The Silence of Trees (3 page)

I remembered how the German soldiers had come to our village two years ago during the hot summer. They gathered all the young men, including Stephan and his brother, for three weeks of "training." When he returned, Stephan wore a German police uniform, his eyes darker, heavier; scars on his hands and face. His brother never came back.

When Uncle Vasyl spat at him and called him a traitor, I could only clench my fists. Stephan’s skin had lost its rosy color; the laugh lines had vanished from around his eyes, his lips. His "training" had silenced the music that once filled his face. After putting on that uniform, he never again picked up his guitar. I can’t even remember him laughing. Never aloud, only chancing a few careful smiles with me. Stephan would not tell me what had happened then. Nor did he talk about his missions, when he would be gone from the village for weeks. I searched his scars for clues, peered into his eyes for pictures, but they never came. He was closed to me.

The flames began to die down to a flicker, and I thought perhaps I could gather wood for the fire. No sooner had I lifted myself up than I saw the Gypsy returning from the river, carrying firewood. As she walked to the camp, I was mesmerized by the thrusting, swinging motion of her hips. She led with her pelvis, in a motion both awkward and graceful. Small feet followed her hips through the grasses; her shoulders and arms an afterthought in movement. She was beautiful and terrifying. The vorozhka had a warrior’s spirit. Baba had talked about it, told me stories of women who once rode the steppes with long swords strapped to their backs. After dying in battle, they would return to live a new life fighting for their freedom and their families. This Gypsy was such a woman.

She stopped beside me—near the dying embers—and put the logs on the fire, blowing the flames into life. Her clothes were wet but rid of most of the blood. Her hair smelled of the stream. I wondered how she had escaped the rusalky but did not ask.

I was puzzled by her calm. She stood aglow with fire that shimmered in her skirts, her fingers, her eyes, her hair. I wanted to touch her to see if she was real, embrace her and tell her that I was sorry for what had happened to her, but she frightened me. And she was proud . . . a vorozhka with the spirit of a warrior. I was only a peasant girl.

She leaned over me and pulled an embroidered shawl out of a dark satchel hidden beside a log. I was struck by how the scarlet and silver flowers on the black cloth shimmered in the light. She pulled the shawl tightly around her shoulders and picked up the satchel, tying it to her waist. Only then did she turn her gaze to me. "So, you are still here," she said bitterly. "My brothers did not find you and take you into the woods."

I stumbled on my words. "I’m sorry. I-I came to ask—"

She interrupted me. "About love, yes? All you girls running into the night aflame with love. Do you know that all around you trains carry people away? To be shot, burned, tortured." She sat in front of the fire and motioned for me to sit next to her. I could smell a perfume, like berries and mint, on the shawl. She continued. "Each girl thinks that time stops death for passion. Well, I will read for you, but my hands shake with what I know. If you saw with my eyes—" She sighed. "If you saw with my eyes, then you would seek different answers."

She rubbed her hands together over the fire. "First my payment, peasant girl."

I gave her the gold earring. She put it between her teeth, biting down. Then she lifted it closer to her eyes.

"This is all you have for me?"

I nodded, panic spreading through me.

"Very well. I will read for you."

She pulled a bundle from the satchel and unwrapped the scarlet silk cloth to reveal a deck of cards. She placed the silk on the ground in front of her and handed me the deck. I began looking through the cards, pausing to admire each one. They were beautiful, covered in pictures of kings and queens in fancy clothes. Only the icons in St. Sophia’s Church could compare with the bright colors and gold on these hand-painted cards. Each one told a story, and looking at them, I felt carried away into another land.

The vorozhka placed her hand over mine and said, "No. Not for your eyes to admire. You would get lost. Just shuffle them back and forth, placing one hand over the other. Think about the question that drew you here."

