Read Online The Sky Unwashed by Irene Zabytko - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Irene Zabytko
Ads: Link
and the offensive, whorish high platform shoes she was so proud of, but this was not a time to mention the presents Zosia took from her men friends.
“Come on, darling heart,” Zosia called to Tarasyk. The boy ran to his mother and greedily took her hand. He was holding on to a stuffed bunny that had only one eye and half of an ear.
Zosia listened to the broadcast for a minute. “Turn it off. They won’t say anything we don’t already know. Let’s get going.”
Marusia was the last to leave the house. She turned off the electric lights and looked around the rooms one more time. At the last minute she almost took her personal icon of the Madonna and Child, but she decided to leave it because it was nailed too tightly into the plaster. For over fifty years, it had hung next to the woodcut portrait of the national poet, Shevchenko. There was no time to pull it off. After all, they’d be back soon enough. “We’re waiting, Marusia,” Zosia called out from the front yard. Marusia locked the door.
Zosia held each of her children’s hands. Marusia started to take the suitcase, but Yurko held it fast by the handle. “I’ll take it. You can carry the bag of food,” he said. Marusia let him take it from her without protest, but she was worried that he might fall faint on the road to the village. Yurko walked ahead of them, straight and hardly wavering. She wondered if his knees were buckling.He did not greet the neighbors who happened to be walking with them at the same time, leaving Marusia to talk to them and cover up Yurko’s rude silence.
She was grateful when they made it into the village center, where several empty buses waited, their doors closed. Everyone who lived in Starylis was standing in unruly lines for their seats.
Militsiia
men and women with shotguns slung on their shoulders stood between the villagers, abruptly answering questions and strutting importantly on the sidewalks.
“
Dobri liudy!
Good people of Starylis,” a burly
militsiia
man shouted into a bullhorn. “This evacuation is for your protection. Don’t worry, you’ll be compensated by our government.”
Marusia and her family found themselves in a long line. Yurko put down the suitcase and sat on it. Zosia and the children spread a blanket they had brought with them and sat on it, huddled together. Soon, though, Marusia stood, hoping to seek out some sympathetic official to take care of her beloved cow.
In line, some men were passing a vodka bottle. “Decontaminate yourselves,
tovaryshi
,” they laughed, handing one another a bottle. “Nothing purer. Not even mother’s milk.”
“This will kill anything! Especially this batch.”
“It’ll be over in a few days, maybe a week, so drink up now, you’ll be back for a fresh bottle,” they joked, and the men winked at the younger girls, who flashed quick smiles back at them.
“Well, with so many alcoholics on the job, no wonder there was a fire,” a woman was heard to say, which brought out a round of laughter.
“That’s right, darling. A bottle of vodka, a hot man, mix them together and poof. . . .” said an old man without front teeth.
“Where are we going,
Babo?
” Katia asked. She was rocking a naked baby doll in her arms. Its blue eyes stared coldly up at the sky.
“We’re going for a nice trip to the city.” She’d heard on the radio broadcast that they were going to Kyiv, maybe Moscow. Marusia was afraid. She had never been to the big city and dreaded the idea of having to walk the big streets where cars could run you down at a hundred kilometers an hour. How would her son manage that? She glanced at Yurko, who sat with his head bent down. He was ignoring Tarasyk, who tried to sit on his lap. Zosia peered into his face. “You need a doctor.” She stood up. “
Mamo
, I’m going to find out if any of these buses go to the hospital.” Before Marusia could object, Zosia hurried away from them, and Tarasyk started to cry. “Come here,
soloden’kyi.
“Come on, darling heart,” Zosia called to Tarasyk. The boy ran to his mother and greedily took her hand. He was holding on to a stuffed bunny that had only one eye and half of an ear.
Zosia listened to the broadcast for a minute. “Turn it off. They won’t say anything we don’t already know. Let’s get going.”
Marusia was the last to leave the house. She turned off the electric lights and looked around the rooms one more time. At the last minute she almost took her personal icon of the Madonna and Child, but she decided to leave it because it was nailed too tightly into the plaster. For over fifty years, it had hung next to the woodcut portrait of the national poet, Shevchenko. There was no time to pull it off. After all, they’d be back soon enough. “We’re waiting, Marusia,” Zosia called out from the front yard. Marusia locked the door.
Zosia held each of her children’s hands. Marusia started to take the suitcase, but Yurko held it fast by the handle. “I’ll take it. You can carry the bag of food,” he said. Marusia let him take it from her without protest, but she was worried that he might fall faint on the road to the village. Yurko walked ahead of them, straight and hardly wavering. She wondered if his knees were buckling.He did not greet the neighbors who happened to be walking with them at the same time, leaving Marusia to talk to them and cover up Yurko’s rude silence.
She was grateful when they made it into the village center, where several empty buses waited, their doors closed. Everyone who lived in Starylis was standing in unruly lines for their seats.
Militsiia
men and women with shotguns slung on their shoulders stood between the villagers, abruptly answering questions and strutting importantly on the sidewalks.
“
Dobri liudy!
Good people of Starylis,” a burly
militsiia
man shouted into a bullhorn. “This evacuation is for your protection. Don’t worry, you’ll be compensated by our government.”
Marusia and her family found themselves in a long line. Yurko put down the suitcase and sat on it. Zosia and the children spread a blanket they had brought with them and sat on it, huddled together. Soon, though, Marusia stood, hoping to seek out some sympathetic official to take care of her beloved cow.
In line, some men were passing a vodka bottle. “Decontaminate yourselves,
tovaryshi
,” they laughed, handing one another a bottle. “Nothing purer. Not even mother’s milk.”
“This will kill anything! Especially this batch.”
“It’ll be over in a few days, maybe a week, so drink up now, you’ll be back for a fresh bottle,” they joked, and the men winked at the younger girls, who flashed quick smiles back at them.
“Well, with so many alcoholics on the job, no wonder there was a fire,” a woman was heard to say, which brought out a round of laughter.
“That’s right, darling. A bottle of vodka, a hot man, mix them together and poof. . . .” said an old man without front teeth.
“Where are we going,
Babo?
” Katia asked. She was rocking a naked baby doll in her arms. Its blue eyes stared coldly up at the sky.
“We’re going for a nice trip to the city.” She’d heard on the radio broadcast that they were going to Kyiv, maybe Moscow. Marusia was afraid. She had never been to the big city and dreaded the idea of having to walk the big streets where cars could run you down at a hundred kilometers an hour. How would her son manage that? She glanced at Yurko, who sat with his head bent down. He was ignoring Tarasyk, who tried to sit on his lap. Zosia peered into his face. “You need a doctor.” She stood up. “
Mamo
, I’m going to find out if any of these buses go to the hospital.” Before Marusia could object, Zosia hurried away from them, and Tarasyk started to cry. “Come here,
soloden’kyi.
Similar Books
