Zosia.
Nobody answered. They were too distracted by the sight of Paraskevia Volodymyrivna, who had a large green and orange babushka wrapped around her tiny monkey face, her thin legs encased in heavy woolen stockings and boots, and her body lost in a long black fake lamb’s fur coat. The outfit was especially out of place in the warm weather. “You won’t have enough water to wash away this sin!” she screamed at the men hosing the streets. The men turned off their hoses for a minute and laughed, then turned their backs toward her and restarted the hoses. Paraskevia was about to strike one of the men but slipped and fell against a gutter, knocking her head on the concrete.
“Look out!” Zosia yelled. She threw her cigarette down and hurried to where the old lady had fallen. Puddles of foam eddied around Paraskevia’s small frame.
Zosia ran up to the men with the hoses. She waved her arms in front of them to stop. When they shut off their hoses, Zosia returned to Paraskevia, knelt down and gently lifted the wizened head and loosened her dripping babushka. Her short gray hair felt like the gossamer wool Zosia used to bundle when she was a young schoolgirl working at a collective farm on her summer vacations.
She felt a bump, but no blood, and the old woman’s skull between her thin hairs was as tender as a newborn’s.
“I’m all right,” the older woman said. “Save yourselves.” Zosia helped her to stand up and steadied her by holding her bony elbows. “I’m going back to my house,” Paraskevia announced. She tied her wet babushka back under her chin.
Zosia gently maneuvered Paraskevia toward the sidewalk and was glad when she didn’t cause a fuss. “If you don’t mind, I’ll walk with you a little bit,” Zosia said. “Let me carry your coat.” The old lady obliged and allowed Zosia to help her slip out of the sodden, shabby coat. Zosia was surprised at its heaviness.
Paraskevia studied Zosia’s face intently with her deep black eyes. “Bless you. You’re a good girl after all,” she declared.
They walked in silence all the way to the old woman’s house. “Will you be all right?” Zosia blurted out once they had reached her gate. “Can I help you bring this coat in? Or is there anything else I can do to help? If you want me to, I mean . . .”
Paraskevia laughed and allowed Zosia to place the dripping coat over her outstretched arms. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a hundred years. But it’s your generation that should get down on your hands and knees and pray that we all come out of this alive.”
“Excuse me?”
“Smell the air!”
“Oh, yes. That’s the fire. My husband was there and told me about a fire at the plant.”
“Why does the air smell like this? You tell me.”
“They’re putting out the fire.”
Paraskevia shook her head. “Fire from hell.”
A car horn beeped and a blue car pulled up to them. It belonged to one of Zosia’s neighbors who also worked at the plant. A stout man with a mustache rolled down the window from the passenger side of the front seat, and Zosia recognized Maksym, the man who had carried Hanna over the muddy road on her wedding day. “Come on, we’ve got a ride,” he shouted over the loud muffler. “We can still make our shift.”
Zosia turned to the old woman. “Are you going to be all right?”
Paraskevia wiped her eyes. “You should ask yourself that question.” She made the sign of the cross over Zosia. “God grant you peace and protect you.” She freed her small right hand from the coat, firmly grabbed one of Zosia’s wrists to make her lean toward her and kissed her. “My life is over.” Paraskevia then quickly made the sign of the cross again, spat three times on the ground and wentthrough her front gate where two skinny goats greeted her and followed her into her house.
“Better come now if you’re coming,” Maksym shouted. Zosia pushed her way into the backseat of the car with two other workers.
Nobody answered. They were too distracted by the sight of Paraskevia Volodymyrivna, who had a large green and orange babushka wrapped around her tiny monkey face, her thin legs encased in heavy woolen stockings and boots, and her body lost in a long black fake lamb’s fur coat. The outfit was especially out of place in the warm weather. “You won’t have enough water to wash away this sin!” she screamed at the men hosing the streets. The men turned off their hoses for a minute and laughed, then turned their backs toward her and restarted the hoses. Paraskevia was about to strike one of the men but slipped and fell against a gutter, knocking her head on the concrete.
“Look out!” Zosia yelled. She threw her cigarette down and hurried to where the old lady had fallen. Puddles of foam eddied around Paraskevia’s small frame.
Zosia ran up to the men with the hoses. She waved her arms in front of them to stop. When they shut off their hoses, Zosia returned to Paraskevia, knelt down and gently lifted the wizened head and loosened her dripping babushka. Her short gray hair felt like the gossamer wool Zosia used to bundle when she was a young schoolgirl working at a collective farm on her summer vacations.
She felt a bump, but no blood, and the old woman’s skull between her thin hairs was as tender as a newborn’s.
“I’m all right,” the older woman said. “Save yourselves.” Zosia helped her to stand up and steadied her by holding her bony elbows. “I’m going back to my house,” Paraskevia announced. She tied her wet babushka back under her chin.
Zosia gently maneuvered Paraskevia toward the sidewalk and was glad when she didn’t cause a fuss. “If you don’t mind, I’ll walk with you a little bit,” Zosia said. “Let me carry your coat.” The old lady obliged and allowed Zosia to help her slip out of the sodden, shabby coat. Zosia was surprised at its heaviness.
Paraskevia studied Zosia’s face intently with her deep black eyes. “Bless you. You’re a good girl after all,” she declared.
They walked in silence all the way to the old woman’s house. “Will you be all right?” Zosia blurted out once they had reached her gate. “Can I help you bring this coat in? Or is there anything else I can do to help? If you want me to, I mean . . .”
Paraskevia laughed and allowed Zosia to place the dripping coat over her outstretched arms. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a hundred years. But it’s your generation that should get down on your hands and knees and pray that we all come out of this alive.”
“Excuse me?”
“Smell the air!”
“Oh, yes. That’s the fire. My husband was there and told me about a fire at the plant.”
“Why does the air smell like this? You tell me.”
“They’re putting out the fire.”
Paraskevia shook her head. “Fire from hell.”
A car horn beeped and a blue car pulled up to them. It belonged to one of Zosia’s neighbors who also worked at the plant. A stout man with a mustache rolled down the window from the passenger side of the front seat, and Zosia recognized Maksym, the man who had carried Hanna over the muddy road on her wedding day. “Come on, we’ve got a ride,” he shouted over the loud muffler. “We can still make our shift.”
Zosia turned to the old woman. “Are you going to be all right?”
Paraskevia wiped her eyes. “You should ask yourself that question.” She made the sign of the cross over Zosia. “God grant you peace and protect you.” She freed her small right hand from the coat, firmly grabbed one of Zosia’s wrists to make her lean toward her and kissed her. “My life is over.” Paraskevia then quickly made the sign of the cross again, spat three times on the ground and wentthrough her front gate where two skinny goats greeted her and followed her into her house.
“Better come now if you’re coming,” Maksym shouted. Zosia pushed her way into the backseat of the car with two other workers.
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