Shandi Mitchell - Under This Unbroken Sky

Her mother has been cleaning everything. She’s changed the bedding, swept the floor, scrubbed the table, washed all the dishes, mended clothes, and burned the ones that were stained. She’s rearranged the shelves, folded and packed away the summer clothes. She’s cleaned up everything except the soapbox sitting in the middle of the floor.

Lesya gathers up an armload of clean straw and spreads it over the roost. She forms a deep nest and sets the two eggs inside. Happiness… she calls.

Happiness… she sings, her voice chokes, knowing it won’t come.

PETRO STANDS ON THE EDGE OF THE ROAD, LOOKING ACROSS the field toward town. At first, he planned to make another attempt to find his tato, but his feet stopped when he reached the road. He took a few steps forward and couldn’t go farther, like his ankles were shackled. A part of him afraid to leave, another part afraid to stay. What if he went searching and while he was gone his tato came back? What if they passed each other coming and going, going and coming? What if he veered too far east or too far west? They would never find each other. Petro kicks at the snow.

He remembers how far he walked the last time. The snow never ended. He never saw the town. His father wasn’t following the road, maybe he wasn’t going to town. Maybe Tato was looking at something else when he used to stand here. Petro scans the fields but sees just a gray curtain of clouds rolling in from the east.

If he goes, who would chop the wood? Not his mother. And Lesya isn’t strong enough. He spits twice, like his father. The second spit sticks to his lip and dribbles down his chin. He wipes it away with the back of his mitten.

He misses Lesya the most. She doesn’t talk anymore since her hen ran away. The same night the baby ran away. Petro wants to believe that his uncle stole the baby. He broke down the door and took it like he took the horse. But he knows the baby was gone before his uncle arrived. He saw his mama carrying it outside. Poor little mouse.

Petro thinks the hen was found by someone who knew it could dance. Now it’s wearing a fancy dress and hat, performing for rich people in a traveling show. Maybe the baby is with it. The World’s Largest Tailless Mouse and the Amazing Dancing Chicken. He looks across the field. He could go find Tato, the hen, and the baby, and bring them all home. Be a family, like the family on the hill. On their hill.

If Teodor was gone, like Tato said, everything would be better. Everything would be theirs. The wheat, the house, the money. They could live in the house on the hill and have their own rooms. There’d be nobody to make him feel the way his uncle made him feel the night the baby ran away. That same feeling when the teacher slaps his wrists with the switch for speaking Ukrainian. Or when the town boys laugh at his clothes, or the little blond girl refuses to sit beside him because she says he smells. It makes him want to cry. It makes him want to kill something.

If Teodor was gone, Tato would come back. He’d brush Mama’s hair and make her laugh. Her hair would grow long and beautiful again. She’d dress up in fine clothes and Tato would be proud to be with such a lady. And Mama would tell Tato how much their boy had helped while he was gone. She’d show him the stack of wood that he cut all by himself. They’d ask to see his muscles and they’d notice how he’s outgrown his pants. How his trouser hems dangle above his ankles. Lesya would talk again. She’d tell him stories and hold him until he fell asleep and her hen would dance on the foot of the bed. And the baby… the baby wouldn’t cry.

Petro’s first instinct is to run into the bush and hide when he sees the police car lumbering toward him, veering slowly through the wagon ruts, spewing black smoke from its tail, its engine growling. But he doesn’t run. He stands there, like he just happened to be walking down the road. He holds up his hand and waves them down, like old friends, just like his father.

The car rolls to a stop. Petro shifts his weight to his left foot and slides his hand deep into his pocket as the window lowers.

IVAN SHIFTS THE BASKET FROM ONE ARM TO THE OTHER. He leans backward, balancing the weight. Mama said he’s not to talk to anyone. He’s to set the basket on the stoop and leave. She waited until Tato and Myron were in the barn and she could hear them busy hammering. She sent Sofia and Katya to collect twigs for kindling and Dania for water. Then she told him the basket was for Lesya and Petro. She said it was their secret, he wasn’t to mention it even to Tato or he wouldn’t be allowed to go again.

Ivan is thrilled that he has been entrusted with such a special job. He’s worried, too: he’s never had to keep a secret from Tato. Maybe he’ll get to see Petro. A surge of excitement quickens his pace. He wants to show him his new mittens, and the mice holes in the snow, and the hollow tree you can sit inside, and the red berries that will make you sick, and the tree that tastes sweet when you peel back its bark. But then he remembers he’s not allowed to talk to him.

He sucks solemnly on his last butterscotch candy. It coats his tongue but doesn’t bring him any joy. Today it seems sticky and thick. Ivan glances up at the gray, swollen sky. A light wind is building from the northeast. Tato says it’s going to snow. He’s been watching the crows all morning. They are sitting in the fields, not moving. Tato says it’s a sign of bad weather, when the birds are afraid of the sky.

Ivan looks down at the gray house, gray barn, gray posts. Even the smoke coming from the chimney is gray. His arms ache where the handle cuts into his forearms. He plops the basket on the snow; it’s heavier now than when he left. He peeks under the cloth: jars of borshch and sauerkraut and half a loaf of bread. He grabs the handle and drags the basket behind him like a sled. He’s almost halfway there. He can’t see anyone outside. The thought that they can see him coming when he can’t see them worries him.

What if they’re still mad at him? It was his fault that Tato hit Uncle Stefan and Myron fired the gun, his fault that everybody is fighting. Maybe Mama’s sending him to Petro’s house because that’s where he is going to have to live from now on and that’s why it’s a secret. It’s his punishment for making everyone not allowed to talk. Maybe he can tell them he’s sorry. But then he would have to speak.

Ivan heaves the basket onto the stone wall. He crawls over the rocks and plops down on the other side. He hauls the basket over; it drops heavily to the ground. He is startled to find Petro sitting against the wall. His cousin glances at him, then looks away. Maybe this is part of the secret; Petro has been sent to meet him, but Mama said to put the basket on the stoop. She didn’t say Petro would be waiting for him. Ivan slides the basket over the snow and sits beside his cousin.

He is glad to see that Petro is wearing his socks and mittens and hat. The boys stare out over the field dotted with crows. The bellies of the clouds are a threatening black. Ivan rolls the butterscotch over his tongue, glances at his cousin. He looks tired and sad. Ivan spits the candy into his mitten and offers it to Petro. Petro looks at the glistening, smooth buttery ball in Ivan’s palm and reaches for it. The candy sticks to their mittens and for a moment they are attached, before it pulls away, stuck to Petro’s mittened palm. Petro licks it, then puts it in his mouth. He sucks on it, rolling the sweet candy from cheek to cheek, his tongue smoothing away the woolen fuzz.

Ivan brushes away the snow and loosens a stone. He tosses it toward the crows. One lifts, then settles again. The others ignore the disruption. He finds another pebble. Stands up and takes aim. The rock skitters over the drifts and ricochets among the flock. The birds flutter upward, a jumble of wings and beaks, then land again. Ivan scratches at the snow and finds a flat, gray stone perfect for skipping. He hands it to Petro.