She was standing there in a short light blue chintz dress. Long blond hair scattered around her fragile shoulders, her eyes sparkling the reflections of the passions that were raging now in her soul.
She was continually saying to herself, “I should not cry.”
A kiss and her hands on his shoulders.
She said to herself, “You need to lift your hands from him and let go. Make yourself smile.”
There was a blush on his face. “I will come back for you.”
She nodded. “I know.”
How hard it was to gather all the will to hide her pain in her fists and to sometimes close her eyes tightly against the uncertainty of their future destiny. She wanted to save in her memory this very moment, while they were still together. “Here, he is,” she told herself silently, “So real.”
He kissed her again. “I will come back for you.”
What a horror covers you all, when hearing this terrible roar from skies, and not knowing, what this time it will bring. The heart is ready to jump out of the chest; it is already beating somewhere in the throat. Feels like in the next moment it will fling outside. Seems like the baby she got in her belly was no less scared as he began to flounder from side to side.
The sky was gray, overcast. A strong wind bent the trees, and this roar sounded as if from everywhere. She felt like she was turning into an animal, instinctively looking for a place to hide, even while thinking, “What's the point” because there was no place to hide. “Scared doe or antelope”, she thought. “Scared pregnant doe”.
Morning. So long awaited, it finally came. Dawn at last broke. Silence gave voice to nature and the lullaby sang her to sleep, where a dream came to her, the kind which brings oblivion and tranquility.
There he was, standing before her eyes. It was amusing to look at him in this small oval mirror on the wall that hung below. He was a bit higher then the level of the mirror so it reflected only sensual lips, broad shoulders and a beautiful torso. The perfect image of a man.
A little smile couldn't leave her lips when she looked at this reflection of hidden female fantasies. Also it was entertaining that he did not understand the reason for the sparks in her eyes and continued to tell her about work, about acquaintances ... something else. She didn't listen but nodded her head and admired his reflection.
She opened her eyes because of the noise. Harsh reality instantly fell upon her after a tender romantic memory. Parents were doing something in the corner of their basement, where she slept.
“Mama?”
“Did you wake up? It seems to be settled at the top. The shelling at last stopped. I want to cook potatoes for breakfast. Then, my father and I want to go and see how the neighbors are.”
Another overnight stay in the basement with a smell of rotting potatoes and an ever-uncomfortable mattress affected the mood.
“I am so tired of being afraid!” she thought silently.
“When do you go? I'm with you. I need to walk.”
‘Stay here,” father said sternly. “It is not in your position to walk around.
“Pregnancy is not a disease,” the daughter answered sharply.
Then she softened her tone, playing up a little girl, “Daddy, daddy,one can't sit in the basement all the time either. I need to breathe. And I missed seeing other people. The whole week I stayed in one place. Oh please.”
He hesitated and Mum stood up in her defense.
"That is true, this need to walk."
They have already noticed that in the morning, the belligerents took a break. This then was the time to do some chores and prepare food. Before the next shelling.
Cautiously they left the house. Their courtyard was not much damaged, but wait, what is it? At the Martynov's house on the next street of the village, there was smoke. Did they hurt them? Her heart sank at the thought of something happening to the cute teenage twins who lived there.
Slowly, looking around, listening to each sound, the three of them went, clinging to the fences for reconnaissance. But the morning was surprisingly friendly. The birds chirped again, as if this nightmare didn't exist just a few hours ago.
What was surprising is that they realized that the smoke was coming from a fire for preparing food. Even the samovar was on the table. Outside the fence, it was clear that the red heads of the boys were moving here and there, playing ball. A fervent feeling of pride and love, infinite love for these reckless boys, for their parents, neighbors, for all those who experienced this difficult time, all differently, but with dignity, engulfed her.
“Oh!” The grey Martynov laughed. Already in his sixties, he married rather late with a woman much younger than him, who gave birth to Pashka and Vaska. He kept saying that the war was not for his age. Here is his house, his family, whom he will protect.
“Neighbors! Glad to see. Come on in. How about some tea? Samovar is hot. I didn’t know what was happening last night. Just so heavy, the shelling this time. Seems like the whole week they were training and then they had a go.”.
The Martynovs did not have a basement shelter, so it was a pure luck that that their house was left untouched.
Everyone was relieved.
