relaxed. Good thing I’m still looking out for the children, she thought.
Somebody grumbled. Marusia propped herself on her elbow in time to see the dog being chased out of the room by an old man. “What a horrible place,” she muttered. She settled herself and tried to catch some sleep before it was time to wake up and wait in line for another awful breakfast.
Tarasyk tossed his head and pushed himself away from Marusia. He rolled over on one side so that his back was pressed against her. I wish he wouldn’t nap so much during the day, Marusia thought. Now he won’t sleep. She reached out to stroke his head to soothe him. He didn’t turn to her, and when she bent over to look at him, she noticed how tight his eyes were shut. She touched his hair again, and her fingers held a sprig of his blond curls. She looked closer and inspected his head to see if there were any lice or worms from that dog. She saw none, only small patches of reddish bald spots on the back of his head.
We have to leave here, Marusia vowed, or at least find a room with a real sink.
Chapter 9
Z OSIA WAS RESTLESS . Her bottle of perfume was almost empty. It was important to her that she splash just a drop on her temples and wrists; it helped her to survive the basement’s stench.
Her temper was quick and harsh in the cold, overcrowded room with its sickening pea green walls. Thick water pipes hung so low from the ceiling that she bumped her arms whenever she stretched. It was too easy to get into arguments, especially with the children and her mother-in-law.
Whenever she felt closed in, she would steal away to take a look at Yurko, even though his deteriorating condition depressed her. She spent most days wandering around the hospital corridors.
Within a day after relinquishing her shoes, Zosia was able to trade her lipstick for another pair—flat black vinyl slip-ons with cheap rubber soles she wouldn’tbe caught dead in at work. She got them from a man whose wife was laid up in a ward like Yurko’s. He thought the lipstick would cheer his wife up. The shoes were a bit large for her feet, and the soles were tearing apart at the toes, but she didn’t mind as long as she was able to walk away from the misery of the basement room for a few hours every day.
It was well over a week after they’d been evacuated before the refugees were given ration coupons and six rubles per adult in compensation money. Zosia was determined to take her money and leave the hospital, at least for a day. Maybe she could find some drinking friends of one of her lovers. Someone like that might take her in, and then later, if she could talk someone into it or bribe somebody, they might let her family move in until they could all return to Starylis. She might even finagle a new bottle of perfume.
She felt guilt that stopped her short when she realized that Yurko was not included in her plans.
The corridors leading to Yurko’s room were filthy even after the
babysi
slopped the floors with their bottomless buckets of dirty water and chlorine that was supposed to provide a veneer of sanitation. Zosia hated the sounds the women made when they sloshed their dark mops around the legs of Yurko’s hospital bed. It was always the same. No change in his condition. No change in the smells of his room. No change in her sad life.
Zosia had trouble breathing. Her head ached morethan usual, and her throat was sore. She needed air. Yurko wouldn’t notice. He was either asleep or completely listless whenever she came to see him. She’d see him later, when she came back.
The evacuees had been given strict orders never to go outside, because, as she overheard one disgruntled man repeat, they would “infect the city.” Her anguish festered deep within her claustrophobia, until one afternoon she simply walked out the front doors with the authority of a regular city dweller in Kyiv—a doctor or nurse just off duty, ready to start her holiday, certainly not an evacuee. She
Somebody grumbled. Marusia propped herself on her elbow in time to see the dog being chased out of the room by an old man. “What a horrible place,” she muttered. She settled herself and tried to catch some sleep before it was time to wake up and wait in line for another awful breakfast.
Tarasyk tossed his head and pushed himself away from Marusia. He rolled over on one side so that his back was pressed against her. I wish he wouldn’t nap so much during the day, Marusia thought. Now he won’t sleep. She reached out to stroke his head to soothe him. He didn’t turn to her, and when she bent over to look at him, she noticed how tight his eyes were shut. She touched his hair again, and her fingers held a sprig of his blond curls. She looked closer and inspected his head to see if there were any lice or worms from that dog. She saw none, only small patches of reddish bald spots on the back of his head.
We have to leave here, Marusia vowed, or at least find a room with a real sink.
Chapter 9
Z OSIA WAS RESTLESS . Her bottle of perfume was almost empty. It was important to her that she splash just a drop on her temples and wrists; it helped her to survive the basement’s stench.
Her temper was quick and harsh in the cold, overcrowded room with its sickening pea green walls. Thick water pipes hung so low from the ceiling that she bumped her arms whenever she stretched. It was too easy to get into arguments, especially with the children and her mother-in-law.
Whenever she felt closed in, she would steal away to take a look at Yurko, even though his deteriorating condition depressed her. She spent most days wandering around the hospital corridors.
Within a day after relinquishing her shoes, Zosia was able to trade her lipstick for another pair—flat black vinyl slip-ons with cheap rubber soles she wouldn’tbe caught dead in at work. She got them from a man whose wife was laid up in a ward like Yurko’s. He thought the lipstick would cheer his wife up. The shoes were a bit large for her feet, and the soles were tearing apart at the toes, but she didn’t mind as long as she was able to walk away from the misery of the basement room for a few hours every day.
It was well over a week after they’d been evacuated before the refugees were given ration coupons and six rubles per adult in compensation money. Zosia was determined to take her money and leave the hospital, at least for a day. Maybe she could find some drinking friends of one of her lovers. Someone like that might take her in, and then later, if she could talk someone into it or bribe somebody, they might let her family move in until they could all return to Starylis. She might even finagle a new bottle of perfume.
She felt guilt that stopped her short when she realized that Yurko was not included in her plans.
The corridors leading to Yurko’s room were filthy even after the
babysi
slopped the floors with their bottomless buckets of dirty water and chlorine that was supposed to provide a veneer of sanitation. Zosia hated the sounds the women made when they sloshed their dark mops around the legs of Yurko’s hospital bed. It was always the same. No change in his condition. No change in the smells of his room. No change in her sad life.
Zosia had trouble breathing. Her head ached morethan usual, and her throat was sore. She needed air. Yurko wouldn’t notice. He was either asleep or completely listless whenever she came to see him. She’d see him later, when she came back.
The evacuees had been given strict orders never to go outside, because, as she overheard one disgruntled man repeat, they would “infect the city.” Her anguish festered deep within her claustrophobia, until one afternoon she simply walked out the front doors with the authority of a regular city dweller in Kyiv—a doctor or nurse just off duty, ready to start her holiday, certainly not an evacuee. She
Similar Books
