Shandi Mitchell - Under This Unbroken Sky

“What have you done?”

Maria touches her distended belly, feels for the head. Her fingers expertly push past the fat and muscle, lift under the ribs… and the baby kicks.

“It’s still alive.”

Tears break through Anna’s heart and flood her eyes, searing her cheeks. She chokes on her own spit, drowns in her own gulping wail. The tears fall on her belly and splash on her hands—she cries because she didn’t know she still could.

THE NEW CHICKEN COOP IS A JIGSAW OF PLANKS AND boards of varying lengths. Nothing is straight or square. When Lesya kneels inside, her head brushes the bottom of the lopsided roof. She has used the crate with the lady’s face to make the roosts. She hasn’t figured out how to fasten the door yet, so a palette proclaiming NO-SAG-GATE leans against the opening. She has scattered fresh hay on the ground, plumped up the nests, filled a tin with water. Now she sits in the back, quietly clucking.

“Tch-tch-tch, here Happiness, tch-tch-tch…”

The other two surviving hens have already wandered in and claimed their spots, leaving the smiling chin and hand holding soap as the last vacant roost. Lesya sprinkles water on their backs to keep them cool. None of them have laid yet today. She can hear her mother’s wailing. Lesya focuses on the sound of the hen’s soft cooings, grateful that her aunt is visiting.

“Tch-tch-tch.” She tosses out another handful of feed as bait. The two sitting hens cluck their indignation. Lesya pours a small mound in front of each of them. No sign of her hen. Lesya sings her name. Happiness peeks in. She keeps on singing, making up the words as she goes, exhorting her to come in and lay her egg, everything is fine, look at the pretty house I made you… the chorus is comprised only of her name, Happiness, Happiness…

The hen hops onto Lesya’s bad foot, gingerly resting on its own lame claw.

“That’s a good girl. Are you hungry?”

The bird frantically pecks the seed, scattering more than it takes in. Lesya lifts it onto its roost. The hen squawks and flails its wings, kicks to jump off. Its twisted foot claws her hand. The other birds squawk an anxious chorus.

Lesya sets Happiness back on the ground. Immediately calm, it jumps back on her foot. The hen cocks its head looking at her through one eye and then the other.

“Maybe later.” Lesya lies down and forms a circle with her arms. Happiness nestles into the human nest.

RUNRUNFASTASTHEWIND , THE WORDS BLUR IN IVAN’S head. His legs are no longer connected to his body, his hands fill magically with wheat that flies from his hands to theirs. A hot gust wraps around his ankles and breathes into his face. The loose grain lifts and swirls between his fingers. One playful stalk skitters up, tickles his arm, and twirls around his ear. He brushes it away and turns to see if the others have noticed the dancing wheat. But their eyes are fixed on the earth, their minds fixed on their thirst.

Ivan turns his face into the breeze. Coming over the hill, looming behind their new house, a black crest swells skyward. Rolling and widening, the top ballooning, it arches forward. A pheasant breaks from under the stone wall in a whir of feathers. Two ducks, flying low, honk honk honk and pass directly overhead. He can see the white of their bellies and orange feet tucked up tight.

“The clouds are upside down.”

Dania gives a sigh of relief as the sun disappears and the temperature drops a welcome degree. But there are no clouds. A blast of hot air billows her skirt. She looks over her shoulder and sees a mountain of dust obliterating the sky. It avalanches down the fire’s path, growing as it feeds on the exposed dirt and ash, sucking the hot air into itself. She has never seen a dust storm before.

“Get down!” Her shriek wakens the others to the swell of dirt storming toward them. She races to cover the water bucket with the blanket.

“Lie flat! Cover your heads,” Teodor yells.

Sofia and Petro drop to their bellies and bury their heads in their arms, creating a cocoon of air. Their noses are inches from the ground. They smell worms.

Dust sprinkles Ivan like a fine shower. It stings his eyes. Dirt peppers his cheeks, sprays into his mouth, the earth rears in front of him and he is inside black.

Myron slams him to the ground.

MARIA LAYS A DAMP CLOTH ON ANNA’S FOREHEAD. SHE has rubbed her belly with honey and butter. Stroked her hair until she fell asleep. She has prayed every prayer she knows. Now she sits beside her, watching her breathe, as unguarded as a child, wondering what she should tell Teodor. She looks up to the sound of ducks passing close overhead, honking their alarm. She wonders what’s chasing them.

She hears a soft sprinkling and is relieved that the rain has come to smother the heat, wash away the smoke and ash. She forgets the sun is still shining. The room darkens and the sound grows sharper, more insistent. She doesn’t smell the sweet release of a summer shower. A plume of black earth sprays through the open door. She looks out as a wall of dust hits the barn.

KATYA CAN’T BREATHE, AND IT FEELS LIKE ANTS ARE BITING her all over. Wake up , her head screams. Wake up! She tries to open her eyes, but a gust of heat blasts her face, grabs at her hair. Her skin is burning. She stands, trying to cover her bare chest and bum. She feels flames all around her, licking at her legs. She wants to tell God she’s sorry. She didn’t mean to kill his only son. But he is roaring in her ears. She prays the first prayer that enters her head: Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray Thee Lord my soul to keep; glad and well may I awake. This I ask for Jesus’ sake . The heat swirls around her, the fire scorching her skin. Her body trembles as she dares to shout the words . I pray Thee Lord my soul to keep; this I ask for Jesus’ sake! This I ask for Jesus’ sake!

The Lord picks her up and she is flying through the air.

DUST GUSHES THROUGH THE CHICKEN COOP, WHIPPING the straw into the air. Happiness pushes under Lesya’s skirt. Lesya gropes for the other hens. Her fingers brush the warmth of a fresh egg. She grabs one bird by the foot, the other by the neck, and shoves them under her hem. She pulls her blouse up over her head. They sit tented, breathing one another’s air. Lesya softly sings: Everything will be okay. Everything will be okay . Dirt rattles against the boards; she doesn’t hear Maria calling her name.

MARIA SLAMS THE DOOR SHUT. SHE GASPS FOR AIR, HER nose clogged, she coughs and spits up dirt. In her arms, Katya is quiet. She sets her on her feet, wipes the dirt from her eyes. Her thin, naked body is a mess of red splotches already turning purple.

Katya stands still, listening carefully, wondering if she has been taken to heaven or hell. “Katya.” The voice is soft. She opens her eyes. God looks like Mama.

The earth hammers against the doors and walls. It spills under the door frame. It sprays through the log chinks, showering Anna, who doesn’t stir, in fine black dust.

IVAN, HIS HEAD TENTED UNDER HIS ARMS, HIS BELLY pressed to the stubble, peeks up once. He plugs his nose, breathes into his hand, and squints through the driving dust blasting his face. He’s never been inside a cloud before. He peers through the blinding sheets and sees a ghost in a white shirt and black pants. The wind whips at his sleeves and pant legs. The blackness swirls around him. His feet planted, scythe in hand, eyes closed. His face turned upward. His tato’s face. A look he’s never seen before. A look that scares him. Ivan lowers his head and breathes.

And then it’s gone. The sun is back. The heat blazes. The stooks are still standing, anchored in drifts of dirt. The loose wheat that hasn’t blown away gleams like golden threads poking through a shroud of black earth. The children rise from their dusty graves, their mouths thick with the taste of being buried alive, as sparrows drop from the sky, their beaks crammed with dirt.