The villagers spread false rumors about her daughter, feeling ashamed. In a bundle tied for burial lay some letters from the daughter. Halka pulled them out and tucked them under the pillow of a poor woman. Let her take them to the grave, along with my dreadful shame, she thought.
A shame that was not imagined.
From early on, Ulyana believed in dreams. Somehow they always seemed meaningful. When another girl from the collective would recount a dream, Ulyana would mull it over and then explain its possible meaning, rarely being wrong. She kept her own dreams private, and often flew in themsoaring above the houses as if lifted by the wind. One recurring dream featured white horses pulling a sled through gray apples; in the sled, she and Oleksiy held the reins. The horses accelerated so fast they seemed to lift off the ground, their speed stealing their breath. They would toss the reins, bend, and the sled would fly. This vision haunted her while Oleksiy lived; after his death, she still flew on the horses, with him beside her, though he never grasped the reinsonly smiled. She loved those night flights, even knowing that seeing horses in dreams could signal illness or even death. Yet each night she rode, feeling her heart pound.
One night they rode together again, but no one steered the flight. The reins were gone, yet the horses rose higher, reaching the clouds. An angel with tiny wings sat on a cloud, smiling at them. My dear! My dear! Ulyana shouted in the dream, waking herself.
Its time its time for me to prepare, she whispered, without regret or despair.
She always kept her house tidy, sweeping and mopping the woven floors. She retrieved the knot the one she had kept for deathand unfolded everything, even writing notes about where each thing belonged, because without her, no one else would manage. Strangers would search; only Halka would ever come. Halka was now her sole companion, a friend and sister. Few of Ulyanas friends remained, and none could reach her because of her aching legs. Halka, however, was quick and would soon be there.
Ulyana took a school notebook, a pen, and began a letter.
Forgive me, Halya. You are the dearest to me. We have lived like sisters Please dont tell anyone, my terrible shame. I think Im immune to the pain of others gossiping, yet I beg you For years I lied to peopleand to youabout having a caring daughter who never visits because shes sick. In truth, I have no idea where she is. I assume shes alive but left me long ago. To avoid the disgrace of looking people in the eye, I lied to everyone, including you. Dont wait for my daughter, dont search for her. Bury me beside Oleksiy, where Ive already claimed a spot. I leave the house and everything inside to you; perhaps your children will find something useful. I failed as a mother; I am ashamed, and I want that shame to go with me to the grave. Please, sister
Ulyana stoked the stove, closed the damper, and fell asleep.
That evening Halka noticed the lights in her friends house werent on and wondered why.
Did I leave any note? asked the police officer who came to document the lonely womans death.
Nothing nothing, Halka replied, fidgeting with the crumpled, predeath letter in her pocket.
* * *
Lyubochka grew into a beautiful, clever girlher mothers only beloved child. Oleksiy, a married agronomist of the kolkhoz, fell for a simple collective farm girl. By the rules of the time he should have been dismissed, expelled from the party, and so on, yet the authorities merely scolded him and seemed to forget. He and his wife had no children; the farm girl bore an illegitimate child by him. The kolkhoz head, known for his gunmetal resolve, helped Oleksiy divorce and marry Ulyana. No more fatherless children, he hammered on the table. His former wife moved to the city, supposedly finding a new life, while the couple raised their daughter togetherthough not for long or happily.
The real horses, like those from the dreams, brought disaster. Late one evening Oleksiy rode his bicycle back from the fields. In the darkness, a herd of horses barreled into him; the driver, drunk, didnt see them. Had someone found him sooner, he might have lived. Ulyana waited through the night, eyes wide. He was found the next morning, already dead. Perhaps that was fate.
Suitors came to Ulyana, but she ignored them. She lived only for her daughter, who delighted her mother, excelled at school, and performed arts throughout the districtsinging, dancing, everything. Everyone called her talented and fortunate; she entered the Kyiv Institute of Culture on her first attempt.
Ulyana delighted in her daughters visits, bringing food and meeting her. At first Lyubochka was eager to return home even during bad weather, but over time she grew distant, even rude to her mother. Rumors spread that she had found a foreign fiancé, that the institute expelled her, that the foreigner forced her into drugs. The village whispered about the mothers shamean unbearable shame. About a year after their last meeting, Lyubochka wrote to her mother: Forget me, dont look for me. I have my own life.
Ulyana tore up beets in the kolkhoz fields, rows stretching for kilometers, wishing the rows were longer so she wouldnt have to see anyones eyes. Tears dripped onto the beets.
One day before the Protection holiday, after the beets were cleared, Ulyana boldly told the collective girls that Lyubochka was married. A week earlier she had gone to Kyiv; after returning she confessed, I didnt tell you at the wedding so you wouldnt be jealous. Lyubochkas husband is a serious man, a highranking official who travels a lot. I wont see my child again. Ill give you a mug as a gift! She did, as was customary in the collectivewomen always presented something. She even brought canned fish, sausages, and other treats her friends had never tasted, claiming the husband had sent them. The village buzzed about the mug. From time to time Ulyana pretended to visit Kyiv, actually wandering its streets hoping to spot her daughter among the crowds.
As she aged, Ulyana visited less often; Lyubochka wrote letters instead. Sometimes Ulyana would travel to the district center just to collect those letters.
Sit down, Halya, Ill read what Lyubochka wrote, she bragged to a friend. Shes ill, poor, no children. Her husband feels sorry for her, sends me parcels. In a week Ill get the next one! Halya would then marvel at the treats Ulyana fetched from the fridge, describing them to other women, who gasped.
I ate the sausageboiled! We dont get that here. It melts in the mouth! And the yogurtdo you know what that is? Ulyana gave it to me! She never runs out of bananas! the women exclaimed.
Every year the villagers read, with envy, Ulyanas birthday greeting from her daughter in the regional newspaper, marveling at the affectionate words.
Eventually, no one cared whether Ulyana had a daughter or not. She grew old, alone, never revealing the truth.
* * *
Halka read her friends farewell letter dozens of times. My God! she whispered. I ate those treats, never suspecting Ulyana bought them with her pension to treat me, and I spread the story to everyone. If only I had told the truth, it would have eased my soul. I wouldnt have done this
Without the daughter, well hide it! she told the visitors at the house. Shes ill, cant even come down from the tenth floor Her husband works abroad. Well manage somehow
In the bundle tied for burial lay the letters from the daughter. Halka pulled them out and placed them under the poor womans pillow, hoping they would be taken to the grave along with her terrible shame.
She Deceived Her Villagers About Her Daughter Due to Embarrassment
