Yvgenie (7 page)

She nodded. They had told her that. Maybe it was supposed to matter to her, but it never did, it never would. She h
a
d no uncle
but
Sasha, nor wanted any, and it made no difference she wanted to think about. Sasha had been a friend of her father's in Vojvoda. That was where her father and Sasha had both come from. But that was all they ever told her.

So what did it matter at all—if her mother never let her out of the house? Certainly she was not going to Vojvoda, ever, no long as her mother had anything to do with it.

Her father put his arm around her shoulders and walked with her along the garden fence, past the old tree that dwarfed
the
house.
‘
Sasha and I met when he was about your age.
H
e wasn't even sure he was a wizard then—he only suspected he might be, but he'd had no one to teach him, and he spent everything he had being careful. Which he was doing quite well at, for a boy who didn'
t have a mother or a father to tea
ch
him.
’

That was a lonely thought.
‘
Was he all by himself?
’

‘
Better if he had been. His uncle and aunt were scoundrels, both of them. And your uncle was a very good lad, not to turn them into toads—
’

‘
You can't turn anybody into a toad. You might make them think like a toad.''

‘
Well, he didn't do that either. —And I wouldn't put toads beyond your reach, mouse. You're stronger than you know you are. That's one reason your mother is so set on you holding your temper. She knows if you made a really bad choice she might not be able to stop you. You see what I'm
sa
ying? You'd hate to make me a toad by accident, wouldn't you? You'd much rather intend it.
’

‘
That's not funny, father.
’

‘
—Or remember the night the filly came and you wanted to hurry things?
’

She did remember. She still could not comprehend why it would have hurt, but she did know now her wish had been too general and too risky, and her mother had rebuffed it so hard it hurt—haste, she understood: her mother had hugged her fiercely after, and said she was sorry, but she should never wish into situations she did not completely understand.

Which seemed to be the whole world, in her mother's considered opinion.

Nobody was happy with her. She was not happy with herself. She walked with her father's arm about her, kicking at last year's weed stalks, that tugged spitefully at her hem.

Her father said:
‘
I think you should talk to your uncle; Sasha. Mind, I don't know a thing about wizardry—but
he
says, and your grandfather used to say, that there's nothing in the world stronger than a
wizard-child's wishes—thank the
god, your uncle would say, babies just want to be fed and held. A toy or two. It's not till you start to grow up that your; wishes get to involve other people, really to involve them, i
n
ways that mean one of two people get
ting his own way in
things that can break your hea
rt. Then things truly get com
plicated. Don't they?''

‘
I just don't know why she won't listen to me.
’

‘
Maybe because she's not that much older than you ar
e.
Your wants are a lot like hers, and it's harder and harder
to
argue with you.
’

Not much more grown than her. That made no sense!
‘
She's a
lot
older than I am. At least fifteen years!''

‘
Oh, but the difference between where you are and wher
e
she is grows less and less every year—a lot of differenc
e
when you were a baby, fifteen years ago. But the years a young child up faster than they grow any of us old, d
oes
that make sense? It doesn't seem yesterday that your uncl
e
was your age. And hardly yesterday again since I was fifteen
,
doing things I assure you nobody's mother would approve!
But I, mouse, I was just an ordinary boy, not a wizard who can leave just a little smoking spot where our house was. Your mother can do that, first thunderstorm that comes along. So can you, if you ever wanted to—you could do it without ever realizing you'd done it, so naturally your mother's a little anxious about tantrums.
’

The idea was strange. But her father always made her feel safer and wiser, just by being by her—for one thing because lie never wished at her, would not, could not, it made no difference: the fact was he did not, and all the world else did. Her father always made sense to her, in ways even uncle Sasha did not, and her mother almost never.

‘
I can see that,'' she conceded.

He gave her a hug and a kiss, and they walked as far as the edge of the trees, where the old road had used to go through the woods. He stopped there, set his hands on her shoulders, looked at her very seriously and said,

'' Your mother did something very terrible once. She didn't mean to. She never intended what happened. And don't let her know I even told you that much: someday you will know, but for now just take my word for it—it was as bad and it went worse and worse before
anyone could help her. It's be
c
au
se she's so very strong that she got in trouble. And she loves you very much and she can't explain to you.
’

''
Why
can't she explain?'' What her father was saying of
fe
red for the first time in her whole life to make sense of her mother—but he shook his head and said, maddeningly:

‘
Some mistakes you have to be grown-up to make, or to understand; and you're getting there fast, mouse, but you're
not
there yet. Just, when you think your mother's holding you or watching you far too closely for your peace of mind, remember that she
sees you as so much like her—she was
s
ixteen when this thing happened, understand? And you're
sixt
een and your mother's dreadfully scared.
’

It traded mysteries for another mystery. And maybe she
sh
ould want her father to tell her everything he knew and even m
a
ke him do it, but it was more than wrong. There were
secrets grown-ups kept: that was the rule she had learned, and if a nosy girl got into them she could look to have everyone she loved unhappy with her, maybe forever and ever.

