Shandi Mitchell - Under This Unbroken Sky

“What d’you wanna do?” Ivan prods, eager to please. “Wanna see my gopher skull?”

Petro shrugs, but Ivan has already clambered onto the floor. On his belly, he sidles under the bed and retrieves a dog-eared cardboard box labeled WINCHESTER .22 SINGLE SHOT . He sets it on the bed and ceremoniously flips open the top. The gopher’s skull, gleaming white, crowns the treasures.

“You can hold it if you want.” He sets it in Petro’s hand. “It’s light, ain’t it?”

Petro examines the empty eye sockets and gaping mouth. “It’s got more teeth than I thought. They’re sharp.” He runs his finger across an incisor. Then sticks his finger through the gaping eye hole, feeling inside for bits of brain.

From the next room, a loud burst of men’s laughter, punctuated by fragments of boisterous stories—names of Ukrainian people and places Ivan’s never heard of before—distract the boys. His father is talking loud and fast, tripping over his words, laughing mid-sentence. Stefan speaks even louder, as if making sure that everyone hears him. Ivan wonders why they are hollering at each other when they are sitting so close together. Petro tosses the skull on the bed and rifles through the box.

“What else you got?”

He throws aside the blue crockery shard. Ivan doesn’t bother to show him that it’s the exact same blue as the sky just before it gets pitch-black. He shuffles past the twig shaped like a snake that if you hold sideways, you can see a sliver of forked bark curled up like a tongue. Instead, he extracts a silver pocket watch. The cover is dented and twisted, the glass smashed, and one hand is missing. He shakes it to his ear, a tinkle of metal shards.

“Does it work?”

“No.” Ivan knows his cousin will be disappointed. “But it’s gotta name on the back. You gotta open it.” He pushes on the clasp. “I found it where we used to live before. See…” He points to the engraving. “F. P. Williams.”

“It ain’t worth nothing.” Petro tosses it aside. Ivan frowns. He wants to tell him that F. P. Williams is engraved slanted, like someone important. That makes it worth something. Maybe F. P. Williams lost the watch because he had a hole in his pocket, because he didn’t have a mama to sew it up. Or maybe he was robbed and he fought with the robbers and was killed right there with his watch. Or maybe…

“What’s this?” Petro holds up a gray heart-shaped stone.

“A lucky rock.” Ivan yawns, his body reminding him that he’s up way past his bedtime.

“You make it?” Petro runs his fingers over its smooth curves.

“Found it in the lake.” Ivan wants to lie down and nestle against his pillow, but that would be rude. In the next room, Maria shushes the two men. Their voices drop, then rise again, low and booming.

Petro sets the rock aside. He finds a peppermint candy and pops it in his mouth. The red-and-white one.

“I was saving that one,” Ivan protests, suddenly wide awake.

“You got another one. Besides, I shared my apple.” Petro digs to the bottom of the box and finds a penny. “You got money.”

Ivan shrugs. He doesn’t care about money. He likes the picture of the leaf, and the coppery color and the date that is the same as the year he was born. 1933. He likes to think it was made just for him.

“You could buy anything you want,” Petro exclaims.

“I don’t want to buy anything, I want to keep it.”

“That’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.” Ivan reaches for his penny, but Petro pulls it back.

“You don’t keep money. You spend money to get other things. That’s how you get rich. You’re such a baby.”

Ivan snatches for the penny. “Give it back.”

“Babies shouldn’t have money.” Petro jumps up on the bed, holding the coin high above his head. “Let’s play a game: if you can take it from me, it’s yours. If not, it’s mine. Deal?” He spits in his hand and offers to shake.

“I’m not playing.” Ivan pushes aside his cousin’s hand. “Give it back.”

“No.” Petro makes his stand.

“It’s mine.” Ivan’s heart swells with rage and frustration, confused that his best friend in the whole world is being mean to him. “You can have the other candy.”

“I don’t want your candy. I’ve got my own.” He spits the peppermint onto the floor. It rolls in the dirt, picking up specks of black, bleeding red and white. “Get your father to give you more money, he’s got lots of it. He took ours.”

Ivan slams Petro’s chest with his hands, driving him into the wall. Petro laughs and holds the penny higher. Ivan swipes the wool cap from Petro’s head and growls, “That’s mine too.”

Before Petro can snatch it back, Ivan throws himself into his soft belly, fists swinging.

TEODOR WIPES TEARS FROM HIS EYES, ONLY HALF AWARE that Stefan is filling his cup again. He hasn’t laughed in such a long time, his ribs are aching. He almost feels sick.

“Maria.” He waves to her. “Come sit with me.” He slaps his knee.

Maria ignores him as she dices the leftover meat and potatoes for a stew. “I have work to do.”

“She’s a stubborn woman,” Teodor teases. He tries to stand. “Come show Stefan how we were dancing.” He holds out his arms and falls back in his chair. The men laugh uproariously.

Stefan stands. His body leans too far back to be balanced. He bows sloppily to Maria. “If you’ll excuse me, I must step outside and water a horse.” He winks at Teodor.

Teodor waves farewell. “Watch out the coyotes don’t bite it off.”

“It’d take more than one,” Stefan brags. He steps into the crisp night. As the door shuts behind him, Teodor takes another sip and looks lovingly to Maria, who is burning a hole in his heart.

“What?” His head bobs indignantly.

“That’s it.” Maria grabs the jug of whiskey. “I want him out of here.”

“We’re having a good time.” He brings the cup of cheer to his lips.

Maria stops his hand and takes away the cup.

“You’re drunk and he should be home with his pregnant wife, not here drinking this poison.”

She drains the cup back into the jug.

“What kind of man brings a child out at this time of night? And you…” she spits, “what kind of man keeps pouring it into him. You know what he’s like.”

“You’re spilling it.” The whiskey dribbles down the jug and pools on the table. Maria slams the empty tin cup onto the table.

“You’re lucky I don’t pour it out.”

She drives the cork into the jug. She goes to the back wall and pushes aside the framed picture of the Virgin Mary holding her beating heart in hand. Behind the frame is the carved-out niche in the log wall.

“We were just havin’ a drink,” Teodor slurs, the golden glow starting to dim.

“And what’s he going to do when he goes home? What’s he going to do when he wakes up and there isn’t any more? What’s he going to do to those children and your sister? That man has the devil in him, I want him out of here.”

She shoves the jug into the hole and covers it back up with the guardian Virgin, hidden in plain view. She turns to see Petro standing in the doorway watching her. The wool cap is in his hand. Blood drips from his nose and trickles into the corner of his mouth. It’s his eyes, though, that pierce Maria’s heart.

“Petro…” She wants to explain, she wants to pick him up in her arms, she wants to kiss away the hurt, but she can’t find the words and her body won’t do her bidding.

“Colder than a witch’s teat out there.” Stefan throws open the door, still buttoning up the front of his pants. He staggers against the door frame as he pulls the door shut behind him, a lopsided grin on his face. He stops, feeling the sudden freeze in the house. He notices the absence of the jug on the table; and Maria, her cheeks flushed and her eyes ashamed; and Petro, scrawny and pathetic. His nose bleeding.