The Silence of Trees (32 page)

Morning turned to afternoon, and although the first loaf of bread in the oven burned, I introduced Katya to her Baba and Dido, her aunts and uncles. I shared my happy childhood memories, and when I laughed, they laughed with me. I searched their faces for signs of condemnation but found only love.

I told them about Mama Paraska and her son Andriy while we pounded the remaining dough, careful not to cry and bring sadness to the bread.

"I still can’t believe that you know Andriy Polotsky," said Lesya, adding more flour to the countertop.

"That was a very long time ago." I said, drying bread pans at the sink. I wasn’t ready to discuss my visit with Andriy after his show.

"But didn’t you go see his play last month," Katya asked, as I glared in her direction.

"I did. He sent me a ticket, and I went to see the show," I answered, trying to be nonchalant.

"I heard it was fantastic, Baba. What did you think?"

"What do I know about plays? I’ve only seen your school productions, but this was different. The sets, the costumes, the acting—they were all beautiful."

"How about the story, Ma?" Katya asked, slipping dough into the pans.

"It was a . . . familiar story, set during the war but with some fantastic additions." I said, "You should both go see it. I bet your German-American boyfriend would like it too, if he loves history as much as you."

"His name is Lukas, Baba."

"Yes, yes. I forgot." Then I winked at her. "I’m an old lady. My memory is not so good."

Lesya laughed, then changed the subject, "I wonder about the soldier, Sonny. He’s never contacted you, even though he found your address from Andriy?"

"No, I never heard from him. Maybe he wanted to give Halya time to contact me." I answered, wondering if he were still alive. "Maybe he got busy with other things."

"Maybe he’ll still call. If he does, can I please talk with him? I would love to listen to his stories about being a soldier." Lesya looked so excited. Like the little girl she once was, the same little girl who ran into the house to tell me that the worm she had cut in the garden magically had turned into two worms. She must have been thinking of her next paper for those history magazines.

"If he wants to talk about it, sure. But don’t be disappointed if he doesn’t. It’s not so easy." I told her.

I watched Katya’s long fingers in the dough. She looked so thoughtful. She caught my gaze and smiled.

"Are you okay with all this, Ma? It’s a lot to handle."

"I wasn’t okay, but I am now." I told her. "I’m beginning to make my peace; it’s just hard to do. In time, I will be all right. There is so much more to tell."

So I did, and I shared more memories that I had kept buried, memories of the dead. As I spoke each of their names and recounted their stories, I felt their ghosts leave me with a cool breath on my cheek like a kiss, or a light touch on my shoulder.

Through the kitchen curtains I saw a sky without clouds. And as we sat drinking coffee, our eyes and noses red from crying to match the streaks of sunset in the sky, I was reminded of a time when I was young and hopeful.

"I have never told you the story of the tsvit paporot, have I?" I asked them.

"The feast of Ivana Kupala, Mama?" Katya asked. "I’ve read about it, but no, you haven’t."

"In the camp I had a few friends, but one of the dearest was a girl called Natalia. She came over from the women’s barracks to the DP camp with Mama Paraska and me. Natalia was a poet, and even though she had lived through so many terrible things during the war, she still insisted that we try to find beauty around us. She’s the one who named our bunk Nebo, and she called us the Star Sisters."

"Like the three Zorya sisters who watched over the sky throughout the day?" Katya asked.

"Yes, like that," I replied. "You would have liked her, Katya. You are kindred spirits. Natalia and I would sit and compare stories from home. One day, right around midsummer, Natalia decided that we needed a little magic. This was before I met your Tato, when my heart was still broken and lonely and aching for home. We were both pining for romance.

"She asked me if I knew about the legend of the paporot, the red fern that blooms only on Midsummer Eve, the night of Ivana Kupala. My Baba had told me about the old Midsummer celebrations, the dances held in the fields for Ivana Kupala, dances of life and light and love. But I didn’t know much about the paporot.

