“We are here with you, Katya,” Alina said, as if reading her mind. “You are not alone.”
Katya clenched Alina’s hand and gritted her teeth so she wouldn’t scream. “Yes, I am alone. I am all alone!”
“The baby’s head is very small.” Lena frowned. “How far along are you?”
“About eight months.” Fear lodged like a hard lump in Katya’s throat. “But the baby will be all right, won’t it?”
“Hush now, everything will be fine. I’ve seen babies born younger live,” Lena said, but Katya saw the look Lena gave her mother, and her heart sank. “You’re only a few pushes away now. Get ready!”
Tears seeped out of her eyes. How could she do this? The baby was too early, Pavlo was dead, and no matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t strong enough.
“Katya!” Mama shook her. “Don’t you dare give up. You have to fight! This child needs you.”
“I don’t think I can anymore, Mama. I’m so tired of fighting.” Despair choked out any hope Katya had once possessed, and she fell back on the bed, her head dropping down on the pillow.
“What do you think being a mother is? It’s a constant battle. It’s endless fear. It’s continuous worry. And it’s always work! But it’s worth it, Katya; I swear to you, it’s worth it.”
Mama smoothed back Katya’s hair and kissed her brow. “Now push!”
Katya propped herself up, huffed in a lungful of air, and bore down. She let out a low moan and swore her body split into two as the baby slipped out. She decided later that it wasn’t only her body splitting, but a piece of her heart breaking off. That’s what being a mother was—ripping out a piece of your heart and giving it to your child.
“It’s a boy!” Lena placed the warm, wet body on the bed next to Katya.
“He’s so small.” Katya touched his face. His lips were blue, and his eyes stayed closed. “Why isn’t he crying?”
Lena took him away and vigorously patted and rubbed his back until he began to splutter, then she toweled him off. Mama handed her the rushnyk she had embroidered for the baby’s birth, and Lena wrapped it around him. “Some start on their own, others need a little help.”
Lena gave him back to her then, and, as his gray-blue eyes stared into hers, Katya fell in love. The warmth of that love spread through her, enveloped her, until nothing else mattered. She felt no pain as Lena helped her deliver the afterbirth and took no notice of Lena and Mama cleaning her up and putting fresh bedding under her. Her whole world lay tucked into her arms, a tiny version of Pavlo snuggled into her.
“Feed the child,” Lena said. “He won’t get much until your milk comes in, but his suckling will encourage that.”
Katya put him to her breast and watched as he latched on and began to rhythmically suck. She flinched at the pain, and Lena reassured her that it wouldn’t hurt always; she would toughen up.
“He’s a natural,” Lena smiled. “That’s good. He’s early but eating well will help him thrive.”
“I’d like to name him for Tato.” Katya smiled up at her mother. “Viktor. My little Viktor Pavlovich.”
Mama, for once at a loss for words, nodded her approval.
Alina sat on the edge of the bed, her frame so slight Katya couldn’t feel her there, and introduced Halya to her double cousin. Alina smiled, her gaunt cheekbones poking out on her beautiful face. “See, I told you it was not so bad.”
Katya snorted. “You screamed so loud birthing Halya that the next village over could hear you!”
“Bah!” She waved her hand. “You always exaggerate. But I’m not surprised you barely made a sound. You may be younger, but you were always the tougher one.”
For that brief moment in time, happiness enveloped Katya as Viktor filled a hole she didn’t think could ever be filled.
Katya had two blissful weeks with Viktor before she woke one morning, and he didn’t. His cold little body lay next to hers, his fingers splayed on her breast, his mouth still open from nursing.
Then, she could not hold back her screams.
“He was not meant for this world,” Mama said to Lena.
She nodded in reply. “I could see it the day he was born, but who am I to make such prophecies?”
Katya ignored them and continued staring at the wall. Her breasts, aching with their fullness, were a cruel reminder of Viktor’s death two days ago. They leaked steadily, soaking her shirt, and chilling her body, but she didn’t care. She hadn’t left her bed except to urinate, but even that had tapered off as she’d stopped eating and drinking. There wasn’t much food to go around anyway, so she figured she might as well give her share to those who cared to live. Mama had finally called Lena in for help in her efforts to get Katya to rejoin the world again.