The Silence of Trees (22 page)

He knew about that letter?

"What else did Ana say?"

"Nothing. She just wanted it to be a special birthday for you. She was upset with me that I didn’t get you the tickets, but we weren’t like them. We don’t just get up and travel all around the world."

He’s right. We were not like them. I knew he didn’t take it. It was not something he could do now.

"Nadya, I trust you. After all these years, I better trust you." His voice became softer. "I did some bad things when I was young. But times were so different then."

Times were so different.

He sat back down and said, "Do you know how lucky we are?"

"Yes, we are lucky, Pavlo. Lucky to have lived as long as we have, survived all we have. But do you ever wonder what could have been? If we had never met? If we had chosen different lives?"

"No."

"No?"

"No, I don’t. You see, Nadya, you’re a romantic. You try to deny it, pretend to be practical, but you’re not. That is why you are always disappointed.

But me? I have few expectations, so when things go well, I’m surprised. I never expected to live beyond my teens. I have, and I’m happy. I never expected to find love, but I found you. I never expected to have a good life, but look at us. We have a nice house, a good family. It hasn’t always been easy, but we’ve survived so many things . . . together. Who else has been so lucky?"

I thought about the other people I knew, couples who stayed together for their children and were now too old to start looking for something different. Some husbands had wandering eyes and crafty lies. Some women were obsessed with gossip and excuses, they hid from their husbands except for meals and family visits. There were alcoholics, abusers and abused, and so many lonely people. So many people had no one to love. So many people had forgotten how to love, or maybe never learned how. During the war, we needed to hold onto something, someone. Often we turned to the person next to us, and the next thing we knew we were seventy-five years old and alone.

"Ana and Niki were happy together." I said.

"Sure, but their relationship wasn’t perfect. They were never able to have children, and all their traveling couldn’t fill that space. And look at Ana’s illness. They had their share of problems.

"Nadya, we even sleep in the same bed, the same room, after all these years. Most couples we know, as soon as the kids moved out, they each got their own room. But not us, we’re still together."

He was right. I couldn’t imagine falling asleep without Pavlo next to me. For so many years I worked the night shift, and he worked the day shift, and we never slept together except on the weekends. In our old age, I had grown spoiled by his body next to mine.

"That’s just because you keep my feet warm." I said. "As soon as they make an electric blanket that doesn’t catch fire, I’ll take over the guest room. You hog so much of the bed anyway, I’m surprised you even notice I’m there."

"How can I not notice that big behind of yours? Besides, you would miss my hugging at night and in the morning. No blanket can do that."

As he talked, I stood up and went to brew another pot of coffee.

"Sometimes I don’t know how I’ve ended up in this old body," I said.

"You have a lifetime of memories." He said

"To replace a lifetime of dreams," I said.

Memories: one for every wrinkle, every gray hair.

"But how did it happen so fast, Pavlo? I want more time, I want fifty more years."

"And what would we do with fifty more years?"

"Have adventures. Something meaningful."

"Look there," Pavlo pointed to the photographs on the wall. "We have done something meaningful with them."

"But is that enough?" I asked.

"It is for me," he answered. "Is it enough for you?"

We both looked around the room, at the walls, the table, and the photographs.

"Look at the time," I said to break the spell. "I need to clean up the house. Lesya is coming by to ask me questions about her homework."

As I was talking, Pavlo walked over, gave me a hug, and kissed the top of my head.

"I love you," he said. "Thank you for talking with me."

"Aren’t you going to have more coffee?" I asked.

"Maybe after my cigarettes," he answered and walked outside.

I stood watching the coffee fill the pot, a steady stream of dark brown. Khvostyk rubbed against my legs.

"How can one lifetime be enough?" I asked him, scratching his head while he rubbed against my legs.

Katya told me that in America cats have nine lives. If only we all had that luxury.

"So Khvostyk, is the domovyk upset with us?"

Khvostyk looked at me in earnest and let out a long meow. He must have thought I was asking him if he wanted a can of tuna. Pavlo’s theory was interesting, but I think that after living in our house for fifty years, our domovyk was probably grateful for the peace and quiet. House spirits liked a clean but peaceful house. When I was young, before my Baba died, she often complained that we sisters made such a racket that the domovyk was sure to be upset with our family.

"Halya, Nadya, Maria, Laryssa," shouted our Baba. "Stop fighting right now. And clean up those dolls on the floor before your mother gets home. Don’t you know that the domovyk likes a nice, clean house? That way when he walks around at night nothing is in his way. You don’t want to make him angry."

"Why, Baba?" asked Maria. "What happens if he’s upset?"

"If he’s angry, he can bring bad luck to the house." She motioned for us to sit next to her. "Come here, my little ones. Come sit next to Baba near the fire. It’s cold, and we’ll help keep each other warm as I tell you a story about the domovyk."

Laryssa spread our big brown blanket on the floor by Baba’s feet, and we sat close together bundled in layers of softness. Mama got the goose-filled comforters by trading her embroidery with the widow Moroz. We giggled as we pressed closer to the fire, watching the flames dance.

"All settled now, girls?" Baba asked, stroking my hair.

We nodded, excited to hear another of Baba’s stories.

"Are you sure you’re feeling well enough to tell a story, Baba?" asked Laryssa, always considerate.

"Shhh. Of course I am, it’s only a little cough, and I’ve drunk plenty of nice hot tea and honey. So I should be just fine."

"Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived with her mother and father in a house outside of Kyiv."

"Didn’t she have any brothers or sisters?" asked Maria.