"Natalia told me about some of the legends, about how if you found the tsvit paporot, you were given a wish. She explained that some people believed if you found it, you could understand the animals’ speech for the whole evening. Others said that you could make anyone fall madly in love with you if you found it. There were many beliefs.

"Well, we decided to sneak off and look for the tsvit paporot on the upcoming midsummer night. We walked in darkness through the trees, listening for the rusalky singing and looking for flickering lights. When we couldn’t find any clues, we sat down across from one another next to a patch of wild flowers and held hands. We closed our eyes and listened for any sounds on the wind. I remember that it felt almost like home, with the leaves rustling, the birds singing, the grass against our legs, the scent of flowers in the air. I almost believed that if I opened my eyes, I would be in the forest by my Tato’s house.

"‘Make a wish,’ Natalia whispered.

"‘But we didn’t find the paporot,’ I replied.

"‘It’s okay, it’s still a magical night,’ she said.

"So, holding hands in the dark, we made our wishes. Then a howling wolf broke the spell, and we ran back to camp."

"So, what did you wish for, Baba?" Lesya asked me.

"It’s not right to ask someone about their wishes," Katya said. "It means they won’t come true."

"But it’s been over fifty years," Lesya replied. "I think it’s okay."

I smiled. It felt good to talk with them and tell them my stories. It was as if I were more fully connected to these women, having shared a little of my soul with them.

I remembered Mama Paraska, and I brought together my thumb and first two fingers, kissed them and then lifted them first to Katya’s cheek, then to Lesya’s cheek.

"I give you a piece of my soul," I said. "It’s something I learned from Andriy’s mama. It will keep us strongly connected, no matter what."

Katya looked exhausted, but Lesya couldn’t stop asking questions, about my family, Stephan, the war. "Did you wish for Stephan? To be reunited?" she asked. "I just can’t believe he was still alive. Or maybe you wished to see your family again? What were the chances of your sister and your ex-boyfriend falling in love? It must have been fate—"

In the distance, or maybe in my heart, I heard a baby crying.

"—and you both had a son named Mykola. That’s just wild."

Had she heard the cry?

"Well, our dido’s name was Mykola," I said.

"I wonder what else you’ve had in common," Lesya said.

"Halya left her phone number on the back of her letter," said Katya, sipping her coffee. "Will you call her?"

"I don’t know; maybe on our Christmas Eve," I answered. "She has no other family now. We are all she has."

"Mama, do you think Halya will come to visit?" Katya asked.

"I don’t know. I don’t know if she could."

I caught Katya peeking at her watch, and Lesya was starting to fidget. It was time for me to release them. They had been a good audience.

"All right, girls. I’m exhausted. It’s time for you to go and do young people things so that I can rest."

"I’m not so young anymore, Mama," Katya said, smiling, "but I’m planning on meeting Robin for a movie."

"Which one?" Lesya asked, standing up.

"We haven’t decided, something at the Fine Arts."

"Why did Robin call you Kat?" I asked Katya.

"It’s a nickname. Because I love cats." Katya answered.

I watched as she and Lesya exchanged a look. There was something they weren’t telling me.

"Oh," I said.

"It’s kind of a joke . . . Kat and Robin . . . both animal names."

"Of course." I didn’t get the joke. I would have to ask her another day.

"So who will come and help me before Sviat Vechir? I can’t do Christmas Eve dinner by myself."

"Weren’t we all here last year helping?" Lesya asked defensively.

"Shhh, yes. I know you were. I was only teasing." I said, giving her a hug.

"My mom and I will come," she said.

"Me too, Mama," Katya answered.

"Well, why don’t you invite your Lukas; and Katya, I owe Robin a dinner. Maybe she would like to come, since she is interested in folklore and traditions."

Both women lit up and smiled.

"Thank you, Baba." Lesya said hugging me tightly.

"Robin would really like that, Mama," Katya said, taking her turn to hug me as well.

