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Part I
Galina (Age Ten)
We keep our tears in check as Krystof and Father lower the twins into the river. Alexei may have been standing here with us if he hadn’t cried for his brother’s untimely murder. Somehow, it’s fitting that they entered the world together and now get to die together.
Fortunately, it’s cold enough in Shakhty this time of year that even if tears spill from my eyes, they will freeze before they hit the ground. The only reason the river isn’t frozen is because of the fast-moving waters. As it is, my eyes burn with the cold wind that seems to chill me to the bones. I don’t remember ever feeling truly warm before, but even for us it is cold.
“Mother left some stew on the stove before we left,” Dmitri whispers out of the corner of his mouth.
“Anya is not my mother, and she cooks worse than a dog,” I bite back, keeping my own voice just as low.
I don’t think we’ll end up in the ground for talking right now, but I don’t doubt we’d get a beating for it. Maybe not Dmitri, since he’s on Father’s good side right now. But I’m never on his good side and have to be very careful to not call attention to myself. Easier said than done when you’re the only daughter of seven children. The fiery red hair doesn’t help either, especially when each of my brother's hair is as blond as can be.
Damn my real mother for cheating with a red-haired man.
“She’s not so bad,” Dmitri replies, ever the nice one. “You should be kinder to her. She didn’t choose this any more than you did.”
“She’s a dumb whore,” I tell him as I watch Krystof step away from the riverbed, his face pale and somber. Though I know he’d never risk Father’s wrath, the twins' death is a heavy weight on his chest. We’ve all told him a hundred times that even though he’s the oldest, it doesn’t mean he needs to protect all of us all the time, but that’s just him.
Each of my brothers are special in their own way.
The twins were too good, too kind for the kind of life Father expects us to live. I’ll miss them, even mourn for them, but in my heart, I somehow know this is for the best.
Father raised us all to be strong, to survive. The twins should have seen it coming, as the rest of us did. Weakness is not acceptable to Vasily Pushkin.
Maxim catches my eye, and by the warning I see there, I know he’s seen us talking. I lower my head and don’t say anything else. He’d tattle on us in an instant, and I don’t want to push him.
I watch as the last of their limbs sinks beneath the frigid, rapid moving water.
“Those little fuckers were never good enough for the Pashkin name. Good fucking riddance,” Father finally mutters, dusting his hands before clapping one down on Krystof’s shoulder.
I see Krystof tense as he gives a terse nod, then they start walking back toward the house. The rest of us wait for them to pass before we turn and follow after with Anya a step ahead of me. My resentment burns into the back of her skull as we walk. As the only other woman and my supposed mother you’d think she’d be someone I’d trust, maybe even love. All I see when I look at her though is the worthless whore who was bought to replace our real mother. I see Dmitri turn briefly to make sure I’m following and feel a small flush of warmth.
Anya may be a cunt, and Father is … well, Father.
But at least I have Dmitri and my other brothers.
I send up a silent prayer, hoping my well wishes will carry to the twins over on the other side.
At least they’re suffering is over now.
* * *
When we get back, I help Anya prepare dinner, each of us working on our assigned roles. Anya knows I despise her, so she doesn’t make small talk, instead, focusing on the stew while I focus on the biscuits Father likes with it.
My stomach grumbles loudly as the smell hits me, making me wonder if I’ll get to eat tonight. I think back to Maxim watching me earlier and sigh to myself, already knowing what the answer will be if he tells Father what he saw.
“Smells good,” Dmitri says as he walks into the room. “Should I tell Father dinner is almost ready?”
I give him a nod as I pull off my apron.
Ten minutes later, I’m standing by the table I already set with nine spots. Every night I have to put out nine, even if not everyone is eating.
Father says we need to work to eat, to earn it.
No such thing as a free ride, he says. You fuckers better act right or get used to hungry stomachs.
The other day, Dmitri got some bread from a neighbor. I’ve never seen anyone else up close except for my family and Anya, but from the bits I’ve heard and read, I don’t think most families are like ours. The bread was amazing and like nothing we have here. I think in other houses, there aren’t empty bellies.
