AUTHOR’S NOTE: This story includes a number of topics that I initially had scarce knowledge about, including the Russo-Ukrainian War, Ukrainian traditions, and postpartum hemorrhage (PPH). I apologize if there are any inconsistencies. 

 

          Heartbreak came in the form of a welcoming basket, filled with gifts and a letter written in a language she could not understand. She could make out different hands, the script wider or weight heavier. The blue ink filled the white interior of the card like streams cutting through fields of snow, like the spring sky peeking through the overcast. Printed at the bottom of the card were small yellow flowers. Maryska rubbed her thumb over it, murmuring a song under her breath as she unpackaged the gifts.

          “Oh, in the cherry garden, a sparrow sang / I wanted to go home, but you wouldn’t let me / I wanted to go home but you wouldn’t let me…”

          It was dim in the apartment room, and oddly devoid of furniture. The single window overlooked dusk, sinking the world into a melancholic grayish-blue, and permitted a gentle breeze to stagger into the house. Maryska used only one light, a moon-like lamp that emitted a weak, golden glow, scarcely illuminating the young woman who swayed back and forth as she sang, and the basket of items she attended to. 

          Blankets. Fruits. Chocolates. Candles. Bottles of… she opened the cap and sniffed it. Shampoo, it seemed, or some kind of body wash, smelling of freshly baked cakes and chilly summer mornings. Maryska set the bottle down and lifted the final gift, a cream-coloured smiling teddy bear, holding a scarlet heart between its paws. Iya would like this, she thought.

          “What is that?”

          The words pierced the silence of the apartment. Maryska turned, finding little Iya standing there, a sprawl of freckles over her nose, blonde hair curling around her ears, blue eyes large as a doe. She stood awkwardly, as if she were not yet fully accustomed to her own limbs yet, with hands clasped behind her back. Maryska subconsciously wiped her hands on the front of her apron, and brightened her voice.

          “A gift from our new neighbors,” chirped Maryska. “Look, they’ve got something for you.” She extended the cream-coloured teddy bear to her and attempted a smile. “Isn’t he cute? What will you name him?”

          Iya regarded the teddy bear with a wary indifference, but held it gently nonetheless. She was silent for a long moment, then finally said, “Snih.” Snow. Her round, doe eyes lifted to meet Maryska’s. “Thank you, Miss Maryska,” she said, then darted off into her room once more.

          Maryska watched her go.

          ‘Miss Maryska.’ Not Mother, or even Auntie. Maryska tried not to dwell on the dull, throbbing pain in her heart, turning instead to the letter once more, frowning as she tried to sound out the words to a randomly chosen sentence, translating in her head.

          Finally, after deliberating over the pronunciation of the words for a long time, she spoke into the air: “I… can’t imagine how sc…ared you must have been. You’re so brave. I also have a… do-ter?” Maryska paused. “Daughter. I also have a daughter.” 

          In the dark apartment room that had no furnishings, the kitchen counter illuminated by a weak lamp, and the window open to permit a breeze into the room, it was utterly silent. The young woman who had been swaying and singing before did not move. She did not even seem to breathe, clutching the letter in her hands. 

          There was more to the sentence: If she ever needs a friend, I would be more than happy to arrange a playdate between them. I could look after them, if you ever need a break. But the young woman did not read it. She simply set the card down, movements very slow, like a dying man’s last exertions.

          Then, suddenly, a sharp, pleasing note filled the air, and she was swaying back and forth again in some sort of ghost-dance. She twirled around the kitchen counter and belted the lyrics with a kind of retribution, as if to make up for the earlier silence.

          “You’re my darling, and I’m yours / let me go, for dawn is breaking / my mother will awaken, and will ask where I had been / my mother will awaken, and will ask where I had been / Well, you tell her that it was a beautiful May night / Spring is coming, and her beauty will make everyone happy / Spring is coming, and her beauty will…”

          The young woman trailed off, her voice breaking. In the flickering light, she fell silent, her face turned away from the illumination. Her slender figure trembled for a long, horrible moment, and then a choked sob tore from her throat, then another, and she fell to her knees. In the apartment room, the only sound was the woman’s sniffled weeping. 

          That night, Maryska fell into a feverish, scalding dream. She was the air, the wind, the snow beneath her own feet. She was an onlooker in her memories, and could do nothing.