“On the way, we saw fences like a sieve punched through,” said mum. “So glad to see you and boys are ok.”
It was the most wonderful morning for the whole last week. And definitely the tastiest they ever had.
Martynov said that yesterday he had lost all hope. His wife was hysterical. So when the morning at last came he went and brewed tea in a samovar to amuse the kids.
“If they shoot or not to shoot, I don't care I want to drink some proper strong hot tea, this is what I thought” he said with some boldness.
“How about coffee?” laughed her father.
Mum agreed to exchange some potatoes and jars of homemade rolled up tomatoes for a few jars of zucchinis and sauerkraut. She also received a can of mushrooms as a gift.
Each of the neighbors did what he or she could. Mum was doing well in her food exchange. She periodically went around the village courtyards during the hours of calamity and exchanged eggs from their chicken to bread, greenery and sometimes fruits. People tried to help each other to survive the hardships.
“You need to eat a diverse diet,” mother said to her daughter when she was trying to stop her from going outside.
One day, the most trustworthy media - word of mouth – informed them that the local poultry factory was abandoned. Somebody had cut off the electricity to the fence, and the chickens were free land run around the neighborhood, to the absolute and understandable delight of hungry villagers.
The father could not resist the opportunity. The desire to feed the family, and perhaps the awakened hunting instinct he couldn't help despite all the fears of the family. Whatever the reasons, thanks to him, his little family had a grand dinner. And feathers left over for pillows.
When their world threatened to overwhelm them, the women gathered together to calm down and somehow support each other in the evenings, while there was still electricity in the homes. While talking and doing handicrafts, time went faster, and it was possible to discuss the latest events.
Men coped with a difficult moral situation in their own way. While there was at least a drop of alcohol in the village, they were comforted by it, obliviously. But when the stores closed and it was no longer available, many sobered up and stayed. Mostly men over fifty.
Her brother left with his pregnant wife two months ago when there was still the chance to go. The father was worried that in times so difficult “all our girls became pregnant”.
So when there was an opportunity to send the son's family away, they immediately seized it. While there was a connection, they called each other. At least they were safe. Then no connection anymore. There is no electricity to charge the phones, obviously no Internet. No buses to come if anyone wanted to go anywhere. They appeared like on an island, with mostly elderly and young, totally isolated from outside world. The households that villagers were used to have for centuries became the surviving point. She didn't have an idea how people in towns are coping with situation like that.
Already for several weeks there was no electricity, no connection, no heat and they were absolutely cut off from the big world. There was only hope. After all, he promised. “And you need to believe, you need to believe in him, otherwise you can go crazy with anxiety. He will cope.”
“I'll be with you,” he said.
“Even if...”
“Hush. Don't say a word.”
“Sometimes you need to kiss a girl so that she becomes silent.”
The noise outside distracted her from her thoughts. She cautiously peeked out of the dim basement window.
Several men with bandages on their hands were going along the street. A younger one knocked a stick on the fences past which he walked. He looked into the yard. She hid behind the wall. Holding her breath as they went by. And as their bootsteps subsided, grateful that her mother had kept the remaining hens in the depths of the courtyard, not allowing them to go out and free range. Not very good for chickens, of course, but to whom now is easy. So far none of the neighbors have complained about looting, but precaution does not hurt.
It seems it was so long time ago. The two of them lay on the couch and looked at the grey sky, as clouds gathered over Donetsk. Her computer played a song by the band Hurts entitled “Silver Lining”. When it came to the verse, he suddenly began to sing along with “I will try to save you, cover up the grey with silver lining. When the world surrounds you I’ll make it go away. Paint the sky with silver lining. ”
The peacefully rhythm of train wheels was calming her more than ever. From time to time, lights flashed in the window. Who knows, it may be easier to reach Nirvana on the train, when thoughts are pacified and flow freely in any direction. How strange it is when there are no sounds of shooting. How strange and new it is not to be afraid anymore. The train heads to the West. It is safe there. He is near. He came back, having overcome all obstacles, even hiring some crazy driver who was not afraid to go to that forgotten village in the middle of war zone. And there will be soon three of them.
Dedicated to Helen, who was said to have been the most beautiful woman in the world, to her brave husband and to the strength of spirit that lives in people like her, her parents and neighbors.
The parents said they don't want to leave their house. So they stayed on.