Both left, and I sat down in the kitchen to wait for the bread to finish baking. I didn’t want to risk another batch burning. I knew that if I sat on the couch, I’d fall asleep again. It had become a bad habit over the last few weeks. Somehow it was easier sleeping there alone than in our big bed. I think I was afraid of facing Pavlo or his ghost. I still felt guilty for seeing Andriy and talking with him, although our relationship was only friendly. But I couldn’t help my fantasies and daydreams. Those were what I felt most guilty about.

As if he were reading my mind, Andriy called from New York at that very moment. We exchanged small talk about our day, and I told him how I had shared the letters and my story with Katya and Lesya. I could hear that he was happy for me, but he sounded tired.

"It must be hard for you to split your time between two cities like this," I said.

"It is," he replied, his voice strange, distant.

"Are you all right?" I asked. He was usually so chatty on the phone, but he sounded weary and uncomfortable.

"I’ve had an unpleasant day, and I’m eager to get back to Chicago. I’ve been living in New York for a long time, but it’s never felt like home."

"When do you get back?" I asked.

"Tomorrow. Would you like to spend New Year’s Eve with me? We can do anything you like. I just need a break from the drama of the theater."

I hesitated. I could rationalize away our relationship more easily if we only spoke on the phone. To see him again would make it more real, more dangerous. I was a widow, and I was still grieving the loss of Pavlo, but I wanted to see Andriy. Hadn’t I promised myself that morning while making the torte that I would start living my life again?

"Okay, I’d like that. Do you think we could maybe have dinner at a French restaurant? I’ve always wanted to try a soufflé’."

He laughed. "Last-minute reservations are my specialty. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll pick you up around eight o’clock."

"Have a safe flight." I said.

"Thank you. Sweet dreams."

I never answered Lesya about my wish on Ivana Kupala because I truly believed that if you reveal a wish, you destroy the spell. I could only reveal it once it came true, and I was still waiting for my wish to come true. I would hopefully wait for a little while longer. On that magical night I had wished for a happy ending. I wasn’t specific. I didn’t know what it would look like in the end. I still don’t. Throughout my life it had comforted me to think that whatever the heartbreak, whatever the trials, I might still have a happy ending. It gave me hope.

On New Year’s Eve I was nervous. I didn’t know what to wear. I didn’t like my hair, my shoes, my face. Everything looked frumpy. I felt old and unattractive, and I wanted to look beautiful. For once, I wished that I had been using the anti-aging cream that Zirka had given me.

I was ready an hour early and kept pacing around the house, talking to Khvostyk, talking to Ana, talking to myself. I was excited and anxious, and angry at myself for feeling like a young girl when I was really a great-grandmother, and according to Lesya, her older sister hoped to soon be pregnant with her second child. Maybe a girl this time? Little Pavlik could use a sister. Khvostyk just looked at me and said nothing. He sat curled up on my slippers, watching my pacing with one eye open.

Ana whispered playfully. Darling, have fun, and kiss him if he doesn’t kiss you first. Remember, if you have lips, why not use them?

I ignored her. My mind was filled with so many thoughts and emotions. At least the snow had finally decided to fall, relieving some of the pressure and expectation in the air. I hoped it was a good omen.

Andriy arrived early, standing at the door holding a single beautiful red poppy. I hadn’t seen such a poppy since I was a child, and I took it with wonder and kissed his cheek without thinking.

"It’s magnificent, Andriy. Where in the world did you get it?"

Stepping inside the doorway he smiled. "I have a friend who grows exotic flowers from around the world. I wanted something special for you."

"It’s marvelous. Let me go put it in water and I’ll be right back. Please have a seat on the couch."

I filled up a vase and placed the poppy on the kitchen table. When I turned around, I saw Pavlo’s picture staring at me from the icon corner. I walked over and whispered, "I hope that you’re not angry, Pavlo, but I need to do this. I need to find reasons to live." I kissed my fingers and touched them to the picture.