WITH EDITH GONE AND private school out of reach, Isabelle was the only one left to teach Mae and Junie. Vanessa could, but Vanessa remained indisposed.
During the day Isabelle told stories to the girls, and by night, when they had supper with their newly present father, the girls regaled both their parents with what they had learned during the day.
“We learned so much today, Daddy! We learned that Ukraine is a very big country, almost as big as France, and it has forty million people, which is less than one half what we have in America.”
“Very good, what else?”
“We learned that Ukraine is bordered by Russia in the north and east, Poland in the west, and Romania in the south. We learned that Poland is a very nice country that has beautiful girls. Isabelle’s mother was Polish and a beautiful girl.”
“Anything else?”
“We learned that the Soviets are . . . wait, I memorized it . . . the Soviets are petty, destructive, remorseless, stupid, and brutal.”
Finn and Vanessa were mute.
“Mae, you forgot thieves and plunderers,” said Junie, turning to Finn. “Daddy, what’s a plunderer?”
“Finn,” Vanessa said to him after the girls were asleep, “please ask Isabelle not to teach our children anything else about Ukraine.”
“I think she is teaching them what she knows,” Finn said.
“Maybe she can read up on American history,” said Vanessa. “Heaven forfend the children should spout this to their friends at the park. Or to our parents. Do you want your father to learn that the Bolsheviks used famine as a political tool to starve the Ukrainians during the Civil War? Because this is what the children are repeating to me. I didn’t even know the Russians fought a civil war!”
“Perhaps the girls aren’t the only ones who need Isabelle’s lessons,” said Finn. “But this teaching thing reminds me, Vee, um, why didn’t you tell me Edith left?”
First Vanessa was startled. Then she was indignant.
“Well, darling, you said it yourself. Should I bother you with nonsense about why Edith left? I told her to put on a sweater! You are working so hard for this family, I would never bother you with such trifles! Isabelle shouldn’t have bothered you either. Look how agitated you are.”
Finn almost bought it. “In the future, darling,” he said, “if the servants are resigning or it’s too cold for you and the children, promise you will tell me.”
And Vanessa promised him she would. But Finn duly noted that she did not ask him to reciprocate in kind with some much-needed honesty.
On Saturdays, if Finn got home early enough, he would stand at the slightly ajar door of the girls’ nursery and listen to Isabelle’s strong, unwavering voice speak of bloodshed in a sing-song, like a nightmare lullaby.
“Girls, do you know what perfidy is?”
“No! What is perfidy?”
“Deceit, lying, betrayal. Like when you count on someone and instead of being your friend, they steal from you and then kill you and hang you upside down by the side of the road.”
“Isn’t that like murder?” said Mae.
“Yes,” Isabelle said. “And also perfidy.”
Later that night, downstairs in the kitchen, Finn asked Isabelle to teach the children some subjects other than history.
“I also teach them geography,” said Isabelle. “Your girls know where Romania is, where Romanian ports on Black Sea are, where Italy is, where Atlantic Ocean is, where Lavelle is.”
“It’s Lovell,” Finn said.
“I also teach them English vocabulary,” Isabelle continued. “Also animal lessons about horses and cows. I teach them art of telling stories. I teach them music and dancing and athletics. We do jumping jacks, we run in park. I teach them how to play football. They are very good. I teach them gardening. Just last week, we planted some . . . how you say . . . hyacinth? Junie say it her favorite flower.”
“All of that is excellent, Isabelle,” Finn said. “But how about some arithmetic, to replace one or two of the history lessons?”
“Good idea,” said Isabelle.
After a few days passed the girls informed Finn and Vanessa they had learned how to add and divide.
“Hm,” Finn said. “Why not subtraction first, I wonder?”
“Isabelle says division is like subtraction but faster,” Mae said.
“Let’s hear what you’ve learned.”
“We learned that every Ukrainian village is divided into many units of Communists,” Mae said. “It’s simple, Daddy, even Junie knows it now.”
“Let me tell it!” said Junie, who was going to be seven soon and wanted to be a big girl. She took a breath and began to recite what she had learned. “In Isabelle’s village called Ispas there lived a thousand people who were divided into two hundred households.”
“That’s about five people per household,” said Mae. “Though in Isabelle’s household there were nineteen.”
“Big household,” said Finn. “Did she tell you who the nineteen were?”
“That’s not really arithmetic, Finn,” said Vanessa.
“She did tell us!” said Mae. “There was Isabelle, her three brothers, their three wives, her mother, her husband, her husband’s brother, her husband’s brother’s wife, her husband’s brother’s four children, her husband’s parents, and her two children.”
“Isabelle has children?” said Vanessa, exchanging a stunned glance with Finn.
“Two sons,” said Junie. “Our age. A little older.”
Finn said nothing. So she was married. She had children. In her muteness on the subject he sensed a heavy accounting, a bitter story. There must be pain there that would never be done with, Finn thought. “Tell me more about the arithmetic, Junie,” he said.
“Her village got divided by hundreds, tens, and fives,” Junie said. “This means, Daddy, that there was one Soviet official like a Papa Bear keeping an eye on one hundred families.”
“Keeping an eye on them for what purpose, Junie?” said Vanessa.
“That’s also not part of arithmetic, Mommy,” Mae said. “But in Ispas there were two big Papa Bears. One for every hundred families.”
“I’m gonna tell it!” said Junie. “After the two Papa Bears, there were ten Mama Bears who kept more eyes on them. So, ten into two hundred is twenty!”
“Okay,” Finn said, uncertain where this was going. It couldn’t be anywhere good.
“And then, each of the two hundred families were divided one last time into forty Baby Bears, and two hundred divided by forty is five,” said Junie. “One Baby Bear kept his eye on five families. That’s what hundreds, tens, and fives means.”
“Forty times five is two hundred,” Mae said. “Multiplication and division are the same backward and forward.”
“Very good, dear,” Vanessa said.
“We’re not done, Mommy,” Junie said.
“Don’t forget to add now, June,” Mae said. “It’s addition time.”
“I know, shh, don’t rush me!” Junie’s lips were moving as she counted. “So, two Papa Bears, twenty Mama Bears, and forty Baby Bears adds up to sixty-two Soviet Communists in one Ispas village, keeping an eye on two hundred families like Isabelle’s.”
“You can’t divide two hundred by sixty-two, June,” said Mae. “It’s not an even number.”
“Isabelle told us it’s around three,” said Junie, glaring at her older sister. “Which means that there were three Soviet officials keeping an eye on each one of the village families. But because Isabelle’s family was nineteen people, she said they had thirteen Communists keeping an eye on them.”
“How many?” Finn said. He hoped his girls had misheard.
“Whatever for?” said Vanessa.
“Isabelle told us,” Junie said, screwing up her face in concentration. “She said they needed more than thirteen Communists to guard nineteen Lazars.” She stuck out her tongue at her sister. “See, Daddy?” the proud girl said. “We learned arithmetic, just like Isabelle said you wanted us to.”