The Time Of Women

I. The Mother-3

And this other grandmother went together with him in the evacuation. They were killed by a bomb somewhere close to Luga. So she was the first to stand before Him – and the first to answer.

We prepared the shirt, washed it. The lacework was worn-out, and we spread it on a towel. It looked as though it got whiter when we washed it. But when it dried, it was all yellow again. Maybe if it was put in boiling water… But we didn’t dare to do this: it was at the end of its life – it would come to pieces in our hands.

We heated up some water beforehand. The priest said: well, make up your mind and dress your little girl. We brought the shirt, and put it on Sofyushka. Yevdokia stood there with a frozen expression: how could it be easy to see her baby son resurrected… After that she was all right, and got a hold of herself. I can’t be the godmother, she said. My heart turns black when I look at this shirt. You be the one, Ariadna. It all happened the right way in your family: your husband died in the First War, your son in the Second, and your grandchildren died along with your daughter-in-law in the Blockade. It was all proper.

How can it be proper, she says, if they’re all lying in ditches. Let Glikeria do it: she never had children. The count, her unwed husband, fled from the Revolution. Who knows, he may still be alive.

We agreed to that. After all, Ariadna knew better. Who are we to second-guess her… She’s the educated one. She even lived abroad when she was young.

Glikeria was the godmother, and the other two sang along with the priest. Father Innokenty says: sing quietly so that no one hears. Who would hear, we say, there isn’t anybody around.

He performed the ceremony well, didn’t miss anything out or hurry. Sofyushka, smart girl, blinked her eyes, and listened attentively, as if she understood.

She only cried once, when Glikeria denied the demons. Yevdokia looked at Ariadna as if flicking her with a knife.

Everybody sat down to tea. The priest smiles: I must admit to this fault, I’m a inveterate tea drinker. I like to soothe my soul with tea and sugar lumps. We remembered the bucket samovars. It’s not the same on stove burners. The boiling water is weak, without any taste. It boils up nice and thick in a samovar.

As for the communion, he says, see for yourselves, as you can. It’s all right, we say, it’s all the same now, we’ll bring her.

The weather is good. Frosty and dry. When it warms up a bit, that’s the right time to go for a walk. We look out into the yard – it’s white as white can be. And the yard-keeper is nowhere in sight. In the old times they used to come out before dawn with a shovel. They’ve got very slack since then. We sat and talked about the old times.

Ariadna came to herself first. She went to the pantry to take the dry stockings down from the washing line. Yevdokia went to get the kasha: the mother made it at night, and put it under the pillow. It’s nice and crumbly from under the pillow. Every buckwheat grain is like another. And she won’t have any other kind: neither semolina nor porridge. Yevdokia grumbles: they give them God knows what in kindergartens. Buckwheat is expensive, hard to come by. Lucky that Antonina gets it at the factory. Two kilos a month they give her, one for her, one for the child.

Ariadna dressed her and brought her out to the kitchen. Sofyushka is used to the routine, and goes to the tap herself. Glikeria is waiting with the ladle in her hands. In summer the water in the pipes is warm. But in winter we’ve got to heat it up to pour over her little hands.

“You can relax now,” Yevdokia orders. “Let the child eat in peace.”

She ate and had her tea after that. She drank and set aside the empty cup. We don’t teach her to cross herself, God forbid. We’re scared of the mother. What if she sees it.

After breakfast, Glikeria sits her down with the embroidery hoop. She’s too young to sew, but it’s just the right age for embroidery. Satin-stitch, knots, and chain stitch. The morning lesson is a little yellow petal. She won’t give it to us until she’s done.

She works on it, and Glikeria tells her about the Saints, or the Holy Virgin.

Then, it’s Ariadna’s turn: she reads a story. She has her own stories, in French. The book is plump, with lots of pictures. Whatever stopped them from burning it during the blockade… She reads until the end, then starts with some questions: she asks, she answers herself. She talks strangely – in French. And from time to time she deliberately makes a mistake: she wants to check whether the girl understood. Sofyushka frowns, and shakes her head. She points in the book – it’s not right, she means.

Yevdokia saw it once: “Is she really reading, or is she pointing at random?” Ariadna got offended: “Why at random? I move my finger along the lines when I read so that she can follow too. And she’s known the alphabet for a long time. I showed her back in spring”.

“Come,” Yevdokia says, amazed, “ask her some word. Let her find it in the book”.

Sofia smiles archly, and runs her eyes over the lines – she finds it twice.

“Oh, get along with you!” – Yevdokia cries out happily. – “Who can test you literate people – you must have arranged it together!”

Sofyushka wrinkles her nose. That means she’s laughing.

The big black radio is in Yevdokia’s room. Sofia comes in, and gets on a chair. She turns it on, and presses her ear against it. Quietly, so that she doesn’t disturb the grannies.

“I couldn’t sleep at night, and remembered things: the sweets used to come in boxes. Some were plain, some were wrapped in gold. And when you open the box, you find silver tongs. Ivan Sergeich often bought them for me – he liked to spoil me.”