I closed my eyes and pictured Stephan in his uniform swinging me around, his arms at my waist. Shuffling the cards, I remembered how he would wait outside my teacher’s house to walk me home. I could feel my cheeks in a half grin as I thought of how handsome he looked in his crisp, dark uniform; his dark brown hair tossed about like stalks of wheat in the wind. I could smell his leather holster when I threw my arms around him. As he whirled me around and around, he would say in that deep voice, "My precious Nadya. What have you to share with me today?"

He would set me down and take my books in his arms, watching my lips as I told him the day’s lesson, interrupting me with quick kisses, then urging me to continue. The right side of his lips would hint at a smile, the small hidden dimple almost revealed as I jumped about with excitement because I had learned a new thread of history or a new poem by Taras Shevchenko.

"Your face is on fire when you come back from your studies, Nadya." And he would draw in a deep breath. "You are so beautiful."

I would blush under his dark brown eyes. Baba used to say that dark eyes were enchanting; they held the magic of the night. Would I marry this man, spend my life with him?

The Gypsy again put her hand on top of mine, took the cards and started to lay them out on the silk in a pattern of lines and crosses. When I began to ask her a question, she looked at me sternly and put her finger to her lips.

"I need silence to tell your story, peasant girl."

I grew braver. "My name is Nadya."

"You are gadji, not Gypsy." She didn’t look up.

I watched as the cards transformed into story on the silk before me, stained glass gods and goddesses glowing in the fire’s light. She spoke their names as she turned each card over. They sounded like poetry or a prayer.

"Lovers. Queen of Swords. Star. Emperor. Page of Cups. Devil. Seven of Cups. Tower. Sun. Ten of Coins."

Then she closed her eyes. When she took my hand, I jumped. Her palm was cool and dry; mine was sweaty and warm. I realized I was holding my breath when my lungs began to hurt. I exhaled, watching her. The smell of coming rain hung in the air.

The vorozhka finally opened her eyes. She ignored a tear that fell down her cheek.

"My name is Liliana," she said. "I will read your fortune."

CHAPTER
TWO

Liliana peered into my eyes. "Understand me, these are not tricks. Not games I play to take your riches." She held the gaze in silence, and then continued. "This is the story of your life. A story that unfolds in these cards painted for my mother by a man who loved her many years ago. A story that I see in these images, in your eyes."

"Let me explain this story as simply as I can. Nadya, your heart is filled with love and dreams of romance. You live in a world of fantasy, but your beliefs will soon be tested. Lurking nearby is tragedy, separation. Loneliness will chase away your hope. This is true, this will happen.

"In the future, I see warmth, stability, a large family. You will cling to them and give your heart to those you love. But first, there will be death and deception. A breaking away from your past.

"Nadya, you will need to walk away from here, but do not forget where you came from. You will need to learn how to open your heart again once the silence slips in. Remember how to forgive. Others and yourself."

Liliana squeezed my hand gently. "In the future, you will have a choice. You will find yourself completely shaken. Stand still, and you will die. Move forward, and you will find happiness."

I looked again at the cards before me, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed rose streaks creeping from the east across the sky amidst dark clouds, violet in the light of the coming sun. If I didn’t return home quickly, Mama and Tato would know that I had been gone all night. I stood up.

"Liliana, thank you."

She opened her eyes and nodded in my direction.

"Be careful, peasant girl. Yours is not an easy path. Those boots brought you here. They will carry you far away, but the steps you walk are familiar. Remember the roots of home, or you will always be searching. Remember, sometimes to leave is to find yourself."

We looked at each other in silence before I turned and walked quickly toward the forest. A few steps into the woods, I caught the smell of something distant burning and began running to my parents’ farm.

I strained to see the source of the smoke, my heart beating fiercely in my chest. What could have happened while I was away? I left no candles burning. I had shut the door behind me.

My hand reached up to clutch the crucifix I had been given at my christening, and I gasped a prayer as I ran: "Guardian Angel, please watch over my family. Please keep them safe." I watched the sky through the leaves grow brighter as the sun began rising.

