She’s ugly was Andrei Petrov’s first thought of Anya Rodionov. Perhaps, it’s her teeth or the way her hair is in her eyes. Or maybe it just started with her hair, the unruly curlicues and even the color of it: that brackish brown. The teeth were a grimy yellow too, but he would let it go- The lighting, perhaps is not so ideal. For the sixtieth time in a minute, he thought that it was a shame that he had no choice of who he was paired with. He had to trust in his father, Emir. To think that just forty minutes ago he had been on top of Irina Menchinkopf’s piquant body and now he here was with Anya’s thin, angular one.
“Ah, my friend, I know the girl is no beauty! She’s my own, after all! But just hear her sing! Such a voice!” Anya’s father, Leon told Emir. Leon grabbed Anya’s arms, which, Andrei noted, were apple white and he pushed her out into the center of the room. Her eyes were downcast and Andrei knew she was ashamed, as is the peculiar trait of people blessed with a gift.
“I’d like to hear you sing something,” Andrei said keeping his eyes on her, “anything.”
She nodded, lifting her eyes to meet his. She observed that his were brown with golden rings around the irises and that he was looking at her intently almost as if she would disappear. Anya lifted her head and closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Andrei watched her small chest rise and fall. She opened her eyes and began to sing.
“Your face isn’t ready for me to start,
So I’ll stand up here and pretend to know some words by heart,
Perhaps, I’ll sing of blackbirds and sailing ships,
Or men who balance the world up on their fingertips.”
EMIR CLAPPED.
LEON BEAMED.
ANDREI STOOD TOO QUICKLY (and hit his head on the rather short ceiling).
As he was dealing with the pain, he thought, she will not sing in opera hours but after she finishes singing, an enchanting echo follows. Her voice is something to pass the time. That’s what I need: something to pass the time. She will be that for me. There are things more beautiful, yes. There are things with brighter smiles and fuller breasts and lilting laughs but none as captivating as her. None with dearer intentions and sweeter nuances than Anya Rodionov.
While Andrei was thinking, Anya glided away to the kitchen and grabbed a towel and piece of ice. Andrei watched her as she folded the towel around the ice and made it into a compress. Quietly, she strolled back over to him and as if she had been with him her whole life, she placed her hand on one side of his face and held it steady and with the other hand she pressed the compress to his head. She murmured, “You’ve bumped your head, silly.” Which Andrei interpreted as: “When you’re in pain, I will always care for you.”
He smiled a small, smile which was an unusual. She just looked back at him as if to say, “I’m staring so intently because I’m trying to picture your face in twenty years. I just want to see you the way you will be. I just want to know if I can still love you then when you’re different. I just want to make sure I still can love you after everything changes.”
They were married on a Wednesday in May. Anya wore a white dress that her twin sisters had both previously donned. There was a dull red stain on the lace trim around her right wrist from where Danka had spilt wine. There were earth colored stains along the hem because Riva had danced without shoes on and the dress had skimmed the ground as she spun in her new husbands arms.
A tiny necklace, shaped like a sparrow, rested, hidden by the dress’s high neckline, against her chest.
Yet she wore the dress without shame and because of this she was radiant, Andrei decided. He watched her as she walked down the short aisle to where he stood next to the priest. He felt infinite when she told the priest, “Of course” instead of, “I do.”
The rings they slipped on each others fingers were simple, gold and thick.
Andrei found himself smiling as they held hands and dangled their feet off the edge off the edge of the wagon that was taking them to the reception. The wagon’s wheels blew little clouds of dirt up in their faces and Anya laughed when he licked his thumb and cleaned a smudge off her forehead. He noticed that her lips were rosy and full and that her eyes got all scrunched together and that she tilted her head back when she laughed, as if trying to taste her laughter. When she laughs she looks surprised by life, he thought. For him, all the intimate details of her compressed themselves into that single moment of bouncing crystal laughter.
At the reception as they sat beneath birch trees filled with the yellow glow of miniature candles (or were they fireflies?) he gently picked out the rice that had gotten tangled in her hair. He removed a sunflower from her bouquet and tucked it behind her ear. He kissed the spot where her hairline faded into soft fuzz.
In the language of their budding love, a gesture like that meant, “YOU’RE NOT JUST SOMETHING TO PASS THE TIME, ANYMORE.”
Gradually, like the opening of a butterfly’s cocoon, the reception went on. Anya taught him how to whistle and he taught her how to make paper cranes out of the dinner napkins. His brother, Gustav, gave a speech in which he slurred all of his words and little ten year Kela Dirov, caught what was left of the sunflower bouquet. Anya pointed out the Big Dipper to him while he was teaching her how to dance. His father drank too much vodka and accidently let the words, “I’m proud of you,” slip out of his mouth. Her grandmother, Evka, grabbed Andrei’s face in her hands and pushed his cheeks together, “So handsome!”
And because it was the first day of summer, all those wonderful, storybook moments happened and all those moments where he though he loved her happened and all those grand promises were formed.
Sing to me, Mama.
She got up from his bed and went to lock the door; Andrei would be home soon.
“Some have furs and fancy cars
She climbed back into the bed.
But I have you, I have you.
Stepan slid into her lap.
Some have silk and caviar,
What’s carrveeyar?
Quiet, my love.
But I have you, I have you.
She combed his curls with her fingers.
Some have emeralds set in gold,
[A door slammed shut and she winced]
But they can’t sit and rock and hold you,
ANYA! STEPAN!
She pulled the boy closer, holding one ear against her chest while she sang softly into his other ear.
Like I do, like I do, like I do.
She pulled a blanket over them. Her voice filled the makeshift tent.
Some have lace and diamond rings,
Anya closed her eyes.
But I have you, I have you,
Her back ached from leaning to hold him.
They always have the latest things
But I have you, I have you,
Please, don’t wake, little Stepan, Andrei.
Some are always dressed in style,
You’re his father.
But they may never catch your smile,
Like I do, like I do, like I do.
You must know I love you both so much.
Some have homes on the finest streets,
Oh, you have to know.
But I have you, I have you.
The finest leather on their feet,
Anya kissed her only son, whose eyes were weighted with sleep.
But I have you, I have you.
Her arms were pins and needles.
Some have wine and a castle to keep,
She thought of their small house and the dirt that stained everything and the food that was never enough and the nights that were always cold and unwelcome.
But they can’t watch you drift asleep,
Like I do, because I have you, I have you,
Oh, thank fucking God,
I have you."
The tears Anya shed were for numerous reasons. She shed them for the first moment of sunrise she would see in the morning as she hung the wash. She shed them for the sound of dishes breaking and for the fact that she now locked the door when Andrei came home from a long day of going nowhere. She shed them for the baby girl, whom she would have named Tevra that she miscarried. She shed them for the thought of Stepan’s little hands that gripped her nightgown. She shed them because she never learned to dance and she wasn’t the singer she wanted to be. She shed them because she was a mother and someday Stepan would leave and someday he would permanently grow out of her and someday their house with its paper thin walls would be gone and someday all there would be left of everything was dust. She shed them because life was an attempt to be noble or was it normal? She shed them because it was all so short and love was so long.
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