"No, she was their only child. But she did have a lot of goats to play with. She lived in a house like this one. She was a good little girl, but she was lonely. Her mama and tato would work all day and night, leaving her alone in the house most of the time. She decided that she would try to meet the domovyk so she would have a friend in the house.

"Now, this is not completely unknown, because the domovyk can communicate with us. You just have to pay attention and know how to read the signs. If you hear shrieking or moaning, crying or wailing, then it is a bad omen, and you need to be careful. He will often cry when he knows that someone in the household is going to die. But if you hear laughter or singing, giggling or music, it is a good omen, and you should feel honored that the domovyk is sharing something with you.

"Sometimes the domovyk will even touch you to give you a message. This usually happens if you are a sound sleeper and haven’t heard his earlier communications. If you feel a warm, gentle touch, like a cat’s fur or a dog’s breath, then it is a sign of good things to come. But if you feel an icy touch or a rough, prickly one, then your luck is turning for the worse. The domovyk will sometimes pull the hair of wives to warn them that their husbands are going to beat them. But only if they like the wife.

"The domovyk is involved in everything that happens in the house. He watches the bread baking, the water boiling, the floor being swept, and everything in between. But at night the domovyk has special responsibilities.

"Why, Baba?"

"Because that’s what the domovyk does. Cats meow. Cows make milk. Foxes try to steal chickens. And the domovyk watches over the house. That’s life. We all have our place.

"So the little girl, her name was Motrya, knew that the domovyk had a lot of chores to do at night, and they kept him very busy. He had to keep an eye on the goats, watch out that the neighbors didn’t steal any food or animals, and also protect the house from other spirits. Motrya decided that she would help him, so he could finish his chores more quickly and have time to talk with her."

"How could she help him if she couldn’t see him, Baba?" I asked.

"Little mouse, the domovyk doesn’t like to be seen directly, but it is not impossible to see him. Sometimes he looks like the previous owner of the house, other times he might look like a dog or a cat, or a furry little creature with an old man’s face. The domovyk can change his shape depending on how he wants to be seen.

"So one night Motrya crept out to the yard and watched the barn for hours to make sure the goats were safe. Then she walked around and around the house to make sure no one was trying to steal anything. Finally, she sat on the threshold of the house and waited for any mischievous spirits that might try to come in."

"But Baba, the threshold is the domovyk’s special place," said Laryssa.

"That’s right, and of course the domovyk was watching Motrya all night to see what she was up to. When he saw her sitting on the threshold, he tapped her on the shoulder and she turned around to see a young boy with brown fur all over his body.

‘What are you doing?’ the domovyk asked her.

‘I’m helping the domovyk so that he will be my friend.’ Motrya replied.

‘The domovyk doesn’t have friends. He just lives alone and takes care of the house.’

‘But why?’

‘Because that’s the way it is, Motrya. That’s the way of the world. Now, thank you for your help, but you should get some sleep, the sun will soon be rising,’ the young boy said and then disappeared.

"Motrya went to sleep, but she repeated these chores every night for one month, hoping to see the little boy again. But the domovyk never appeared. She eventually gave up and grew up, alone and without many friends. Motrya spent most of her time inside the house or on the farm. She helped her mother around the house, but mostly kept to herself, reading books and telling stories to the goats. She always hoped to see the domovyk, but she never did. But every year on her birthday Motrya would hear music at night and wake up with her hair braided.

"When she turned sixteen, her parents decided that they were going to send her to a convent because they didn’t have enough money for a dowry. They knew no one would want to marry the poor lonely girl whom the neighbors considered odd because she talked to goats and kept to herself. Motrya didn’t want to leave her home or the goats, or the trees or flowers. She loved the land on her family’s farm. She knew every rock, every patch of poppies and cornflowers. She was so upset that she sat up that night crying.

‘You’re sitting on my threshold again,’ said a voice behind her.

She hadn’t noticed that she had sat down on the threshold to cry. Motrya turned around to find a handsome man with long brown hair standing behind her.

‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Are you the domovyk?’ she asked him.

‘I am,’ he answered. "And I am sad that you’re leaving. I’ve enjoyed listening to your stories, and you always keep the house so nice and clean.’

‘Then help me to stay here. I want to stay here. Maybe you have some magic that we can do to help me stay here?’

‘I told you once a long time ago, there’s no way. I must be alone.’

‘But why?’ Motrya asked. ‘You deserve to have someone to love you.’

‘Could you love me?’ he asked, his brown eyes changing to blue.

‘You are the spirit of this house, and I love this house, so I already love you.’ Motrya answered and kissed the domovyk on the lips.

"There was a bright flash of light and Motrya was transformed into a new spirit, the domovykha. The two of them fell instantly in love and were married under the birch tree in the backyard on the night of Ivana Kupala, Midsummer Eve. All the spirits came to celebrate, the rusalky, bannyky, dvorovyky, and even the lisovyk.

"So sometimes a house has two spirits living in them, and this brings the family much luck and happiness . . . if they keep the domovyk happy by keeping everything in order."

Baba kissed us all on the top of our heads.

"Now, can one of you four mistresses of this nice, clean house make me some tea?" she asked.

"I will," said Maria and ran to get some water.

"Baba," Laryssa said shyly, "I want to become a domovykha and stay here in this house."

"Shh!" Baba said and knocked on wood, "Be careful what you wish for. It might come true. You must always be careful of your wishes, little ones. The Universe will make your dreams come true, but often not in the way that you expect."

What did I want after all this time? Did I want adventures? Did I want to travel? Was I too old to even think about making changes? Pavlo was content. Maybe I needed to try and follow his example. Was I too greedy?