The Syrotnyk

I hate my child. With all my heart I hate her. Filth, filth, filth. Take her away. Oryna said it calmly, as if asking someone to carry an old tub out of the house. In the dark corner the long shadow of a leg stopped swaying. - Strange, - said a voice from under the children's blankets. - For seven nights now she has been asking me to take you away. Mariika lay under the sackcloth, fingers pressed into her ears. - Can she hear? - whispered Oryna.

- She has been hearing you for six years. In the morning Mariika brought her mother half of her bread and a dried cornflower. - May I sit beside you, Mama? Oryna took the crust, slowly ate it in front of her daughter, and crumbled the cornflower between her fingers over the floor. - Because of you even eating disgusts me. From the corner came a whisper: - Six thousand six hundred and sixty-six. That is how many times she has called you Mama.

You answered three hundred and thirteen. When Mariika went out, Oryna turned to the dark corner. - Since you've finally come. Then take her. Under the blankets something inhaled slowly. The house filled with the smell of sulphur, of smoke, and, for some reason, of mother's milk. The strange mixture made her head spin. - I have come for the rite of your renunciation, my dear... Now prove that she is truly a stranger to you. Oryna smiled.

It seemed to her that someone had finally allowed her to shift the blame. Out of the darkness Mariika's spoon slid forward and vanished at once. - Let us begin with supper. Oryna set one bowl on the table and ate slowly in front of her daughter. - May I have some too? - Children who will soon be taken away have no need of supper. In the night Oryna was woken by the tapping of a spoon. The Syrotnyk was sitting by Mariika's bed.

He took from the table the crust the mother had left unfinished and tucked it under the girl's blanket. Oryna wanted to scream, but her mouth filled with hot ash. - You have eaten your fill, - said the Syrotnyk. - Now it is her turn. Until dawn Oryna spat ash into a bowl, and then watched in silence as Mariika ate the crust. That same day she led her daughter into the cold pantry, bolted the door and sat down beside it to listen. Mariika called her forty-three times.

After the last "Mama" it grew quiet behind the door. In the night Oryna was woken by cold. Frost crunched under her shirt, her fingers had turned blue. She reached the pantry and drew back the bolt. Mariika was sleeping on the floor, wrapped in warm blankets that had never been in their house. - I answered the forty-fourth, - said the Syrotnyk. By evening Mariika was already sitting by the stove, warming her hands.

Oryna was busy outside, and in the dark corner the old blankets creaked softly. The girl was silent a long time, then whispered: - Uncle, did you see my tato? Did he really die because of me? Oryna had just come into the house and heard the question. - Because of you! If you hadn't fallen ill, Stepan would still be alive. Soot spilled from the chimney. - I went on my own, Oryna, - answered her husband's voice.

The mother leaned toward the stove and hissed: - Be silent, dead man. In the daytime she took Mariika to the old willow above the frozen river. - Stand here. If you follow me, I will never come back. The girl nodded. Oryna walked away without looking back. Three times the road brought her to her own doorstep. Behind her back a cradle creaked the whole way. In the house Mariika was already warming her wet hair by the stove.

On her palm lay Stepan's wedding ring, lost on the day of his death. - The uncle from the blankets said tato didn't want me to carry your guilt. Oryna grabbed the poker and struck at the corner. The iron sank into the darkness as into wet earth. - Beneath the floor, children began to weep. The Syrotnyk straightened up. His head bent beneath the ceiling, and from under the blankets hung milk teeth, little crosses and knotted locks of children's hair.

- She asked you to hug her a hundred and seven times. You hugged her twice. - Be quiet! - I am only counting, Oryna. Shall I count how many hours of your vile life remain? By the wall the old cradle began to rock. - Tell her the truth to her face, - said the Syrotnyk. - And the door will open. Mariika was clutching her father's ring. - Mama, am I really bad? She carefully put her arms around Oryna's waist.

The mother pried off the small hands and wiped the place where the child's fingers had touched her. The girl held out the ring. Oryna didn't even take it. - You are a stranger to me. The fire in the stove went out. Beyond the walls the wind stopped breathing. Mariika's shadow peeled away from her feet and crawled to the Syrotnyk. The girl was left by the stove without a shadow. The creature laid the edge of an old blanket over her shoulders. Oryna smiled:

- Now will you take her? The empty, thick face turned to her. From under the blankets came the smell of a cold cellar. - She is an orphan now. My orphan... - Then take her. - No. I come for those who make orphans. Behind Oryna the bolt slid shut by itself. The floor beneath Oryna went soft, like the bottom of a bowl of entrails. From the cracks small hands slid out and gripped her legs. She clung to the table. The wood turned slippery with slime that smelled of rotten fish.

- Mariika! Tell him I am your mother! The Syrotnyk bent down to her. Under the blankets dozens of cradles began to creak. - You see, child... Now you have remembered that word. The hands pulled Oryna down. Her knees folded up to her chest, and her voice became thin and childlike. By dawn a cradle already stood in the middle of the house. Inside lay Oryna, folded so tightly that her knees touched her cheeks. Her fingers scratched at the wooden bottom. - Daughter, let me out.

I am your mama. Mariika took a step. - She only calls you when she is the one who is afraid, - said the Syrotnyk, stopping her. The girl took his hand and walked out of the house. From under the floor thousands of children whispered: - Mama, do you love me? Mama... With every word the cradle grew smaller, as did the number of Oryna's bones still whole...