 

                                                  ***

 

          The morning was brisk, and Maryska stirred from her sleep as the morning light pressed its golden fingers onto her eyes. She shivered, and curled into herself slightly to savor her own warmth. She heard her mother call her name several times, and drew her pillow over her face in protest. A long moment passed, and for a moment she thought, stupidly, that she would be left to have a few more minutes of sleep. Then her door creaked open, and Maryska peeked open a single eye.

          Rather than her mother’s stout figure, Nataliya stood in her room. At twenty-one years old, she was the picture of grace, with wispy caramel-blonde locks falling just beyond her slim waist, and her shoulders enveloped in her signature cotton shawl. When she noticed Maryska was awake, a grin split her features.

          “Go~od Morning, Maryskaaa!” she sang, tugging down on Maryska’s blinds sharply. 

          She hissed as the bright morning light flooded the room. “Stop,” she groaned.

          “It’s not even morning anymore, you slacker, it’s—” She consulted her watch. “Lunchtime! Come on, get dressed, let’s take a walk.”

          “Again?”

          “I found something in the forest. Come on, now.” She clapped her hands together obnoxiously, over and over. “Come on, come on, come on!”

          Maryska reluctantly swept her legs over the bedside, rubbing her eyes. “Alright.” Nataliya continued to clap and chant. Maryska rubbed her temples. “God, alright, already! If you want me to hurry up so badly, at least let me change.”

          Nataliya positioned her body into a corner of the room as Maryska slipped out of her pajamas, drumming her fingernails on the wall. To the rhythm of some folk song, she swayed from side to side, her thick skirts trailing after the movement of her hips. 

          “Who let you in?” asked Maryska as she pulled up her pants. 

          “I let myself in,” Nataliya replied. Without looking back, she reached into her pocket and wiggled a little key in the air. “Emergency key,” she said in elaboration.

          “You’re wretched,” Maryska sighed. “That’s for emergencies, not for breaking into my home at your leisure.”

          “This is an emergency, Maryska.”

          “Sure, sure,” Maryska breathed obligingly, fingers working at a braid down her shoulder. “You can turn around now.”

          Nataliya turned, observed her, and raised a brow. “Wow. That braid is horrendous.”

          “Let’s just go,” Maryska yawned. “It’s just a walk, anyway.”

          Arm in arm, the two exited the house, and made their way through the bustling streets of their small town, returning morning greetings to the neighbors who called out to them. After fifteen minutes, they broke away from the clustered houses and narrow streets, finding themselves in the nearby forest. Immediately, Nataliya led them onto a new path, the sparkling snow crunching under their feet.

          “It’s a good day,” conceded Maryska in the silence, “Pretty.”

          “I know,” said Nataliya smugly. She pressed a finger to Maryska’s lips. “Shh-hhh. Let me show you something.” Nataliya’s gloved hand curled around Maryska’s and pulled her off-route, tip-toeing further and further into the forest until she abruptly stopped. “Watch,” she whispered.

          They hid behind a large tree, overlooking a clearing. Slowly, a red fox emerged from a small, hidden den beneath the snow. It had large, inky eyes, and its magnificent fur was lightly coated with frost. 

          “Gosh,” Maryska breathed, enchanted.

          Nataliya’s bright, oak-brown eyes flickered to her, then the fox again, biting down on her bottom lip. “Keep watching,” she instructed softly.

          Another fox emerged, slightly smaller, but still evidently an adult. And then a baby fox, and another, then another, hurtling into each other and chasing their tails. All the while, the two adult foxes, one male, one female, looked on in loving silence.

          “They’re adorable,” Maryska whispered.

          “They’re a family,” Nataliya returned. “Look at those two adults. They must be the mom and dad.” She let out a small giggle. “That’ll be Feliks and I someday.”

          Maryska rolled her eyes. “You always have to bring him up, don’t you?”

          “Don’t be so sour!”

          “Don’t get me wrong, Feliks is… nice, but you two have been dating for three years, and he still hasn’t proposed. Are you sure he isn’t one of those guys who only date women to pass time?”

          Nataliya’s fair cheeks, splattered with freckles, blushed. Her grin was wide, eyes downcast shyly. She tucked a loose strand of caramel-blonde hair behind her ear. “Well,” she said, with deliberate slowness, “I suppose I am.”

          Maryska blinked, uncomprehending. “What?”

          Nataliya’s eyes met hers. They were positively sparkling.

