apples, nuts and candies. I was lifted up in my mother’s arms. My tiny fingers, sticky with ginger cake, played with the necklace around her swan-like throat.
‘She likes that necklace, Lina,’ said my father. ‘It is beautiful on you.’
My mother, in a white lace dress with mistletoe in her hair, passed me to my father’s shoulders so Icould touch the glass snow queen at the top of the tree.
‘When she is old enough, I shall give it to her,’ my mother said. ‘So she can remember us both.’
I turned to the old woman. ‘Where is she?’ I asked.
The woman clasped the necklace in her fist. It was a while before she answered. ‘Your mother was taken away from you in the war. But she is safe. She knows how to survive.’
A spasm gripped my shoulders and arms. I lifted my hands to my face. Somehow I sensed it was true. My mother was still alive.
The woman sank deeper into her chair, pressing the necklace to her chest. Her eyeballs rolled under her lids like someone dreaming and her chest heaved. ‘She is looking in Harbin for you but can’t find you.’
I sat bolt upright. ‘Harbin?’
Suddenly the woman’s cheeks puffed out and her eyes bulged in a coughing spasm that rattled her small frame. She lifted her hand to her mouth and I saw bloodstained phlegm trickle down her wrist. I quickly poured some tea and passed it to her, but she waved it away. ‘Water!’ she gasped. ‘Water!’
I rushed to the sink and turned on the tap. Brown mud exploded onto my dress and the floor. I turned the tap down and let the water run clear, glancing anxiously over my shoulder at the old woman. She was on the floor, clutching her chest and wheezing.
When I had enough clear water for half a glass I rushed back to her side. ‘Shouldn’t I boil it?’ I asked, lifting the glass to her trembling lips. Her face was a terrible shade of grey, but after a few sips her convulsions settled and the blood came back to her cheeks.
‘Have some tea,’ she said, between gulps. ‘I’m sorry. It’s the dust. I keep the windows shut but it still gets in from the street.’
My hands were unsteady when I poured the tea. It was lukewarm and tasted of iron, but I took a couple of polite sips anyway. I wondered if she had tuberculosis, which was rife in this part of the city. Sergei would be furious if he found out I had been here. I took another mouthful of the foul-tasting tea and placed the cup back on the table.
‘Please continue,’ I said to her. ‘Please tell me more about my mother.’
‘I’ve had enough for one day,’ she said. ‘I’m sick.’ But she no longer seemed ill. She was studying me. Waiting.
I reached into my dress, pulled out the notes I had hidden in my petticoat and laid them out on the table. ‘Please!’ I cried.
Her eyes drifted to my hands. I could feel my fingers start to tremble. My arms were so heavy I couldn’t lift them.
‘Your mother,’ said the old woman, ‘has returned to Harbin to find you. But all the Russians there have fled and she doesn’t know where you are now.’
I swallowed. My throat was tight and it was hard to breathe. I tried to stand up so that I could open the door for air, but my legs wouldn’t move. ‘But the Communists…they will kill her…’ I began. My hands twitched, my throat contracted. ‘How could she get out of Russia? The Soviets guard the border.’ The woman’s features were blurred in my vision. ‘It’s impossible,’ I said.
‘Not impossible,’ said the old woman, standing. She loomed over me. ‘Your mother is like you. Impulsive and determined.’
My stomach turned. My face burned with fever. I collapsed back into the chair, the ceiling spinning above me.
‘How do you know these things about my mother?’ I asked.
The woman laughed. It sent a chill through me. ‘I watch, I listen to conversations, I guess,’ she said. ‘Besides, all redheads have strong wills.’
A sharp pain in my side jabbed me like a kick. I glanced at the
‘She likes that necklace, Lina,’ said my father. ‘It is beautiful on you.’
My mother, in a white lace dress with mistletoe in her hair, passed me to my father’s shoulders so Icould touch the glass snow queen at the top of the tree.
‘When she is old enough, I shall give it to her,’ my mother said. ‘So she can remember us both.’
I turned to the old woman. ‘Where is she?’ I asked.
The woman clasped the necklace in her fist. It was a while before she answered. ‘Your mother was taken away from you in the war. But she is safe. She knows how to survive.’
A spasm gripped my shoulders and arms. I lifted my hands to my face. Somehow I sensed it was true. My mother was still alive.
The woman sank deeper into her chair, pressing the necklace to her chest. Her eyeballs rolled under her lids like someone dreaming and her chest heaved. ‘She is looking in Harbin for you but can’t find you.’
I sat bolt upright. ‘Harbin?’
Suddenly the woman’s cheeks puffed out and her eyes bulged in a coughing spasm that rattled her small frame. She lifted her hand to her mouth and I saw bloodstained phlegm trickle down her wrist. I quickly poured some tea and passed it to her, but she waved it away. ‘Water!’ she gasped. ‘Water!’
I rushed to the sink and turned on the tap. Brown mud exploded onto my dress and the floor. I turned the tap down and let the water run clear, glancing anxiously over my shoulder at the old woman. She was on the floor, clutching her chest and wheezing.
When I had enough clear water for half a glass I rushed back to her side. ‘Shouldn’t I boil it?’ I asked, lifting the glass to her trembling lips. Her face was a terrible shade of grey, but after a few sips her convulsions settled and the blood came back to her cheeks.
‘Have some tea,’ she said, between gulps. ‘I’m sorry. It’s the dust. I keep the windows shut but it still gets in from the street.’
My hands were unsteady when I poured the tea. It was lukewarm and tasted of iron, but I took a couple of polite sips anyway. I wondered if she had tuberculosis, which was rife in this part of the city. Sergei would be furious if he found out I had been here. I took another mouthful of the foul-tasting tea and placed the cup back on the table.
‘Please continue,’ I said to her. ‘Please tell me more about my mother.’
‘I’ve had enough for one day,’ she said. ‘I’m sick.’ But she no longer seemed ill. She was studying me. Waiting.
I reached into my dress, pulled out the notes I had hidden in my petticoat and laid them out on the table. ‘Please!’ I cried.
Her eyes drifted to my hands. I could feel my fingers start to tremble. My arms were so heavy I couldn’t lift them.
‘Your mother,’ said the old woman, ‘has returned to Harbin to find you. But all the Russians there have fled and she doesn’t know where you are now.’
I swallowed. My throat was tight and it was hard to breathe. I tried to stand up so that I could open the door for air, but my legs wouldn’t move. ‘But the Communists…they will kill her…’ I began. My hands twitched, my throat contracted. ‘How could she get out of Russia? The Soviets guard the border.’ The woman’s features were blurred in my vision. ‘It’s impossible,’ I said.
‘Not impossible,’ said the old woman, standing. She loomed over me. ‘Your mother is like you. Impulsive and determined.’
My stomach turned. My face burned with fever. I collapsed back into the chair, the ceiling spinning above me.
‘How do you know these things about my mother?’ I asked.
The woman laughed. It sent a chill through me. ‘I watch, I listen to conversations, I guess,’ she said. ‘Besides, all redheads have strong wills.’
A sharp pain in my side jabbed me like a kick. I glanced at the
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