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Authors: Irene Zabytko
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you on a bus. There are buses going to the hospital, too. You’ll be back before you’ve had time to unpack.”
Y URKO WAS WEAK and tired, but he moved around the house. He had lost his appetite and ate only a little of the soup Marusia made for him. Zosia was cuddling Tarasyk, who seemed to have an earache. He was crying and fidgety. Katia played silently with her doll in the corner of the kitchen. She refused to change out of her black school uniform with the white lace apron and huge hair bow. Marusia wanted to stay in the shed with the cow, but saw that it was up to her to pack for the family. She managed to fit everyone’s overnight clothing into one heavyweight suitcase, the only one she had kept since she was last evacuated during the war.
She had hidden the large, boxy case behind the oak-veneer closet where they stored their clothes. Insidethe suitcase, folded with mothballs and a small sachet of lavender, lay some of Marusia’s old hand-embroidered blouses made of crepe and linen from when she was a girl. She also kept her wedding costume, now yellowed, and her dead husband’s one good dress shirt, which somebody once told her was made of silk. It too was a yellowed white, but it was still as intoxicating to her as when she first saw him in it at their wedding. She held the shirt to her face, and her thoughts drifted to the very painful day he left her for another woman. “After all these years, Antin, I still don’t know why. It still grieves my heart. Even in your death, I ask you, why
that
one? Why did you choose that little whore?” She sobbed into the shirt.
“Foolish
baba
,” she muttered to herself. “I don’t have time to think about foolishness.” She found another box to put her old treasures in and slipped it behind the closet. The suitcase was still useful; its handle was firm, and the spring lock worked well enough. She liked the blue satin interior, though it seemed too grand for the threadbare cotton underwear and thin flannel night-clothes she was packing. She didn’t know what to pack for Zosia, who was so particular about her things.
Next, Marusia stuffed her canvas shopping bag with heavy glass jars filled with the vegetables she had put up the previous season. For the road, she added two long
kovbasa
sticks, a slab of salt pork, a few tomatoes and cucumbers and a loaf of dark rye bread she had baked earlier in the week. She also pushed in a flask ofvodka in case Yurko was still sick and some other little snacks for the children to chew on when they were difficult.
When she was satisfied, she swept the floors, made the beds, and washed the dishes. She put away the stray food, except the scraps she kept out for the dog and cat, who were following her around the house, pacing around her feet until it irritated her. They seemed nervous, and she kept accidentally stepping on their tails.
She went out to the stable to bless her cow. “We’ll be back, darling. You’ll just have to give birth alone.” She hugged its coarse head and cried on the little place between its ears. The cow mooed with pain. It tossed its head and danced around the old woman. “Don’t be mad at me. I’m sorry. I don’t want to go. But I’ll be back in a day or two. Do your best. I’ll ask the
militsiia
to take care of you.”
Marusia wiped her tears and returned to the house, where she found Yurko sitting in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette and listening to the radio. “Are you feeling better,
sonechko?
” Marusia asked.
His eyes were distant. He seemed distracted by her question. “
Mamo
, it’s good that we’re leaving.” His voice was weak and higher pitched than usual. He turned up the volume of the radio. A static-filled voice was jabbering in Russian about evacuation schedules. Nothing specific was said about the fires or why it was necessary to leave.
Zosia came in. Her face looked paper-white, butstrangely pretty. Marusia pursed her lips when she saw that Zosia wore her amber bracelet
Y URKO WAS WEAK and tired, but he moved around the house. He had lost his appetite and ate only a little of the soup Marusia made for him. Zosia was cuddling Tarasyk, who seemed to have an earache. He was crying and fidgety. Katia played silently with her doll in the corner of the kitchen. She refused to change out of her black school uniform with the white lace apron and huge hair bow. Marusia wanted to stay in the shed with the cow, but saw that it was up to her to pack for the family. She managed to fit everyone’s overnight clothing into one heavyweight suitcase, the only one she had kept since she was last evacuated during the war.
She had hidden the large, boxy case behind the oak-veneer closet where they stored their clothes. Insidethe suitcase, folded with mothballs and a small sachet of lavender, lay some of Marusia’s old hand-embroidered blouses made of crepe and linen from when she was a girl. She also kept her wedding costume, now yellowed, and her dead husband’s one good dress shirt, which somebody once told her was made of silk. It too was a yellowed white, but it was still as intoxicating to her as when she first saw him in it at their wedding. She held the shirt to her face, and her thoughts drifted to the very painful day he left her for another woman. “After all these years, Antin, I still don’t know why. It still grieves my heart. Even in your death, I ask you, why
that
one? Why did you choose that little whore?” She sobbed into the shirt.
“Foolish
baba
,” she muttered to herself. “I don’t have time to think about foolishness.” She found another box to put her old treasures in and slipped it behind the closet. The suitcase was still useful; its handle was firm, and the spring lock worked well enough. She liked the blue satin interior, though it seemed too grand for the threadbare cotton underwear and thin flannel night-clothes she was packing. She didn’t know what to pack for Zosia, who was so particular about her things.
Next, Marusia stuffed her canvas shopping bag with heavy glass jars filled with the vegetables she had put up the previous season. For the road, she added two long
kovbasa
sticks, a slab of salt pork, a few tomatoes and cucumbers and a loaf of dark rye bread she had baked earlier in the week. She also pushed in a flask ofvodka in case Yurko was still sick and some other little snacks for the children to chew on when they were difficult.
When she was satisfied, she swept the floors, made the beds, and washed the dishes. She put away the stray food, except the scraps she kept out for the dog and cat, who were following her around the house, pacing around her feet until it irritated her. They seemed nervous, and she kept accidentally stepping on their tails.
She went out to the stable to bless her cow. “We’ll be back, darling. You’ll just have to give birth alone.” She hugged its coarse head and cried on the little place between its ears. The cow mooed with pain. It tossed its head and danced around the old woman. “Don’t be mad at me. I’m sorry. I don’t want to go. But I’ll be back in a day or two. Do your best. I’ll ask the
militsiia
to take care of you.”
Marusia wiped her tears and returned to the house, where she found Yurko sitting in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette and listening to the radio. “Are you feeling better,
sonechko?
” Marusia asked.
His eyes were distant. He seemed distracted by her question. “
Mamo
, it’s good that we’re leaving.” His voice was weak and higher pitched than usual. He turned up the volume of the radio. A static-filled voice was jabbering in Russian about evacuation schedules. Nothing specific was said about the fires or why it was necessary to leave.
Zosia came in. Her face looked paper-white, butstrangely pretty. Marusia pursed her lips when she saw that Zosia wore her amber bracelet
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