward Lesya, but Katya just shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

After the dishes were done and put away, we moved into the dining room. Katya took charge, clearing the table of my vase of dried flowers, my favorite blue glass candlesticks, the faded leather photo albums. I let her do this; it was her ritual.

"Mama, do you mind if I cover the table with this cloth? It will protect the wood from the melting wax; plus I like to work on it." She pulled out a beautiful yellow cloth embroidered along the edges with an elaborate design of trees and birds.

"Did you embroider these?" I asked, running my fingers along the delicate green and blue threads.

"No, my friend Robin did those for me. It was a birthday present." She carefully spread out the cloth and set cast-iron candleholders—heavy bowl-like containers—upon it.

"Are you sure they won’t scratch the table?"

Katya groaned softly. "No, Mama. They will not scratch the table."

In each iron holder, she placed a thick white candle. "Sit down, Mama, Lesya." She went into the kitchen to prepare the dye in glass jars. I rummaged around in my cabinet for my latest embroidery. A blouse for Lesya, but she didn’t know about it yet. Lesya went to the porch and came back, having changed into jeans and a bright green sweater. The color made her eyes glow.

She sat at one end of the table and began to braid her hair. I sat down across from her, watching her lips pouted in determination. How much she reminded me of my littlest sister, or at least how I imagined Halya would have looked if she’d lived into her twenties.