Shandi Mitchell - Under This Unbroken Sky

Each morning, it has let her approach another foot. She is now only eight feet away. She can hear it sniffing the air. Hear the gnash of its teeth as it gobbles the food. She can steal sideways glances at it. It is the coyote from the fire. The singed hair on its back has grown in short and ragged. Over its left haunch, a patch of scar tissue remains bald. Anna tried to speak to it once, softly, but the coyote bolted and watched her from a distance, abandoning its morning meal. Anna didn’t speak again. She had to start another ten feet back to make amends.

Petro taps her belly lightly with his fingertips.

THE CAT RACES AHEAD OF TEODOR TO THE SHACK THAT now serves as the granary. Mewing in anticipation, it weaves through his legs. Teodor lifts the latch and opens the door. The cat rushes in.

Again he is surprised by the smallness and darkness that greets him. He can’t believe they lived here. The grain is piled high; the mound heaps up to the roof and spills into the corners. It is dusted in a light powdery snow, blown in through the cracks. He’ll have to get bags to haul it to the mill. Twenty cents a bag. He sighs. He dips his hand into the wheat. It pours like sand through his fingers. It’s good grain.

He ponders the quantity and decides he can sacrifice a quarter of a bushel for some homebrew. Just enough for one Mason jar, a little warmth to get him through the winter. It’s dangerous to be caught with moonshine. An automatic one-year sentence. But this is more medicinal than recreational. He’s not going to sell it. He’ll just brew one pot, keep it tucked away. For a free country, they have some strange laws. He dips a pail into the wheat and fills it half-full. He pours out a quarter, decides it will be enough. He takes one last look around to make sure everything is safe and steps out.

“Come on, cat.”

He sees it lurking in the corner, its back hunched, its tail waving, eyes narrow… its ears scanning the mound.

“You hear something in there? Do you have mouse? Get the bastard.”

The cat’s back end quivers. It crouches low. Front legs tucked tight. It leaps.

So precise, so focused, Teodor marvels at its beauty. Claws outstretched, calculating the exact distance, speed, and timing. Adjusting its curve, midair, its head swings around as if sighting its unseen target, hidden beneath the grain. It dives into the wheat, paws already reaching, even before the head and shoulders plow their way in.

“Looks like we did good this year.”

Teodor spins around, dropping the pail, his muscles tense, ready to defend or attack.

Stefan laughs. “Jumpy these days, aren’t you? It’s been a long time. I heard you were back.” He holds out his hand to shake. “It’s good to see you again, Teodor.”

Teodor looks hard at his brother-in-law. His rheumy eyes, sagging cheeks, drunkard’s nose. His smile bares tobacco-stained teeth. A wolf’s grin. He wants to smash him in the face. He kneels down, rights the toppled pail, and scoops the grain back in.

“The old place looks good. I saw the house up on the hill miles back. Didn’t know what it was at first. Hadn’t heard you were building.”

The toes of Stefan’s boots curl up from the soles. The shoelaces are missing. If Teodor swung the bucket up now, he would catch him under the jaw, snap his neck in two. In prison, he saw a man die like that for taking a bite of another man’s piece of bread.

“I read about the fire, it was the talk all over town. It must have come close by here, eh? We’re lucky it missed us.”

Teodor slowly gets up. Stefan’s hands are in his pockets now. The bottom two buttons on his coat are missing. His collar is stained. His mouth is stretched into a smile, the corners tight and practiced.

“I don’t know if Anna told you, but I’ve been working on a deal. I’ve got my eye on some land, it’s going to be worth a fortune when the railway goes through. I was this close to signing the papers, needed a bit more money… so now it’s on hold until the spring. You almost get there, you know, and it all falls apart.” His eyes narrow. “We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we, Teodor?”

One jab to the nose, drive the bone up into his brain. Instant. Like the guard did to his cellmate. He was dead with his mouth still open, screaming for water. There wasn’t any surprise or pain in his eyes, just the indignation of a thirsty man who can see the water barrel ten feet away.

“How long are you staying?”

Stefan’s eyes harden into an officer’s eyes, a traitor’s eyes, a guard’s eyes. His smile thins. “As long as I want.”

Teodor picks up the pail. Reminds himself that Petro is just on the other side of the wall and that Lesya could step out any moment. He’s still their father. He’s still their father. He’s still their father…

“Making a little liquid gold?” Stefan’s mouth involuntarily salivates.

The cat explodes through the door, a thin pink tail hangs out of its stuffed mouth.

Teodor shuts the granary door and latches it tight.

AT FIRST PETRO THINKS HE IS HEARING THE BABY TALKING. A low, deep voice. He presses his ear tighter to his mother’s belly. But there are two voices. Men’s voices. One is Teodor. He lifts his head. Anna’s hand clenches the knitting needles. Her body is rigid. She stares at the wall. Petro looks to her, but she is no longer aware of his presence. He slides off her lap and goes to the window.

“Tato!”

He throws open the door and runs barefoot into the snow.

“Tato! Tato!”

He throws himself in Stefan’s arms.

“Look at you! Look how big you are.” Petro clings to his neck. His nose crinkles at the smell of body odor and sourness. “Tato.” He looks to Teodor and sees that he is sad. Petro thinks he wishes it was him being hugged instead. He holds on tighter to Stefan.

“Okay, okay. You’re choking me, get down. Get down.” He sets him in the snow, not noticing the boy’s feet turning pink. “I brought you something.”

He reaches in his pocket and pulls out an apple. One red apple, slightly bruised. Petro takes it holy in his hands.

“Share it with your sister.”

He looks up to Lesya, who has come out of the barn, the milk pail in her hand.

“Hi, baby girl.”

Her hand trembles. The milk sloshes in the pail.

“Do you have a hug for your tato?”

She looks to Teodor, who looks at the ground and focuses on its whiteness. She drags her foot toward her father and lets him hug her. He runs his fingers through her hair. “Look how beautiful you are.”

She hides her face behind her hair.

“Where’s your mama?”

Stefan goes to the open door and steps inside. Anna sits in the chair, the knitting needles digging into her left palm. The sock unraveled on the floor. A knife by her side.

MARIA IS PUTTING ON HER COAT AND BOOTS WHEN Teodor returns. He takes off his coat, removes his boots, shakes off the snow, and sets them in front of the stove. He throws a log on the fire, sits down, rolls a cigarette, lights it, and takes a deep puff.

“Stefan is back.”

THE MOON HANGS LOW AND SWOLLEN OVER THE incandescent, pale-blue fields. The night sky is pricked with light. There are so many stars. Maria loses count again. She stretches her aching back and lifts her stiff joints from the chair. The fire crackles reassuringly. Quietly, she makes the rounds. Myron is snoring. He is splayed on his side, his head hidden under the covers. Ivan’s feet dangle over the edge of the bed. She tucks them in. He groans and pokes them back out. Katya is snuggled into Dania. Sofia lies rigid on her back, her hair coiled in rag strips, her mouth gaping, the sheets tucked tight on both sides. Only Teodor tosses and turns.

She returns to her post at the window. She has been up for hours watching the stars slowly circle overhead. The baby hasn’t let her sleep.