Take Me Away from the Wedding

It's a pity that an understanding of life almost always comes too late; the moment we think we've finally learned how to live and figured out this world, the time to say goodbye to it is already drawing near. Before she died, my grandmother asked me to take her away from a wedding. "I won't know you yet then. If I start fighting you, don't be angry." She named a day that had passed forty years before I was born. After the funeral I came to the old house.

She had given me the key back in spring. - After the farewell, use it to unlock my room, and you'll step into that day. Back the same way, from the inside, before sunset. You get to go there and back once. Don't take me with you - it won't work. The envelope she gave me along with the key, she ordered me to open only after I returned.

I hung my coat in the entry hall. My wallet and the envelope stayed in the pockets. I tucked the key into the pocket of my skirt. Well then - if nothing happens, I'll simply stand a while in her room. Beyond the door it was summer. Under the window lay wedding towels, their hems not yet finished. By the hope chest stood a girl in wedding clothes. Younger than me. My grandmother. - Did Father send you? Tell him I'll come out on my own.

I took her by the hand and pulled her toward the door. She bit me and sprang back to the chest. - Forgive me, - I hid my hand behind my back. - I won't do it again. - Who are you? - Orysia. - Then, Orysia, step away from the door. I stepped aside; for a while she kept watching the open doorway, but she didn't go through it. - Are you planning to run away? - I asked. - I can help. She sat down on the bench, pushing aside the edge of her wedding skirt to make room for me.

- Are you running to your sweetheart? To Matvii? - What Matvii? I want to go to my aunt. She's a seamstress. She wrote that she'd take me on to learn. Matvii was my grandfather's name. So here they hadn't even met yet. Grandmother sewed all my childhood dresses, and until this day I never knew who had taught her. - And do you know where to find your aunt? - The address is in the letter. Father took it. - Where did he put it?

- In his good coat, the one hanging in the entry hall. Only he goes there. After waiting until he went out into the yard to greet the guests, I asked the woman by the stove for water for the bride, and while she turned away, I pulled out the letter. Hanna hid it in a traveling bundle with clothes and a pair of scissors. We slipped out unnoticed through the pantry. Near the gate we heard her father's voice. Hanna stopped and gripped my hand tighter.

We stood there, listening to her father calling someone in for a drink. Then Hanna opened the gate. They noticed us when we were already on the road. Someone shouted her name; she pulled me along faster. At the post station a driver was tightening the harness straps. - Going to town? There's room. Got money? Hanna looked at me. - I'd been saving for the road, but Father gave it all to the musicians.

My wallet had stayed in my coat. I couldn't go back for it - there would be no second crossing. I turned the ring on my finger. For that ring I had once given half a year of a teacher's savings. The shopkeeper near the station weighed it, laid it down before me and named a price. I held the ring by its rim a little longer before I could finally let it go.

It was enough for a seat in the cart and for bread with salo. The aunt had promised Hanna lodging. I put the food into her bundle. - And you? - I'll eat at home. When we came out of the shop, her father's wagon was already standing by the station. Terentii knew where we would go; he had probably read the aunt's letter himself. He seized Hanna by the elbow. - Home. People have gathered. I gave my word.

She took a step after him. I caught her free hand and pulled her toward me. - Hanna! For the first time in my life I called my grandmother by her name. She stopped. - I won't marry Kyrylo, - she said almost in a whisper, so that her father leaned down toward her. Then she repeated it louder. - I won't marry him! I'm going to my aunt to learn a trade. You arranged it all yourselves - no one asked me!

People had already stopped by the cart. Terentii glanced at them and loosened his fingers. Hanna wrenched her hand free and stepped back. The driver planted himself on the footboard between her and her father. - Girl, are you coming or not? Time to move. Hanna handed him first her bundle, then her hand, so he could help her climb up. - I'm coming! Her father was still saying something. She sat down beside the driver and didn't look back.

But at me Hanna looked very piercingly. - Come with me, girl. My aunt is kind. I'll ask her to keep you too. - I have to go home. She saw the mark of her teeth on my hand. She bent down to her bundle, took out the scissors and cut a strip from a clean shirt. She bandaged my wrist. - Not too tight? I shook my head. - I thought you were from Father. - It's nothing. Go now, Grandma...

I could still see the bewilderment in her eyes and the intention to say something, but the driver took up the reins and set off. I had to step back. Slowly I returned to the house, through the back door, through that same pantry. In the front room the guests were arguing. I made it to the room without having to come out to them. The sun still stood above the rooftops. I closed the door, turned the key, then turned it again and opened it. In the entry hall hung my coat.

I touched the pocket with the wallet and for some reason felt angry at that money. I closed the door and unlocked it again. Beyond it stood my grandmother's empty bed. There were no wedding towels under the window. I took the envelope out of my coat and sat down on Grandmother's bed. "Orysia, I recognized you when you grew up. I kept looking closely, afraid my memory was failing me.

Forgive me for biting you. I was terribly frightened then. And afterward I so wanted you to come with me. I thought we would somehow have persuaded my aunt to take us both. I never managed to buy back your ring. I went back to that shopkeeper, but he had already sold it. Here is money for a new one. I put it aside for you, little by little." Inside the envelope was money. I poured it out onto the bed. On the back of the letter Grandmother had added:

"And eat when you get back. You gave me all the bread that day. I saw it, you know." I remembered how she would set supper before me while I talked about school. She would sit down across from me and listen, even if she had already heard the same thing for the hundredth time. I pressed my bandaged wrist to my cheek.

And so I sat with the letter, saying into the silence: "I miss you, Grandma, and thank you for always having time for me. There is still so much I want to tell you. If it were possible, I would take you away from that wedding again, only this time I would hold your hand at least a little longer."