My 20+ Years In America. Tatiana Shymanova

checked the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of her face, her features so similar to those of her sister. The grief of her loss never completely went away. It came and went like the waves of the ocean tide. She thought again of her sister, and how everyone who came into contact with her admired her beauty, artistic talents and academic excellence. She had graduated high school with a silver medal, earning only a single B in physical education, then attended the Institute of Technology, where she was accepted after passing a test in mathematics with an A. (Students who graduated High School with medals had the privilege of taking a test in only one subject, and if they got an A, they were automatically accepted.)

      Tonya’s mother, Frola, had passed away one year before Ludmila at the young age of 50. Tonya often struggled to recall a happy memory of her childhood and of a time when she could have possibly bonded or shared a special moment with her mother, but they always escaped her. Although she could never remember a time when her mother was affectionate toward her, showering her with hugs and kisses as the mothers of other children had done, she came to have a reserved respect for her. As the years went on and Tonya experienced the trials of womanhood for herself, she realized that her mother had been an unhappy woman. She had reluctantly married her father after tragically losing the true love of her life, as well as the only child that they had together. Did she love Tonya’s father? Her marriage was probably like the final straw that someone desperately grabs onto to survive and continue on with her life. Tonya and her mother did not part well before her death, and every time Tonya looked back in her memory, she was filled with regret.

      Frola was merely a baby when her own mother brought her to Siberia to escape the tribulations of the Russian Civil War between the Bolshevik Red Army and the loosely formed anti-Bolshevik White Army. Their fighting plagued the entire country, but it was an exceptional hardship to a woman who also happened to be the wife of a White Army officer. After her husband was killed, her life and those of her children were in grave danger, and in her haste and frantic attempt to shield her children from such horrors, she fled with only the possessions that she could efficiently carry in a small baby carriage and in her hands. A few well-tailored dresses, a small icon of Saint Nicholas that could fit in the palm of your hand, and a few silver spoons, which she later traded for bread, were the only items of value that she managed to hide during her expropriation. She carried on with her two little children and left behind the only life that she had known in the hopes of garnering a better future in the unknown lands of the north.

      Frola’s mother eventually found herself journeying with a group of refugees who were moving farther East to the barren lands of Siberia for various reasons; some were trying to escape to alter their identity, and others were attempting to escape famine, which had settled all over the Ukraine. Her status as the wife of a White Army officer brought with it the potential for danger wherever she traveled, so she discarded all of her documents and lived anonymously when she eventually settled down in the Krasnoyarsk region.

      Before the Russian Revolution, political as well as criminal exiles had been banished there. Its barren landscape made planting particularly difficult, and its inhabitants constantly worried about the availability of sustenance.

      Frola’s mother was able to obtain new documentation under a falsely assumed last name. Her birth name, Alexandra, was the only portion of her identity that she was able to carry with her from her past. In a moment of desperation, Alexandra used her survivor’s instinct and quickly discovered a way to ensure that her past identity would never be found out. During her journey from her hometown to Siberia, Alexandra and the other refugees had passed a small village that had burned completely to the ground. She kept the name of this village in her memory as they once again assumed their travels. The records and vital statistics that were stored by the authorities were completely destroyed by the fire, making verification impossible. When the authorities attempted to verify her identification upon her arrival to Siberia, the request was returned as negative, and they had no choice but to trust that she was telling the truth about her place of origin.

      In Tonya’s recollection, her grandmother was a tall, slim woman who could crochet beautifully. She was well known for her work making countless items such as tablecloths, handkerchiefs, dress collars, and mangettes, the beautiful embroidery that adorned the sleeves of the finest dresses. Despite her talents, she lived the life of a peasant woman, just as those around her. She blended into the Siberian lifestyle well enough and by all accounts was considered one of the townspeople, despite her unknown origins. She was always soft spoken and kind to Tonya and her sister, Ludmila.

      Tonya often fondly remembered the first gifts that her grandmother had bestowed upon her and her sister. She gave them an alphabet primer and two dolls that she made by hand from tiny pieces of fabric with cotton stuffed inside. She also gave them a loaf of homemade bread along with carrots. She then proceeded to delight them with a story about how she had met a rabbit on her way to their home and he had given the gifts to take to them. With the simple mind of a child, Tonya wondered how a rabbit could have possibly carried around all of the goods; however, if her grandmother had said it was so, then it must be.

      While the time with her grandmother was remembered fondly, it was sadly short-lived, as Tonya’s grandmother died when she was only in the 6^th grade. Tonya remembered how she and Ludmila cried together with their mother. Frola frequently talked about her mother even long after her death.

      The relationship between Tonya’s mother and her grandmother, Alexandra, had always been a bit of a mystery to Tonya. When Tonya and Ludmila were teenagers, their mother finally explained why her relationship with their grandmother had been so contentious – she did not want her to have children, and consequently, Frola felt terribly hurt.

      The last time she saw her mother alive, Frola remembered her saying, “I am going to die soon, so I have prepared everything. My clothes will be folded here on the table along with my documents and a little money that I have saved.”

      Tonya’s mother couldn’t believe that she had heard her mother correctly. Why would a woman who was still in good health suddenly speak of death?

      “What would make you think such thoughts?” Frola asked her carefully, as she studied her face for any type of clue to help her interpret these words.

      “I think your father wants me to join him. He came for me twice already during the night. There was such a loud, demanding knock on my window. Of course, I wondered who on earth could be knocking at so late an hour and ran out the door into my yard. Each time when I arrived to the front of the yard to open the door, there was no one, but for some reason I knew it was him.”

      Alexandra died one week later. She died a peaceful death, but alone, as she had been most of her life. She kept herself isolated from people and only randomly exchanged a few words with her neighbors. Thinking back on her grandmother’s life, Tonya could only guess what the true reason was for her to stay in the country when many people managed to emigrate as soon as the revolution began. She did not know if she had any relatives at all, alive or dead, besides her grandfather.

      After the funeral, Tonya’s mother visited Alexandra’s now vacant home and spoke to her neighbor. She had been the one to find Alexandra, outside of her home, when she glanced over into the next yard. She had known Alexandra since the time she initially came to Siberia, and for the first time in all of those years she had seen her neighbor sitting on the lone bench in front of the house. Thinking Alexandra had simply come outside to enjoy the crisp, morning air, she called out to her, yet strangely received no response. The silence stunned her, and she felt a cool chill come over her as she watched and waited for some type of response: nothing. As she walked closer, the aged, yet still soft and beautiful features of her neighbor came into focus; however, they were lifeless, and she realized that she was dead.

      Alexandra had always taken such great care to attend to the few possessions that she was afforded. Before dying, she had come outside to water her garden, the house inside was immaculately clean and the clothes she had chosen to be buried in were on the table along with the documents and a little money she had