Lara's Gift (6 page)

The Red Door

I bid farewell to Ruslan and hurried to the kennel with Zar to tend to Zola. Along the way the cold, early-evening air slapped my face and the gray sky hinted of snow. Once inside the kennel, I couldn’t help myself and ran from stall to stall, peering into each one, to greet every dog. “Hello, Borei! Hello, Taran! Hello, Buyan, Bistri, Buran, Lovkiy, Rossak, Ryss, Volan, and Vlast! Hello, sweet Zarya, Zvezda, Umnitza, Babochka, Bronya, Raduga, and Shaika! And hello to you, too, Dobraya, Skoraya, Snigurka, and Sila!”

In the last stall, where we kept our breeding dogs, I found Zola tucked in a corner, quietly resting on a bed of straw settled under the stone that hung from the ceiling to ward off evil spirits. Zar greeted Zola with eager little
bites on the neck while the other dogs in her stall quickly surrounded me, nosing and nudging me for attention and pieces of meat. I put a lead on Zola and led her through the kennel into the birthing area. Zar followed beside her, his head held high like a protective rooster.

Zola explored all four corners of her birthing stall, sniffing and digging as she went, until she settled herself just underneath the stone that hung from the ceiling in a corner closest to the stove. Zar nestled up next to her.

“Such a smart girl.” I curled up next to her and Zar, imagining what their pups would look like. Before I knew it, I was fast asleep.

Early the next morning Alexander woke me from a sound sleep. “Isn’t it a bit too soon to put Zola in a birthing stall?”

“Papa said the other dogs were stealing her food,” I said.

“Poor girl,” Alexander said, stroking Zola’s head, and then his eyes fell on the bandage I had tied around Zar’s neck. “Is he all right after yesterday?”

“He’s fine. I wanted Papa to notice him,” I said. “Have you talked to him about giving Zar some training?”

“Not yet, Larochka.” He patted his chest with both hands. “Up, Zar.”

Alexander caught Zar’s paws and waltzed him around the birthing stall. “Are you ready to become a father, boy?”

It pleased me that Alexander wasn’t disappointed by the mating.

“That looks like splendid fun, Sasha. Zar’s never jumped up and danced with me like that.”

Alexander let go of Zar’s paws. “Give it a whirl.”

I patted my chest. “Up, boy.”

Zar sat down.

I patted my chest again. “Zar, up.”

He lifted his paw.

“He’s afraid to hurt you,” Alexander said.

“Please, Zar.” I pounded my chest this time. “You won’t hurt me. I’m strong enough.”

Zar gently pawed at my leg.

“I can see in his eyes that he wants to obey,” Alexander said.

My cheeks burned red from embarrassment. “He doesn’t think I can do it.”

Just then, Papa barged into the birthing area. “Your mama’s about to give birth!”

“Hurry,” Alexander said. “I’ll watch over Zola.”

Papa and I rushed home. Again, Zar was forbidden inside and curled up on his sleeping pallet, now positioned by the door. My knotted stomach waged a tug-of-war
between my fear of Mama giving birth to a boy and my excitement at welcoming a sister into the world.

“The baby’s coming. My water broke,” Mama said between moans. With a strained face she kissed her cross three times. “Fetch the village midwife. Tell her the cow needs tending and offer her a payment that’s customary, not a kopeck more.”

“Tell her I’ll give her an extra gold ruble if she delivers a healthy boy,” Papa added.

“Remember to look for the red door,” Mama said.

When I finally reached the village, where rows of log homes sat along the river’s edge, women in dark dresses wearing colorful, flowery scarves over their heads were busy collecting buckets of water. Their small children toddled behind them in bare, muddy feet. I quickly found the log house with the red door situated on a prominent corner in the center of the village. I pushed open the gate made of woven twigs, walked past a patch of dying marigolds and a spotty garden of herbs, and knocked on the red door. A hawkish-looking man with clawlike hands opened it just a crack.

“What do you want?” He put no warmth in his voice.

“I’m looking for the midwife.”

He forced a black, toothy smile on his face that looked as natural as a wolf cradling a lamb.

I stumbled backward in fear.

Zar suddenly stepped from behind me and stood between us.

A look of fright flashed across Hawkman’s face and he slammed the door shut.

I approached the red door again and banged on it. “I’ve come for the midwife. Open up!”

An old woman with a hairy chin, bright red cheeks, and spectacles perched on a prominent nose opened the door. She wore her long gray hair in two thick braids that hung down her back and nearly swept the floor. “My nephew doesn’t much like dogs. He’s afraid of them,” she said. “I am the midwife you seek. What can I do for you?”

“I came about our cow.” I didn’t like calling Mama a cow. But secrecy was necessary to ease her labor pains.

“The payment for receiving the baby?” the midwife asked.

“That which is customary,” I answered. “Two loaves of bread—one rye, the other of sifted flour—a cotton shawl, and ten kopecks in cash. If the baby is born a healthy boy, my papa will add a gold ruble.”

“Davai!”
she said, shooing me out the door like a pesky flea. She collected a basket full of herbs and a small ax and was quick to lock the door behind her. From the window, I felt her nephew’s eyes bearing down on me, like a hawk approaching its prey in a shallow glide before snatching it with a quick swipe of its talons.

“We must hurry,” I said to the midwife.

For someone so old, the midwife moved nimbly along the path and through the woods up to the grassy grounds of the estate. The air had become suddenly much cooler and the late-morning sky had turned a steel-gray color that threatened an early and long winter.

