I DID NOT EXPERIENCE HATE
When my husband died. Perhaps I should have. Perhaps I somehow skipped over it. I know it is natural to experience it. But when my husband, Dimochka’s Papa, left this world, I did not experience feelings akin to fire and ice. Maybe I am a fool. I don’t know. I just accept what life gives me. I don’t know how else to react.
FURY
The first thought I had, after the accident, was—I wish he had had the other fury,
the mean fury
not
the beautiful fury
I wish he would have destroyed this whole world.
LACUNA
That feeling left me.
And for a long time, nothing took its place.
MY SISTER
Anya. She told me she would have taken that child, the one who had been in the water with him, the one who had swum by his side, the one who returned to shore without him, Anya said she would have taken that very child, and drown him in the same water.
THE OTHER BOY
I try to explain myself to Annechka with my utmost honesty. I’m ashamed that I do not hate that little boy for coming out of the water without my Dimochka. I’m ashamed that sometimes, in my sleeplessness, I am daydreaming about holding Dimochka, putting my nose in his hair, wrapping my arms around him, watching his eyelashes lift up and down when he looks around the room—and then suddenly, I realize I’m holding the other boy, the other one, that other boy—
TO SEE AND FEEL
I don’t know why my head makes up things like this for me to see and feel. Over and over again. To see and feel. When it hurts. It hurts so much. To see and feel these things.
TOUCH
I tell Annechka. I tell her that I’m afraid. I’m afraid that I feel a sort of—love.
Love—that comes in waves.
Love—that fills me with light.
But the light inside me stings.
THAT’S IT
Anya says on the phone. You’re coming here to live with us. What am I going to do in Moscow? I tell her. Anya laughs. There is so much to do in Moscow! Hell of a lot better than our little backward town. Why do you stick around there anyway? How can you bear it? To be in that apartment where Dimochka was. Oksanochka, dorogaya, you have to get out of there.
I KNOW WHAT I SOUND LIKE
I’m not sure if I can explain myself. I tried with Anya. I told her, I can’t. I can’t leave Dimochka.
I COULD HEAR HER SHIFTING THE RECEIVER AGAINST HER JAW
Oksanochka, she said firmly, Dima is gone.
He’s gone.
He’s gone, I agreed with her.
I said, Yes, Annechka, you’re right.
He’s gone.
SISTERS
My sister had made a good life for herself. She always knew how to go about things, make multitude out of very little. And she was a generous person, always. Ever since she was a little girl. But the knack that she had, I did not want. The things that she had, I did not want. She insisted and even pleaded. She came to visit (though she hated our little old town) and she said, I’m taking you back with me.
I kindly declined.
I TOOK HER HAND BETWEEN MY TWO PALMS
I said, Annechka, I am staying here and you are going back to Moscow. I kissed her on the cheek. She spotted Dima’s small shoes, next to mine, by the door. She flinched at the sight of them.
She asked me, in a very soft voice, if I wanted help putting them away.
I told her that I did not want her help putting them away, but thank you.
She told me, more firmly, that it’s time to put those things away.
I told her, more firmly, that I cannot do that.
She told me, more firmly, that I have to try.
I told her, more firmly, that I am trying.
She told me, more firmly, that I have to want to survive.
BEFORE SHE LEFT
Anya held me by my arms and slipped quite a lot of bills into my apron pocket. I tried to refuse, but she said, Please, Oksanochka, just take it. I thanked her and said goodbye.
IN HER ABSENCE
The apartment was quiet again. I took the bills out, a considerable sum. I was happy to see how well she was doing, if she was leaving this for me.
THE NEXT MORNING
I went downstairs to floor five. There were two families there with small children. I gave half of it to the Bokuchavas and the other half the Neschastlivyis. They looked at me with wonder and with pity. But they took the money.
I closed the door behind me, took off my shoes, and placed them next to Dima’s.
DAYS LATER, FOOTSTEPS
Small ones. Going up the stairs. When I heard them, I naturally got up from the kitchen table where I had been sifting the bad buckwheat seeds out of the pot I intended to cook that evening. I naturally went to the door.
How burdened a young boy’s footsteps can be.
THRESHOLD
I naturally went to the door. Naturally, I turned the knob and—for a second I was in between two worlds, I think.
There was a boy, standing, at the threshold. He was looking up at me. It was not my Dima.
NICKY, NICKY,
Little Nicky from floor five.
THERE WAS A STORM IN HIS EYES
And I followed it.
He began to lift the kitchen knife that he was holding.
NICKY, NICKY, NIKOLAI
I took a step forward.
IN THE BEGINNING
There was the word, and the word was Yes, and I said it three times.
SALLY
YES, YES, YES
But no more Motherhood.
SOME SAY
God brings us here and God guides us back. It was not God who came to me and took me elsewhere.
IT WAS A YOUNG WOMAN, ACTUALLY
With caramel skin and the most perfectly drawn cupid’s bow to her lip I have ever seen.
SALLY
She said to me.
I came to in a bathtub. I was very cold and wet.
My name would henceforth be Sally, she explained.
Repeat after me, Sally. Sally. Sally.
I