          “Wait, what?” Maryska gasped loudly, and her hands flew to Nataliya’s, and then they were both shaking. “Oh my god. Oh my god, did he—”

          Nataliya nodded. Trembling, she gently removed her right-hand glove and revealed a glittering ring on her fourth finger. Maryska released a high-pitched squeal that likely scared off the foxes, but at that moment, she was so excited, she didn’t care.

          “When?” Maryska asked. She held Nataliya’s fingers with care, looking upon the gold ring embedded with small diamonds. “When did he— When did Feliks propose?”

          “Last night at the village dance,” she whispered, and her voice was so very full of hope and joy. “He led me away from all the… commotion, onto one of the bridges.” She sighed breathlessly, eyes closed as if to relive the moment. “And there were flower petals scattered about the bridge, and the starosty waiting.” 

          A traditional proposal. If Nataliya wasn’t an orphan, then her parents would’ve been there, too. But Nataliya didn’t seem to be aggrieved by the knowledge. She glowed. 

          Nataliya clasped her hands over Maryska’s. “Be my maid of honor,” she whispered. “It must be you. It has to be.”

          The warmth between them felt sacred.

          “I will,” Maryska returned. She kissed her hands. “Of course I will.”

 

                                                            ***

 

          Memories that swirled past next were those of Nataliya the night of her wedding, hair meticulously woven into a ceremonial braid and adorned with flowers, radiating joy, and Feliks, whose deep brown hair complimented Nataliya’s caramel-blonde. She recalled Nataliya gushing to Maryska about how handsome Feliks looked in their traditional clothing, how excited she was to open all the gifts. And then, the month after, when Nataliya and Feliks announced that they were having a child. 

          A tugging woke her. Maryska rubbed her eyes, irritation flooding her mind before she recognized who woke her. Iya stood beside her, cream-coloured teddy bear tucked under her arm. She said nothing, only stared.

          “What?” Maryska snapped, harsher than she intended.

          Iya flinched a little, and Maryska felt a prick of guilt.

          “I’m scared,” croaked Iya.

          “Oh.” Maryska cleared her throat, softening her voice. “Do you want… Do you need me to sleep beside you? Do you want to sleep here?”

          Iya eyed her for a long moment, then said slowly, “No. Nevermind, I can sleep alone.”

          “I thought you were scared.”

          “No, it’s okay. Good night, M…Um, Miss Maryska.”

          Iya closed the door behind her, and Maryska was left alone, sitting upright, shoulders slumped. She frowned to herself, combing her hands through her disheveled hair in frustration. I can’t do it, Nataliya. She thought. I’m not you. Come back. And then, You’re so selfish. How could you do this to me? I hate you.

          Both thoughts left Maryska numb with guilt. 

          When Maryska drifted back to sleep again, she prayed for it to be restful, to be left alone to wallow. But her prayers had not been answered in a long time. The moment her eyes shut, the memories returned.

 

                                                            ***

 

          Feliks was drafted when Nataliya was seven months pregnant.

          “He will return,” Maryska said, an attempt at offering comfort. She rubbed Nataliya’s shoulders. “It will be alright. He is fighting for you, and for your child. It is for you that he fights.”

          “I don’t care,” Nataliya whispered. She stared ahead at nothing. “We hadn’t even chosen a name together yet.”

          Maryska hesitated. “I’m sure that the war—”

          Nataliya shook her head. “It will not end anytime soon. Do not comfort me with lies, Maryska.”

          Maryska was not quite sure what to say to that, so she said nothing, only squeezed her hand and let Nataliya rest her head on her chest.

          “Iya,” she said, quietly.

          Maryska sat back. “Pardon?”

          “That’s the name I’d been considering.”

          “It’s from your name.” Maryska tried to smile. “Nataliya. Iya.”

          The ghost of a smile passed Nataliya’s dulled face. “Yes.”

          “Feliks will like it.”

          “I hope so.” Nataliya rubbed her swollen belly in soothing circles, as if to calm her baby. Meanwhile, Maryska fidgeted with her fingers. “I wrote to him yesterday.”

          “Do you want me to stay? We could wait for his letter together.”

          Nataliya turned to her then, features touched with the distinct hand of grief. “I would like that,” she whispered. 

 

          A day passed, and then another, and then a week.

          “How long does it usually take for mail to reach soldiers?” Nataliya asked nervously.