Her eyes are happy, and she smiles, as if she has gotten younger.

“Yes, I can see that he spoiled you,” – Yevdokia purses her lips. – “Fancy the things you remember: sweets wrapped in gold…”

“It’s not the sweets I miss,” – she screwed up her face.

Yevdokia’s lips are dry and thin. As thin as a thread.

“Yesterday on Officers street I saw them digging again. They dug an enormous hole, and clouds of steam were coming out of it. There were footbridges and tripods on the side. So I’m walking past them with Sofia, and, good gracious, there are evil spirits: voices coming from under the ground. Who could be there in the boiling water? I looked and saw some men. Two of them, their mugs all dirty, digging around under the pipe. And they had the nerve to laugh at me: ‘What are you afraid of, granny?’ Of course, I’m afraid. Devils, God forgive me! They dig and dig. They’ll soon dig right through to the other side. They can’t sit still on this earth.”

“Where on Officers street?” – Glikeria cracks sugar, and pours it into the saucer. She’s as tiny as a sparrow.

“Here, round the corner. What do they call it again? Decembrists Square.”

Glikeria is sucking her sugar and thinking:

“Those Decembrists, when did they get famous? In the revolution or the war8?”

“God bless you.” – Ariadna shrugs her shoulders. – “It was back in the last century. The December uprising of 1825. Against the law of serfdom.”

She’s learned. Reads a lot. She has a whole shelf of books.

“Ah,” – Glikeria shakes her head, – “that’s when it was… That’s why I can’t remember. It was then that they gave freedom to my mother. Our family were all serfs. But mother wasn’t too happy about it. It was better with the masters, she used to say. The ones who went to the city to work made out the best. Though they had always done it freely. In the old times they paid you everywhere. It was enough to pay the master and still have some left for the family.”

“And before the war,” – Yevdokia nursed her cheek, – “they also used to dig. I remember I went for a walk once and thought to myself – what are they digging for? They’ll dig up some evil. I said as much to my daughter-in-law. And she pouted: they’re laying pipes, she said. Under the Tsar they didn’t see to it that all the houses should have water.”

“And mother told me, our master was good. Never made anybody marry against their will. My father was a blacksmith, you know. So he and my mother came to the master. But he didn’t mind. He blessed them. Young couples went to ask for blessing for a long time after. There was freedom already, but still…”

“It’s not true that they didn’t see to that, I said. We’ve had a tap since the old times. And the water was good and never stank of anything. But my daughter-in-law says, we’ll change the pipes everywhere. And we’ll put trains underground. She laughs…”

“People laughed often before the war…” – Glikeria remembers.

Yevdokia screwed up her face: – “They’re good at that, they are. They either laugh or dig up the ground…”

“God,” – Ariadna sighs, – “so many nameless ditches… When I think of how many of them were left after the blockade…”

“After the blockade!… What about the Canal9?”

Glikeria crossed herself:

“So many people. Some dig, others lie in the ground.”

“That’s if they’re lucky…” – Yevdokia banged her cup on the table. – “They think they dug it for somebody else. And then it turns out it was for themselves… All right then.” – She smoothed the oilcloth. “One turns into a sinner, sitting here with you. Oh, my tooth hurts, damn it. My mouth’s empty, no teeth left, and they still hurt…”

Tights made of thick wool. Glikeria undid an old fleece cardigan and knitted them in double strands. Felt boots, white, with rubbers. Nowadays they make them black. And you can’t bend them at the knee, so it feels like you’re walking in stocks. Under the hat — a cotton scarf: they tie it up and ask if it’s too tight. The coat’s new and warm. Yevdokia turned her own inside out. It’s thick cloth, and she put in a double layer of wadding. She’s got another one – it’ll last the rest of her lifetime.

“We’d better go to Saint Nikolai,” – she tied up her kerchief and tucked in the ends. – “Don’t give us the sled – we’ll walk.”

Ariadna shuts the door behind us:

“When you’re walking past it, have a look: maybe they’ve brought fir trees for New Year…”

The stairs are wide and not steep. There are two apartments on every landing. The house is old, but there’s nothing left of the past apart from one grotto. The Bolsheviks never got to it. Tritons, sea shells – everything is untouched. Sofia always turns around to look at it when she goes past it. She likes fairy tales.

Ariadna noticed it a long time ago. It used to be like that: she sits and listens, just so someone is reading to her. It didn’t matter if it was Little Red Riding Hood, that Buratino10, or the witch Baba Yaga. And now that she has learnt something – she brings the book herself: she opens it and gives it to Ariadna. As though saying : read about the girl, about the Little Mermaid. Ariadna can’t stand it any more: she’s exhausted. How many times can you read the same thing?.. You know it by heart, don’t you, she says. And Sofia frowns, her eyes fill with tears: she points at it with her finger – read. Ariadna even tried to cheat her: she’d leave out one thing or another sometimes. But no! She’s older now. You can’t fool her like that any more…