Shandi Mitchell - Under This Unbroken Sky

Katya is also fascinated by the hens laying. She once held a poor bird suspended in the air for more than an hour, squeezing its sides, hoping to see one come out, wanting to know how something so large could come from something so small. But the hen wouldn’t reveal its magic. It pecked her arms and hands, piercing through the wool socks she wore for protection, until she dropped it and it ran squawking to the rooster, Kill her, kill her, kill her .

Katya’s other job is helping to crack the eggs for her mama’s cakes. Once, a bloody clump plopped out, mingled with the yellow yolk. It looked like a minnow curled up on itself. Maria scooped it out and threw it away. Later, Katya fished it out of the slop bucket and buried it under a wild rose bush with a small chunk of the doughy ball of Christ. She recited Our Father twice for good measure and covered the spot with a pebble.

WHEN DANIA TAKES TO BED COMPLAINING OF A BELLYACHE, no fever, just aches deep inside, Maria touches her swollen belly and pushes down. Does it hurt? Dania moans no. Maria recommends sleep and prescribes a drink of three raw yolks to be swallowed in one gulp. The children snuggle into bed around Dania, trying their best not to jostle her.

It scares them that their big sister is sick. Dania is never sick. She’s the one who takes care of them. Katya tells her a story about angels and cows and is just introducing Lesya’s hen as one of the characters when Dania hushes her. Ivan snuggles against her like he does every night, but knows not to play cold feet tonight. Sofia lies still and imagines the worst. Last winter, three of her classmates were sick and never returned to school.

IVAN WAKES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT WITH THE bedsheets soaked beneath him. He kicks off the covers and reaches between his legs and finds his nightgown soaked. He hasn’t wet the bed in months, not since his tato came home. In tears, he shakes Dania awake. She immediately feels the wetness.

“Shhh, everything’s gonna be all right. I’ll get a cloth and some water. Don’t wake the others.” She slips out of bed. Ivan fights to stifle his sobs as he holds the gown away from his skin and pulls his knees up tight to his chest.

As Dania moves quietly to the washbasin, she feels the wetness of her own gown between her legs and along her backside. She feels it running down the insides of her thighs. She lights a match and sees blood on her hands. Ivan screams and doesn’t stop. The house bolts awake. Dania stands frozen, holding the match, looking down at her gown stained red between her legs as Ivan kicks and fights to escape the tangle of his own bloody nightgown.

Teodor helps scrub Ivan clean, the others change the bedclothes. Maria takes the kerosene lamp and goes with Dania to the outhouse to show her how to use the rags. Teodor stammers an explanation about girls becoming women and eggs and monthly cycles and cows and horses and dogs and chickens before sputtering to a stop. Katya and Sofia listen wide-eyed and Myron tries not to hear. When Dania returns, they all pretend to be asleep and leave her extra room. Ivan hugs the edge of the bed, even though the covers lift up and the cool air chills his legs.

Maria stays behind to use the outhouse. As she pees, she ponders her eldest daughter’s rite of passage and suddenly feels old. She remembers her first period. She was fourteen and at church. She thought God was punishing her for thinking impure thoughts about the handsome young boy standing at the back of the church. She didn’t know his name then or that she would marry him two years later. Her mother and the other village women gathered around her and walked her past the congregation, past him as he held the door open.

Maria tears off a piece of newspaper and wipes. She checks the paper, looking for blood, and wipes between her legs again. The liquid is clear and yellow-tinged. She checks her breasts; the nipples are hard and large. Her abdomen is swollen. It’s been three weeks since her period was due.

She knew the moment he came inside her. She knew. She almost heard it whisper its name. Teodor thought the tears in her eyes were because it had been so long, or that he hadn’t satisfied her, or that he had hurt her. She couldn’t explain the feeling that at that moment something had entered her and opened up, filling her with a love so intense she could hardly bear it.

She returns to bed with a final look at her children. A fleeting thought enters her head, Where will this one sleep? She pushes it away. Teodor holds up the quilt for her to slip back in. He puts his arm around her and she nestles against his chest. They lay in the dark, listening to each other’s breathing, smooth and regular. The bed smells of straw and sun and wind. Maria takes Teodor’s hand and lays it on her belly. His hand is hot and he rubs her belly in small circles. She stops his hand and presses it against her roundness. She looks into his eyes and sees the question. She nods and he pulls her close, buries his head in her neck, and breathes her in. “Yes,” he whispers. “Tak,” she replies.

He burrows under the covers and kisses her belly. She suppresses a giggle and joins him under the covers. “Shhhh,” she cautions. He pushes her nightgown up and kisses her belly again. He traces his finger around her belly button; inside is their baby. He presses his cheek to her stomach, a fleeting thought enters his head, Where will this one sleep? But it is pushed away by Maria’s fingers running through his hair. He pulls himself over her and kisses her ever so gently. His penis hardens between her legs and she opens. The children fall asleep to their gentle rocking.

THE NEXT MORNING, MARIA TAKES A BASKET OF EGGS next door. Anna answers, she looks healthy and robust. Her color is flush and her skin glows. Her hair is growing out fast and is almost to her shoulders. It shines in the sun. Maria congratulates herself for knowing that a diet of eggs would help restore her sister-in-law’s balance.

“I have good news.” Maria beams. “I’m pregnant.”

Anna’s upper lip twitches and her eyes crack for just a flash, as if the sun has momentarily blinded her, but she blinks it away. She puts on a smile.

“I’m happy for you.” She takes the basket and shuts the door.

TEODOR WADES THROUGH THE FIELD OF HIP-DEEP, swaying wheat. He inhales its sweet, musty smell baking in the sun. Buzzing grasshoppers erupt in his wake. His hands, palm down, brush the tops of the full, ripe heads. Their spiky crowns tickle his fingers. He spins slowly around, taking in the golden field framed by the firebreak of black earth, set in an endless emerald green. A breeze ripples through the grain, creating an illusion of a herd of golden beasts stampeding all around him. Its beauty makes his chest hurt.

He selects a single perfect stalk and plucks it from the earth. He feels the fullness of its head, admires the perfectly symmetrical kernels, and snaps it from the stalk. He rolls the head between his palms, rubbing its warmth into his skin. The grain crackles and snaps. He cups his hands, loosening his fingers, and gently blows. The chaff scatters to the wind. He opens his hands, revealing a life map of calluses and scars, etched by deep lines stained with dirt. A dozen pale seeds, almost translucent, shine.

He tucks them into his shirt pocket and looks over his riches. This year will be a good harvest. This year will be the year that he dreams again. He looks across the shimmering grain, undulating against the prairie sky, up to his nearly completed house perched on the hill. He feels the blood coursing through his body, tingling from his toes to his fingertips, the oxygen filling his lungs, his heart pumping against his chest, against the seeds—and he knows he will survive.