Gone.

The last time he’d been there the trees were leafed out and fanned over the quaint farmhouse creating a canopy of shade. That had been at least seventy-five years ago. Maybe longer—he tried not to keep track.

The pain kept him away. It was enough to keep anyone even weaker than himself away. He’d been through it before. But, this time was different. She was his everything. ‘The one’ as some said.

He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and stepped closer to the clump of trees, with the strength of a twenty-year-old. His curse. One hand reached up to tug the cap lower over his sandy colored hair and his bright blue eyes squinted as the sun reflected off of the snow. The biting wind blew through the old denim jacket like it was filling a sail.

As he moved, the agony grew stronger, physically pushing against him. Go back. Don’t come here. She’s gone…gone. Seventy-five years was a long time. Surely enough time to get over someone.

His feet trudged forward despite the sheer pressure pulling them the opposite direction. Each crunch of the snow made it harder and harder to even stand upright to fill his six-foot frame.

Naturally, he made his way to the old swing. Long gone, he searched upward for any sign of the thick rope. Sighing, he let his head fall and forced his eyes to stay open. Closing them would only bring the image of her in the pink dress. His favorite. Despite the pain, he smiled.

Giving in, he let the memory float over him like a warm blanket. His clear, rosy cheeks swelled in a dimpled grin and his eyes crinkled. Absentmindedly, he kicked at the snow at the base of the tree. There wasn’t much there under the tree.

As Elly rose higher and higher on the swing in his mind, the toe of his boot kicked harder and harder. The elation that came with reliving the memories was short lived and he knew it. But, he also realized that coming here was bound to bring pain. It was unavoidable though. The dreams had been more persistent lately, making it necessary to do something to calm them.

Clunk.

He pulled back his leg and Elly’s flowing dress faded into the bright background. He knelt on the ground and with slender fingers, brushed away the remaining snow and wet leaves.

What could this be? We never kept anything under this tree.

As the edge of a wooden box peeked through the dirt, he grew more frantic. Recognition flashed across his face, as he knew the box to be his. It had sat on his dresser long ago, holding his father’s WWI medal and papers.

But why would it be here?

The wet seeping into his jeans, a nuisance no longer. After several minutes of digging, his pulse raced as the box came up into his hands. The latch hung weary and rusted on the front of the lid. It had hardly worked when he used it, and certainly was of no use now.

The lid lifted easily and anything resting on the purple velvet would be a surprise. His heart hammered in his ears as he saw a stack of papers inside. He was shocked they were still intact because of the condition of the lid and lock on the box.

The air around him stopped moving. The limbs that swayed in the breeze, froze. For the first time for as long as he could remember, time stopped.

Eleanor’s small print stared up at him from the yellow paper. Haunting him. Without breathing, he reached in and roughly grabbed the top page. Her unknown words were a mystery that had to be solved in the next instant. He knew the writing was hers. How many letters had he read from her during the war? Hundreds?

The date at the top caused his body to quake. The box slid from his hands to the ground, papers jostling out of the box slightly.

July 4, 2008

[Reply]

By Liz on 04.21.09 1:43 pm | Permalink

I shivered as I stepped off the plane. The first snow of the year had hit Perm the night before, grounding my flight for ten hours in Helsinki. Unfortunately, I hadn’t truly prepared for a drastic change in weather. None of my clothes from Brazil worked in the early Russian autumn.

A man stepped out of his car as I approached. “Госпожа, ваш багаж. Где хотели бы Вы идти?”

I smiled. “Кунгу́р.”

“That big fair,” he said in broken English, rubbing his fat, stubbled cheek.

Tracing my finger down the front of his blue plaid flannel button-up, I replied, “Я не останусь в долгу. Я имею рубли.”

His beady eyes smiled but his mouth showed no sign of emotion. “I take you Kungur. Eleven hundred Rubles.”

“I will walk!” My Russian accent thickened in rage. If I had to buy guns, no way would I pay over three hundred US dollars for a ninty kilometer drive.

I pulled my bags out of the trunk as the driver laughed.

“Okay, okay. For you… thirty-five hundred.” His English was better than I would’ve expected.

“One hundred. American.” Which was close enough.

“Deal.” And I returned my bags to the trunk.
He laughed as we pulled away from the curb.

Leaves hung frozen on many of the trees. The Ural mountains loomed around us, like a heavy sigh, telling me I had made a mistake in coming alone.

“Where in Kungur you go?”

“Gostiny Dvor.”

He nodded. And I returned my gaze to the landscape as my memories flooded to a simpler time, riding in my father’s car, sitting between my parents, as we visited Uncle Nicolai.

I hoped he would be able to help someone who might soon be considered a trader to her country.

[Reply]

By Sarah on 04.21.09 7:53 pm | Permalink

Dread and determination.

It is always a dread to go out in the frozen land of Latvia, but I was determined to find him.

It had been several weeks since the police had come into Alexander’s home and taken him, no reasons, they just took him. We were to be married just 3 days after they took him, but now I couldn’t even write him.

I packed my last three bottles of vodka in my bag and locked the door behind me. The wind bit at my nose and cheeks first thing. I tried to wrap my scarf around my face, but it would seem that the wind had icy fingers that could reach me through the cloth. I held onto my bag and wrapped my arms around me as tight as I could. I began my long walk to the prison.

The crunching of my boots on the frozen path was all I could hear. No one wanted to be outside in this weather. I passed the hill with the row of barren trees. This landmark told me that I was about half a mile away. I continued walking but picking up the pace at the anticipation of possibly seeing my Alexander.

I finally saw the prison and firmly walked to the front. I begged an audience with the Warden and was permitted if I gave one of my bottles of vodka. So far my plan was working. I was shown to the office and I waited. Even inside I still felt the chill of the everlasting winter on my back. I sat in a chair facing a dark desk. Books lined one of the walls and pictures of the government lined the other. A young man in his twenties followed behind a very fat man dressed in a black suit. This must be the warden, he was the only one not in a uniform. He sat down at his desk and the young man sat near me. I pulled out my remaining two bottles of vodka. I placed them on the wardens desk, both men eyed the bottles wantonly.

“Are you gentleman in need of warming?”
“Miss you are trying to bribe us?” was the answer from the warden.
“Sir, I only beg for you to drink and enjoy my gift.”

He did not trust me, but it didn’t stop him from opening the bottle. He pulled out two glasses from his cabinet behind him and poured.

“why such a gift from an attractive young lady?”
“yes why such a gift?” the younger man questioned.

I smiled at them, “Please don’t worry, I just want you to enjoy.”

Latvian men, they do enjoy their vodka. They began to drink and continued to drink until the bottle was empty. From their drunken state I was able to find that my Alexander was on the second floor and in the twenty fifth cell.

“May I be excused from you gentlemen for a moments time?”

They didn’t even notice me slipping the guard keys away from them as they began to sing ridiculous drinking songs.

As silently as as I could I walked the corridors. I found the stairs and made my way to the second level. The wind made it’s way towards me through the walls and I began to fear how my Alexander had been treated while here. The walls were all painted black and each cell door was solid. I found his cell and fumbled for the right key. As I turned the key and heard the lock open I began to shake. I was afraid of the man I might see, but instead of seeing the man I loved in any condition the cell was empty. I then realized what the warden and his young associate had meant when they said many of the prisoners had a frozen bed on the second floor. They had laughed as they talked of it. I now looked into the dark cell and knew my Alexander was in a frozen bed, never to return. Then remembering my scarf I tied it to a beam above his cell door. I would join him in his frozen bed, we would never be apart again.

[Reply]

By Brenna on 04.21.09 10:33 pm | Permalink