“What happened to him?” the midwife asked, pointing to Zar’s neck.

“A hunting injury,” I answered.

She seemed puzzled by my response. “Does such a noble dog truly earn his keep?”

I thought it a silly question. “Of course he does. Why would you think otherwise?”

“Things of beauty can be deceiving,” she said.

Zar was no doubt a handsome dog. For me, what existed inside of Zar was beyond beauty. Perhaps it was the bond that connected him to me and me to him—a bond I was certain would never break.

CHAPTER FIVE
 

The Birth

The moment we stepped inside our home, the midwife faced the family icon and genuflected. She put her basket down by Mama, lifted her bed dress, and peaked at Mama’s private parts. I couldn’t bear to watch and shut my eyes.

“How long has she been this way?” the midwife asked.

“Since early morning,” Papa answered.

“I need to progress the birth,” the midwife said.

“What can I do to help?” Papa asked.

The midwife pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose and eyed Papa with surprise. It wasn’t common for a man to be present at a birth. “You’re eager for a son, I suppose.”

Papa nodded. “We’ve all prayed for a boy.”

Not everyone, I thought.

The midwife turned to me. “You shouldn’t be here, either.”

“I need them both,” Mama said. “She’ll be married as soon as a suitable husband is found.”

The midwife ogled me from head to toe, like a sack of beets at the market, and then turned to Papa. “My nephew would make a fine husband.”

I gasped. “Our focus should be on Mama.”

“Yes, of course,” the midwife said. “Let’s help your mama up from the sleeping bench.”

Like obedient dogs, Papa and I pulled Mama up and supported her.

The midwife poked my arm and pointed between Mama’s legs. “Crawl through three times.”

I got down on my hands and knees and with my eyes closed scurried through Mama’s legs, not liking it one bit—each time praying,
Please be a baby girl
. I worried something might drip down on me. And even worse—what if the baby came out and landed on top of me?

Each time I crawled through Mama’s legs—back and forth, back and forth, back and forth—Mama moaned, “Tell me my baby’s coming.”

The midwife got down on her knees and looked again. A frown appeared on her face. “Your baby’s a stubborn one. We’ll have to hang you from the rafters.” She pulled bands out from her basket and instructed Papa and me
on how to attach them to the beams above, then she told Mama to twist the other end of the bands around her wrists and to hold on.

Mama hung by the beams, like a butchered pig, for several long hours, moaning and groaning.

I didn’t envy Mama one bit.

By early evening, the moans and groans were coming one on top of the other and the bands had stretched so much that Mama no longer dangled in the air.

And then, at last, Mama announced, “The baby’s here!”

“The head is starting to crown!” The midwife sprang up from her knees so fast her glasses fell off.

Papa took me in his arms and danced me around our long, whitewashed table. He looked like a young boy under the spell of his first crush.

The midwife moved Mama back to her bench and encouraged her to push.

And so did Papa. “Push,
dorogaya
, push!”

We all watched on—everyone praying for a son, everyone except for me. I was clutching Alexander’s knife, wishing it had magical powers to deliver me a little sister.

Along with a loud wail, a strong stream of pee shot into the air when my baby brother entered the world. He was red and wrinkly with a puffy face. His arms and legs curled up like a bird’s. Papa showered kisses all over Mama’s face. She had finally given birth to a baby boy.

The midwife would get her extra gold ruble.

And I … I would lose the dogs.

For a second I couldn’t breathe.

I felt like …

a bell-ringer turned deaf,

a borzoi gone blind,

a cook without a tongue,

and a painter without hands,

all jumbled together.

A small part of me also felt shame not to share in the joy. For Mama’s sake I put on a cheery face. On the inside I pushed back tears.

The midwife took the small ax out from her basket and cut the umbilical cord. She tied it off with some flax. “To ensure his health is secure.” The midwife paused. She took a deep breath and blew three times on the top of my brother’s head. She blew three more times between his shoulder blades, and again three times on the soles of his feet before swaddling him and putting him in Mama’s steady arms. Almost immediately, my brother stopped fussing and started to coo.

Papa’s face unleashed such delight that a mighty jealousy chomped at my heart.

“Is he healthy?” Papa kept asking.

“He’ll grow into a strong boy,” the midwife answered each time.

With my brother in Mama’s arms, Papa knelt down under the Mother with Child icon. “You’ve answered our prayers.”

Papa’s words numbed me like frostbite. My brother wasn’t even an hour old and I already felt demoted from my position of firstborn in Papa’s eyes. Tired of all the attention my brother was getting, I retreated outside and was greeted by the first snowfall. Zar stood up and shook off the flakes of snow that had gathered on his white coat. He arched his back in a long stretch, and then nosed my hand. I bent down and kissed his head. “We didn’t get a little sister.”

Zar licked my cheeks and gave my ears little bites of affection. So happy was he to see me, I didn’t tell him what having a little brother might mean. It would wrinkle his heart.

Papa joined me outside. “Your mama’s excited to name your brother. Come inside.”

Mama looked down into her arms at my baby brother with such fondness. “We shall name our son Bohdan. He is our gift from God.”

Their gift from God?

Why didn’t they name me Bohdana when I was born? I wondered.

I glanced up at the icon. What happened to the little sister I had asked for?

Papa put his arm around me. “Your mama will need more help now that Bohdan has come.”

“Of course,
Tyatya
.”

“There’ll be changes,” he added.

“What kind of changes?” The firm way in which he said it alarmed me.