of us, so there should never be more than two lights on at once, and only one when we’re in the same room. Now you’re here, sometimes
three
lights!” He laughed again.
Marek’s wife, Sophia, had incredible quantities of food waiting for Ivan—crepes filled with cottage cheese and topped with sour cream, meat-filled cabbage rolls, broth with beads of fat floating on the surface, dumplings filled with fruit, mushrooms stewed in sour cream. He knew enough to plunge in and eat until he felt sick. There was nothing else he could do, unless he wanted to offend them his first night. “I never eat this much at home,” he explained. “You can’t fix so much food for me in the future, I’ll get sick.”
“Look at you, all skin and bones, complaining about too much food,” said Sophia. She pinched at his arm, expecting apparently to find it as slender as when he was a boy. Instead, she found herself having to use two hands to span his upper arm. Marek roared with laughter. “Not so skinny,” said Marek.
“Hitch up the old oxplow,” said Sophia. “As long as he’s here to pull, we don’t need to use the tractor.”
They had prepared the same bed he had slept in as a boy, but everyone had to laugh when they realized that it was like trying to play a piano sonata on an accordion. He wasn’t going to fit. So he ended up sleeping in the bed his parents had shared.
He didn’t sleep well, however. The bed was softer than what he was used to, and it was a strange place; or maybe it’s because it wasn’t a strange place, but rather a familiar one from a time of great stress in his childhood, but whatever the cause, he kept waking up. Finally, just at dawn, he woke up needing to pee so badly that he couldn’t lie in bed any longer. Tired as he still was, sore from tossing and turning, he had to wince his way out of bed and into some clothes. Here in the foothills, spring wasn’t so far advanced, and it would be cold, heading for the outhouse.
Once he was outside, though, hugging himself against the cold and peering through a cloud of his own breath in the faint dawn light, he realized that the outhouse wasn’t where he remembered. The henhouses were there now. He began to circle the house, looking for a well-worn path that would show where the outhouse was now. He made a complete circuit of the house, and then, thinking he must have overlooked the building in his weariness and the dim light, he began another circuit. It was only Cousin Marek on the porch, laughing at him, that made him realize his mistake.
“You never heard of indoor toilets, boy?” asked Marek. “Where did you pee last night?”
“I peed at the station,” Ivan answered. “I ate and just fell into bed and slept when I got here.”
Marek pointed out the add-on structure on the gable end of the house. “One bathroom upstairs, one downstairs, just like America,” he said. “Cost me a whole year’s profit plus half a beef each to the plumber and the electrician, but Sophia says it’s worth it, not having to trudge outside all winter long.”
“Lead me to it,” said Ivan, “before I explode.”
Breakfast threatened to be as heavy as dinner, from the sounds Sophia was making in the kitchen. Ivan couldn’t keep eating at that pace. So before he went out for his morning run, he stopped in the kitchen and gave Sophia a hug and greeted her and then said, “I’ll only stay until I’ve eaten enough food to equal twice my body weight. At the rate you’re cooking, that means I’ll be heading out sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
She laughed as if it were a joke.
“Sophia, I beg you.” He got down on his knees. “I’m an athlete, I run, I can’t eat so much.”
“Eat what you want, nobody’s putting a gun to your head,” she said.
“I’m afraid of seeing your frown, if I take small helpings. I’m afraid of hurting the feelings of the greatest cook in all Ukraine.”
“What do I care about
her
?” she demanded. “You
three
lights!” He laughed again.
Marek’s wife, Sophia, had incredible quantities of food waiting for Ivan—crepes filled with cottage cheese and topped with sour cream, meat-filled cabbage rolls, broth with beads of fat floating on the surface, dumplings filled with fruit, mushrooms stewed in sour cream. He knew enough to plunge in and eat until he felt sick. There was nothing else he could do, unless he wanted to offend them his first night. “I never eat this much at home,” he explained. “You can’t fix so much food for me in the future, I’ll get sick.”
“Look at you, all skin and bones, complaining about too much food,” said Sophia. She pinched at his arm, expecting apparently to find it as slender as when he was a boy. Instead, she found herself having to use two hands to span his upper arm. Marek roared with laughter. “Not so skinny,” said Marek.
“Hitch up the old oxplow,” said Sophia. “As long as he’s here to pull, we don’t need to use the tractor.”
They had prepared the same bed he had slept in as a boy, but everyone had to laugh when they realized that it was like trying to play a piano sonata on an accordion. He wasn’t going to fit. So he ended up sleeping in the bed his parents had shared.
He didn’t sleep well, however. The bed was softer than what he was used to, and it was a strange place; or maybe it’s because it wasn’t a strange place, but rather a familiar one from a time of great stress in his childhood, but whatever the cause, he kept waking up. Finally, just at dawn, he woke up needing to pee so badly that he couldn’t lie in bed any longer. Tired as he still was, sore from tossing and turning, he had to wince his way out of bed and into some clothes. Here in the foothills, spring wasn’t so far advanced, and it would be cold, heading for the outhouse.
Once he was outside, though, hugging himself against the cold and peering through a cloud of his own breath in the faint dawn light, he realized that the outhouse wasn’t where he remembered. The henhouses were there now. He began to circle the house, looking for a well-worn path that would show where the outhouse was now. He made a complete circuit of the house, and then, thinking he must have overlooked the building in his weariness and the dim light, he began another circuit. It was only Cousin Marek on the porch, laughing at him, that made him realize his mistake.
“You never heard of indoor toilets, boy?” asked Marek. “Where did you pee last night?”
“I peed at the station,” Ivan answered. “I ate and just fell into bed and slept when I got here.”
Marek pointed out the add-on structure on the gable end of the house. “One bathroom upstairs, one downstairs, just like America,” he said. “Cost me a whole year’s profit plus half a beef each to the plumber and the electrician, but Sophia says it’s worth it, not having to trudge outside all winter long.”
“Lead me to it,” said Ivan, “before I explode.”
Breakfast threatened to be as heavy as dinner, from the sounds Sophia was making in the kitchen. Ivan couldn’t keep eating at that pace. So before he went out for his morning run, he stopped in the kitchen and gave Sophia a hug and greeted her and then said, “I’ll only stay until I’ve eaten enough food to equal twice my body weight. At the rate you’re cooking, that means I’ll be heading out sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
She laughed as if it were a joke.
“Sophia, I beg you.” He got down on his knees. “I’m an athlete, I run, I can’t eat so much.”
“Eat what you want, nobody’s putting a gun to your head,” she said.
“I’m afraid of seeing your frown, if I take small helpings. I’m afraid of hurting the feelings of the greatest cook in all Ukraine.”
“What do I care about
her
?” she demanded. “You
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