          “A week, I heard. Don’t worry,” Maryska reassured, “I’m sure we’ll hear from him soon.”

          A month later, they received a letter. It held the news that Feliks had died in battle. Maryska had been the one picking up Nataliya’s mail. Eight months pregnant, Nataliya could hardly do anything about the house, and Maryska handled just about everything. She washed her dishes. She folded her laundry. She read her mail to her.

          Maryska did not read that one letter to Nataliya. The first person she told, instead, was her mother.

          “Wait,” her mother instructed, traditional to the end. “Wait until she has given birth. If you tell her now, the stress may make her deliver a stillborn child.” She touched a hand to Maryska’s arm. “Oh, the poor girl.” She shook her head. “Widowed so early.” She seemed to recall something. “Sometimes, if the child’s birth is difficult, the mother can lose her life, too. So wait.”

          Maryska said nothing, only nodded, carefully placed the letter into her desk, then returned to Nataliya’s house.

          “Where did you go?” Nataliya asked her when she returned.

          “Just… picking up the mail,” replied Maryska laconically.

          Nataliya stirred from where she sat on the couch, knitting a sweater for her baby. Her eyes held the barest, most painful scraps of hope.

          “Anything from Feliks?”

          A knife turned in Maryska’s heart.

          “No,” she said, not making eye contact.

          The dull sorrow that flooded Nataliya’s face almost made Maryska tell her the truth. Almost.

          A week later, Maryska’s cousins, on the other side of the country, lost their homes to the conflict. Maryska, along with her mother and father, went to pick them up, leaving Nataliya alone. And there was still no response from Feliks. Maryska left Nataliya with groceries and gifts, promising to return soon. When Maryska did return, there was no time to attend to Nataliya. She had to rearrange her house, set aside space for her cousins to live, help them adapt to their new surroundings and cope with the death they’d witnessed. The knowledge of Feliks’ fate sat heavy as a brick in her stomach, but not having to face Nataliya, to have lies furling off of her tongue at every turn, was a consolation in itself.

          In the meantime, she had been assigned with purchasing groceries each week. 

          “I’m home,” Maryska announced when she returned, pulling in the groceries from the trunk of her car. She looked around. “Hello?” she called out, walking into her house. No answer. She finished stocking her purchases, then continued searching for her parents. Finally, she knocked on the door of her cousins’ room and peeked her head inside.

          “Hey, guys,” she said. “Do you know where my mom and dad are? Are they on a walk? We’re supposed to go out with my friend today.”

          Antin said nothing, but Julja spoke up, leaving a thumb in her book to mark her page as she closed it shut. She tapped her finger on her lips. “That pregnant woman down the street,” she said, “I think she went into labor. Aunt Daniela was yelling for someone to hand her the keys. She drove her to the hospital.”

          Maryska thought she misheard. “What? Who? Nataliya?” she gasped.

          “Oh!” Julja snapped her fingers. “Yes, that’s her name.” She observed her expression and bristled. “Um, don’t panic, Maryska, I’m sure that she’ll be—”

          Maryska hurtled down the stairs and shoved her keys back into her car. She didn’t remember driving, or calling her mother for the room number, or sitting next to her mother and father, praying in the waiting room. She only remembered being called into the room, and seeing Nataliya in a hospital gown, eyes foggy, cradling a baby in her arms.

          Nataliya’s beautiful oak-brown eyes lifted to meet Maryska’s. An exhausted smile stretched on her face, and she shifted her arms to reveal her red-faced daughter, wailing.

          “Oh, Nataliya,” Maryska whispered.

          She dropped her purse to the floor and went to her side.

          “My parents couldn’t make it,” murmured Nataliya. She chuckled softly. “As you know.”

          “Oh, stop it, you,” Maryska sighed, then kissed Nataliya’s clammy forehead. “I’m so happy for you.” She combed back the disheveled strands of caramel-blonde from her face. “I’m sorry I didn’t… I wasn’t here.”

          “You’re here now. And I’m so happy that you’re here,” Nataliya whispered, and Maryska frowned. There was something wrong with her voice, dull and breathless, as if all life had been sucked out of it. She never sounded like that, not even when Feliks had been drafted.

          Maryska moved back. “Nataliya?”

          “I’m so lucky to have you as a friend,” Nataliya continued. She lifted a hand to Maryska’s face and cupped her cheek. Her fingers trembled as she spoke. “You’re so good to me.” 