I smelled burning wood and flesh before I reached the end of the forest. Then I saw the barn being devoured by fire. Flames shot up from dark pools that reflected the sky. The barn’s sides and bottom were already black; large holes revealed animals on fire. I watched smoke rush out; I saw cows and sheep trying to get through the flames. Those that tried to escape were pierced by sharp pieces of burning wood planks. Those that remained collapsed from the smoke. I could smell them as the flames consumed their flesh.

I stood paralyzed, listening to the animals scream. The deep moans of the cows as they fell to the ground. The cries of the sheep, like children. The sound of flames like raging, angry winds filled my mind. Where was my family? Why didn’t they come to stop the fire?

Thoughts raced through my mind. Then I heard a voice like Aunt Katia’s say: Run away from there. Now! Get help. And so I ran back into the woods. I headed south to the Bilyks’ farm. They had five brothers who could help put out the fire. They would help us.

But when I got there, only ashes and the charred frame of their house and barn remained. I found no trace of the Bilyk family.

My knees collapsed, and I fell to the ground and wept. Even before I felt the rain, I heard large drops falling around me. Then cold taps covered me. I wanted to scream, to wail, but fear of more soldiers nearby held my voice in my throat. Instead, I clenched my fists and pounded them against the ground. Why had my prayers gone unanswered? Was it because I had disobeyed?

Thoughts kept rushing through my mind: pictures of Mama dead, blood trickling from her lips, clotting in her soft, brown hair. I had to get home. Why hadn’t I checked on my family first? Why wasn’t I thinking clearly?

My head was pounding, my stomach curling up. I felt like the world around me had become one of Halya’s nightmares. Where was my family? Would I never see them again? Never feel Mama hug me, never hear her quietly sing, never see the wrinkles in her eyes when she laughed? A scream welled up in my throat, but I forced myself to stand up and walk back toward the house, hiding in the trees on the side of the road.

Maybe if I hadn’t gone. Maybe if I had stayed awake, watching the moon, I could have seen the soldiers. What if everyone was dead? What about little Halya? Oh, God. Halya. I brought my hands up to wipe away the tears and the rain.

Suddenly I saw Stephan ahead of me, blocking the road to the house. He stood in his uniform, his hands open to me, and I ran to him and collapsed.

"Oh God, Stephan . . . the fire, the barn." I couldn’t get the pictures out of my head. I couldn’t stop shaking. "Soldiers are here. Mama . . . she’s dead. I know it. Stephan. Mama. Halya. Help them . . . we have to help them."

He stood there without words, holding me, but his arms felt stiff, his embrace not tight as usual. I pushed myself away and looked into his eyes, struggling not to fall, the mud slippery, my legs trembling.

"Say something." I threw my arms into the air and brought my hands down in fists. "Say something. My family is dead or dying, and you haven’t said anything. We need to help them, Stephan. What should we do? Where should we go?"

"Nadya, we need to leave." He avoided my eyes. "The Russians are coming."

For a moment I stood there, not understanding his words. Coming?

"No, Stephan. They are already here. The barn, Mama—"

He shook his head and looked down at his boots.

"Oh, God." My stomach cramped, and I turned away to throw up into the bushes. I bent over clutching my stomach, the throbbing in my head even louder. If the Russians were not here yet, then it was the Germans who had burned down the farm. The Germans! I started to scream and beat my fists against Stephan. He grabbed me tightly and cupped his hand over my mouth. I bit him, tasting blood, but he continued to hold back my scream. I shook my head back and forth trying to free my voice.

"If you scream, then they will come for both of us." He waited a moment before releasing me. I stepped away from him.

"Why didn’t you warn us? Why didn’t you stop them? You wear their uniform. You must have known. How could you, Stephan? I—I could have been inside." I watched his face. Nothing. No expression even in his eyes. Anger clenched my jaw and tightened my chest until I was speaking in gasps. "I could have been inside, Stephan."