Though some things were awfully hard not to want, when they were almost in her hands.

‘
Are you wishing me?
’
her father asked her.

She shook her head, shook it harder, and tried, in the way her uncle had taught her when she was troubled, to think about running water
—

But that made her think about the river; and about Owl.

‘
I'm trying not to,
’
she said, and put her arms about her father's neck and hugged him with all her might.
‘
I love you.
’

Her father hugged her back, and said,
‘
I love you too, mouse. Be good. All right?
’

When her father said that it was easy to be good. For at least as long as she could keep from thinking.

Pyetr's step echoed on the walk-up. A not at all happy Pyetr, Eveshka supposed, and tried to think simply about the herbs she was grinding and how she was going to try a little more rosemary in the stew this evening.

Pyetr opened the door and took his cap off, came over and put his arms around her and kissed her—which she was sure had everything to do with her daughter storming out of the house.

She said, in advance of complaints,
‘
I know Ilyana's upset. I'm upset. We're both upset.
’

‘
Hush,
’
he said, and hugged her and rested his chin against her head.
‘
Hush,
'Veshka, it's all right.
’

She had not even known she was tired until then. Her shoulders ached.
‘
She's just being difficult.
’

‘
She doesn't understand why you worry.
’

‘
I wasn't scolding her, I was talking to her. She's in a mood, that's all. There's nothing you can do with her.
’

‘
She's just fine, 'Veshka, the storm's over. No lightning. She's just confused why you were fighting.''

‘
I'll tell you why we were fighting! She's so sure she knows everything in the world and of course we couldn't
possibly
understand her, since we don't agree with her! She's the first one in all the world to want her own damned way!''

‘
Hush.
’

‘
I'm not a child, Pyetr, don't coddle me. I
know
what she's going through.
’

‘
May I say, 'Veshka, please don't get angry at me—
’

‘
It's not a good time, Pyetr. Today isn't a good time.
’

‘
Listen anyway. I trust you. What happened to you when you were sixteen wasn't all your fault. Your father made no few mistakes himself, bringing you up. You couldn't go to him. You couldn't trust him. He made that bed for himself and he regretted it all his life. Don't let him teach Ilyana. Hear me?
’

She felt cold all over. And sixteen again. And scared, except for Pyetr's arms keeping her safe. The house timbers groaned: the domovoi in the cellar felt that chill.

‘
He's gone,
’
she said.
‘
There's nothing left of him, except what he passed to Sasha. Ask him.
’

‘
Except his lessons. Except his wishing you. And he did do that, 'Veshka.
’

‘
I don't do it with Ilyana!
’
She pulled away and stood squarely on her feet.
‘
Dammit, Pyetr, I
don't
wish at her and I don't read her my father's lessons—I'm trying to tell her instead of letting her find things out the hard way, the way I did, and she's not listening.''

‘
She wants very much to please you. She doesn't know how.
’

‘
Oh, damn, if she doesn't know how! She can try showing up for supper before it's on the table, she can try—
’

'
‘
Veshka. 'Veshka.'' Pyetr held up his hands and looked upset with her.
‘
Your
father
wanted his house kept, wanted his meals on time, wanted you to say Yes, papa, and Of course, papa, and Anything you
want,
papa. He wanted a damn doll in pretty braids, I saw it. He wanted you right where he could see you, because you looked like
yo
u
r mother,
'Veshka, and he was scared to death you were going to turn into her some night before you were grown if he couldn't turn you into his ideal of a young girl!
’

‘
Pyetr, someone has to do the housework, or it doesn't get done. I don't wish the broom to dance around the room or wish the bucket up and down the hill—''

‘
It's more important to go riding, 'Veshka.
’

‘
Oh?
'It's more important to go riding?' And what, when you get home and supper isn't waiting? It's Where's my supper, 'Veshka? Are you sick, 'Veshka? I'm sorry about your
floor,
'Veshka!
’

He bit his lip, ducked his head a little.
‘
I
am
sorry about the floor.
’

‘
But
I
mop it. And my
daughter
goes riding in the woods. My
daughter
can't remember to come home at dark, never mind I've done all the cooking—
’

‘
A bargain. I'll mop the floor. You and Ilyana go riding.
’

‘
Oh, god, you'd mop the floor. You'd have water—
’

‘
Now!
’
he said, holding up his finger.
‘
Now, 'Veshka,
there's
a problem we should talk about.
’