          “Oh— Thank you. Today’s about you, though. Congratulations, Nataliya.” She hugged her, gingerly, in a way that wouldn’t squish the baby. Maryska noted Nataliya’s weak embrace, and the quick pounding of her heartbeat. “You’re amazing,” she gushed as she backed away. “You’re a mother now.”

          “Maryska,” said Nataliya quietly. Her hand slipped away. “Growing up as an orphan was terrible.” She shut her eyes tightly and turned her head away, as if cringing from the memory. “It was a horrible, horrible experience.”

          Maryska blinked. As chatty as she was, Nataliya disdained speaking of her childhood. They’d first met when they were eighteen, when Nataliya had already moved out of her foster home. She’d asked her about it before, once, and only once.

          What was it like?

          She hadn’t responded. However, the odd, displaced look on her face was enough to make Maryska hastily change the topic. She hadn’t ever thought Nataliya would willingly speak about it.

          “It’s over now,” Maryska said, then cringed at her choice of words. “I mean… You have a family now. One of your own.” She squeezed her hand. “Everything is going to be alright,” she whispered.

          “Yes,” Nataliya concurred, but her smile felt forced, awkward on her beautiful face. She looked so tired. Her fair skin lost all its rosiness, leaving her with an odd, doll-like complexion. Maryska tried to convince herself that it was just the lingering pain from childbirth.

          “Are you hungry?”

          “Not quite, just – dizzy, I think.” She lifted a hand to her temple, face twisting. She swayed to the left, and Maryska caught her, gently bringing her upright onto her pillow. When her fingers brushed her neck, she could feel the drumming of her blood beneath her clammy skin, but said nothing, giving Nataliya a moment of peace. But she didn’t seem to be at peace, or even relieved. Her brows were knit together slightly, and her breaths came short. After a long moment, she muttered, “Maryska.”

          “Yes?”

          “Something’s wrong.”

          “What is it?”

          Nataliya frowned for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts, then released a small whimper. “Nurse – Get the nurse,” she croaked out. 

          Finally Maryska finally tore her eyes away from Nataliya, eyes darting around the room. It landed on the bed, the red pooling between Nataliya’s legs.

          The rest of the dream was a blur, a horrible carousel that showed her scattered, dislinear moments from the worst day of her life: the nurses, the tortuous hours of waiting as they operated on her, Nataliya’s confrontation about Feliks, their argument, the blood that flowed from between her thighs and would not stop, how small and still she looked once the light left her eyes.

          “This is all I ask of you,” came Nataliya’s voice, piercing through the blur. “It’s all I want, these are my final wishes, why can’t you respect—”

          “No – I never wanted this, you cannot force me—”

          “You don’t understand. I want her to have a mother. Do you have any idea how lonely it was, how often I pulled at my hair and wished desperately to experience the love everyone around me was experiencing?”

          “So you think lying is better?!”

          “Yes,” Nataliya whispered. “Yes, I do. At least until she’s eighteen—”

          “You’re mad. I won’t be able to give her the love you imagine, Nataliya. Not in these conditions, not if you’re – not if you’re gone.” 

          Maryska remembered pacing back and forth, avoiding eye contact with Nataliya’s limp figure. The doctors had done all they could, which was close to nothing; they were short of surgical tools due to the war. They were so short-staffed, and Nataliya bleeding in such terrible quantities, that they’d classified her as unsalvageable and moved onto the civilians with fourth-degree burns and missing limbs in the emergency center. There was no way to save her, only give her pain medication and permit her last minutes to be with her loved ones instead of alone, terrified, strapped to a bed.

          Nataliya wrapped her fingers around Maryska’s, and looked up at her with those eyes of hers. A swell of guilt, indignation, and grief flooded Maryska’s chest, and then she was sobbing, holding onto Nataliya as if it could anchor her to the material world. In that bubble, wrapped in the scent of Nataliya’s vanilla shampoo and warmth, Maryska felt immortal. They could embrace each other as tightly as they wished; little Iya had been brought to the hospital’s nursery. Good riddance, Maryska thought, unkindly. I don’t care for the child, just give me Nataliya. She could hardly believe herself the moment she thought it, but the more she let the thought sit in her mind, simmering, she realized that, truly, all she wanted was for Nataliya to live.

 

          To Be Continued in Dochka Means Daughter: Part Two